A Thread of Time: Firesetter, Book 1 (12 page)

“What does he learn?”  Afterward, Pellen
would turn to me, asking the same questions, searching for the answers Amyr
refused to give. 

Always, I would shrug and pretend I didn’t
know.  But, I did.  Amyr learned who he was.

Chapter 14

Rekah

My great-grandfather, who I was named for,
was cousin to the Great Emperor.  When the Emperor died, the elder Rekah became
King of Karupatani for the three decades that remained until his own death.  He
was very old then, past one hundred ten years, although no one was certain of
the exact number, as not even Rekah could remember when he was born. 

Rekah bred a large and prolific family,
his three wives doing most of the hard work.  My grandfather, who at Rekah’s
death was the eldest of his surviving sons, then followed him to the throne. 
My cousin succeeded grandfather and when my cousin passed untimely in his youth
of the Disease, I inherited the somewhat plain and unobtrusive Karupatani crown
and the little house tucked into the woods, my even less obtrusive tiny palace.

We were not pretentious in Karupatani so
the title of King meant little beyond this.  However, my duties entailed
conducting the meetings and councils of the village chiefs, and resolving or at
least mitigating the many disputes that arose between them. 

I was also to negotiate with my
counterpart in the Mishnese Kingdom, to keep the peace, such as it was.  During
the reign of the Empress Sara and her son, King Mikal, this was a pleasure, as
we were cousins by blood. 

Mike had been a good friend of mine.  We
had both similar interests in sports and drinks, as well as similar strife. 
Our families had both perished from the Disease that raced across our planet in
those times. 

Our twice year meetings were times of
pleasure that I sincerely missed, for his cousin and successor, Marko Korelesk
was not nearly the same upstanding man.  Even before Mike passed, Korelesk
sought to take the throne, before anyone could think to or respond to deny him
this right. 

Marko Korelesk would inherit a land in
ruins, devastated by the Disease and suffering from turbulent storms and
famine.  I inherited a land rich with crops and contented people, many of whom
had chosen to abandon our traditional ways and venture across the ocean to live
a modern life. 

From the traders who crossed the ocean and
our people who returned, I heard rumors of terrible things happening in the
other land.  Korelesk was blaming us for all his troubles.  My people were becoming
enslaved or put to death, but I was powerless to stop him.  I had no armies
beyond our brave men and horses.  Our weapons were only that which we could
craft by our own hands, while Korelesk had ships and trucks, guns and lasers,
and horrific bombs. 

“We have the most important weapon,” my
younger brother, Ronan, the High Priest, reminded me one evening. 

We were together in the Holy Temple,
another unobtrusive structure hidden in the woodlands.  Despite its appearance,
the Temple was a magical place where I could feel the Holy One’s presence in my
soul.  I had come to my brother for guidance, hoping that together we would
find a way to save our people across the sea.

“The Holy One has Blessed us,” Ronan said,
his voice annoyed with my lack of comprehension.  “He will send us a means to
save our people.”

“How do you know this?”

“I believe,” my brother smiled
beatifically, “and it is also written in the Holy Books.”

I believed, but I did not say, that my
brother relied overly much on the literary ramblings of our ancestor a
millennium ago.  However, I could not think of a means myself, so I asked him,
“What is this that our Great Father Karukan prophesied?  What will save our
wayward people from extinction?”

Ronan smiled again.

“If you would read the Books yourself, you
would know.  Since you are obstinate and refuse, I shall tell you only that you
must pray.”

“For what?  For who?”

My brother shook his head.

I prayed.  I did.  All the time, for I had
no other solution and when the people and the chiefs came to me, I advised them
to do the same. 

As time passed, I grew skeptical for the
refugees’ stories became more horrific with no miraculous Intervention in
sight. 

“Keep praying,” Ronan repeated, and though
I redoubled my efforts, the doubt in my heart grew.  “Patience.  The answer
will soon be revealed.”

I waited and I worried, but ultimately, my
brother was right.  The answer arrived and it was neither a bomb, or a laser,
or a gun.  It was a boy, sickly and weak, hardly able to stand of his own
accord.  He arrived from the coastal village upon a horse, of which he was tied
to the saddle so he would not fall.

“Look who I have brought, my king,” the
Village Chief, my friend, Kirat cried, lifting the boy from the horse and
carrying him into my house as if he was a babe.  “Our prayers have been
answered.  The MaKennah, our savior has come again.”

For a moment, I had no words to offer in
response.  Surely, he did not mean that this child would save our people and
halt Korelesk.

“This boy?” I said, once Kirat had placed
him upon my couch. 

The child collapsed against the cushions
and closed his eyes, as if he meant to sleep.  His breath came hard and his
little chest heaved, the bony nobs of his shoulder blades rising and falling
through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Tut tut!” my serving woman cried,
appearing at just that moment to see who or what had come.  “A blanket, this
poor child needs.  I’ll be right back.  Don’t you move.”

“Yes, this boy,” Kirat declared.  “Open
your eyes, lad.  Let the King see who you are.”

“Let him rest,” the serving woman scolded,
returning with a pillow and some bedding.  “Now, I’ll fetch the young one some
good soup.  He is far too skinny and in need of nourishment.  Afterward, you
may talk to him, but until then, the both of you be gone.” 

My serving woman pushed Kirat, the Chief
and me, the King out my front door, as if this house belong to her instead of
the man who sat upon the Karupta throne.

Kirat was insistent that this boy was more
than he appeared.  As we strolled through the village and from there to the
Holy Temple in the woods, I remained doubtful.

“What proof do you have that this boy is
anything other than a sickly child?”

“He speaks our tongue with fluency
although he has never studied a single word.  Did you not look at him, my
king?  Did you not see his face?”

I had, and yes, I would agree that in his
features I had seen a resemblance, but in my own face, I saw the same each time
I looked into a mirror.

“Behold, my king,” Kirat declared,
pointing at the frescoed ceiling of the chapel, where the Great Emperor’s
visage gazed down upon those who came to pray.  “Is he not the mirror image? 
Has he not descended from the Heavens once again?  Has he not come to aide us,
his chosen people, in the predicament we face?”

“I don’t know.”  I shook my head and with
my friend, I knelt to pray.  This boy could be merely another cousin begat from
another cousin, and descended from one of the sons of the first Rekah’s large
and extended family.  I had many cousins who had left us for the allure of the
continent across the sea, so many I didn’t even know their names.

When we returned to my home, the child was
still sleeping on the sofa, the serving woman watchfully guarding from a chair
at his side. 

“There is dinner for you in the fridge,”
she whispered, her knitting needles clicking even louder than her voice, as I
came to gaze at the boy’s face, to examine it fully.  “Now, leave him be!  You
can bother him when he is well.  Go on!”  She swatted my arm with a needle and
pushed me away.

Kirat laughed, albeit quietly.  “It is
well you have no summits planned with Marko Korelesk.  If you did, you would
have to bring that old woman, for surely she is stronger than any general in
your army.”

“Kari-fa, Kirat,” I exclaimed, leading him
back through my open door.  “Let us dine in the pub tonight for at least there
I am treated like a king.”

“And, the beer is better than what you
keep in your fridge.”

The boy continued to rest upon my sofa and
the serving woman continued to nurse him with broths and tea, whilst I went
about my business as King of Karupatani in my office up the stairs.  If I made
too much noise coming down the steps, or if I asked, ‘
What dinner have you
prepared for me tonight
,’ the old woman would hiss loudly and point a
crooked finger at the kitchen. 

“He is interesting,” Ronan announced the
next day after coming to gaze upon this wondrous child himself.  “There is a
beauty to him that has not been seen since the death of the Great Emperor.  What
is his name?” 

“Kirat said he is called Amyr of Farku,
son of the shopkeeper, Pellen and his wife, the seamstress, Ailana.”

“Mhm.”  My brother nodded thoughtfully. 

“Do the Holy Books advise us to be
watchful for a young Amyr?”

“Indeed,” Ronan chortled.  “When he is
recovered, I will take him in my care, since you seem to be jealous of the
attention garnered by the child who is to become your replacement.”

“I’m not…” I began to shout, prompting an
equally loud “Hush!” from the serving woman, who was still neglecting all
duties other than the tending of this young boy. 

My brother laughed again, and with a
mocking sort of bow, departed through the front door. 

As it swung open, I caught a glimpse of
the crowd, which had amassed outside, and I heard the voices of the people
asking if the boy had awaken.

“Not yet.”  Ronan raised his arms,
blessing the people knelt in prayer.

“This is ridiculous,” I mumbled, peeking
through my front window.  “How many are out there now?”

“A thousand,” the serving woman replied.

“Not at all.  I count fifty, no, sixty,
but no more than that.”

“Doesn’t matter.”  She sniffed loudly. 
“There, there, child.  You need to gain your strength.”  Pulling the blanket up
to the boy’s chin, she tucked him in tightly, before running a hand across his
shiny black hair. 

I saw him yawn and he made a noise, a
slight cough as he shifted upon the couch.  For a fraction of a second, I saw a
flickering in his eye.

No.  It couldn’t have been.  It was merely
a trick of the light in this room caused by the swinging of the window shades. 
If not the window, then, the fire had reflected in the boy’s eye, for it was
cracking brightly from wood too wet to burn.  It shot up sparks and flames,
even though a moment earlier it had nearly died.  Anything else I had seen
beyond this, was merely my imagination playing tricks.

That night, I lay in bed tossing and
turning unable to sleep.  If this boy was truly the MaKennah, our savior
returned, what exactly would that mean?  The Holy Books had said it would be a
time of great strife, and indeed, it was for my people across the sea, but
would it be worse than that?  Were we at a point once again when our people
faced complete and total decimation?

If that wasn’t fearful enough, I worried
selfishly of my own legacy.  Would I, the second Rekah, go down in history as
the king who would have let our people die were it not for the boy who would
save us from my ineptitude?

I heard a noise outside my door and
immediately, reached for my gun.  Always, I kept it at my bedpost, just in
case.  Once, my grandmother, as she slept in this same bed, was awaken by a
bear who had wandered up the stairs.  Of course, my grandfather had left the
front door wide open after a night of celebration and hard drinking.  He may
have even invited the bear inside, thinking he was a friend.

My grandmother, upon gazing into the
upstairs hall, discovered the hulking black form wandering from room to room. 
Rather than scream or attempt to shoot it, she merely went down the stairs and
took the leftover supper from the fridge.  Placing it out on the front porch,
where undoubtedly the bear could find it, she returned to bed and my drunken
grandfather, who remained fast asleep.

I, on the other hand, was now fully
cognizant and wide awake.  Wearing only my gun, for I slept with nothing else,
I opened that same bedroom door to see a form entering my office across the
hall.  Fearing not a bear, but a would-be assassin, or at least a robber of the
King’s gold, I followed him, announcing my presence with a shot. 

I had meant only to scare the fellow, but
he took me by surprise.  Where I expected his arm to be, I found instead his
chest.  This was due to his small, thin stature, for of course, it was the boy
who I just killed in haste, which I could only blame on my disorientation due
to lack of sleep.

“Kari-fa!  I’m sorry.” I cried, racing
over to the lad as he collapsed upon my floor.  Blood spilled quickly, pooling
upon the wood, which the serving woman had dutifully cleaned.  At first, I
tried to staunch the flow by placing my hands upon his chest, but he pushed
them away, placing his own hands where mine had been.  “I am sorry.  I thought
you were a bear.”  I tried to explain as the child coughed and heaved his last
breath.  Then, he lay silent.  “Forgive me, little one.  It was a mistake and
nothing more.  Kari-fa, the serving woman and all the village people will take
my crown.”