Jonathan Dunn - The Forgotten King

“Enough, I will hear no more about it: you are to be married to Prince Willard, and that is that!” and Milada roared in his anger, his habitual dancing movements becoming as infuriated as his voice, writhing like a fly in a spider’s web. Ivona warmed as well, but had the strength to hide its effects. Yet all she could do to prevent an outbreak was to flee from the room. And that she did, passing through the empty second story rooms and the main hall, where the festivities continued. She passed the castle gate and entered the village which encircled it, coming to a stop before the church, always open by the vow of its pious prior, Oren Lorenzo.

It was a quaint stone church, with its sharp roof and its lofty steeple, and especially with the wooden door that graced its front like the humble mouth of an otherwise noble countenance. It was there that she went to seek shelter, as much from the driving rain as from the disfavor of her father. The entrance brought her into the open sanctuary, supported by ornate stone pillars and arches made of wood. A few resident clergy prayed at the altar, and – hoping to escape their notice – Ivona climbed the stairs to the tall belfry upon which the steeple rested. One of the priests saw her, but turned his mustached face back to his prayers.

The belfry or tower atop the church was uncovered, though to its right the steeple shielded it from the view of the castle, blotting out all light but the sky. Ivona was run through by the water; the rain was warm with the spring and only refreshed her. Overhead the clouds were thick, though still the stars and moon shone brightly through the various breaks, illumined with their own joys and sorrows – whatever they may be – and exhibiting their faceless gaze to all who sought respite from life. Among them was Ivona, and as she looked over the rain-clothed forests from her lofty observatory, she could feel the comfort of night and hear its whispered hopes.

She was happy then, without the burdens of existence, until she heard footsteps coming up the belfry. She turned to the opening and saw a head of thick red hair coming toward her, bowing reverently as it approached. The figure wore the robes of a humble priest, and on his Bible-beaten face was written a countenance at odds with his lowly attire. His nose was long and straight, his lips hidden by a protruding mustache that ran from ear to ear like a streak of fire.

“If my opinion is desired,” he humbly began, “I would say you have had words with your father once again, and that they were neither gentle nor loving. Ivona Milada, you must learn to obey, even as the scriptures say.”

“Yet I am no longer a child.”

“Nor yet a woman, little one; though closer than most to that lofty ideal.”

Ivona sighed, “He wishes me to marry, Father Lorenzo: a man whom I have never met and who has never met me.”

“That is of no consideration, child, for the wisdom of a father should rule the daughter. He is more capable of judging a man’s character than you, for he is old and veteran in such things.”

“He is more capable to find a husband of strength, perhaps, but not of heart. And if his judgments of character are so refined, how does he reject God, himself?”

The priest evaded, “No mortal is flawless, child, and no husband is immortal. Love is more action than feeling, more labor than romance. With patience and faith love can be built on a firm foundation, while one formed on mere romance is doomed to pass away. When your father chooses your husband, there is not the mixing of romance into the decision.”

“A marriage without romance may sound good in theology, Lorenzo, but can a celibate priest set the standard of the love between man and woman from experience or practicality?”

“You are right, but it is the will of God that you should do as your father desires. Your course has been predestined to you, and should you refuse to marry him now you will only marry him later. Such is the will of God, and you cannot escape it.”

“Your words are wise, if it were God’s will; but how can you know so easily? If marriage is a symbol of the covenant between God and his children, still I would forgo the symbolic and enter into the practical. You know that it has long been my desire to give my life to the church, to forsake the symbolic for a direct covenant with God. I would not rebel against him, but I hear his calling differently.”

“But God has many voices, and foremost among them is the voice of your father, the authority put over you.”

“Then should I travel to Eden, to inquire as to Gylain’s wishes on the matter?” She sighed and looked at the priest while a smile spread across her face. It grew until she laughed outright.

“What is humorous, Ivona?”

“Your somber demeanor, Lorenzo; I have heard stories of your zeal, but I see only a pious man.”

“For you, I am pious; for freedom, I am zealous.”

The maiden’s laugh died down to a mere smile, and that gave way to a sigh. “Perhaps you are right. I will submit.”

She left him on the belfry and returned to the lower parts of the church, crossing the sanctuary when she heard a group of monks reading from the scriptures. She was literate in Latin, and crept to the door to listen:

“Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth; for I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. I came to set a son against his father. He who loves his father more than me is not worthy of me; and he who does not take his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me.”

The words grabbed her heart and ran her through. She fell back in fear, raising her face to the ceiling. “My God, my God, why have I forsaken you?”

In a flurry, she fled the church, taking a monk’s frock as she went and disguising herself. She took a bow and quiver of arrows from the sentry tower, along with a short sword that fit into her belt. Then she left the village and the castle, and all she had known since birth, setting aside worldly peace for a still conscience. She sought her fate in the inhuman forest – such was her love – and as she slipped through the gates into the darkness, an owl’s cry pierced through the gloom and through her heart. She was alone, it cried, but she did not turn her ears to listen. Instead, she set off to the forest, not afraid of that which would ruin the courage of any man. For she was no man, and her heart was a strong fortress: when the gates were open all could enter; yet when they were closed neither man nor nature could break through, neither love nor fear.

Chapter 14

After parting from the others, Alfonzo, Vahan Lee, and Casper crossed the stream and headed south through the great forest. Their destination was a small hideout in which the rangers stored secret documents. It was these documents for which Alfonzo searched.

The trees in all parts of the forest were massive and tall, standing at least twenty feet apart, and it was no different in the southern area where they were headed. There were few bushes on the ground, and still fewer saplings. The trees of the forest seemed to live forever, invigorated by the climate of Atilta, so much purer than its neighbors: Hibernia to the north and France to the east. It was a place of refuge amidst the turmoils of the times. The legends of the people made it the brother of Atlantis and Eden, with their paradisaic island climates. Some, however, were greatly disturbed by this analogy.

Through the first hour of the walk the three travelers were silent. Alfonzo was thinking of many things, among them the suspicions he had about Vahan Lee. That worthy gentleman, Lee, was wholly occupied by thoughts of his failure to conceal his mission.

“By folly’s face,” he said to himself, “I should guard my tongue better, but no! When I want to keep something secret I seem to shout it from the rooftops.”