Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (23 page)

Gently the
River bore them on their way. Soon they had left the sheltered valley behind
and were in open country. They saw rich green meadows that stretched for miles
on either side, and a cloudless blue sky that seemed like a peaceful ocean
directly over their heads. Never had birdsong sounded as sweet as on that morn.
It felt as if the birds joyfully heralded their return to distant lands.

Marcus felt
his spirits lift unaccountably. His first sense of foreboding at the news he
must give the Empress Aurora had dissipated in the beauty of the day, the
freshness of the breeze, and the consoling thought that, after all, Dominio
watched over him and cared for his every concern.

The others
seemed to share in the joy of the day. Soon all were laughing and talking
light-heartedly of what they would do when they returned to their homelands.

“I intend to
visit the baths, very first thing, and rejoin civilization,” Felix remarked, to
the uproar of laughter by the others. “Then, I shall delight my venerated pater
and mater by my safe return to them, and share the love of Dominio with them.
Then, I shall begin enlisting recruits from among my valiant Valerian friends
to spread His kingdom.”

Dag’s rugged
face lightened as he shot a grin of appreciation at Felix.

“I, too will
spread the Good News to those in Trekur Lende,” he stated in his booming voice.
“But it may be hard in a land where Bjorrne is god,” he rued.

“And I will
help Dag,” Fanchon bubbled. “Oh, how I long to see Trekur Lende! Those long
summer days when the sun never sets! The forests, and the Lights of Rainbow
Hue! It will be delightful, no? The Lights, I mean, not the forests, for who
has not seen a tree? Imagine a rainbow without any rain! Just sun, sun, sun!”

Young Cort
mumbled something under his breath that sounded to Marcus like, “Just wait
until the long winter nights!” Marcus stifled a grin and shook his head at
Cort, who rolled his eyes at Fanchon.

“And what about
you, Cort?” Marcus inquired. “What will you do on your return?”

Cort hung his
head and shrank his small body further down into the boat.

“I do not
know,” he muttered. “I have nowhere to go.”

“Cort!” Dag
reproved him sternly. “You know I will take care of you! You will come home
with me.”

Cort flashed a
relieved grin at Dag, but Fanchon watched this exchange with a sudden wariness
in her blue eyes. She laughed a laugh that for once was not like the enchanting
piping of an ethereal flute from a celestial realm, but rather like the shrill
whine of a reed hitting a discordant note that plummets to Earth with a dull
thud, jarring in its intensity. She smiled a tight little smile at Cort that
did not reach her eyes, but said nothing.

“And you,
Marcus?” Kyrene asked gently in her warm velvety voice. “What shall you do on
your return?”

Marcus
hesitated before answering. He was still sworn to secrecy regarding his quest,
although its object had failed.

“I have a few
personal matters to be taken care of,” he ventured. “After that, I do not
know.”

Kyrene gazed
into his eyes as if she could see into his very soul, but did not inquire
further.

Down the
current Zoe took them. Gradually, they left the open country behind and saw
ahead of them tall, moss-covered trees that loomed ominously over them. Marcus
did not like the look of them, but their course was not his to decide. They
must trust their course to Zoe, for Xenon had told them, “The River will take
you where it wills, if it wills. You do not take the River: it takes you.”

They entered
the trees. Here the current slowed to a gentle flow. The trees rose above them
to enormous height. Their boughs met overhead, forming a canopy that filtered
the sunlight. Moss covered their bark and hung from their branches, creating a
curtain of slimy green. Marcus noted lizards on a few trunks, scrambling up
higher as if startled by the boat.

Here and there
they heard splashes in the water, as if some large animal had jumped into the
current. They kept a sharp eye out for predators, but saw nothing. Along the
shore was heard the creaking of fallen branches, made when something stepped on
them.

As the boat
carried them deeper into the forest, a mist rose above the water. Marcus knew
it arose from the droplets trapped by the interlocking branches, but that did
not alleviate his dislike of it. For it gave the moss-draped trees a ghostly
appearance, like that of some specter of past misdeeds come back to haunt one.

Glancing at
his friends, he realized he was not alone in his apprehension. Fanchon moved
closer to Dag, who kept a tense hand on his weapons belt. Cort hunkered down
with widened eyes, hardly daring to draw breath. Kyrene started at every sound
and turned to look behind her. Felix paled and stared unblinkingly ahead as if
waiting for something to leap out of the mist.

Fanchon broke
the silence.

“Oh, I do not
like
this place at all! It must surely be haunted, no? I am reminded of things I
wish to forget, but they will not leave my mind!”

“I, too, feel
the same,” Dag announced. “I know that my sins are washed clean, but I think of
them now.”

Cort nodded
his head vigorously, and Kyrene sighed in assent. Felix kept silent but turned
even paler.

“I also feel
as you do,” Marcus admitted. “As if the wrongs of the past will hinder me in
the work I am to do.”

“Yes,
yes
,
that is just it!” Felix cried out. “How do we overcome this guilt so we can
continue our course?”

Marcus
pondered for a moment. Then he made a decision.

“We will
inquire of Logos,” he announced, although he could not help but feel somewhat
foolish at the very idea. “After all, that is what Xenon advised us to do when
the need arose.”

He slowly withdrew
the Sword from its scabbard of toughened leather. He stared at it in silence for
a long moment. I cannot believe I am doing this, he thought to himself. He hid
his skepticism from the others, for they looked to him for leadership.

Finally, he
addressed the Sword.

“Logos,” he
intoned. “How do we deal with the weight of this guilt?”

For a tense moment
nothing happened. Then a faint gleam flickered from the Sword, and grew
steadily brighter. Before the unbelieving eyes of Marcus, words written in a
flourish of gray-white script began to form on the silver blade as if the Sword
was a scroll of parchment.

“There is no
condemnation for those who belong to Dominio.”

A gasp rose
from all of them, and they laughed in relief.

“It works!”
exclaimed Fanchon. “And I feel free..free! As if I could dance all night!”

“Yes, free.
That is how I feel,” Dag heartily concurred.

Cort beamed,
and Kyrene looked relieved. But to the surprise of Marcus, Felix sat quietly in
the boat with tears silently coursing down his cheeks. Then he closed his eyes
and bowed his head, as if in prayer. Marcus looked away, reluctant to invade his
friend’s privacy.

He noted that
he also felt liberated, and decidedly humbled. Logos spoke to them exactly as
Xenon had said it would.

He turned to
the others.

“Well, that
was our first test of faith, it seems,” he remarked. “We must be alert for any
others that arise on our journey.”

The
River began to widen and the trees to clear. Gradually the current carried them
back into open territory. Green hills rose on either side of Zoe. Here and
there they spotted a humble house or two, with goats grazing on the hillside or
lambs scampering through the grass.

For many hours
Zoe carried them swiftly along on their course. As they left the mist laden bog
behind them, their hearts lightened as well. At one point Kyrene began humming
softly under her breath. Then her humming grew louder, and became a song. It
was a hymn of praise to Dominio, and one by one they joined in, each adding
their own phrase.

“I cried unto
the Lord with my voice,” Kyrene began.

“And He heard
me and rescued me,” sang Marcus.

“And saved me
from my trouble,” Cort added.

“He put a song
in my mouth,” Fanchon chimed in.

“And joy in my
heart,” Dag chanted.

“And now my
life is His,” Felix pronounced.

They continued
this spontaneous praise for some time; then sat in quiet contentment, each one
silently meditating on all that had taken place in the past few weeks.

The River bore
them on and the terrain climbed steeply higher into the Mountains of Moldiva.
It was a country of snow-capped peaks and lush green valleys, graced by lakes
of crystal waters that opened unexpectedly in quiet forest glades.

Marcus
realized they were heading north, and would soon see the city of Lycenium at
the River Zoe’s edge. Strange, but he had never heard the name of the river
that ran parallel to the city called Zoe. In Lycenium it was known as Aquae
Vitae, or the Waters of Life, so called because everything the city needed was
brought in by boats on its current. The reverse was true as well, as the goods
Lycenium disbursed were transmitted by way of the river.

Lycenium was a
leading port for textiles, and all manner of luxurious cloth was bartered
within her walls. If there was truly a city where East met West, it was in
Lycenium; for she was at the crossroads of two very different cultures. Here
one might rub shoulders with learned men from the West who lectured from the
classics, or be met with mystics from the East who spoke of visions and ancient
wisdom known only to those who sought it.

A lady might
indulge herself in the bazaars which catered to every need or luxury the heart
could wish for. From silks and brocades to jewels of every description, exotic
spices or perfumes of infinite variety; there was nothing to be desired that
could not be found in that city. It was a favorite resort for those who wished
for a change of scene and some exciting diversion from everyday life. Here
entertainers flocked to display their talents: actors emoted in the amphitheater,
keeping the classic dramas and comedies alive and relevant to those who cried
and laughed to words that still resonated in the hearts of those who heard
them. Circuses traveled through Lycenium, featuring daring acts and exotic
animals from lands undreamed of. It was a common sight for a musician to stroll
the streets delighting onlookers with a ballad.

For those who
were of a scholarly bent there was no center in the world to compare with the
immense library that housed volumes from all over the world. One could study
the history of every known nation or sample the philosophies or savor poetry
and drama.

Marcus now
pondered his father‘s account of how Lycenium came to be. Many centuries ago,
he said, a young man named Lysandros from the Isles of Solone had set out to
make his fortune. He left home, family, and friends in a desire to seek new
lands, and to take whatever adventure came to him. He traveled the river that
ran from Solone to the mainland, and from the mainland to the Mountains of
Moldiva. Here, the beauty of the majestic range of snow-capped peaks and lakes
of crystalline water captured his fancy, and here in a land not yet inhabited
he decided to settle.

For a year
Lysandros lived alone in his mountain paradise, breathing in the pure air and
drinking from the clear lakes which brought forth fish of many varieties which
provided the staple of his diet. He thrilled to the music of birdsong in the thick
forests, and the rush of water tumbling over the rocks in the streams. He did
not miss civilization with all the noise and bustle that accompanied it, yet he
was lonely at times for the sound of another human voice.

At last a day
came when a caravan from the East traveled through his isolated dwelling. He
had never seen such a sight as the train of carts drawn by animals the like of
which he had never beheld. The beasts were huge, with four legs ending in
cloven hoofs, and their massive heads were adorned with a rack of horns, one on
each side of their heads.

The band of
travelers stopped by the little hut he had erected for his own dwelling, and
asked permission to camp on his land.

“Aye, gladly I
give it,” Lysandros assented. “But tell me from where you have come and where
you are bound.”

A portly
little man who was clearly their leader bowed his head and eagerly nodded it.

“We hail from
Neaphalet, in the land of Berrun in the North country. We journey to the great
Plain of Tormoth, in the South, where we may pasture our flocks in the cold
months. For there the climate is warmer and we may feed our herds until the spring
calls us home.”

Lysandros gave
his permission for the convoy to camp for a day or two to give their animals
rest. It would prove to be an event, however, that would change his life in a
way he had never anticipated. For in that small caravan he encountered a young
lady of serene beauty with a gentle voice who quickly captured his heart. Her
name was Ceniah, and her father Ramah was the Chief of the tribe. Lysandros
soon made his love for Ceniah known to her father, and asked for her hand in
marriage. Ramah was reluctant to bestow his daughter’s hand to a strange young
man who lived in isolation with only the birds for companionship and who
depended on the forests and lakes for his daily food.

In Neaphalet,
Ramah explained, was a great city, where the small and the great could meet
together in a harmony of spirit. There could be found wise men who held the key
to the mysteries of life, and tradesmen who offered their wares in the
marketplaces, where every need of the soul and body could find fulfillment.
Although he and his family chose the life of nomads, wandering with their herds
according to the seasons, their true home was in Neaphalet, high in the
Mountains of Sharmalah. If Lysandros could provide a comparable home for
Ceniah, Ramah said, then he would give his daughter in marriage.

Lysandros had
no desire to go back to the land of his fathers. He found his soul deeply
rooted in his mountain fastness. Yet to win the hand of Ceniah, he would have
to build a city which she would be pleased to call her home.

“I will build
a city for Ceniah,” Lysandros promised Ramah. “Give me one year, and I will
change the landscape of this lonely dwelling, and mayhap I will win your
daughter.”

Ramah
consented. He and his little band would travel on, but they would return in one
year to Lysandros. If he had fulfilled his pledge Ceniah would be his.

The caravan
took their leave of him and quiet descended once again on his solitary
dwelling. Then Lysandros took out his little boat from which he had traveled
from Solone, and taking the river, returned to the home of his father.

Striding into
his father’s house, he was met with cries of joy. His father Bion was delighted
at the sight of the young man who had taken leave of him the year before.
Lysandros had grown into his full height, and his arms were strong from labor,
his eye clear, and his gaze steady. A feast was held in his honor, which was
attended by all of his friends and family.

The following
day, Lysandros requested an audience of his father.

“A matter of
great importance has arisen, my father,” he spoke earnestly.

Bion inclined
his head as he listened. Lysandros told him of his love for Ceniah and Ramah’s
demand. Throughout his narrative, Bion kept silent, carefully studying the
gravity of his son’s countenance.

“As you see,
Father,” Lysandros concluded, “I am in need of a great deal of money. I must
build a fair city for my love if I am to win her. I need your help.”

Bion did not
answer at once. He fastened his eyes on Lysandros; then nodded his head.

“My son,” he
began, “when you left here to seek your fortune on your own you made your own
way in the world. You denied yourself the customary gift of money that all
young men of your station receive upon their entry into manhood, nor did you
take any money on your journey. Therefore, I would now offer you that which you
declined, and more than that in addition, as interest accumulated in the
interim. Indeed, I will give you one-quarter of your inheritance from my estate
if this is your desire. With that gift you may initiate the building of your
city.”

Lysandros was
overjoyed, for it was no paltry sum that his father offered him. Bion’s
holdings were immense, for he owned not only their splendid dwelling, but an
entire fleet of ships that traveled the seas on every side of Solon’s shores.
Surely he could build a city to satisfy the demands of Ramah and win his fair
daughter!

Bion and
Lysandros covenanted together: he would receive one-quarter of his inheritance
now to finance his venture. The deal was made, and they clasped their hands in
agreement.

Lysandros then
wandered throughout the Isles of Solone, seeking the services of carpenters and
masons to travel with him to his mountain home. He also inquired of the
merchants in the city, asking of any with a spirit of adventure who would wish
to set up their wares in a new land. Few were eager to set out so far from
Solone, but Lysandros told them of the great river, and how it would still
connect them to Solone many leagues away. He spoke of the towering forests and
lakes so clear they reflected the azure sky. There also, he said, was a road
that traveled from East to West that brought caravans from faraway lands. Who
knew what riches they carried, or what merchandise they desired to purchase?
Why, they might open a new market where none had ever been founded!

The enthusiasm
of the merchants was stirred, and there were some who agreed to accompany
Lysandros. They set out with him and the carpenters and masons on an autumn day
brilliant with sunshine and sparkling with the anticipation of a bright future.

When they came
to his dwelling in the mountains, they fell to work with a hearty will. Quickly
they must build before the storms of winter arrived. Before the moon had
completed her monthly cycle, they had erected the stone walls of a city. Within
those walls rose houses where the merchants would dwell, and other houses where
people would settle. The merchants set up their wares in the town square, and
word of their trade soon spread like a wildfire in the heart of the forest.
Soon people from villages made their way to the new city to sample the goods
offered.

In just a few
short months the town was populated by those who were weary of living in
isolation in the forests, or those who wanted to offer their services to the
fledgling city. Soon a baker had set up shop in the square, and the smell of
newly baked bread permeated the premises. Some of the masons and carpenters
decided to make the little city their home, and they built their own houses of
stone or wood. From Solone itself came adventurers who decided to pioneer in
unexplored territory. Some of these included the learned, with philosophers and
scholars among them. They brought their own volumes of ancient scrolls filled
with wisdom passed down from the ages, and made them available to any who
desired them. A library was erected, and the inhabitants made use of it; for
Solone was famed for the erudition of its inhabitants.

When Ramah and
his caravan returned in the autumn, they were amazed at the transformation of
the landscape. Gone was the isolated hut that Lysandros had called home. In its
place was a fine villa of stone filled with the finest luxuries of art,
furniture, and every precious object the heart could covet. For Bion had made
good his promise to give his son one-quarter of his inheritance, as well as the
sum Lysandros had initially declined.

Now a wealthy
man, Lysandros employed his own merchants who brought goods into the city via
the river. In the town square was a bazaar that sold every conceivable luxury.
Artists and actors, singers and musicians had made their way to the burgeoning
city, and the clear air rang with song and voices uplifted in the emoting of
drama. 

Ramah was
satisfied; his daughter would be sheltered within the confines of civilization.
He gave Ceniah to Lysandros on a lovely autumn evening when the moon was full and
glowing, and the vividly colored leaves drifted gently to the ground. Tenderly
they drank from the loving cup together, and christened their new-found city
Lycenium, in a mingling of their own names.

It was not long
before travelers from the East ventured to the new city, and many settled there
and added their mysticism, while other merchants brought their exotic wares
from lands further East. Lycenium became known as the city where East meets
West, and the story of its birth and beginning was one that stirred the
imagination of many a romantic.