Jonathan Dunn - The Forgotten King

“Opening the passageway to the stairs. For weeks we have been unable to open it, as if it were bound by a force outside of what can be seen. Yet it opened for you, and now we rejoice!”

“Why so?”

“Why so!” the old man laughed, “This is the wine cellar!” He smiled boyishly and raised his hand to guard his lips before continuing, “With a superb view.” He winked at Willard.

“Where is the wine?” he asked.

“Under the floor! You no doubt noticed that the stairway’s circumference is greater than the room’s; there is a narrow chamber below, within the stairway’s spiral. The wine is kept there, but we must first come up to get it – lest we take too much!” and he looked out the window at the growing dawn, breathing deeply. He turned back to Willard. “You were with those others, were you not? The tall, dark man with his hair combed backward?”

“I was.”

“And you rescued him from our guards?”

“I did.”

“For what purpose?”

“He is a citizen of my kingdom, so I must protect him from foreign elements. It is my duty.”

“True enough, but where has he gone? His men left us in peace, but he disappeared.”

“He fled from me – we are enemies at home.”

“Your duty is strong!” Zeus Agmannon turned his head and caught Ivona with his eyes. He twirled around and ran to her, kneeling at her feet and saying, “Beauty personified! What joy to my eyes. You have a pleasant air, lady. And you!” he turned to Lydia, “You are equally fair. May I ask you to join me for a drink and for breakfast?” He saw their hesitation and laughed, “Only the guards wear goblin helmets: for the outsiders’ sake. We have been given a refuge for our deeds and we mean to keep it, though without violence.”

“I would gladly drink with you, but I must beg leave to take only water,” Ivona said in a stately, graceful manner.

“Granted, granted!” Zeus cried in joy, and he ran about the room with his arms above his head. Then he stopped and knelt to the ground, opening a trap door that was hidden in the floor. “I will only be a moment,” he said, and disappeared beneath the floor. In a minute he was back, with a basket of bottles and cups in one hand and a basket of victuals in the other. “Behold!” he said, “The Holy Graal !”

The others winked at one another, joining Zeus and the Titans in a circle on the floor, where they partook of their morning repast.

“I can smell your hurry,” the king-over-the-mountain smiled, “But let me assure you that no one can travel in the forest until the sun rises and it will not pass the canopy for another hour.”

“Quite so,” Willard said.

“Ah-ha, a forest man? I love you already!”

The rest of the hour was spent in resting and feasting, lavishly entertained by their former enemies. Zeus Agmannon, if he was anything, was a gracious host; and their journey was not so vain as they had feared.

Chapter 72

For the beauty of contrast, there was never a more wondrous place than the coastal forests of Atilta. On the one side a citadel of nature, a great forest cut like rock against the sky; on the other the cup of the gods, overflowing with the biting ocean waters. On the one side stood trees mighty and majestic, their canopies outstretched in a communal celebration; on the other side water, a plasmid plain reflecting the trees and bringing out their true nature in the distortion. On one side were wooden towers, crisp and real; on the other their phantoms wavered this way and rippled that.

In this whirlwind of contrast lived a small rowboat, carved from a single log and floating in the shaded waters. It was late afternoon and the air hung lazily over the sea. A man sat in the boat, newly fifty with his hair still colored brown, though the center of his head had long ago gone nude. His nose was short and stout – much as his person – and his eyebrows were weeping willows that shaded his hardwood eyes.

“Those Fardy brothers!” he said to himself, “Let them confess to me later, and I will give them rosaries enough to test their patience. ‘We will be back,’ they says, ‘And you will not have missed us at all!’ Mortal pride of self, it must be, for I do not miss them more than the Lenten feasts.” He paused and, sighing, “Still, I wish they were here.”

He sat up and collected his limbs on the bench that occupied the stern of the boat, looking into the trees. There, hidden among the thick foliage, was a platform attached to the highest branches of the canopy. None but the sharpest eyes could have spied it, and those only if they cared to study the scene for several minutes. Atiltian trees were not deciduous and in the winter the platform was as invisible as in the height of summer. A man stood on the edge of the Treeway and waved his arms at Erwin Meredith.

“Why do you disturb my prayers, Koon?” and he drew himself up as if returning wearily to the land of mere mortals. “Wait, do not answer from there, but come down instead. I need a moment to wipe the blood from my face before I can grant you my attention.” He knelt and splashed water onto his face. In a moment the man reappeared, but on the ground. He was young, no more than thirty, and had a theological beard. His face was handsome. Though his beard and baldness gave him the airs of a wise old man, his bearing gave him the breeze of youth. He was disarming and unarmed, but for his rapier eyes and his hurricane laugh.

“What is it now, Koon?”

“Ships, sir, from the northeast.”

Meredith lowered himself to conceal his interest. “Of what kind?”

“Timbers.”

“Timbers? A chaotic time for a cruise,” and Meredith looked at him closely. “Koon, your beard remains, though I ordered all officers below captain be clean-shaven, for discipline. I favor you, perhaps, but I will still be obeyed.”

“Sir, it is against my conscience.”

“How so?”

“The spiritual ratio, sir!”

“Good God, are you Gylain now?”

“Not at all, but I have been studying as you commanded, and have seen that nature represents God in the ratio of its purity to its unblemished natural face. So I, too, must have a natural face. If I were to shave, I would be removing the ratio that connects nature to its creator.”

“In matters of theology, the atheist’s razor is as much to be feared as the pedant’s beard,” Meredith sighed.

Koon’s rapier eyes gave a quick riposte, “But better a hairy face than a bloody one,” and his hoarse laugh sent the air into a whirlwind.

Meredith leaned back in his boat and shook his droopy eyebrows. “Very well, then, there can be only one solution.” He paused, “Captain Koon, you will captain my ship – which I, as the commodore, should not command directly.”

“Thank you, Commodore,” the genius Koon bowed lowly, “Now, the Timbers.”

“Ready the men for action and beat to quarters; but do not reveal the fleet unless you are seen first.”

Meredith took to the oars and rowed to shore. There was an impermeable shield of trees along the coast, with no sign of any openings. Yet he rowed toward them without slowing. Then, the instant it seemed he would run against the shore, he passed through the trees and found himself inside a wide channel. It opened on either side, a valley between the mountains, and ran into the forest two hundred yards; then it turned and emptied into a small harbor nestled into the trees. The trees themselves had not been cut down, but the water was raised above their trunks and the ships were moored to their upper branches. The Treeway that led to the harbor jutted out once there, forming docks for the cleverly concealed ships.

The partisan monk rowed along the channel, flanked on either side by sentinel trees, in which stood unseen rebel look-outs. The Treeway also extended along either side of the channel and was busy with those repairing the ships, a task just then being completed. As Meredith’s boat swung around into the harbor, he came face-to-face with a triple-masted galleon. A wide loch was filled beneath the forest, and in it was the rebel fleet: seven magnificent vessels, made from the best materials and by the best craftsmen in the maritime capital of the world, Atilta. Their backbones were of Atiltian wood, their rigging of its fibers, and their sails of dandelus – a flower with a seed similar to cotton, though many times stronger and lighter. It was found only in the depths of the Atiltian forest. Several days of relentless work had returned the fleet to perfect condition. It now needed only the Admiral’s sailors to complete its crews.