Jonathan Rogers - The Way of the Wilderking

Leonora broke in. “But, Aidan, surely you know yourself to be the Wilderking of ancient prophecy. What about the panther you slew with a stone? What about the Pyrthen giant? What about the feechiefolk? You have to believe you’re the Wilderking.” She paused, her confidence slipping. “Don’t you believe it?”

“I believe the living God raises kings and brings them down,” Aidan answered. “I believe we don’t have to force ourselves on the ancient prophecies. I believe a traitor is no fit king.” He turned his gaze to Lynwood. “If you want to follow me, Lynwood, then follow me. But don’t try to lead me like a bull with a nose ring, and all the while pretend you’re following me.”

Lynwood looked down at his knuckles, the expression on his face shifting from disappointment to embarrassment to something more like anger. Another awkward silence descended on the room. It was broken this time by loud sucking noises at the far end of the table, where Dobro was picking his teeth with his fork.

Lynwood exploded in an outburst of irritability. “Could someone do something with that infernal heathen?” He pointed at Dobro with all five fingers. “Could you at least have the decency to act like a human being at my table?”

“Lynwood, don’t you understand?” said Aidan. “When the Wilderking comes, he won’t be coming to bring you more of this.” He gestured around at the finery of Lynwood’s house. “He’s probably going to bring you a little more of that.” He pointed at Dobro, who was moping after Lynwood’s rebuke.

Lenora gasped-squeaked, really.

“Think about it,” Aidan continued. “‘Leading his troops of wild men and brutes.’ Are you sure that’s what you want? A bunch of wild feechies running loose in Corenwald? That’s what the Wilderking will bring with him. Feechies free to leave their forest haunts and live among the rest of us, if that’s what they want to do.”

Aidan chuckled. “If you’re backing me for king, you need to know that’s what you’re backing.”

Lynwood grew pale behind his beard. Lenora was fanning herself with quick, choppy strokes. And three of the sisters’ faces were contorted into expressions of undisguised contempt for the feechie at their table. But Sadie’s eyes twinkled at the prospect of feechiefolk in Tambluff.

From the hallway came the sound of a mailed fist pounding on the front door. A gruff and threatening voice penetrated the thick walnut. “Open up! In the name of King Darrow, open up!”

Everyone froze, like statues arranged around a dinner table. “Spies,” Lynwood hissed. “King Darrow has spies in the neighborhood. They must have seen you come in.”

The first person to act was Sadie. She grabbed Dobro by the hand and, motioning for Aidan to follow, ran out of the dining room and down the corridor, away from the entry hall. They dashed through the rambling house and out a back door opening onto an alleyway. It was dark already, and they were able to get to the street without being detected. But just barely. Armed men in the blue uniforms of King Darrow’s castle guard seemed to be everywhere.

Following Sadie’s example, Aidan and Dobro didn’t run but walked as calmly as they could manage. Any second, though, one of these guards was going to realize who they were. Or perhaps the guards would just start arresting everybody on the street.

When they turned another corner, they saw a great crowd of people congregated on the sidewalk. Aidan’s first impulse was to run, to seek seclusion. But Sadie, the city girl, knew there was no better place to hide than in a crowd. She led Aidan and Dobro straight into the throng. Then Aidan realized what had drawn the crowd. They were standing outside the Swan Theater where, according to the sign above, The Ferry Keeper’s Daughter was playing.

Sadie walked boldly up to the ticket seller’s booth and bought three tickets for the balcony.

It was dark in the theater. There was little chance of anyone recognizing them here. Aidan could see from Sadie’s silhouette that her hair had given up all efforts at respectability. Some of it hung in limp curls, and some jutted out at odd angles, like the hair of a she-feechie. Dobro thought she was beautiful.

When they were settled in their seats, thirty feet above the stage, Sadie lost all composure and folded herself over in her seat. Her face was covered in cupped hands, and her shoulders were shaking.

Aidan and Dobro, seated on either side of her, stared at one another. They had handled plenty of sticky situations together, but neither of them knew what to do about a crying woman. Sadie had reason enough to cry, poor thing. Her whole family no doubt was in the clutches of King Darrow’s men. What’s more, her father was guilty as charged. Dobro raised a hand to pat her on the back, but when she raised herself up, they realized it was giggling, not sobbing, that shook her frame.

“Have you… ever had… this much fun?” she whispered between fits of laughter. “Supper with a feechie… escape from the castle guard… now a play!” A nearby patron of the theater shushed her, but Sadie couldn’t help herself.

“But what about your family?” Aidan whispered. “Aren’t you worried about them?”

“Not at all,” she whispered back. “Not at all. Papa’s been ready for this for years. He dug a tunnel. Everybody pops down the tunnel. They pop back up in one of our other houses. Perfect escape. No, don’t worry about them.”

When the orchestra struck up, Dobro jumped a foot off his seat and clutched his ears. He liked music well enough, but he had never seen more than a pipe and drum at a feechiesing, or the occasional fiddle by the campfire at Sinking Canyons. The sound of a whole orchestra in an enclosed place was overwhelming. “Where is that racket comin’ from?” he demanded.

“Down there.” Aidan pointed to a spot in front of the stage. “In the pit.”

Dobro peered over the balcony railing and saw, just below the dimmed foot lanterns, the violinists sawing away, the trumpeters blowing for all they were worth, a xylophonist running up for the high notes and down for the low notes, and a drummer pounding at a big bass drum.

“Whoever flung them folks in the pit had the right idea,” Dobro judged, “but it don’t seem to have slowed them down none.”

A woman in a neighboring seat shushed him, but Dobro, who had never been shushed before, thought she had sneezed and kept talking at the same volume. “What is all these folks setting here in the dark for?” he asked. “Who they hiding from, you reckon?”

“They’re not hiding,” Aidan whispered. “This is an entertainment.”

“Like a feechiesing?”

“Sort of. But not exactly. It’s a play.”

“Play?” Dobro looked around the darkened theater. “I don’t see what game this many folks could play. If they all took turns at a gator grabble, the poor gator’d be slap wore out before they got halfway through. And these folks ain’t dressed for fistfights.”

“No, they’re not here to play,” Aidan whispered back. “They’re here to see a play.” He couldn’t figure out how to explain a play to Dobro. The feechies did a lot of storytelling, but they didn’t do drama or playacting. As it turned out, however, he didn’t have a chance to explain. The foot lanterns were brightened, the curtain rose, and the play explained itself.

The scene was a ferry landing, complete with cutout trees standing in front of a painted backdrop of a muddy river. Dobro was spellbound. “How they get trees to grow inside a building?” he wondered aloud.

The lead character, the ferry keeper’s daughter, was played by a fresh-faced girl in a peasant dress. She paced up and down the front of the stage and fetched a long sigh before launching into a soliloquy.