Melina Marchetta - Finnikin of the Rock

It was one of the most fanciful stories they had heard to date, and Finnikin bit his tongue to hold back a contemptuous retort.

"It is not that we are surprised by the notion of Prince Balthazar being alive," Sir Topher said carefully, clearing his voice as a warning to Finnikin. "It has always been our hope that there was truth in the tales that the heir survived. But these past ten years, there have been many claims to the Lumateran throne across the land. Each one has proved to be false. You are aware that as a consequence, the ruler of each kingdom of Skuldenore has decreed it treason to make such claims."

"Yet I hear that no Lumateran acknowledges the reign of the king trapped behind those walls," the High Priestess said. "Is he not referred to as the impostor king?"

"Despite our belief that the one ruling inside Lumatere played a role in the deaths of our beloveds, as far as the leaders of Skuldenore are concerned, he was legitimately crowned the king."

A hasty decision made by those controlled by fear, who dared to meddle in the affairs of another kingdom, Finnikin thought bitterly.

"If you are to believe anything, believe this," she said firmly. "The rightful heir to the throne of Lumatere and survivor of that wretched night has spoken to the novice Evanjalin."

"Does the novice have a message from him?" Sir Topher asked.

"Just a name," the High Priestess said, "of a childhood companion of your prince. A trusted friend."

Suddenly every pulse in Finnikin's body pounded. He felt the eyes of both the High Priestess and Sir Topher on him. Then the High Priestess came closer, taking his face between her callused hands.

"Is that what you were to him, Finnikin of the Rock?" she said softly. "For I do believe your king is calling. It has been ten years too long and Balthazar has chosen you, through this girl, to take your people home."

"Who is she to be worthy of the association with our heir?" Finnikin asked stiffly, moving away. "Does she claim to have made his acquaintance?"

"She is a simpleton. She has taken the vow of silence, broken only to tell me of the sleep and that you, Finnikin, would one day come to collect her. I believe she is somehow promised to your heir."

"What makes you believe such a thing, blessed Kiria?" Sir Topher asked.

"At night she whispers his name in her sleep with intimacy and reverence. As if their bond is ordained by the gods."

This time Finnikin failed to hold back the sound of his disbelief.

The High Priestess smiled sadly. "You have lost faith in the gods."

He held her gaze and knew she could read the confirmation in his eyes.

"Do you believe in magic?" she persisted.

"My kingdom has been impenetrable for the past ten years with no logical explanation, so I have no choice but to say I do believe," he admitted ruefully.

"It was indeed a very dark magic used by the matriarch of the Forest Dwellers. Made up mostly of hatred and grief for what Lumaterans had allowed to happen to her people in the days following the deaths of the king and his family. But somehow some kind of good survived, and the novice Evanjalin is the key. You would know by now the meaning of the archaic words spoken by Seranonna that day."

Finnikin had not heard the name Seranonna since his childhood. He did not want her to be known as anything other than the witch who had cursed Lumatere.

"We were in the square that day," Sir Topher said, "and have spent these past ten summers deciphering the curse, but there are words we are still unsure of. Seranonna used more than one of the ancient languages."

"And those words you do understand?" the High Priestess asked. She stared at Finnikin, waiting for him to speak.

" 'Dark will lead the light, and our resurdus will rise.' It's the ancient word for king, is it not? Resurdus?"

The High Priestess nodded. "The curse was to condemn Lumaterans for allowing the slaughter of her people, but it was also to protect the one she claimed to have seen fleeing from the forest that night. The resurdus. The heir. The dark and light will lead you to him."

"But where are we supposed to take this... child? Evanjalin?" Finnikin asked.

The High Priestess gave a small humorless laugh. "Do you consider yourself a child, Finnikin?"

"Of course not."

"The novice Evanjalin is nearly your age and left her childhood behind far too early."

"Where are we to take her, blessed Kiria?" Sir Topher prompted gently.

The High Priestess hesitated. "She claims that the answers lie in the kingdom of Sorel."

Mercy. Finnikin would have preferred to have heard Sarnak or Yutlind. Even Charyn with its barbaric ways. He would have preferred to take her to hell. It would certainly be less dangerous than Sorel.

"And you believe Balthazar will contact us there?" Sir Topher said.

"I do not know what to believe. The goddess has not bestowed the gift of foresight on me. All I can pass on is this girl and the name of the one she claimed would come for her." Once again her eyes were on Finnikin. "Perhaps both chosen by a missing king to be his guide."

There was a sound by the door, and the High Priestess held out her hand as a figure appeared from the shadows.

The girl had the coloring of the Lumateran Mont people, a golden skin tone, much darker than Finnikin's own fair skin. Her hair was shaved, but he imagined that if it were allowed to grow, it would match the darkness of her eyes. Dressed in a gray shift made of coarse fabric, she would easily be passed by without a second glance.

"Sir Topher, Finnikin, I present to you the novice Evanjalin."

She cast her eyes down, and Finnikin watched as her hands shook and then clenched.

"What is it you fear?" he asked in Lumateran.

"Most of her time was spent in Sarnak," the High Priestess explained. "It is the language we have used during the break of silence."

Finnikin could no longer hold back his frustration. He pulled Sir Topher aside. "We know nothing other," he said in Belegonian to ensure the novice and the High Priestess would not understand. "This is all too strange."

"Enough, Finnikin," Sir Topher said firmly. He turned back to the High Priestess. "Has she spoken since?"

She shook her head. "She has taken the vow of silence. She has suffered much, Sir Topher, and her faith is strong. It's the least we can leave her with."

Sir Topher nodded. "If we are to make the tide, we must leave soon."

Finnikin was stunned at how swiftly Sir Topher had made his decision, but the look in the older man's eyes warned him not to protest. Biting his tongue, Finnikin watched as the High Priestess took the girl's head in her hands and pressed her lips tenderly to her forehead. He saw the girl's eyes close and her mouth tremble, but then her face became impassive again and she walked away from the High Priestess without a backward glance.

The descent was as nauseating as the climb up, made worse for Finnikin by the burden he carried in his heart. Taking this girl halfway across the land had not been part of the plan he and Sir Topher had worked out in the early days of winter. The uncertainty of their new path did not sit well with him.

When they reached the base of the cliff, they passed the group of kneeling pilgrims. A hand snaked out to grab the cloth of the novice's cloak.

"Your feet," Finnikin said, noticing for the first time that she was barefoot. "We can't afford to be slowed down because you don't have shoes."

But the girl did not respond and continued walking. It was only when they were a good distance from the cloister that she looked back and he saw the raw emotion of loss on her face. By then the waters reached their knees and Finnikin feared they would not make it to safety without being washed away. Here, the tide was said to return at amazing speed and pilgrims had drowned without any warning. He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, and suddenly her look of vulnerability disappeared and in its place was a flash of triumph.