The King, page 32
part #4 of The Jester King Series
Billy spoke the words again, “Sakgefan diagor ap ghumilis.”
He focused with all his strength on the wild magic. It was too big, too powerful, and too rebellious to take it in hand and bind it.
I’ve got to tame it before I can bind it. He resisted the impulse for self-admonishment. There was no time.
He focused on the magic. “I am Billy, son of Eleanor and William, heir to the crown of Tirn Aill, and I have returned.”
The magic’s focus drew away from Malkry. It gathered around Billy in twisting, smoky columns. They circled him, sniffing and brushing against him.
Malkry called down a lightning strike on Onian and his elves as they advanced through the trees. It crashed into the woods with a boom, shattering trees and scattering the elves.
Billy continued, “Don’t you remember me? You’ve known me all my life.”
The smoky columns drifted away from him, consolidating into a shadowy shape with four legs and a tail.
“Wait!”
The magic beast growled and turned to face him. It had the appearance of a colossal wolf with sparkling eyes and flashing teeth. The hair on its back bristled like quills when it snarled.
Billy flinched. His stomach tightened, and the blood left his face. “I—I—I’m sorry.”
The wolf howled, and lightning struck in the forest all around them—past the village and beyond the frozen river. Great trees splintered and burned while boulders burst. Showers of hot rocks clattered through the woods and melted holes in the snow.
“Please, stop.”
The wolf paced before him, growling and showing its teeth. Then it barked, and the lightning fell closer. The wolf circled once around him as he spoke.
“I know you are angry. I’m sorry I abandoned you. I have come to change that.”
The wolf barked behind Billy’s ear, and the lightning struck closer still. It struck the village, and several dwarves cried out.
“I have traveled far, suffered much, and lost dear ones, just to be here with you now.”
The wolf came around to snarl and growl in Billy’s face. The ring of lightning continued to close in with each strike, this time striking at the dark elves. The ground shook, and Billy could feel Tirn Aill ripping apart. Memory of the death and devastation he saw in Dyven stung him anew. Instantly, he saw the terrifying moment when the life of every precious inhabitant of Tirn Aill would be snuffed out. Crushing despair and loneliness filled the chasm torn from his heart by the vision.
He sank back into his bones and spread his arms wide as he looked up to the heavens. “Take me! Take my life!”
Malkry smiled. “Gladly.”
Billy wept and fell with his tear-streaked face to the earth. “Take what you want, only spare Tirn Aill.”
Malkry pointed at Billy, and the lightning plunged from the sky. It clapped and crackled as the brilliant light branched and tumbled to earth. Then the lightning struck.
The thunder roared, then grumbled away. The air stilled.
Billy pushed up and saw Malkry hanging limply by her cloak, still pinned to the tree by the crossbow bolt. The lightning had rent and discolored her breastplate, over her heart. Small ribbons of white smoke wafted from the fissure and lingered in the folds of her clothes.
The storm clouds were motionless overhead. The wind ceased as the last snowflakes drifted to earth.
The wild magic flowed over everything like a fine glaze and hovered lazily in a low mist above the ground. Billy felt the magic curl around him and got the distinct impression of a fluffy tail tickling his nose. He smiled.
“Sakgefan diagor ap ghumilis.” He concentrated on the thorn blossom under the earth, using the ring. The ember of life within the berry was fading fast. The tame magic entwined around it and the blossom. The magic formed roots, and the life force brightened. Instantly, the plant grew.
Billy heard his mother’s voice. “You have done well, my son.” In his mind’s eye, he saw her. She drifted away. Her ring felt silent on his hand.
“Mother ... where are you going?”
“Fear not, my son. I promised we would be together one day.”
“You did?”
She chuckled. “On the day that I let you go.”
Billy opened his eyes, and thorny green sprouts shot out of the earth. They grew at an alarming rate, creating giant, flat leaves and a large, round bulb in the middle. The new plant’s expansion forced him back.
Then his eyes caught Rafeyn and the surviving dark elves, who were regrouping on the river. Billy stretched out his hand, and Lura Zahn leapt into it from the snow. He stepped in front of the new plant and readied himself.
“There are only nine of them,” he told himself, trying to buoy his bravery. “And they’re wounded. And—”
Rafeyn raised her sword. “For Malkry!”
The dark elves started up the riverbank. After only a few steps, they slowed their approach to a wary pace.
Deordrif appeared next to Billy, and he smiled. Next, Onian joined him on his left and Thortan on his right. Billy made a double take of Thortan, for all the hair on his head and in his beard was standing straight out, and he looked like he’d been hanging over a cook fire.
Thortan saw Billy’s expression. “What?”
“What happened to you?”
Thortan glanced down at his arms and chest and noticed the sooty color. “Oh, that!” He eyed their adversaries and hefted his hammer. “That lightning packs quite a wallop.”
“Lightning?”
“Aye.” Thortan nodded. “It’s really quite thrilling! Remind me to tell ya about it, after I’ve rinsed the taste from my mouth with some mead.”
Billy glanced at his companions and grinned. “You can tell us all about it. After my coronation.”
“It’ll be my pleasure, Your Majesty. But first, let’s teach these uppity elves a lesson. No offense.”
“None taken.” Onian drew back on his bow. “They are uppity.”
Billy, Drif, and Thortan took up fighting stances as Onian took aim. The dark elves raised their weapons and shields. Lura Zahn hummed in Billy’s fist and his heart raced. Rafeyn gave a shout, and her warriors charged.
At that moment, bright light flashed from behind Billy and blinded the dark elves. They shielded their eyes and backed down. The light grew brighter still. Billy and his friends turned to see an enormous, translucent flower bud in the center of the thorny plant. Shaped like a candle flame, the bud stood taller than Onian. The light emanated from its center, and as it brightened, the bud became like crystal. It soon glowed too bright for anyone to look at.
All at once, the flower flashed. Billy blinked and his vision cleared. Without looking up, he checked his companions and the dark elves, who were still blind or hiding their eyes. Then Billy heard a sweet voice.
“William.”
He looked to where the flower bud had been. His mother stood on the open petals of the flower. She looked just as he had imagined her his whole life: kind eyes, warming smile, long hair, and a flowing dress of pink and white. Around her neck, she wore a faintly glowing diagor on a threadlike silver chain. All he could do was stare.
“Don’t be afraid, William.”
“I—I’m not.” He rubbed his eyes and studied her to confirm what he had seen.
Eleanor held out her arms. “I’ve waited many winters for this moment. How much longer must I wait?”
Billy ran forward and threw his arms around his mother. Her embrace felt like the comfort from her ring, only multiplied. He had only felt such refuge in the arms of John, his father. He wanted never to let go.
Finally, he drew back to look at her. “How is this possible?”
She looked down at him and smiled. “You made this possible, William. You are the King of Tirn Aill.”
“What?” Billy pulled further away. “But you’re back, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You are Queen of Faerie, Queen of Tirn Aill.”
Eleanor smiled and shook her head. “No longer, dearest William.” She gestured for Billy to turn around.
He released his mother reluctantly and turned to face the river. Onian, Thortan, and their followers knelt on the snow facing him. The dark elves too, save Rafeyn, had taken a knee. Billy grabbed his mother’s hand and looked into the forest. All around him, faeries and animals of all descriptions were filtering into the clearing. Whether they tracked across the snow and ice or flew over it, they each found a place and knelt.
Rafeyn growled and gnashed her teeth. Then she shouted at the other dark elves, “Come on! Come on! Let’s go!” However, they didn’t budge. She pushed several of them over and slogged towards the river. There, she mounted her horse, then wheeled back and forth upon it, glaring at Billy and Eleanor. Finally, she turned and galloped away into the hills.
Eleanor placed a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about her.”
When the clearing around the court was full, Eleanor turned and faced her son. He held onto her hand, refusing to let go.
“Citizens of Tirn Aill. I give you your king!” With this, Eleanor bowed to Billy, and all present did likewise.
Two small red and blue birds flew into the court and set a fine gold crown on Billy’s head. They rested on his shoulders just long enough to bow, and then they flew to Eleanor’s hand. They bowed to her and fluffed their fine feathers until they were round, fluffy balls with beaks. Eleanor laughed and held them out to her son.
“I think they have something to say, Your Majesty.”
Billy looked at the birds. “What is it?”
“Well, Your Majesty … ” The first bird paused to look at its mate.
The second bird nodded. “We don’t mean to complain, Your Majesty.”
“But it is quite cold.”
Billy looked around him, at the world of snow and ice, of dark clouds and bare trees, of frozen rivers, and shivering faeries, who had never worn so many layers of clothing before. He returned his attention to the birds and chuckled. “Right you are. I’m glad you two didn’t fly south.”
The tiny birds looked at each other, then shrugged.
He released his mother’s hand, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the ground where they stood—on the spot first struck by Malkry’s lightning and the dark earth where he’d planted the thorn blossom. He opened his eyes, and golden flames rose up from the ground. Billy’s subjects gasped when the flames engulfed their new king and his mother. But he just smiled when the flames tickled him. He took a deep breath then exhaled. The circle of flame expanded in all directions. The inhabitants were first frightened, and then delighted as the harmless flames overtook them.
Gulchmelon the goblin sat up with a start and grabbed the top of his head. He glanced around him, then made eye contact with Billy and sprinted into the woods.
Everywhere the flames touched, snow and ice melted, plants turned green and sprouted leaves and flowers, and faeries became giddy. Even those faeries frozen by the winter thawed and joined the others in song and dance, celebrating their rescue. The fire ring raced away from the clearing to the horizon, and the storm clouds dissolved. As the last cloud vanished, the sun’s rays peeked over the horizon and painted a perfect sapphire canopy.
While the faeries were still gazing at the sky in appreciation, Elzgig ran out of the lush forest with his willow twig staff and blue fez in hand. He shouted as he made his way through the crowd around Billy, “Your Majesty, Your Majesty, you have returned!”
“Yes, I know.” Billy laughed.
“I came as soon as I—” Elzgig caught sight of Eleanor and froze. After staring at her for several seconds, his bushy white beard and eyebrows twitched, and he blinked. “Oh, my Queen.” He bowed low. His voice trembled with tearful joy. “I dared not dream of such a day.”
“Dearest Elzgig, the day belongs to our king.”
Elzgig turned to Billy and bowed. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I lost hope. When the ice locked me in my home and I dared not use magic for fear of incinerating myself ... I gave up.”
Billy bent down and took Elzgig’s tiny hand. “I forgive you, my friend. There were times I, too, lost hope.”
“I shall not doubt you again.”
Sylvys appeared at the railing of the Dragonfly, stretching and yawning as if woken from a long nap. He appeared untouched by sickness or time. All signs of his previous mortal decline had vanished. “Oh good, we’re home.” He spotted Billy and stopped scratching his backside to bow.
“Deordrif, Sylvys, please, come here. And bring my pack.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Sylvys hopped from the deck of the Dragonfly to the ground. Then he and Deordrif approached their king together. Drif handed Billy his pack, bowed, then stepped back next to Sylvys.
“Thank you.” Billy dug into his pack. “Now, I can do what I should have done in Lyonesse.”
“What’s that, Your Majesty?”
“Why, reward you, of course.”
Drif blushed. “You must be tired, Your Majesty. We can do this later.”
“You’re not getting off that easy.” Billy dug some more and came up with a velvet pouch. “Deordrif, please, come forward and kneel.”
She did as commanded but wore a worried face.
Billy tried to reassure her with a smile. When this failed, he leaned close to her and whispered, “Don’t worry. This is a good thing.” He then stood back and addressed the crowd.
“For bravery in the face of terrible odds, for personal sacrifice and placing Tirn Aill above all else, and for rendering invaluable service to her king, I do hereby dub Deordrif, First Knight of Tirn Aill.”
Billy took Lura Zahn and very gently tapped Deordrif on each shoulder. “Rise, Lady Deordrif, knight of the realm.” At this point, he pulled a set of golden spurs from the velvet bag and handed them to her.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, Deordrif. In truth, I owe you much more than a title and some spurs.”
Drif reached down and plucked a small flower from the ground at her feet. She sniffed the flower. “It is enough.”
They shared a smile. Billy then looked to his mother, who beamed with pride. He stared at her for a long moment, once again filled with the joy of seeing her. He shook himself from his trance and turned to his right.
“Sylvys ...” Billy looked. The satyr was gone. “Sylvys!” He scanned the crowd. “Now where did he go?”
Just then, a shrill squeal pierced his ears, followed by a chorus of giggles. He looked to the edge of the woods. There, a tribe of nymphs took cover amongst the trees. They pointed into the crowd, where Billy found Sylvys skipping through the mob, showing off his muscles, and posing and strutting like a rooster. Then he ran at the nymphs, who squealed in unison and scampered into the forest like geese from a wolf. Sylvys dashed into the trees behind them and disappeared.
Billy looked at Elzgig. “Well, I guess things are back to normal.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.”
Thortan stepped forward. “There’s still one thing out of place, Your Majesty.”
Billy looked at the beached craft. “The Dragonfly?”
“No, Your Majesty. You ought to be on your throne. We can’t start the feast until you’re seated.”
The faerie throng cheered as they swarmed Billy and picked him up on their shoulders. They danced and bounded their way to the end of the immense table and set him on the throne. A chair was set next to him for Eleanor, and fresh bread and pies and flame-licked meats perfumed the air. Moments later, a bevy of faeries burst forth from the village huts, carrying all manner of food and drink to spread upon the table. Once again, the diverse kinship of Faerie zealously feasted and celebrated together. Some blew great horns and made music with flutes, lutes, drums, and tambourines while others danced around the clearing in circles, spinning and hopping as it pleased them. Even the dwarves, though surely the dourest faeries—and single-minded about their drink—stopped imbibing long enough to sing songs, tell tales, and crack jokes. Many were intrigued when Thortan shared his intimate experience with lightning, but Billy gripped them with the recounting of his battle with Ergyfel.
Late afternoon, after the second or third retelling, Billy said, “That’s nothing! You should ask Drif about her battle with the troghoul.” All eyes turned to the blushing elf maid sitting to the right of their king. “It was the largest and fiercest of its kind I’ve ever seen.”
The faeries pleaded. “Tell us! Yes, tell us, Deordrif!”
The dark elf pursed her lips and looked at her king with displeasure. Billy rested his chin on his hand and stared at her.
She leaned close to him. “My king, I fight battles, I do not talk about them.”
Billy looked from right to left. “I don’t see any battles that need fighting right now, do you?”
Drif’s eyes shifted back and forth. Her expression was one of pensive confusion.
Billy raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’re fighting a battle on the inside.”
Deordrif locked eyes with her king, and he smiled.
“My First Knight’s tongue must be sharp as her sword.”
Billy rose from the table and helped his mother with her chair. Then, hand in hand, they walked away from the table. “And, Deordrif ... leave nothing out. I want to hear a hero’s tale upon our return.”
***
Billy sat next to his mother on the dock overlooking Glitter Gilt Bay, watching the sun set on his first day as King of Tirn Aill. Fish swam lazily at their feet while the Dragonfly raced the wind out near the breakwaters.
He put down his lute. “So the secret component of any spellbinder is sacrifice? Why couldn’t the Witan just teach me that?”
“Sacrifice comes from love, not instruction.” Eleanor tickled Billy. “And certainly not from cleverness.”
He laughed. “All that time, I thought I was seeking something dear to hold on to, not something to sacrifice. Seems like they could have said something.”
Eleanor considered his words. “Could they teach you what you learned from witnessing the horrors of war or Shaldra’s selfless bravery? Could they have taught you bravery as effectively as confronting Ergyfel, or about responsibility better than enduring the weight of your father’s crown? Could they teach you to cherish Tirn Aill more perfectly than through learning to love Shaldra, Sylvys, and Deordrif? Could you have made a worthy sacrifice without first experiencing the woes of your journey? Remember, sacrifice without love has no value. But I think you knew that already.”
