The Medievals 1, page 17
part #1 of The Medievals Series
As the Truscans continue to pull Richard on, he stretches his neck to keep his eyes on the figure. With his eyes squinting and with the figure silhouetted by the evening light, Richard is convinced that he sees the shape of a woman hiding beneath the black garb. And, to Richard’s further surprise, the woman appears to be wearing a blindfold.
Who is this woman that is stalking them? Richard wonders.
But before Richard can get a longer look, his view is suddenly stolen from him as he is pulled through an immense curtain of leafy branches that hang low, touching the earth.
He is pulled forward by the thorny collar around his neck, and Richard is forced by the Truscans to breach the curtain. Leaves scratch against his face, itching at his nose, until he comes out the other side, leaving Richard with an astonishing sight.
Towering there before him is the largest tree that Richard has ever seen. It is so large that there is no way to see it all at once; and the trunk of the tree is the size of the castle, Richard guesses.
The magnificent tree’s heavy-hanging branches and leaves create a vast world unto itself, screened off from the rest of the forest. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Truscans have created homes in the tree’s canopy, as well as its prodigious root system that lives both above and below the ground. And cutting through the earth around the tree’s trunk is a calm, sinuous river, its water eddying around the roots, creating small pools.
“What is this place?” Richard asks aloud, although he only intended it to be a private thought.
“You mean you don’t know, Young Blood?” Loxley responds. “This is the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots.”
The Tree of Ten Thousand Roots. Richard feels the hairs on his arms rise with excitement. For so long, he has imagined what this tree looked like. But now his imagination has yielded to the truth, which is greater than any invention of his mind. It is one thing to read about it, and wholly another to see it.
Richard remembers standing on the ledge on Mount Saurian, listening to his father’s roar as it echoed out across the roof of the Realm and the Nine Territories, and wondering if his father’s roar could reach the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots. And now here Richard stands, looking at the very tree, his soul feeling more awake.
“El Cid must be with his dreams,” the Spaniard says, his eyes wide with amazement as he stares up into the sky, looking for the tree’s end. “There are no trees so large in all of Espana.”
It is uncanny for Richard to hear El Cid, a giant among giants, be so awed by the size of something else. And it speaks to just how wondrous this tree is.
However, when Richard looks to Ivanhoe, the erstwhile knight is unimpressed. And Richard questions whether there is anything left in this world that could shake Ivanhoe from his unshakeable melancholy.
“El Cid has never seen these balls of light,” the Spaniard says, eyeing the upper reaches of the tree. “Is this sorcery?”
As Richard continues to be pulled closer to the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots by his captors, he cranes his neck to look up. Floating high above him, he sees glowing orbs. Hundreds of them. And they hang there together in the vast canopy like a bright constellation, lighting all of the ground below.
“What are those?” Richard asks Loxley, who has proven to know this part of the world better than the rest of them.
“Fire Fairies,” the thief says.
Upon straining his eyes, Richard can just make out the shape of the fairies within the magical luminaries, their wings fluttering faster than the wings of a chitterbird.
At the sight of the tiny fairies, a song enters his mind: a lullabye about the Fire Fairies that his mother used to sing to him as he lay in bed before sleep. Even now, ten years later, the soft melody curls around his ears, but the words to the song escape his memory. With luck, he will return to his mother and ask her to sing it again.
BADDA-DUM! BADDA-DUM! BADDA-DUM!
The banging of a drum pulls Richard’s eyes from the fairies in the sky to the base of the massive tree, where hundreds of Truscans have gathered, armed with spears. The sounding of the drum seems to signal the gathered Truscans, and they part, revealing a bridge that leads across the gently flowing river in front of the tree’s trunk.
As the four of them are led across the bridge, Richard notices that the structure is actually made from living roots that have been painstakingly grown together over time -- perhaps even generations -- to form the passage over the river.
Once they are on the other side of the root bridge, they now stand no more than twenty feet from the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots.
Richard feels small. Insignificant. Not simply because of the immensity of the tree, but also by the vastness of time. The aged bark of the tree in front of him tells a story that started long before his own father, and his father before that. And Richard imagines that this tree will be standing here long after Richard is gone.
Richard is acquainted with the mythical origins of the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots, a story that has been preserved by Despen’s ink in the castle’s Scriptorium.
As the legend was told to Richard, a beautiful woman named Vivienne had fallen in love with Merlin, and the two were married. But when Merlin did something to betray that love, Vivienne fled into the Beyond. She stumbled her way through a stretch of vast, barren earth until she could go no further. As she lay there in the dry dirt, she wept without pause for the length of a spring, then a summer, then autumn, and then, finally, winter.
When spring returned, Vivienne’s constant tears had moistened the earth, and her great sadness had taken root in the ground. A tree rose up in the very spot Vivienne had wept, and it grew to a height never before reached. It became known as the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots. And around that magnificent tree, the Eternal Forest was born, all of the giant trees connected to the roots of the original, with Vivienne’s rivers of tears soaking the earth.
Richard has never given too much credence to Vivienne’s tale of woe. It seems a colorful story invented for children’s minds as they rest their heads on pillows at night. But as Richard eyes the long boughs and leafy branches that arch down to the earth all around him, he senses a certain sorrow in them. As if the tree itself is still weeping after hundreds of years.
BADDA-DUM!
Another beat of the drum, and suddenly all of the Truscans kneel. Their deference is addressed to an ancient Truscan who appears from a tiny door built into one of the large roots of the trunk. The old, wrinkled woodland creature has a long beard, and a leafy crown upon his head. He has a regal countenance, although his steps are labored, and he is aided by a slender walking stick.
“Kneel before King Lemlee,” one of the Truscan guards commands.
Richard follows the order, taking to one knee. To his left, Ivanhoe and Loxley do the same. But on his right, El Cid remains standing.
“Kneel,” the Truscan guard repeats.
“El Cid kneels before no man,” the giant declares.
Out of the corner of his eye, Richard can see Loxley shaking his head.
The Truscan guard signals a dozen of his fellow tree people, who all raise spears in the direction of El Cid. A warning.
“And just who are you that you do not have to bow before King Lemlee?” the guard asks El Cid.
“I am Rodrigo Diaz Vivar de la Domingo Diego. But you will know me by my other name: El Cid,” he explains.
The guard and his fellow Truscans clearly do not recognize the name.
“You have not heard of El Cid? I am very well known. I have killed thousands of men. This is why the wicked men who rule Espana -- Los Travieso -- they fear me --”
“Give it a rest, Spaniard,” Loxley says under his breath, his face hidden behind his hood.
But El Cid continues on, talking right over Loxley’s interruption. “It is why they exiled me. And when my ship is returned to me, I will sail home and lead my people. Viva El Cid!”
The Truscan guard is unfazed by El Cid’s words. And he simply repeats, “Kneel before King Lemlee.”
“El Cid will not. A man’s freedom cannot be taken by--”
Ivanhoe interrupts: “El Cid, take a knee. Let us hear what the Truscan King has to say.”
For the first time, Richard hears a hint of command in Ivanhoe’s voice, as one might expect from the King’s Lead Guard. It reminds Richard of his father’s confidence. And his tone serves his words, as El Cid reluctantly bends to his knee.
With all four men’s knees touching the ground, the guard nods to King Lemlee, and the ancient creature steps toward them.
“You have trespassed onto our lands. Why have you done this?” the diminutive King asks.
“We come in peace,” Ivanhoe assures King Lemlee. “We have no fight with you. We have been sent into the Beyond by King Henry on a quest of great import. I am accompanied by the King’s son, Prince Richard.”
Ivanhoe gestures toward Richard, and King Lemlee turns to him, as do all of the Truscans that surround him.
“You are the son of King Henry?” he asks, with suspicion in his aged voice.
Richard nods.
Then, the King moves slowly and deliberately toward Richard. “And I am to believe that a prince is keeping the company of a known thief?”
As King Lemlee says the word ‘thief,’ he uses his walking stick to knock off Loxley’s hood, the light catching his face in full.
Loxley winces, his identity revealed.
“Robin of Loxley,” the King says, Richard hearing Loxley’s full name for the first time. “This man was last seen running from our forest carrying our forefathers’ totem head under his arms.”
“Is that what that was? I didn’t realize that belonged to you,” Loxley says, his lie fooling nobody. “What say I just go get it for you? Smooth all this over.”
“The thief still possess the totem head?” King Lemlee asks.
“Sure do. I' ve got it tucked under my bed. God’s honest,” Loxley says, although Richard has already heard Loxley confess that he sold the treasure.
Richard is now wise to Loxley’s ways, and knows that the thief intends to flee given the chance.
King Lemlee makes a silent signal to one of his guards, who moves a step to his left, revealing a totem head hanging on the trunk of the great tree. It is the visage of a Truscan, presumably one of their forefathers, Richard thinks.
“Holy crow, would you look at that,” Loxley says, realizing that his mistruth has been exposed. “Some unscrupulous Jack must’ve stolen it from under my nose. I don’t mind saying I feel violated. Contravened.”
“A young monger passed through these woods not long ago and tried to sell the Truscans the totem head that was stolen from us. He said it was sold to him by a thief with dark skin and green eyes,” King Lemlee says.
“Yup... that’s right. That did happen. Suppose I just forgot. So, let us agree that I will gladly repay that debt as soon as these ol’ pockets are filled again. Does that sort it?” Loxley asks hopefully.
King Lemlee denies the thief’s request, gesturing to his guards. A dozen Truscan guards take hold of Loxley, yanking him to his feet by the thorny collar.
“Ow! Easy now! C’mon, Lemlee, this isn’t like you,” Loxley complains.
Then, as the Truscans ready their spears, presumably to kill the thief, Richard shouts, “Wait!”
King Lemlee turns to Richard, who says very quickly before the spears can be loosed, “I beseech you to delay carrying out justice for this man.” Richard’s voice cracks as the words are spoken. “He is in the service of King Henry. Once our quest is complete, we vow to return him to you for whatever punishment you see fit.”
King Lemlee considers Richard’s request for a long moment.
“You are asking the Truscans, in the name of King Henry, for a favor, yes?” Lemlee asks Richard.
Richard nods.
“We are not a violent people. The Truscans lived among mankind for centuries with little more than a sneeze between us. But then, your ancestors decided magic was a threat to them. And so they built a wall, the one you came through to reach this very spot that holds the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots. They built it to protect themselves from others who were not like them. But this wall did not simply protect mankind, it kept us from the trees we knew as home. Had it not been for the tears of Lady Vivienne, we would have no place to live.”
King Lemlee pauses.
“If a Truscan were to enter into your lands without the sanction of the King, what would become of that Truscan were he caught?” King Lemlee asks Richard.
Richard can hear the true meaning of the ancient Truscan’s question in his tone. It is not a question King Lemlee needs an answer to, for he and the crowd of Truscans already know.
“Now let me ask,” King Lemlee continues. “What should the Truscans do when those very same humans enter into our lands? You see? One does not create the storm and then complain about getting wet.”
Richard has not before considered the inequitable relationship between mankind and the creatures of the Beyond, the injury the humans might have caused them and their communities when they built the Northern Barrier.
“Now, with all of that said, I want you to remember this kindness I am going to show you. For one day, a Prince becomes a King, you see?”
Richard nods, understanding the bargain. “Your Highness, any kindness shown to us will be returned to you tenfold by my father and myself. You have my word.”
The Truscan King squints his eyes, seeming to take the full measure of Richard, perhaps judging what his word is worth.
“Well, then, tell me of this quest of which you speak,” King Lemlee says.
Richard pauses before answering, wondering how much he is permitted to reveal, knowing that his father told him of Merlin’s staff and the Descendant in great confidence.
“We are in search of a girl who was taken,” Richard says.
“Who is this girl that has been taken? Why is she of such great consequence?” the King asks.
Richard looks to Ivanhoe, Loxley and El Cid, none of them knowing the true significance of the girl. Even more concerning, there are hundreds of Truscans around him that should not be privy to the long-held secret legacy of Merlin. However, if Richard does not tell King Lemlee the true purpose of his mission, the Truscans may not let them go.
“Your Highness, I do not know that I should say, here.”
◆◆◆
Beneath the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots waits a world perhaps even larger and more wondrous than the one above.
The unassuming door at the root of the great tree leads to a yawning cavern that holds a network of root bridges and vine ladders, with a massive river running below it all, a beautiful waterfall foaming into it. And rising up out of the water is a large statue carved of wood: it is an alluring woman, her body seeming to grow from the water.
Richard wonders if this is the likeness of Vivienne.
Like the canopy of the tree above, this vast underground area glows with the golden light of the Fire Fairies, who seem to float together like festooned lanterns. But even more light is offered by luminescent vines that hang from the ceiling, reminding Richard of the chandeliers in the great hall of the castle.
At the moment, Richard is standing in King Lemlee’s throne room. Richard has been escorted here by Truscan guards.
Richard, standing before King Lemlee, seated in a throne of vines that have been intricately woven, has just revealed the secret of the girl and the Sorcerer’s Staff.
“And does the Prince know who took the Descendant?” King Lemlee asks, clearly concerned about the girl’s fate.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but may I ask why you do not seem surprised to learn of Merlin’s staff and the Descendant?”
King Lemlee strokes his long beard, taking a moment before responding. “It is part of the Truscan history. Unlike the humans, we choose to remember our history, to be instructed by it.”
Just then, a Truscan guard knocks and enters the underground throne room.
“My King, Larkspur wishes to speak before you. He says he has news that is urgent,” the guard announces.
King Lemlee nods, and the guard allows another Truscan into the room, accompanied by a smaller, younger Truscan boy. The impish boy appears nervous.
“Your Majesty,” the Truscan named Larkspur says. “Forgive me for my abrupt visit. Could this wait, it would.”
“What news, Larkspur?” the King prompts.
“My son, Skipwillow,” the Truscan says, gesturing toward his son. “He has confided in me that he has seen the girl that the humans seek.”
Richard’s heart beats faster at this news.
“Is this true, young Skipwillow?” the King asks.
The Truscan boy nods his head, but seems too nervous to speak.
“You may speak, Skipwillow. Please, tell your King where and when you saw this girl,” King Lemlee encourages.
“In the glade, your majesty… near Bowriver. I think… perhaps a fortnight ago.” The young Truscan’s voice shakes as he speaks.
Larkspur interrupts: “King Lemlee, to be certain, we have forbade our son from traveling such a distance. He did so without our knowledge.”
“It is okay, Skipwillow,” the King reassures the boy, while also holding out his hand to quiet the father. “You are not under sanction. It is of great importance for you to tell us everything you saw.”
“We were playing Seeker of the Djinn. I was hiding from the others. And then the human, she appeared behind the tree. And… she was scared.”
“Of what? Did you see?” the King asks.
“Saurians. Two of them,” Skipwillow says.
Saurians. It must be the Descendant that the Truscan saw.
“Was there anyone else with the saurians? Do you know where they took her?” Richard asks urgently, forgetting his place as he stands next to the King.
