January 5, 2012

• Té Teperedcé Kroné: The Debtor King, Part IV

             

              Two days he waited beneath the trees, and all his thought dwelt upon the woman he called Sulbhél. Still he could recall the touch of her hand upon him, unafraid and sure, with no forced form or courtesy because of his office, but mercy and a desire to help him, stranger though he was. Could the gold of Médash purchase such a prize? No; for in the face of such worth he feared his riches would fail.

              Just as despair began to wend its way into his heart, the hawk uttered its shrill cry above him once more and perched within a tree top, and by sunset the caravan arrove, a tent being pitched against the black night. Edhsél had led them and it was she who tended him in the stead of his usual servants.

              “Oh King, you are so badly burnt! Tell me how you survived, and how you came to be in the desert, and how it was that you came by this strange raiment and these provisions?”

              “Princess, by God’s hand alone have I been saved, for here in the desert sands did I encounter an angel; forever will I sing the praise of God for this boon. I have spoken, and will say no more.” And she did not press him.

   

               When King Médash returned to the mountain that was his home, to the White Towers of Acton, after days of slow travel in the wastes, there was much rejoicing. For when all awoke days ago to find their king vanished, many feared he had been kidnapped by the father of one of the princesses, so the four of them were locked away until seven days had passed without word of his fate. All were released on that day and hawks were sent forth to discover such word of him as may be found, or perhaps his remains for burial. There was indeed much celebrating, and all four princesses dressed in their most splendid attire, and no such festival had been witnessed upon the Earth since Eve first bore forth Cain.

              The revelry continued for twelve days, the same number of days the king had been feared dead. On the tenth day at the noon hour, when all were feasting and making merry, a handservant came to the king and whispered in his ear that a peasant maid wished to speak with him.

              “Good servant,” Médash said, “can you not see that I am celebrating my return from the dead? Send her away with a gold coin for her trouble, and recommend she take up the matter with her magistrate.”

              On the eleventh day at the supper hour another handservant approached him, saying that a peasant maid wished his ear for but a moment and promised to then continue on her way. “Another? Were I to lend my ear to every peasant maid who called, I would exhaust myself! Send her away with two gold coins for her trouble, and see that she takes up the matter with her magistrate as well.

              On the twelth day at the hour of washing, when the king sat in a golden tub filled with hot mineral water from a spring deep in the mountain, and many lovely maidens were attending him, the handservant again came and said, “Majesty, please forgive, but a peasant maiden wishes your ear.”

              “At this hour? Does she not know that I have no audience after supper with anyone whom I do not call myself? See that she is given lodgings for the night, and send her away in the morning with ten gold pieces; I’m sure she has traveled far.”

   

              The next morning, while the king stood gazing afar out his window, again contemplating the difficulty of selecting a wife and, having been so distracted by the many celebrations so as to forget about the woman in the desert, a handservant came again and said, “There is a woman finely attired that wishes to speak with you; it seems to be an urgent matter.”

              “Very well!” the king said, “I will see this woman and discover what is her business.”

              His servant led Médash to a private audience room where a woman clothed all in black, with a veil over her face, sat upon a wooden chair. She lowered her head to him in homage.

              “Majesty,” she said in a sure voice, “I am Dauabré, and I am sent to you by my father who wishes to offer me as a bride fitting for this Kingdom.”

              Médash was perplexed, for all others had come in great splendor, yet she it was who arrove in obscurity, veiled and wearing a gown as if a shadow. The mystery of her entranced him, and though he saw naught ahead he went onward.

              “My Lady Dauabré, who is your father?”

              She rose up proudly to announce him, “The Lord Hornston of the Wastes, the Unknown King and Watcher of the Night. The people of this kingdom are in unknown debt to him who only now makes himself known, that in these days all kings might be known and their myriad daughters besides.” Returning to her seat the princess looked upon him with eyes that sparkled beneath the veil and pierced as sure as arrows, and he felt his mind was somehow laid out before her. If so, she would then sense his awe at such a mysterious claim. However in that moment he retained his calm and answered in a cool voice.

              “These are strange tidings, and skilled indeed is any man who so serves the people of my kingdom without anyone knowing of it. Still, I cannot dismiss this claim until the truth is known; therefore until that time comes you shall be a guest of these halls, with every pleasure at your disposal.”

              Rising again the visitor strode boldly forward, speaking to his very face, “Majesty, there is yet another tiding, one of great import. My father has given me only seven days more to remain here before I must depart, and so it is that you must either choose me or dismiss me within that time. However, he desires that I be chosen not for my beauty or my skill, for these things shall fade in time. Rather he will wed me only to a man who longs for what shall not fade but shall be everfresh, an oasis beyond the scorch of drought. Therefore, King, it is not I who am put to the test these dozen-and-one days, but rather Your Majesty. I shall pray that God grants you the wisdom to see the hearts of those king-born in your halls, that you may choose not another treasure, but a light by which to see all else you possess.”

              His servants escorted her away to her lodgings, and all his sight rested upon the swirl of black cloth that billowed behind her, the words she spoke echoing through the chambers of his heart. Striking him in that silence was the thought that often he did spend his long days weighing treasures and taking account of all his vaults, yet it was that never had he weighed himself, and he feared that were he to do so, he might be found lacking.

   

              That evening at dinner the king permitted only the five princesses to sit at table, and they had discussion. Edhsél spoke first, asking the king if he was fond of hunting, to which he replied, “Every autumn it is my custom to hunt the deer of the forest, and I hunt alone and lightly provisioned. I do not always find my arrows in the flanks of quarry, but I always return lighter in heart and refreshed in spirit. And yourself, Lady Edhsél?”

              Eyes wide in delight she spoke for nigh on an hour about some of her great escapades, the titanic beasts she had slain in the land where they yet dwelt—as though only the greatest and fiercest beasts were hunted, with all things less than a rhinoceros ignored entirely—and the manner in which she harvested trophies from each. Coming at last to her conclusion, she happened to turn to the new arrival, still shrouded in her dark dress and veil, then asking of her, “Pray tell, Newcomer; does it happen that you hunt also?”

              Princess Dauabré glanced at her and then to the king and said, “Where I come from, honored sister, we hunt not so much for beasts and trophies but for water. Sometimes, when the season is harsh, one must travel a day with no rest or shade to find it. I have gone down to the water’s edge and filled gourds and bladders while at my side was a lion lapping, or a serpent cooling itself in the mud. Yet because we all of us thirst, none of us are hungry, and there is a peace so long as our tongues are dry; I do not tarry to contest them once they are quenched.”

              Edhsél scoffed and said, “But, newcome sister, you could bring great honor to your house by killing that lion and wearing its teeth and claws!” Dauabré answered, “More honor is found in my land by taking only what is needed for one’s people, and leaving to God’s wild what belongs to Him. Were it that my people needed food and it was the lion that I found, then my dagger would pour its blood onto the sand and my people would eat.”

              There was a quiet after this, as though Dauabré had spoken some final word, and after a time Lílabhél spoke, asking, “Majesty, have you always lived within this mountain?” The tension within the air broke like falling ice on stone, and the King quickly responded by telling the tale of how he and one-hundred of his people journeyed from afar across the desert to escape the vampyre hordes that roamed its borders. They had become lost after a journey of seven days, but on the eve of that last day they spied the very mountain that would become their home, for in the dying light of the setting sun an exposed vein of gold blazed like fire, beckoning them to their destiny. The princesses listened attentively, but it was that the eyes of Edhsél were fixated upon Dauabré, studying her as though she were prey.

              At the rising of the following day’s sun King Médash summoned forth six litter-bearers, and it was that these litters bore hence himself and the five princesses all about the mountain city. Within the marketplace vast the four princesses that came from known lands went about having discourse with those of their countrymen they met, while Dauabré simply spoke with whomever she desired, for no one seemed to know of her. The King watched her with great interest, however, for while no person’s face was alight with recognition upon seeing her, yet the joy in their face after having spoken to her was greater than that of any other who spoke with one of the four. He took note, too, how it was that each princess returned to him with some goods from their countrymen; tribute and gift, they said, from the merchants doing trade within his kingdom. Yet Dauabré brought him naught but words of thanksgiving and praise from those she spoke with, and Médash found these delighted him more than all the goods offered him that day.

   

  • 2:29 pm
  • 2 Comments