A World Without Heroes (12 page)

Continuing on with cloak, blanket roll, and coveralls bundled under one arm, he eventually forked right onto a gravel road. Crunching along the gravel sapped more energy than walking on the hard-packed lane. The road wound around a hill, finally bringing him below the shade of broad-leafed trees.

As he rounded the back side of the hill, the castle came into view, constructed atop a shallower hill behind the first. The massive stone complex looked abandoned. Sagging walls topped with crumbling battlements had collapsed entirely in some locations. Only two towers remained standing, one of which was so crooked and damaged it looked ready to topple at a cough from a butterfly. Jumbled heaps of stone and rotted beams marked where other structures had already fallen. The decrepit castle looked like an ideal hideout for thieves or vagabonds. No wonder Aster had told Jason to send the Blind King his regards.

Jason sighed. Had the loremaster misled him? Might he have sent him into a trap? Jason was quickly losing confidence that the Blind King would be able to help him. But with no apparent alternatives, what else could he do?

The gravel path led Jason to a corroded, raised drawbridge with a small door built in its center. A plank led across the shallow, dry moat. Outside the door stood a grave, middle-aged man clad in mismatched armor and clutching a poleax. “Who might you be, sir?” the gatewarden inquired stiffly. Despite the ruins around him he apparently took his job seriously.

“I might be anyone,” Jason said. “I’m searching for the Blind King.”

“Have you scheduled an audience with His Majesty?”

“No. I’ve recently arrived from a distant land.”

“Do you come on an errand of royal consequence?”

“Of course.”

“Your name?”

“Jason.”

“Wait here while I inquire within.” The man unlocked the door using a key from his belt. Probably not the best defensive strategy to give a lone, exposed guard the key to the door he was protecting. Then again not the best idea to have huge gaps in your walls, either. The gatewarden disappeared through the door.

A few minutes later he returned. “His Majesty bade me to admit you. Take care to show him the respect befitting a sovereign of his magnificence.”

The gatewarden escorted Jason across a courtyard where weeds thrived between the cracks of uneven paving stones. They passed close by the precariously teetering tower. The entire complex appeared deserted. Nobody roamed the courtyard, and the windows in the surviving structures looked vacant. Motioning with his poleax, the gatekeeper ushered Jason through a set of double doors into the sturdiest building within the castle compound, which adjoined the only solid tower.

The building housed a great hall. Birds roosted in the rafters, and white streaks of droppings marked the floor and trestle tables. At the far end of the room, upon a moldering dais, a shabby man sat upon a battered throne. A dingy rag bound his eyes, a tarnished crown rested upon his gray hair, and a grimy green robe edged in dirty white fur enshrouded his body. He looked like some old homeless guy playing the part of a wise man in a soup-kitchen Christmas pageant.

Three attendants stood nearby: a mustached man in a stained velvet cap fingering a dented trumpet, an ugly woman with her
hair caught up under a faded bonnet, and a humbly clad, young minstrel holding a lute.

“Presenting Lord Jason,” called the man in the velvet cap in a proud voice, blasting a flourish on his trumpet for emphasis. The loud notes sounded brassy and annoying, echoing harshly off the bare walls of the cavernous hall.

“One moment,” croaked the old king. “First allow my chancellor to complete his report.”

“As you will, sire,” the minstrel said in a courtly voice, casting a nervous glance at Jason. “As I was recounting, the invading armies have been repelled beyond our frontiers. General Braddock reports staggering enemy casualties. He hesitates at our borders awaiting your command.”

“Onward,” the king coughed, waving an arm. “Use our initiative to drive them into oblivion before they can reform.”

“A dispatch will be sent at once.”

“Sooner,” the king demanded. “What now?”

“The matter of Lord Jason,” said the man in the velvet cap.

“Come forward,” rasped the old king, beckoning with one hand.

Jason gaped at the ridiculous scene.

“Go on,” urged the gatewarden quietly.

Jason approached the dais. “Greetings, mighty king,” he said politely, opting to play along with the charade. It required some effort to restrain his sarcasm.

“Welcome to my realm,” the king intoned, spreading an arm outward, sightlessly indicating the damaged walls and dilapidated furnishings. It was embarrassingly clear that the Blind King believed he ruled a grand domain. Jason felt tempted to turn and walk out. There seemed no chance that this pathetic pretender could help him. But it would be rude. And he had no other place to go.

“What brings you before His Majesty?” asked the minstrel, now speaking in a softer, higher-pitched tone.

“I come seeking wisdom,” Jason replied, trying to sound formal.

“He comes to the right place,” the minstrel declared in a different voice, having changed positions. The others cried out, “Hear, hear,” repeating the words in various voices. What an act! Jason threw in a “Hear, hear” of his own.

The king raised his hands for silence. “What wisdom do you seek, young traveler?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

The attendants murmured theatrically.

“What guided you to my kingdom?”

“I was referred here by a loremaster. He lives in a repository—”

“Say no more. I understand.” Jason noticed the king’s grip momentarily tighten on the arms of the throne.

The attendants mumbled vaguely about the perceptiveness of the king. The woman crept some distance away, coughed loudly, and returned.

“I would converse with Lord Jason at once in the privacy of my chambers,” the king proclaimed.

The attendants looked shocked. Apparently this was an infrequent invitation.

“As you command, Your Majesty,” the minstrel finally responded in a deep voice.

The woman aided the king to his feet and helped him down the dais steps. “Let young Jason serve as my guide,” the king said. The woman stepped away, and the gatewarden hurriedly directed Jason forward. The king placed a hand on his shoulder. Jason followed the gatewarden out one side of the hall.

The gatewarden eyed Jason, making grandiose gestures. Jason took the cue. “You have a spectacular castle,” he said.

“Most gracious of you,” the king replied in his raspy voice. “We will proceed alone from this point.” The gatekeeper bowed and returned to the hall. When they advanced to a curving staircase, the king grasped the banister. “I require no further aid.” Jason followed the king up the stone steps, into the more stable of the two towers. The old guy mounted the long flight at an impressive pace. Despite his long gray hair and beard he seemed in healthy condition.

Eventually they spiraled up to the highest room in the tower. The stairs stopped at a heavy door bound in iron. “Here we are,” the king said, unlocking the door and leading Jason through the portal.

The room was nicely appointed, with clean furnishings and a canopied bed. The king moved about the room almost as if he could see. With one hand extended probingly, the king found a cushioned chair. “Please be seated.”

Jason took a seat across from the king, who sat straight and tall. For the first time Jason noticed the broadness of his shoulders. His bearing somehow seemed more regal than when he had been slumped upon the throne.

“Bridonus sent you,” the king stated.

“He did, Your Majesty.”

“Then you have seen inside the book bound in living skin?”

The question surprised Jason. “I have.”

The king exhaled. “At long last.”

“How do you know about the book?”

“I too have seen within its pages, though few in my kingdom know this fact. You have part of the Word?”

Jason stared at the ragged king. “The first syllable.”

“A great burden now rests on your shoulders,” the king murmured. “You must think me a fool.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have no army. I know I live inside a derelict castle with a handful of well-meaning courtiers. Some of them do not realize I know this, or they pretend not to realize. It gives them great satisfaction to believe they have convinced me that I rule a mighty domain. I do rule here, but my kingdom is the opposite of mighty. For their benefit I put on a stately air, and I play along with the silly intrigues and wars they fabricate.”

Recovering from his absurd first impression, Jason was beginning to hope this king might be able to help him after all. “I’ve come across some weird relationships lately.”

“Explain.”

“A woman who lets a hobo steal from her because he refuses to accept her charity. A game maker who crafts puzzles for the single person who takes the time to solve them. And now you and your subjects.”

The sightless monarch nodded. “People find meaning where they can. These are uncertain times. Part of the reason I play along with our ludicrous pretentions is because it casts us in a ridiculous light. The more absurd we seem, the less we need to fear the emperor.” He folded his hands upon his lap. “You have a sharp eye for connections. Where do you hail from?”

“That’s hard to explain.”

The king stroked his beard. “Are you a Beyonder?”

Jason’s heart rate quickened. “Bridonus used that word. I think so.”

“How did you come to our world?”

“I know how this sounds.” Jason shifted uncomfortably. “I came here through a hippopotamus.”

“A water horse? Intriguing. Recount how it transpired.”

Jason was thrilled the old guy seemed to believe him. “I worked
in a zoo, and one day I heard music coming from the hippo. I got too close trying to listen and fell into the tank. The hippo swallowed me. Except not really. I was suddenly sliding down a tunnel. Then I came out of a tree and couldn’t get back.”

“What happened next?”

“Well, the music came from a bunch of musicians floating on a raft.”

“The Giddy Nine.”

“That’s right! They were headed for a waterfall. I tried to rescue them, but I messed it up and everyone got angry. Then I found the Repository of Learning, read the book, and Bridonus booted me out and told me to find you.”

The Blind King nodded, stroking his beard again, a faint smile bending his lips. “Perhaps those merrymakers were right after all,” the king murmured. “They summoned a Beyonder.”

“Excuse me?”

“The leader of the Giddy Nine, Simeon, was an adventurous man, more soldier than minstrel. He used their music as a subversive tool, so naturally the performers began to make enemies. He took time off and went to visit a prophetess, one of the few remaining oracles with any real credibility. The act required an arduous journey. Upon his return he consulted with me before implementing her instructions.”

“Some oracle told him to float off a waterfall?” Jason asked.

“Essentially. Tell me about your life in the Beyond.”

“I’m a student. My dad is a dentist. I live in a nice house. Our world is really different from yours.” As Jason spoke, he realized how far away all of that had already begun to feel. He was sitting in an ancient tower—homework and baseball seemed almost surreal.

The Blind King nodded pensively. “Have you ever sacrificed for a cause?”

“Um . . . I’ve helped with some car washes to raise money for our local soup kitchen. Nothing drastic. I keep trying to understand where I am, and how I can get home. Can you help me?”

“Not many remain who possess the sort of information you seek. Of those who do, few would bother to help you. Maldor discourages the naming of places. He forbids the production of maps. He frowns upon traveling. He teaches the populace to distrust strangers. He wants a fog of ignorance to disconnect our world. None are allowed to discuss the Beyond or the forbidden language. Many have forgotten much, or have never learned it. Others pretend to have forgotten.”

“But you’re not afraid of the emperor?”