Forest & Kingdom Balance (6 page)

“What is your name?” The guard inquired of the
tender.

“Paul sir,” The tender kept his head bowed.

“Paul, I am Tressan of the Palace Guard, this runner
has been sentenced to death.” Paul’s sorrowed reaction held the
despair of inevitability.

“I will not allow this.” The guard added simply.

Paul did not respond at first, a lifetime of
suffering the inequities of forced service had left him wary. Tre
understood, he placed Raphael gently on the ground and turned back
to Paul. “I know that this strange to you,” Tre’s voice took on the
tone of patient understanding that one would use with an injured
friend, “but I ask for your trust. This boy has suffered a shock
and he needs our help.”

Paul nodded as they knelt next to Raphael.

Raphael’s inner voice whispered,
“I put my people first, maybe it will be a quick
death.”

Alone in the desolate world of his thoughts, Raphael
noticed a voice in the distance. He didn’t quite comprehend it at
first, it kept repeating ‘What is your name? Where do you live?’ It
had the tone of the guard’s whisper, but softer. Strangely, he
heard his own voice began to speak. “My name?” He heard the
familiar voice say, “Raphael, I live on the Street of Sorrows.”

Tre’s expression softened,
“The
Street of Sorrows, that’s no surprise.”
The thought passed
quickly. “Paul, when you are able, please go to the Street of
Sorrows, find Raphael’s family and let them know that despite what
they may hear, Raphael is well. I will take him beyond Kingsport to
a place of safety. Can you do that for him Paul?”

Tre’s voice projected a quality that instilled
trust, but Paul’s response still held sadness, “There are no safe
havens for Mindow, north or south,” Paul spoke with the certainty
of generations who had tried, “he will be found and the sentence
carried out. I thank you Tressan of the Palace Guard, but his fate
is sealed.”

A slight smile came to Tre’s lips, “We will not be
going north or south.” He noted the man’s doubtful expression. “I
give you my word that he will be safe and cared for. Please do what
you can to convince his family.”

“I will do my best.” A glimmer of hope seemed to
rise in the elderly Mindow, “Where can you take him?”

“I’m sorry Paul, that is best not spoken of. I need
you to trust me on this.”

“I understand,” he guessed at their destination,
“many ships come and go from Kingsport. Perhaps the Far Lands
across the sea will hold a better life for him.”

Tre did not correct the tender’s assumption. It was
enough that Raphael’s family would know that he is safe. The men’s
attention then returned to the motionless figure before them. Tre
moved Raphael into a sitting position against a garden wall, his
eyes still fixed with a vacant stare into the unknown.

Raphael felt himself in a dream state. The outside
world was a distant concept. He was aware of where his body was,
but he was separate, apart from it. He felt, more than heard, the
strange words that broke the peaceful silence, “Raphael, can you
hear me? Where are we now? Do you know what this garden is
called?”

Raphael didn’t pay much attention until he heard
that familiar voice again, the one that sounded like his own.
“Sixth Tier, The Garden of Inner Sight.”
“Strange”
, he thought,
“that really
does sound like my voice.”

His duality felt somehow natural. Part of him
started to look around, as he noticed all the beautiful shades of
indigo and deep blue flowers that surrounded him. Their fragrance
gave him a sense of serenity. Slowly, as he looked at the flowers
and breathed deeply of their scent, his duality faded. He became
aware of himself in the garden and noticed the guard and tender
that knelt beside him.

“I’m ready now,” He spoke with the proud tones of
his Mindow heritage. “I will face my death without fear.” His words
revealed determination without emotion. “I am ready now.”

“Good! He’s back.” Tre said, more to himself than to
Paul. “Raphael, listen to me,” he looked into the young man’s eyes,
“My name is Tre. I know that you are a strong young man and that
someday you will face your fate with honor, but your death will not
be today. Do you understand me Raphael? We are leaving the city and
are going on an adventure together, just you and I. Will you come
with me and see all the wonders I have to show you?”

Raphael’s head tilted slightly to the left,
“Adventure?” The feeling of distance persisted but the thoughts of
death faded and were replaced by curiosity. “Where are we going?”
Before Tre could answer, Raphael’s thoughts turned inward to the
strange detachment that defined his very being. “Why do I feel this
way?” He asked, more to himself than Tre.

Tre let out a long breath of relief, “As far as
where we’re going, I won’t ruin the surprise, but I promise you an
adventure that will make your spirit soar.” Tre’s smile broadened
as he saw life return to Raphael’s eyes.

“As for why you feel this way,” Tre paused to think
of how to put it. “Sometimes, when a person believes that they are
about to die but that death does not take place, they go through an
inner change. At first there is a feeling of being far away from
themselves, once they return, they find that ‘who they were’ no
longer exists. The person they used to be suffers the death that
their body did not.”

Tre took Raphael’s hand, helped him to his feet, and
steadied him. “From that moment on that person begins a new life, a
second life. In a way it is a rebirth into a deeper life, a life of
greater understanding.”

Tre saw a glimmer of recognition in Raphael’s eyes.
“This is the beginning of your new life Raphael, some day you will
look back on this moment and realize the change you have gone
through. For now, it’s enough that you just accept your new life.
Can you do that?”

Raphael looked into Tre’s eyes and felt a depth of
communication, of connection that he had never felt before. Warmth
and trust filled him. He felt tears falling from his cheeks as he
answered, “Yes.”

“I believe you can.” Tre whispered as he knelt.
“What an extraordinary young man.”
Tre
added to himself, then turned to Paul. “We must go quickly if we
are to leave Kingsport safely, thank you for your help Paul. I wish
you well.” To continue the charade, Tre picked up Raphael by the
back of the tunic and started for the path.

Paul recited an ancient Mindow blessing as they
left, “May Spirit guide your path.”

“In this time and in all times.” Tre responded to
complete the blessing.

IV

Warm light and gentle music blended with the murmurs
of conversation that filled the Palace Banquet Hall. Guests relaxed
with the satisfaction of a meal just ended as dancers and servants
circulated among the tables and King’s Dais. Whether entertainer or
servant, those of least power moved effortlessly from outer table,
to inner, to dais; a feat that the minor nobility lusted for, and
the highest fought to keep.

A circle, within a circle, within a circle.

The Palace Banquet Hall was more theater than dining
hall. Three raised tiers circled the large performance area broken
only by the east and west grand entrances. The first raised tier
held the power brokers, the elite of the court, they sat facing
center with an unobstructed view of the night’s entertainment. Set
back and slightly raised, the second tier held only the king’s dais
centered between the entrances, and the columns that supported the
dome high overhead. From the base of the dome, the hall’s lighting
could be manipulated to either fill the room during meals or
focused on the center to accent the performance.

The third tier of tables bordered the walls beyond
the columns and held the majority of guests who were comprised of
minor courtiers, bureaucrats and the lesser nobility. Contrary to
the original Mindowan design, this court chose to seat guests on
both sides of the third tier tables and extended the tables to the
areas behind the columns. When it came to those of lesser
influence, seating quantity was valued above quality.

In the king’s seat at the center of the dais sat the
Red Knight. On his right, Kalibra was in deep discussion with the
High Councilor while to his left the king sought to regale the
Knight with his many and wondrous accomplishments. The Red Knight’s
eleven Crimson Guard and their captain, Yamikura, a mysterious and
deadly warrior from the Far Lands, were the only others seated at
the dais.

“Does this man ever shut
up?”
The Red Knight’s thoughts sought refuge in the past as
he tuned out the king’s unending monologue.
“What
has it been? A few centuries at most?”
Fond memories of his
last voyage to this shore began to surface, foremost were the
endless games of Risk & Reward that he had played with Sergei
during the long months at sea. He recalled the day that his friend,
advisor, and captain of the Crimson Guard was able to beat him
three games straight.

A brief smile emerged with the memory of the mock
trial he had ordered for such an egregious offense, and the
celebration in Sergei’s honor that was his sentence.
“What a mind you had!”
The Knight reminisced as he
studied this blathering king, Sergei’s direct descendant.
“I’m afraid dear Sergei,”
he commented
silently to his long dead friend,
“that your
bloodline has not fared well.”

The king, mislead and emboldened by the Knight’s
brief smile, went into greater detail of his exemplary skills and
how his kingdom had prospered through his efforts.

“Your Highness,” the Knight gave Sergei’s descendant
the courtesy of a title even though no king sat upon a throne in
the Knight’s presence.

“Yes Sire?” The king stopped awkwardly in mid
sentence, unaccustomed to being interrupted.

“What a wonderful wine.” The Knight held up his
glass and swirled its contents. “Please have my quarters at the
Northern Ambassador’s Residence stocked with this vintage.”

“Servant!” The king snapped immediately.

“No,” the Knight waved off servants who approached
from three different directions, “you misunderstand me Your
Highness, I would like you to attend to it personally.” The
Knight’s expression made it clear that this was not a request.

“I, Sire?” The king’s disbelief spoke volumes.

“Now.” The Knight said simply.

The king departed followed hastily by a flurry of
somewhat confused minor courtiers. The Knight’s interest then
turned to Kalibra who was sparring with the court’s High Councilor,
Deminar. He heard the subject of trade mentioned,
“Perhaps this night won’t be a complete loss.”
The
passing thought lifted his spirits a bit.

Noting that the Knight’s attention had turned to her
conversation, Kalibra’s questions moved to a more pertinent
subject. “Yes High Councilor, trade along the coast seems well in
hand. What is the status of opening new areas inland, has a route
through the mountains to the central plains been established?”

Deminar’s expression took on an inquisitive air,
“Central plains my Lady? It was my impression that nothing lies
beyond the mountains but desert and desolation.” He then added in a
conciliatory tone, “We have of course dutifully obeyed the Red
Knight’s directives with regard to establishment of a cross
mountain route. Alas, none of our expeditions have met with any
success.”

The ease and casual tone with which the High
Councilor deflected Kalibra’s inquiry confirmed the Knight’s
suspicions,
“Ah, here is where the power
lay!”
The Knight’s thoughts drifted back to his old friend
Sergei.
“You always did like to leave a few
bastards in your wake, you ruddy old goat. Apparently even as a
king.”
The Knight studied the councilor’s features for any
telltale sign of his old friend’s lineage.

The High Councilor’s relaxed, friendly demeanor
never wavered under the Knight’s obvious scrutiny. He deftly tabled
the subject without missing a beat. “I’m sure that you have many
questions on the subject, I will summon the survivors of our most
recent expedition for you to speak with my Lady. Would tomorrow
midday be convenient?” Before Kalibra could comment, Deminar added
casually, ”Although I must inform my Lady that there were very few
survivors.”

“And there will be far fewer
tomorrow than there are tonight.”
Deminar made a mental
note, adding another task to his post banquet itinerary.

Just as Kalibra was about to deliver her thrust to
the High Councilor’s parry, the dining music faded to silence, the
perimeter lighting dimmed, and the central entertainment area
brightened to a pool of light. From the shadowed western entrance,
twenty black robed and hooded figures emerged to the sound of a
distant drumbeat. They stopped and stood in staggered lines as they
entered the performance circle.

The room stilled in anticipation. Music began
softly, a haunting melody of strings spoke in the language of
poignant despair, slowly gaining strength and emotion. Suddenly
woodwinds blared an entreaty of panic and flight.

In the background, the drumbeat became a little
louder, a little closer. “An intriguing start, High Councilor.” The
Red Knight commented to his right, “This trip may provide some
surprises yet.” Just as the Knight’s words fell, all but the
drumbeat went silent.

Through the east entrance, a flood of female
performers entered the stage, their frantic dance of chaos teemed
with terror as woodwinds and strings blared once more. Each
dancer’s unique interpretation portrayed the ultimate fear and
panic that emerges when everything you love is threatened. The
intense emotion of the music seemed to urge the dancers to greater
speed as their individual movements interwove into a single
portrayal of roiling desperation.