The Children of Calm (12 page)

“For the rest of his life, my forefather, he walked round the lakeshore alone every night, desperate to find my foremother. He neither found the bell and its little shrine, nor any evidence that it had existed. No one else had ever seen it, and its tolling was never heard again. The source of the cry that started it all was never discovered. But whenever the fog would settle over the valley, there could sometimes be seen a small flickering light moving either along the lakeshore or over the water itself. Some said it was my foremother still trying to find her way home. Since then, to commemorate her, whenever an evening fog falls over the valley, my forefathers have lit candles in the windows here and rang out the little handbell in the hopes of leading her back home. And that, my lads, is why we call this place The Bell And Candle.”

With that, Harokaed fell silent, and drank from his mug.

***

So it went on around the table – each man paying his dues by telling some form of tale. Some of the stories seemed rather fantastic and whimsical, while others felt as though they were at least rooted in some form of truth. Rylek and Tresten listened as they were told of the Great Horned White Stallion; of an evil wizard cursing the people of a tiny village by turning them into the Tauffles; of a great tower made of green and ebony jade that reached towards the heavens, housing powerful god-like creatures that watched over Calabranda; of a flying city with massive armies trained to wipe out those that lived on the ground; of a giant winged demon that inhabited the northern mountains; of the great lovers Nevarra and Pelanna, and how they came to dance together across the night sky; of a terrible war fought over a misunderstanding between two stubborn lords. Rylek’s mind swam with imagery from all the stories.

Finally it came to Faltir, and he looked grim as he spoke. “My tale may not necessarily be the oldest told here tonight, but it is certainly the truest.” There were some light mocking laughs from the other men. He went on unfazed. “I have no need to decorate it with shiny bloated baubles of ridiculous fictional details that only serve to distract the listener from the fact that the tale is in of itself an utter bore. My tale is history, purely and simply.”

The men around the table groaned. “Blast it all with your uppity arrogance and awfully sharp words,” Ronas said. “Just like Caenar, you always were one for high falootin’, grandiose speeches. But he’s not here, so there’s no one to impress. Why don’t you just use plain talk for us simple-minded folks?”

Faltir smiled. “Forgive me, friends; I forgot with whom I am dealing.” This solicited another outburst of groans. “As for my tale, it may not be the most exciting one told here tonight, but I will stand behind its validity. Judge for yourselves:

“Long ago, a great craftsman by the name of Panshafool presented a gift he had made to His Majesty Myropel, the first king of Calabranda. It was a jewel, seemingly opaque and black as midnight, with hints of varicolored threads swirling through it. He named it Shar’lasil.

“By his craft, Panshafool had devised for the jewel to have the ability to give great powers to the one who wielded it. Interestingly enough, as the generations passed on, it was kept unused and hidden in the palace, its location a secret to all but the royal family. The crown feared using it would cause the citizens to distrust the king, and with there being no true threat of danger in those days, it became quite simply a priceless heirloom.

“Now it came about during the reign of His Majesty Avirasmus King, a few worthless men and women united and rebelled against the crown by claiming autonomy over their own personal properties. The leader of this factious movement was a man named Carintael, former trusted adviser to His Majesty. He claimed the crown had no authority over himself or anyone else, seeing as the people had not chosen His Majesty to have dominion.

“‘No power should be granted by birth alone,’ he said. ‘What prevents me from claiming my own sovereign rule over Calabranda? I hereby declare that I alone can exercise authority over myself and my property.’

“According to the law this sort of treasonous talk would have normally led to execution, but His Majesty Avirasmus King was a humble man with a merciful heart. He forsook exacting the law’s punishment, and removed Carintael with his followers from Maeon. Under the direction of the military, they were placed on a small parcel of land in the southwest of Calabranda, a territory then known as the Southern Outliers, a place where they could live on their own while receiving none of the benefits of the kingdom. Being under the watchful eye of the military did not please Carintael, and he told his followers of the Shar’lasil. Perhaps he alone in all of Calabranda knew of the severity of its powers, and dreamed of stealing it for himself. But he knew that his little band of followers would be no match for the military, so the group bided its time.

“Years went by, children were born, raised, and begat more children. Soon the faux-autonomous group had grown quite large, and the military in turn had become lax. Carintael’s grandson, a man named Birola, led an attack on the small military group keeping watch over them, and then made the journey back to Maeon. He intended to wrest the Shar’lasil away from the crown. They were a fierce and ragged lot, and the city authorities were ill-prepared for them. It was an intense battle, heated and swift. However, the royal army won out, and His Majesty Arolot King brought down punishment. He was not as merciful as his grandfather before him, and in essence, by the power of his own enacted law, made Birola and his followers, and essentially also all of their descendents, eternal slaves to the crown. He argued they had been given a second chance by his grandfather, and had returned the favor by a second act of rebellion.

“Birola and his people were forced to dwell in barracks in a prison camp set up just outside of Maeon. By day they were slave labor on projects in and around Maeon; by night they were locked up again, watched by the careful eye of the royal army.

“Meanwhile, the Shar’lasil sat neglected in its hiding place, waiting for someone to come along to claim its power. It would be several hundred years before anyone outside of the crown would make another claim on it. But that is a story for another time, for I will not tell it here tonight.”

Then Faltir fell silent and looked long at the drink in his mug.

***

It was quiet in The Bell And Candle for quite awhile as each man was deep in his own thoughts. Finally Harokaed stirred and broke the silence.

“Well, my lads,” he said, “I gather it is very late, and this old bag of bones is ready for his bed. Rylek and Tresten, I forgive you your debt of telling us a tale tonight: your drinks are on me. The happiest of birthdays to you both!”

He ushered everyone out, refusing their offers to help him clean. “That would never do,” is all he would say. Each of the men said goodnight and told Rylek and Tresten “Happy birthday” again, then were off into the night. Soon the lakefront was quiet once more, with only Rylek, Tresten and Faltir standing there. As if from an unspoken but understood signal, they eventually turned aside and made their way back to their side of the village. The streets were utterly empty; Rylek guessed it was after midnight. After Tresten was inside his front door, Rylek and Faltir began walking away. But as Rylek started to make the turn to their house, Faltir stopped him.

“There is something we must still do tonight,” he said. “Elder Caenar is expecting us.”

Rylek looked confusedly at his father. “Really?” he asked. “I don’t remember him asking me to meet him tonight; though it has been a long day…”

“He did not ask you,” Faltir said. “But he did ask me to take you to him. He is awaiting us in the Hall of Knowledge.”

They started walking back the way they had come towards the lakeshore. Rylek felt exhausted and was not sure how he felt about such a late appointment that he had no way of avoiding. “What could he possibly want that can’t wait till morning?” he asked.

His father did not respond immediately. A sudden feeling of dread that he could not explain began to sink into Rylek’s stomach as they walked along. Finally Faltir spoke. “There are some things you need to be aware of before you head out on your Finding. They are certain things that no one else here in this village has any business knowing.”

Rylek’s head began to swim as his heart pounded. “Did you find out something about Celek?” he asked.

Faltir’s face grew grim. “You will soon have more answers than you will probably wish to have,” he said.

They finished their walk in silence and climbed the steps up the Hall of Knowledge. It was completely dark inside, save for some night light coming through the windows, and a couple of candles burning in the back where Caenar was waiting for them.

“Come in, come in,” he said as he smiled at Rylek. “Please forgive me for summoning you so late, but it cannot be helped. There is much I need to tell you in light of our previous meeting three days ago. But before we go into that, I should very much enjoy presenting you with a very small gift for your birthday; small indeed, but hopefully you will find it to be useful in times of need.”

He stretched out his hand towards Rylek, and in his palm was a small cylindrical rod, about the size of a finger. Rylek took it from his hand and observed it; its color in the candlelight was a light gray, and it felt smooth and lightweight, hard to the touch. He could not guess what it was.

“I can see you are unsure what to make of it,” Caenar said. “It is an ancient tool, made with a technology that has been lost long ago. In form and purpose it is simply a miniature torch – a starpod torch, for it uses a concentrated form of that fruit’s juice as a catalyst. However, no water is needed to make it light. You merely squeeze it between your fingers. Go on, give it a try.”

Rylek held it between two fingers and squeezed hard. The torch instantly lit up with a warm yellow glow, engulfing the room with its light. He looked in wonder at the thing, in awe that he was holding an ancient relic from history’s long tale.

“This is amazing,” he said. “It must be priceless.”

“Very good, my son,” Caenar said, smiling. “I am pleased that you enjoy it. Though the mysteries of its workings are unknowable to us, we may still benefit from its use. May it serve you well in your endeavors.”

“Thank you, Elder Caenar,” Rylek said. He squeezed the torch again, and the light died.

“You are most welcome,” Caenar said. “And now that we have seen to the first gift, we now move on to your next gift. But this gift is far more perilous, for we shall be confiding and conspiring here in the dark. But first, Rylek, you must understand that what transpires here between the three of us must not leave our confidence.”

There were only two candles lit in the room, giving it a much different feel from anything Rylek had ever experienced before in the Hall of Knowledge. Given his own inexplicable fears of what was about to happen, he felt the dread return in his stomach, and the hairs on his neck stood.

“Okay,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Caenar smiled again. “My dear son, usually I would simply take you at your word, for I know you to be an honest person. But you are not yet aware of the severity of the things we will be discussing. Our subjects tonight require a certain type of…legally-bound oath-making.”

Rylek swallowed hard as Caenar led him and Faltir to his desk where the two candles were burning. Lying on the desk between the candles was a small wooden box with an engraving of a circle flanked by four identical shapes that followed the circle’s circumference: one above, below, to the left, and to the right. The symbol reminded him simultaneously of a round table with four chairs and of a sunburst.

Caenar unlocked the box and removed its contents. Among the objects were a few small glass jars that looked to each contain two small beads. One of the jars was labeled
RETESSA TORAEN
; he could not read the other labels. There was also on the table a flat triangular shape not much larger than both of his hands together. It had a curious shiny bulbous center that looked to be the darkest of black. He found it difficult in the weak light to make much more of it.

The village elder picked up the triangular object and showed it to Rylek. “This is an Oathbinder,” he said. “It is another example of a piece of technology we possess but have no notion of how it works. When you hold it and make an oath, the things that you care for most in all of Mira appear as images inside the crystal.” He pointed at the bulbous center, and Rylek could now see how it refracted the candlelight. “Not only will we all see what we swear our secrecy on, the Oathbinder will also bind the subjects of our oaths into the oaths themselves. It would therefore be very unwise to allow our forthcoming conversation to leave the present company. Do you understand?”

Rylek swallowed hard and it hit his stomach like lead. “Yes sir,” he said.

“Good,” Caenar said, smiling again. “You have nothing to fear, my son. I will show you how it is done.”

He held on to two corners of the Oathbinder. “I swear that I shall not break the confidence of these two men with what we are about to discuss.”

As Rylek watched, an image of buildings and a lake began to materialize within the crystal. With a start he realized it was Calm, being looked down upon from a bird’s perspective. Then suddenly the image vanished and a new one appeared: Rylek recognized himself along with his sister, Selenor, and Tresten; he was left utterly dumbfounded. But soon the image faded away and the crystal remained clear.