Leaning casually with one shoulder against the doorpost, Barty blocked the way to the stable. He idly toyed with the pair of dice in his hand, making them go click-clack, click-clack. When the prince tried to pass, he stuck out his leg hoping to cause a stumble. “Have a nice trip,” he sneered.
“That’s an old joke.” Ulrik said and stepped over Barty’s leg, fighting the temptation to kick it out of the way.
“I know. I thought it fit considering all the gossip I hear about you. You’re making many a tongue wag in the castle. From way down in the guard’s barracks through the servant’s quarters up to the donjon, ‘What’s the crown prince up to? We heard he’s been given some kind of mission, and on and on. I’m completely bored with it. No one wants to do anything but talk about you.”
“How would you know what everyone is talking about?”
Barty held up the dice to let the sunlight reflect off the polished ivory surfaces. “My two little friends here take me into all sorts of places. They’re like magic keys used to open all doors. Many like to play with me and my little friends. The worst luck for them; I loose bets only at my choosing.”
Ulrik looked at him, wondering how the two of them could be related.
Barty held the dice to his ears. “Do you hear? My little friends are calling. Time to fleece a few before noon.”
Ulrik continued to the stable without bothering about Barty’s plans. Here was another haven from the castle’s intrigues. The Mage and his minions avoided this stable the way they avoided the kitchen. The ceiling soared high into the air, far higher than a stable had any right to. Intricate stone tracery wove its way through the supporting pillars pulling the eye from one place to another and then another in exultation. The tracery framed open spaces that held remnants of pictures made of small, colorful tiles scarcely visible under the layers of grime. The shards of stained glass in the great round window on the east wall proclaimed another time and use for the stable. Nearly all the glass was broken from the window, leaving the wind and weather to enter unopposed, though enough glass remained to lure the prince into a story half-told, a story revealed through fragments of a face here, a hand there, the image of a lamb.
He climbed the ladder into the haymow, its clumsy construction a sharp contrast to the craftsmanship surrounding it. The mow had been hastily thrown into place by uncaring workers following orders when the building was turned into a stable. The mow looked slapdash, built of scavenged lumber and ill-suited to the grandeur of the ceiling, walls and window fragments. Ulrik crawled over the hay and sat at the enormous window’s base. An old toy soldier of his, carved by Harald, the chief archer, remained on the sill where he had placed it several months back. Toy soldiers then, and now . . . Now he knew he had to give up his childish ways. Duty called him to make the journey for his father’s sake, but his heart cried out to stay in the safety and security of Helga’s kitchen. He picked up the toy. Harald had carved a bit of a pot-belly onto the soldier. Like me, thought the prince rubbing his plump stomach. Closer inspection also revealed a smooth face on the toy, unlike the real soldiers he knew with their proud beards and elegant mustaches. He put the toy back on the exact same spot on the sill, and descended the mow, knowing what he must do.
Edgar had been pestering Ulrik, “When are we going to go?” Edgar had packed his knapsack for the journey the moment he learned he would join the prince. With Helga’s help his bags were ready, but he kept taking out the clothes he needed until he had completely unpacked and was as unprepared as the prince.
In the safety of the kitchen Ulrik made his announcement, “Tomorrow. We must go tomorrow.”
“You mean to leave on your fourteenth birthday?” asked Helga, shocked at the suggestion. “But I was planning . . .”
“Go where?” Barty piped in as he stuck his nose around the corner. Since Ulrik’s meeting with the Mage, Barty had been spying as closely as he could.
“None of your business,” snapped Helga.
“What a pity I can’t go,” he sneered, taking the dice out of his pocket and carelessly shaking them in his hand so they rattled like bones. “I’m sure I could be a great help on such a journey- or should I say hopeless quest? I’m much smarter, braver, and far cleverer than you, Ulrik. I’d love to go, but someone has to hang around and take care of the place while the crown prince and his pet go gallivanting off to who knows where.”
The three stared at him. If they could have willed it, he would have disappeared.
“Don’t you have someplace to go?” Ulrik said to Barty.
“Come to think of it, I do,” he mused and then shook the dice next to his ear, pretending to listen, “What, my little friends? What? New soldiers in the guard-room . . . and with goods from the provinces…? And you say we should go and get acquainted? Good idea.” He slipped the dice back into his pocket. “You two have a nice trip,” he said as he left.
No sooner had he left than the Mage’s apprentice entered the kitchen, “My master, the Royal Mage and King’s Counselor, desires to speak with Crown Prince Ulrik.” He bowed and stepped back into the hallway. The Mage took his place in the doorway, keeping back from the threshold of the kitchen. His hood fully covered his head, and his hands remained tucked into his robe.
“I foresaw that I would find the prince in this place,” he hissed, the disdain dripping from each extended “s” sound.
Helga grabbed the rolling pin and stood between him and the prince. “What do the likes of you want with him?”
“Be careful how you speak to the King’s Counselor,” said the Mage.
“And you just try to take a step into my kitchen.”
The Mage took a step back, pulled his hand from his robe and took out a leather cylinder tied with a thong and sealed with wax. He handed it to the apprentice and gestured for him to give it to Ulrik. Fearfully, the apprentice crossed the kitchen threshold and slipped by Helga. He kept his face towards her, and set the cylinder on the table, then scuttled back to his place by the Mage.
The Mage began to speak: “The portents all speak the same message to me. The time to go is now. They tell me you must go beyond the great desert. They told me to give you that,” he pointed to the leather object. “It was in the royal archives.”
The Mage continued, “I sought you out, Prince Ulrik, to offer my special help but I see you already have your own counselor though I wonder what wisdom might be found in the scullery.” With these words, the Mage disappeared from the doorway. The apprentice hesitated, glancing around the kitchen. Ulrik grabbed a fresh sweet roll from the table, whispered, “Boy, catch,” and tossed the roll to him. One-handedly he caught it, slipped it into his sleeve, and ran after the Mage.
“He’d been eyeing those rolls the whole time,” said the prince. “Who knows what the Mage gives him to eat.”
Helga caught Edgar picking up the cylinder “Put it down! You don’t know what could be inside.”
Edgar dropped it as if it were a burning coal. Ulrik stepped forward to examine it. “It has the royal seal.” He picked it up and tried to work the knot. The ancient wax crumbled off in shards as the knot unfolded into strands. His hands slipped and it fell open onto the table, unrolling to reveal the parchment inside. The three leaned over and scrutinized it.
“It’s a map,” said Edgar.
“Why yes, Edgar, you’re right, it’s a map but I’m not sure what it’s for,” said Ulrik.
“I wouldn’t trust anything coming from that Mage character,” snorted Helga. “Not much on it, for a map.”
“The Mage didn’t make this map,” Ulrik said as he examined the parchment. “Look at the beauty of these letters; they look like little pictures.” He pointed to a capital D in the shape of a dragon. “The Mage can’t create anything of beauty and truth. And look here,” he pointed to the signature on the bottom right corner. ‘Maps by Nagel.’ I wonder who he is? I’ll bring the map even though I don’t know what it all means. Like these words, ‘Sleepers Awake.’ What could they ever mean?” They were written across a section of the map not too far off the road running from the castle to the distant shore, a place beyond his father’s domain.
Edgar shrugged his shoulders. Reading had always been difficult for him and words written in elegant cursive were a complete mystery. Ulrik carefully rerolled the map and tucked it into the safety of his shirt. “We need to finish packing.”
Helga packed as much food as they could carry into a sturdy leather bag, then went into the pantry and emerged carrying two packages: one an envelope yellowed with age and the other, a large bundle. She placed the larger bundle in Edgar’s hands. “This is a special bread. I made it from a very old recipe; I had to look high and low for the ingredients. When you’ve nothing else to eat, this will keep you going. It’s very rich and will make you sick if you eat too much at once, especially if you stuff yourself silly when you’re truly hungry,” she said looking straight at him. He put on his most serious face and nodded his head in agreement.
“For you, Uley, this,” she said, pulling a cross strung on a thin black cord from the envelope. “Your father once wore this. Your sainted mother gave it to him before they were married. The Mage took it from him after your mother died and threw it away. I fetched it from the trash and kept it, more in memory of your mother than anything else. You need to wear it now.” She slipped the cross over his head, and then tucked it beneath his shirt next to his skin, whispering, “I’ve wanted to give you this for the longest time and today seems the right time, being it’s your birthday and you’re going to God knows where. Don’t take it off, dear. Not that I believe in magic charms or any of that superstition, but you need to have it.”
She accompanied them to the stable and helped pack the mule with their luggage. They were following the Mage’s advice to travel in disguise as beggars, for no one need know the truth about the king’s health or the crown prince’s mission. Ulrik suggested that horses would have been faster, but the Mage explained that secrecy was of greater importance than speed. Even though Ulrik didn’t trust the Mage, he had no reason not to follow his instructions. While they readied the mule, Ulrik repeatedly looked up at the stable’s remarkable ceiling and the remnants of the images left in the east window’s remaining stained glass.
This place wasn’t always like this,” said Helga wistfully. When I first came here as a young woman, this building wasn’t a stable filled with horses, mules, and straw. Then it was filled with . . .” She swallowed back her tears with a grunt and said to them, “Enough of that. You have to go quickly before I won’t let you.” She pulled each of them to herself with her great arms, Edgar first, then Ulrik. The prince wanted to cling to her, to stay in her warmth, her safety and her love. Helga broke off the embrace, kissed him on the forehead and pushed him away, commanding, “Now go.” She pointed a finger at Edgar as if he were a little boy. “Edgar, you take care of him. You make sure no ill comes to him, or to you either. I want you both back here safe and sound when all this nonsense is over and done with. Get going. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’ll be home.” She turned to go, but then returned to them. “But most important, God bless you both, keep you safe, and send his angels to watch over you.” After bestowing this final blessing, she hurried out of the stable.
They waited in silence until she was well on her way to the kitchen. Edgar shattered the stillness by taking the mule’s reins and walking to the door. Ulrik followed. On the way out the door Edgar noticed some words carved on the doorpost. “Uley, what’s that?”
The prince brushed away some of the grime to uncover the lettering and read:
Lord God, You have called Your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending; by paths untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go but only that Your hand is leading us and Your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ, our Lord.
“Amen,” Ulrik said softly. Edgar quietly echoed his amen and they headed out the door.