Mantle: The Return of the Sha (13 page)

He walked over to the bells and placed the dark bell-hammer in his hand.

“The dark hammers are forged from the lower half of the clapper that held the ball. The upper piece of the clapper was used to make the others. The large bell was then melted and molded into the actual bells that you see here and throughout the castle.

“When the bell is struck, the sound will echo in a corresponding bell somewhere in the castle. Depending on which hammer is used, the sounds will be very different and will echo in different bells. They seem to have a mind of their own, correctly anticipating where the sounds should travel to, before sending the echo. For instance, if you were to ring the bell using the dark hammer, summoning the Royal Guard, bells would not ring in corridors where no guards were present. It might seem like calls could be missed, but none are, and we would not want bells ringing in every room of the castle. Just imagine such a thing!”

Mr. Oliver began to laugh at his own thoughts, and when he stopped he had a blank expression as if trying to remove the image from his mind so that he might continue without bursting.

When he had regained focus, he continued, “Back to what I was saying—oh, yes, unlike calling for guards, the summoning of maids is much more specific. It’s rather efficient, if I may say as much.”

Lizabet was fascinated by the bells; they both were. Lizabet thought of how useful this would have been for her and Dorian. There had been days when Lizabet had been particularly down and would have liked to call to her friend for comfort. She would definitely have used it to call him after her Aunt Roni had announced to them that she would be passing. The thought of it hadn’t begun with sad thoughts, but she missed both Roni and Dorian. She quickly realized that there was nothing to be sad for in Roni’s passing, and it had not yet been long since she had left Dorian in Terra, so she shut it out of her mind immediately.

But she was still fascinated.

Magic bells.

“What are they made of, Mr. Oliver? They don’t quite look silver and they don’t quite fit gold.”

“They are made of plate, a very rare and very strong metal found only in the Forie Mines. As far as I know, it is by far the strongest metal known in all of Mantle, and is so rare that only the king’s armor is made of it. Very rare indeed.”

At the mention of Zander’s armor, Bella felt a chill run up her spine. She hadn’t considered that part of being married to the king. She supposed she would encounter many aspects of her new life that she hadn’t considered.

Bella looked up at Mr. Oliver and said, “Surely, the king would not ride into battle
himself
.”

Mr. Oliver ignored the question as if he had not heard it, and addressed Lizabet instead. “Young Miss Abbot, would you please ring the bell for the maids? I will leave you to get acquainted.”

Lizabet’s eye lit up as she carefully lifted the blue hammer and tapped the bell lightly. When she looked up at Mr. Oliver for approval, he only nodded and smiled. Bella, not missing that she had been ignored, only stood watching. She liked Mr. Oliver very much and would not jeopardize a potential friend and ally in her new home by mentioning Zander’s armor again. Also, she knew that he was likely not the person to address such a direct statement, anyhow, especially from a woman who would be married to the king.

In the brief silence that followed, Lizabet thought that she heard the dim sound of bells ringing off in the distance, perhaps from the corridor outside. It was a very high-pitched sounding bell—very pleasant.

Within a minute, the door to the apartment opened, and six young maids entered and quickly formed a synchronized curtsy as if they had rehearsed it a hundred times beforehand. Lizabet returned the gesture with her own curtsy. It was awkward for Lizabet to do such a thing, and she nearly fell over. There isn’t much need for curtsying in Terra, after all. The maids, who had been watching this, began giggling before realizing that it might be rude. But when they composed themselves and looked at Lizabet, they saw a smile that washed over them and put them at ease.

Mr. Oliver, having completed his immediate assignment, bowed lightly to the girls and began walking toward the door. As he did, he said, “Miss Bella Abbot, please ring the bell if you should need me.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Oliver,” she replied, as he let himself out.

****

The first full day at Obengaard for Bella and Lizabet would prove trying, yet exciting. It was a whirlwind of business. There were fittings for dresses in every color imaginable—and in some colors that were
not
imaginable.

There were discussions with the royal chef, who sat in Bella’s parlor biting his tongue when both of them told of their favorite foods. Many of the items mentioned by Lizabet and Bella, the chef had either never eaten nor had heard of. They were from Terra, after all, and the varieties of vegetables, berries, and other foods were naturally limited to that particular area. Once Bella understood that they were attempting the impossible while making the chef miserable in the process, she relented and simply told him that he should trust his own judgment.

Bella’s schedule had been laid out by Mrs. Stubbins, the head mistress, and much of it would consist of wedding planning, she realized. It became clear at once that she would have more than enough help planning her wedding—and she welcomed it.

When the maids had first arrived, Carlotta had been walking freely about the apartment, taking no notice and dragging her string behind her. Lizabet had a brief misunderstanding with Mrs. Stubbins over Carlotta’s accommodations, but once Bella intervened, it was agreed that she would be allowed to stay with Lizabet in her quarters for the time being. Lizabet would inspect the stables later to approve any change. Mrs. Stubbins had not seemed completely happy with this arrangement, but had relented.

Once his council meetings had concluded, Zander stopped into the apartments to check on them. He explained that he would be away for the night, and couldn’t be sure when he would return (it was the Trees, after all). Bella knew that she would not have a conventional engagement, and she would not have a conventional marriage. She would need to get accustomed to her husband’s responsibilities as king, but in her heart she was fine with the arrangement. After all, she thought of herself as an independent woman, and she saw no reason to change.

Later that night, after all of Zander’s meetings had been held, and all of his orders dispatched, he found himself in his own chamber, thinking the same as Bella. He hoped that she would understand his duties, and would be happy with the life that he would be thrusting her into. He didn’t know her, after all—knew
nothing
about her really. None of that mattered to him, though—she was the one.

To him, she was already queen.

Truth and Lore

KING ZANDER AWOKE in a panic, his hair and clothes wet with sweat. It was not daylight yet, and there was an eerie and thick silence in the air. He wiped his hand over the crystal lamp next to his bed. It immediately illuminated and filled the room with a soft glow. The charmed lamp, gifted by the fairies many generations ago, had never come in handy more than it had now, he thought.

He had been thrust violently out of a dream that seemed as if happening before him in true form. In the dream, he had been standing at the fork of a road, holding the staff that had been gifted to him by the fairies. It suddenly seemed important and he gripped it tightly.

The left road had been silver, reflecting the sun so brightly that he had to shield his eyes. The right rung of the fork was a road in the color of red, and at the sight of it, his insides had turned and a deep dread fell over him.

So instead of choosing a path, he had turned from both options so that his back was facing the choice. Now, in the dream, he was faced with the site of Lizabet. She was holding a string which his sight followed down to find tied around the breast of Carlotta. He had stood fixated on Carlotta for what seemed a long time, before looking back up to Lizabet. But then, it was no longer her. Instead, he was looking at a boy of about the same age as Lizabet. The boy had dark hair and was wearing the crown of Bannister. It was the same crown that he had worn when he was a prince, before the death of his father.

He knew at once who the boy was and what he represented. The boy was his son—and his future.

When the boy and Carlotta approached, he only smiled. Zander knew the boy’s question without him speaking it or Zander hearing it.

Which path shall I take?

Zander had looked over his shoulder, back to the fork in the road. The roads had switched places now, this time with the silver on the right and the red on the left. The silver now seemed to call to him, and the red seemed to offer only pain. He had turned back to look at the boy with Carlotta on her string, and tears began to fill his eyes. The boy only continued to smile and walked by him, with Carlotta following. When the boy and Carlotta reached the fork, the boy dropped the string and they divided; Carlotta going to the right and the boy walking to the left.

Zander had begun to scream, running toward the fork and not knowing which to save, or from what to save them from. He knew now that Carlotta represented much more than Lizabet’s chicken. She was a symbol of the good in the world—of Bella, of Lizabet, of all of Forris and the good in all of Mantle. When he reached the fork, Dark Weed began to quickly rise, blocking the mouths of both roads. Mesmerized in the weed for only a moment, he began screaming for his father.

He had awoken then, the dream too much to bear.

Quickly recounting the dream in his head, so that it would not leave him (
dreams can sometimes tell a great deal
), he walked into the bath and threw water from the basin over his face. The dream could mean a great deal, and it could mean nothing at all. He knew that when dreams came in times of unrest, they could not always be trusted. No, he would not draw conclusions, but he would remember well what he had seen.

Guard that it doesn’t come, but watch yourself for a choice
—
possibly an unbearable choice,
he thought.

Although he had not planned to leave for the Sovereign Forest so early, he knew that further sleep was impossible. So he dressed, while occasionally biting from a dark pear from the large bowl of fruit and nuts. He was thinking of the questions that must be asked of the trees and the
proper
way that the questions must be asked. The Trees could take the questions he asked literally, not assuming anything and not giving thought to provide more information than what was asked. It would depend on their mood. Sometimes the Trees would offer up advice to unasked questions and, on other occasions, they would ignore parts of the inquiry altogether.

If the Trees found a topic or a question to be trivial or irrelevant to them or to the kingdom, they might put off advising for an extended period of time. The person
(or king)
seeking counsel would only be told by the Trees, ‘
We will confer among ourselves on the matter.’
If someone should hear this from the Trees, they would stand to wait months, if not years, for their reply. If the unfortunate Forie should pass on, before they had received their answer, the Trees would willingly convey the answer to the next of kin. Since it was rare for the Trees to hold an audience with those other than the sovereign, or in some cases an oracle or wizard, it was common for a new king to meet with the Trees to discuss any lingering questions that might have been asked by their father. In many cases, the answers that they received from the Trees, on behalf of the previously living king, were matters of infrastructure—roads, bridges, building, and such. But, occasionally, a new king might be given the answers to unknown questions that the Trees might not disclose. That response had nearly driven some kings mad, trying to figure out the question to the answer.

Zander didn’t think he was in any danger of falling victim to a waiting game with the Trees, not with such a direct threat to the kingdom and to Mantle, but he still must be prepared nevertheless.

When he was ready, he rang the bell, waking the stable lads and alerting them to prepare his horse. Although he would normally visit the Trees alone, he also summoned his guards—he would not be going alone on this trip, not today. They might be running toward war, and he could not risk an ambush. It wasn’t his own safety that concerned him, though. He would have his kingdom focused on the issue of the Skites, rather than enveloped in chaos for the death of a king. So he would ride alongside caution.

****

When Zander approached the edge of the Sovereign Forest, he was immediately greeted by the outer trees.

“Welcome Zander, we have been expecting your arrival. Dicen will speak with you.”

“Thank you, my Lords.”

A much needed stroke of good fortune,
he thought.

As Zander made his way through the forest, he hardly noticed the animals lining the path to show him the way. He was thinking how fortunate he was to be speaking to Dicen once more, and especially about this particular matter. He felt a certain rapport with Dicen, since dealing with his affliction. Then he thought it may be a bad omen, knowing that Dicen would not bother himself with the matter if the situation were not dire.

With his head swimming, he walked without noticing his strides and reached Dicen in fairly short order. Kneeling into a bow before Dicen, he fully expected to endure a lengthy wait. Instead, Dicen spoke almost immediately. This was an odd rarity for
any
Sovereign Tree, particularly Dicen, who had the authority and respect to take as long as he liked. This led Zander to believe that the Trees had already discussed the situation beforehand—also rare.

“Young Zander, you have come to seek counsel on the matter of the Skites, have you not?”

His voice seemed to thunder through the forest even more so than when Zander had met with him before. The sound of Dicen’s voice was always loud, but he hadn’t noticed over his own sorrow.

“Yes, Lord Dicen, I have come in search of advice on the matter of the Skites, and of Dark Weed appearing in the Outlands.”

A long pause ensued before Zander, realizing that he hadn’t actually
asked
anything, finally said, “Lord Dicen, will you lend me your knowledge of our current situation, and teach me what you know of the Skites and their motives?”

Dicen, seeming almost eager for the question, replied, “Yes, Zander, I will lend you what I know. Although I have no use for your concept of time as it exists for me, I believe that you may find my knowledge lengthy.”

“I will accept any insight you can offer,” Zander said.

“Zander, are you familiar with the First Times?” Dicen began.

“I know of it only through whispers and rumors, my Lord. I know that it was a dark time—the time of the Great Mantle War.”

Dicen continued, “The First Times ended when the Great Mantle War ended; then began the Common Times—your
today
. It may surprise you to know that there have been many different periods of First Times, each ending at the conclusion of a Mantle War. And each time, subsequent Common Times would follow—until the next war.

“The citizens of Mantle, being so distraught and disgusted by the brutality of war, couldn’t bear to live in the same
time
as the slaughter. They were not willing to be neighbors to sore memories. So they would restart with a new year and a new beginning, never speaking of the First Times that took place before the war’s conclusion. Since they did not speak of it, they did not pass along their lessons from the war, thereby dooming their children to make the same mistakes that they had made. War is inevitable again and again if it does not teach.

“There have been
many
Forie kings and queens before you, young Zander, who have received these words, and each time they chose to bury their knowledge along with their grief. It is probable that you will do the same when the time should come.”

The weight of what Dicen was saying crept into Zander’s mind slowly and he began to understand. Everything was a lie handed down unknowingly by those who had already been handed the lie themselves. It had been set like fire so far back in time, that there would be no one to blame for the deception.

He lowered his head, staring into his lap.
There were other kings and other wars! By the honor of all the Fathers, I will not make the same mistake. If it comes to it, they will know
—
they will all know the truth. I will not be so greedy as them.

Dicen, sensing Zander’s conflict, said “I believe that you may be bargaining with yourself, Zander—making promises to yourself that you may or may not keep. Do not trouble yourself with such matters, for the future has not been laid yet.

“Before the last war, there was peace in Mantle, very much as it is today. That war was fought over the course of only sixteen of your months, although some wars have been much shorter and some have been much longer. The Outlands during that time were covered in green forests and meadows, the Skites having been defeated. At the onset of the last Mantle War,
as you know it
, Dark Weed began to grow as well. But in its hibernation, it had changed, gotten stronger and found new ways of presenting death to its victims. Presumably, this was done to prevent the allied kingdoms of Forris, Bore, and Tongar from learning historical methods for defeating it. Little did the weed’s evolution know that no such knowledge would be passed along to future generations—by
any
of the kingdoms.”

Dicen seems almost bitter
—
angry even
—
that the advice of the Trees has been ignored so many times. If this pattern doesn’t end with me, how long will the Trees continue with patience?
Zander thought.

“Once the Dark Weed appeared, it wasn’t long before the Skites would make their appearance as well, just as you are beginning to witness yourself. Although I am unable to predict exactly when the Skites will come, I will tell you that it is inevitable.

“Yours is a circumstance that hasn’t been seen before, however. The physical body of the Skite king may only be defeated by removing the skull from the body.

“The body of the Skite king is of no concern, however, as it is only conjured up from Menagraff himself, and has no other natural maker. The skull, however, is another matter. If it is made whole once more, and returned to Skite lands, Menagraff will gain the proper strength and tools needed to conjure another body for its use.

“Throughout the whole of Mantle’s history, in every war that we Trees have witnessed, the victory was had by the three kingdoms which stand as allies today. And each time, one of the three kingdoms—that with the gravest losses—was tasked with protecting the skull of the Skite king, which long before had been dubbed The Dark Leash. Alas, each time it found its way back to the mountain of Narciss, deep within Skite lands.

“At the end of the last Mantle War, fought by King Reginald and the others, the skull had been broken into three equal pieces by the edge of a Skite sword wielded by a Skite. The enemy warrior had attempted a defense of his king as he lay wounded by both spell and sword. As the king of Bore was preparing to bring down his sword on the helpless body of the Skite king, the Skite warrior brought his first, missing the king of Bore and striking his own king instead, breaking his skull into three.

“The Skite king had been eliminated, at least temporarily, and since the lessons of previous wars had not been shared, the allied leaders only knew to remove the skull from Skite lands. They knew nothing of the consequences of its return.

“But the Skites knew. They knew that the king’s skull must be returned to Skite, and the unfortunate luck of an accident by one of their own warriors would not deter them from planning the king’s return.

“Unlike previous victories, the three allied kingdoms had each claimed one piece of the skull for safekeeping. They had no knowledge that reuniting the pieces would trigger the Skites’ return; their motivation was much more political in nature. They would each claim decisive proof of the victory, and therefore the morale of their citizens would be lifted. The skull would be a thing to be celebrated. This proved to be irrelevant later, when they would bury all mention and memory of the war itself—or their victory in it.