The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) (23 page)

“As a matter of fact … I do!” Cal planted himself down at the table next to the old woman, searching her face for a glimmer of comprehension as he spoke earnestly. “I don’t understand how the whole lot of you have lived under this mountain for forty years, speaking of beauty and hope and of seeking the light, yet accomplishing nothing more than fishing and eating and drinking brew and … growing old!”

Klieo could see that these thoughts weighed heavy on the young groomsman with a passion that often accompanies new revelations.

“What more could we ask for than a peaceful place to live with good food and drink and happy friends to grow old with?” she responded without so much as a hint of defensiveness to her kind, wise voice.

“But you are the Poets!” Cal cried. “The keepers of the very ideals my parents
died
for! How can you hide here with your violet light, hidden from a world that so desperately needs the illumination you have? There is a whole dying city filled with people who need to know exactly what you all know!”

She grew quiet, solemn, taking in his words. “Perhaps you are right, young Cal. Perhaps we have hidden away for far too long, and kept His hope to ourselves.”

Cal pressed her further, barely bridling his indignation. “You should have left to seek the light! The time is gone now and you have nothing to show for your years of hope!” He spat the last word at her, panic rising inside of his heart at the thought that perhaps he had been wrong all along. Perhaps the way of the Poet was no better than the way of the flint after all.

“Now wait just a moment there, young one. Our task was not to seek the light … it was to hold out hope for the one who would.” Her eyes pierced into his as her aged wisdom confronted his youthful conviction, and her words stopped him cold.

As he considered her point, the weight of her insight settled on his fiery emotions like a heavy blanket. It was her seasoned insight that smothered the smoldering anger of his nearsightedness into the saddened disappointment that it really had been all along.

“We have waited long, and endured much pain, and lost many of our kind to jealous blades and ruthless time. And we have done this so that we might keep the violet flame of hope, His hope, alive.” She spoke directly, the depth of her experience illuminated by the wrinkled skin around her sorrowful eyes.

“And why do you still hope?” he asked, mildly now, almost in a whisper.

“You know the answer to that, Cal. You always have. For once you have begun to let your heart wonder in the love of the THREE who is SEVEN, once you have allowed yourself to revel in the beauty of His creation and the complexity of His unfathomable purposes and unrelenting power, you cannot help but hold fast to the hope that He will always make good on what He promised.”

Cal took a breath, nodding slowly as he processed her gentle reminder.

“And so all this time you have been hoping for one who will seek the light, who will bring these promises to fruition,” he mused out loud.

“Yes, Bright Fame,” she said with a wide smile. “We have indeed.”

Cal stared, deep in thought, letting his mind get lost in the wisps of steam that rose from the onion-colored broth. There was silence there between the two, the old Poet and her young pupil, but both knew it was not for lack of words. Rather, it was in response to the reverberation of two kinds of wisdom colliding over the same ideal.

“I didn’t… I mean, I never meant to yell at you, Klieo,” Cal said humbly.

“I know, son. I know,” she replied. “You are not altogether wrong in your thoughts and your frustrations. In fact, you are mostly right. Only, you have but to second-guess the decisions that we had to make, when luxuries like second guessing were an extravagance we could not have afforded at the time.”

Her wrinkled face lit up again, with the grace that comes from the sympathetic heart of one who has once burned with like-minded passions. “Now come, my friend, and eat this soup before it gets cold and you start to offend me.” She smiled. “I am eager to hear of what treasures you have already uncovered this morning.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

C
hancellor
Chaiphus strode in past the Capital guards that stood sentry outside of Jhames’ chambers. He carried the diary account of all the arrangements and plans that countless numbers of men had been so diligently laboring towards so that this holy expedition could soon get underway.

Behind him trailed his white-haired scribe, ready to record the Priest King’s directives.

“Come, Chancellor,” Jhames spoke. “Let us see how the preparations are looking, yes?”

The Chancellor came to a large table near the grand window that overlooked the great gardens of the Citadel and framed a matchless view of the burning tree. These very chambers that the Priest King named for his dwelling were once the home and office of many generations of the kings of Haven.

The men who built this bright city chose not to make for themselves elaborate palaces and expansive mansions; rather, they preferred their crafted beauty in moderation. The greatest of all their treasures they had no hand in making, for it was the burning tree alone that they held in the highest regard. So the offices of the king doubled as palace and estate; to be separated from the radiant light of the great tree seemed too costly a price to pay for a removed residence.

Chaiphus laid open the ancient maps of Haven upon the writing table. The aging documents depicted the surrounding lands of the great city and the long-forgotten and largely inaccurate approximations of the Western Wreath. He also produced the rosters, supply accounts, and preparation documents. Collecting his thoughts, he opened his mouth to speak, when the Priest King chose to speak first.

“It is indeed grand, this great crusade that we are embarking on, is it not? For I can sense, no … I can
feel
the change of tide in both our future and our fortune. Not only will Haven burn bright under our flint-like resolve, but so will the long-forgotten world across the Dark Sea,” the Priest King pointed his pale finger, tapping it three times and with great satisfaction on the strewn renderings. “The Western Wreath that has long been cloaked in shadows will finally see the light of our kingdom!”

“Yes, Your Brightness, indeed it will,” Chaiphus agreed.

“Tell me, what have you to report?” said the Priest King.

Chaiphus gestured for Jhames to come and sit at the table to see what he had laid out for him. His scribe took up quill and parchment and set himself to the task of recording the great plans as they unfolded in conversation.

“The shipwrights have reported the near completion of the two expeditionary vessels that will carry the colonization effort across the Dark Sea, and I do believe that they will be ready to depart Bright Harbor within seven days,” Chaiphus reported. “The great reserve of timber Your Brightness has held back has proven to be well used for the fashioning of seaworthy vessels.”

“Not just seaworthy, Chancellor,” the Priest King corrected. “These ships are our hope and our resolve, our last great surge of determination to defeat the impending dark. No. These vessels must be more than seaworthy, they must be victorious, masters of wave and wind, relentless in their pursuit. They
must not fail
!”

Chaiphus nodded with deference. “What more would you have the shipwrights do, sir, to further guarantee this victory?”

Jhames stared off in deep contemplation, his fingers finding the leaf-shaped flint that hung low from his neck. The stone twisted and rotated in his aging hands as his thoughts milled over his next move.

“Perhaps we should consult with Ispen and Aspen and see if they might relinquish to us the stewardship of the gilded branches of the great tree,” said Jhames, suddenly inspired. “We shall affix one to the bow of each vessel and pray that their hallowed forms will cut swiftly through the unknown waters and lead our colony to a new source of light.”

“Do you suppose the Arborists would part so easily with such relics?” Chaiphus asked.

“Well, maybe not Engelmann, but he does not concern me.” Jhames dismissed the thought with a casual wave of his hand. “I am sure his older brothers will be quite convincing in swaying his sympathies to our great and holy mission.”

“Very well,” said the Chancellor. “I will see to it that Ispen and Aspen have the gilded branches sent to the shipwrights at the Bay of Eurwen immediately.”

Chaiphus glanced at the diary accounts again. “Ah yes, another thing. We have yet to name the two vessels. Does Your Brightness have any suggestions?”

“Well, is it not obvious?” said Jhames. “It is aboard our resolve and determination that we will see these ancient prophecies fulfilled and our great city freed from the fear of darkness. Thus I recommend we name the mighty vessels accordingly.”

“Very well, I will have the shipwrights speak the words of blessing over their beams and sails, christening them with their true names,
Resolve
and
Determination!
” Chaiphus replied, nodding in agreement with the Priest King’s proposal.

The scribe took note and prepared the formal orders, complete with the newly constructed vessels’ given names. He melted the green wax and presented them for the Priest King to seal.

“How goes the volunteer effort?” said Jhames as he placed the seal of his office, a tree crossed with an axe of stone, upon the shipwrights’ orders.

“Our hope is to send wave after wave of able-bodied men and women once the first colony’s location is secured,” Chaiphus told him. “Our first contingent will consist of roughly eighty men, most of whom will be woodcutters from the northern territory. We shall also send a garrison of soldiers, groomsmen, healers, one of our fellow Priests and, of course, someone to lead this whole endeavor.”

“And whom do you have in mind to act as governor of this new colony?” Jhames asked.

“Well, some have suggested that we bring in Hollis, chief of the woodcutters. He has great knowledge and wisdom of harsh climates and dark dangers, and of course his men will be accustomed to his leadership,” Chaiphus said. “But he is along in years, and I am not so confident that his heart remains fully invested in our holy efforts.”

“Indeed, I have received reports from my Priests in the North about this…” Jhames paused for effect, “most troubling crisis of faith. All the more so in the bloody aftermath of that, oh, what is his name?”

“Yasen?” Chaiphus suggested.

“Yes,” the King agreed. “This Yasen business has seemed to weigh too heavily on the weary mind of the once-great chieftain. Most of Hollis’ reports as of late speak of nonsense and madness and green-eyed ghosts.”

“It may be that Hollis should still go along on the expedition as chief over the woodcutters, but not as governor of the colony?” Chaiphus suggested.

The coupled feelings of disgust and pity colored the words of Jhames as he said, “Perhaps, but I think a conference is in order first so that we might assess his mental faculties for ourselves. In any case, Hollis is not the man we will need to take full command of this holy task. We must fish in different waters.”

“If you are suggesting one of our Priest brothers, I would have to respectfully disagree,” Chaiphus said. “Though we can be sure of their loyalty and respect for the way of the flint, they may not have the charisma to hold the men to task should this endeavor prove …
difficult
.”

“Wise words, my friend,“Jhames agreed. “Wise words indeed. No, I have it in my mind that this governor should be both a leader and a champion of men, while also being loyal to our cause. His bravery and status should evoke a bright, new hope in our people.”

Chaiphus thought for a moment, his mind racing over councilmen, Arborists, merchant lords, and officers. “Have we considered—”

Chaiphus was interrupted mid-sentence by one of the sentries who had been keeping watch outside the office chambers. He stood at attention as two men of the Capital guard briskly made their way past him and into the meeting.

“Lieutenant Armas and Captain Seig have arrived per your request, Your Brightness.” The sentry made the formal introduction with a mechanical cadence.

The two officers, both senior men in service to the Citadel, were clad in the silver and green of the Capital guard. The two uniforms appeared to be nearly identical except that Armas had but a single shoulder adorned in braided aiguillette. Seig, as a captain, had both of his shoulders embellished with the signifying cords of office, and his leaf-shaped helm was fitted with a crest of black plumage.

The two officers saluted, each crossing his right arm over his chest while bowing his head. Seig, who stood almost three hands taller than Armas, spoke first. “Your Brightness has summoned us? How can my lieutenant and I be of service to your will?”

Chaiphus spoke first, bemused at the arrival of the two men. “It would seem, my King, that in your illuminated wisdom you have stolen the words right out of my mouth.”

The two officers exchanged a questioning glance.

“No, good Chancellor, it would seem that perhaps the THREE who is SEVEN has merely aligned our minds with clarity,” Jhames said with mock humility.

The Chancellor conceded the point, and turned to address the officers. “Gentlemen, we are sure that you are aware of all the great preparations in place for our most holy of undertakings. I am correct in assuming this, am I not?”

The two men nodded in the affirmative.

“And I trust that there has been a great many men who have committed themselves to the crusade?” Chaiphus continued.

“Yes, Chancellor, many from my battalions, brave men, have eagerly volunteered to outfit the company,” the large captain reported. “At the present I have assigned twenty of the truest and fiercest knights as heavy cavalry. Another twenty of our boldest citizens have volunteered as men-at-arms and are being drilled to be proficient with bow and blade as we speak.”

Armas added, “Each of our men are of the strong, hard-working variety and will be trained to wield a woodcutter’s axe so that they may add to our efforts of harvesting timber in addition to their task of securing the new colony.”

Jhames gave both of the men an approving smile and said, “Thank you Captain, Lieutenant. It is obvious, both to me and the Chancellor here, that your work is both exemplary and swift.”

Chaiphus spoke up. “There is yet the matter of Hollis’ woodcutters being made aware of their new assignment.” He studied the two officers. “Have we received word yet of Hollis’ arrival here in the city?”

“No, Chancellor, we have not heard anything since we dispatched the Citadel’s orders weeks ago,” Seig responded.

“Perhaps it is time we implore the mighty woodcutters with a sense of urgency, for I aim to dispatch the ships in seven days’ time,” Jhames said. “Lieutenant, could you personally see to the task of escorting Hollis and a few dozen of his men back here to the city so that we might …” he paused to find the right word, “
expedite
this grand mission of ours?”

“Yes, Your Brightness, as you wish,” agreed Armas, a hint of disappointment coloring his tone.

“And if we see that Hollis has truly lost hold of his wits, as some of his reports suggest?” Chaiphus asked the Priest King. “Surely we will not still send him across the Dark Sea?”

“Of course not. If Hollis proves no longer useful to this Citadel and this expedition, he can find a new home in the dungeon holds,” Jhames said with little feeling. “I will not have any irrational fear or illogical anxiety infecting our men, especially not on the eve of our greatest endeavor.”

“Very well then, you are dismissed, Lieutenant,” the Chancellor said.

Armas hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly between the Chancellor and his captain.

“That will be all, Armas,” Seig said sharply. “Be on your way; that old red-bearded woodcutter needs to put some haste in his loyalty.”

Lieutenant Armas saluted the men with exaggerated reverence and took his leave from the royal chambers. As the sentry secured the large doors behind the lieutenant, Jhames spoke to the remaining two men.

“The question yet remains—who will we send to lead this expeditionary force? And who, by the will of the THREE who is SEVEN, will govern this new and fragile colony?” He turned his gaze from the now-closed, heavy doors and looked pointedly at Captain Seig.

“Do you know a man willing and worthy of such an assignment?” the Priest King asked.

Seig, sensing the true intention of this conference, dropped to one knee and spoke with all sincerity. “If it be the will of the THREE who is SEVEN, and of you, my King, I would offer my strength and my sword.”

The Priest King gave the Chancellor a reassuring look, then nodded meaningfully to the kneeling captain.

“Captain,” Chaiphus spoke. “It would seem that we have much to discuss about this new appointment of yours. Come,
Governor
, let us talk now while there is time to do so. For I understand that soon your schedule will be …” he looked to Jhames for the word.

“Otherwise engaged!” the Priest King offered.

The captain rose to his feet, humbled by their confidence and eager to get to work. “Of course, my King, however I may serve you and the people of Haven.”