The Eyes of a King (26 page)

When she was nine years old, the little girl woke suddenly from a dream. And when she sat up, her grandmother was beside the bed. Emilie used to sit there often while her granddaughter fell to sleep, and the girl did not think it strange to see her there now. “Nan,” she said quietly.

“Anna,” said Emilie.

Anna had been thinking about her grandmother that afternoon, about the days when Emilie had first taught her to dance. That afternoon she had put away her ballet shoes. No one could
pay for lessons anymore. She had not thought she minded until she saw her grandmother sitting there.

Anna began to cry. She said, “They want me to give up dancing.”

“Listen to me now,” said Emilie. “Never give up dancing.”

A church bell was chiming three, away over the rooftops, and Anna was sitting up in the darkness. There was no one else there.

She got up and turned on the light. She took her shoes out again and put them on. She began to dance.

Her mother was at the door then. “What are you doing?” She caught hold of the girl’s arm. “Anna, answer me!”

“I want to dance,” the girl said.

Anna’s mother bent and looked into her face, still holding her by the arm. “Were you crying, Anna angel? There are tears on your cheeks.”

“Nan was here,” Anna said. “She was sitting there by the bed talking to me.”

Her mother let the girl’s arm fall and stared at her. Anna could see her eyes moving, as though she was trying to read Anna’s own. “Maybe it was a dream,” said Anna. “But she told me not to stop dancing. Please let me dance.”

“For how long?” said her mother. “Another year of lessons?”

The girl shook her head. “Forever.”

That same night the boy could not sleep, so he wandered down through the empty house to the library, where the light was still burning. Aldebaran was at the table with a pile of books in front of him, but he looked up when the boy entered. “It is late,” said Aldebaran. “Past three o’clock, and you should be asleep.” He
smiled and set the books aside. “Tell me what is troubling you, Ryan.”

“Uncle?” said the boy. “The place where I used to live—my own country—I think I have nearly forgotten it now.”

“You must not forget,” said Aldebaran, rising to his feet.

“I know it.”

“Here,” said Aldebaran. “Come here.” He picked up an open book from the top of the pile and blew the ink dry. “I am going to read you a story.”

“What story?” said the boy, pulling a chair up to the table.

“It is called
The Golden Reign
,” said Aldebaran. “This is the last chapter.”

Aldebaran opened the book. “ ‘The Betrayal of the Royal Family,’ ” he read.

I stopped reading and turned to Stirling. “We know this already. The next part is the last chapter of Father’s book. Do you really want me to read it to you?” Weakly, he nodded. The tears were drying on his face, still catching the evening light. “All right,” I said. “I will read it. Maybe I have forgotten it, anyway, and I would like to hear it again.” But really, I could have told it to him by heart.

King Cassius I had an advisor by the name of Marcus Kalitz, in whom he placed absolute trust. Kalitz knew every secret of the country. One night King Cassius woke, and Kalitz was in his room, holding a dagger. He was cast out from the king’s service. But Kalitz always maintained that he had heard a sound and gone to investigate, thinking that someone had broken into the palace. It was
never known whether Kalitz had meant to assassinate the king that night, but from then on the two were enemies, and their families after them. And the old hatred rose again between the Kalitzes and the Donahues.

Five years later, a son was born to the king and the queen, and in the same month, Marcus Kalitz’s wife, Celine, also gave birth to a son. The king’s son was named Cassius also, and Kalitz’s son was named Lucien.

While he was yet young, the king fell ill, and he did not recover. On his death, his son became King Cassius II, at the age of ten. There was fear of revolution at this time of instability. The lord Aldebaran of the secret service went undercover to the Kalitz mansion on Holy Island.

Talitha, the head of the secret service, told Aldebaran that he was going to Holy Island to keep watch on Marcus and Celine Kalitz. But Marcus and Celine knew who he was. They hated the royal family with a ferocity, and Aldebaran was working for the king’s government, but they kept him there. He was the one who was being watched. Talitha had sent Aldebaran to Holy Island for one reason only. She wanted him far away and carefully guarded.

Talitha was secretly working for the rebel group that was planning to take over the country. But as head of the secret service, she was responsible for the hunting of the rebel leaders. Without Aldebaran it was easy to cut down the country from the middle of the ranks. Many of the powerful royalists working in the secret service died in dangerous operations and suspicious circumstances during the following years. Many wasted time looking the wrong way, sent far away on pointless missions. An atmosphere of fear rose over the
country. Meanwhile, Marcus Kalitz was developing an army and a dictator—his son, Lucien.

Now, Anneline, Marcus Kalitz’s daughter, did not know of the plans of her family. She met the young king at a ball and they fell in love. They were engaged when she was fourteen. Lucien hated his sister from that day onward.

Anneline suspected her family of plotting something, though she did not know what. She found the silver eagle, an ancient and powerful charm, in her father’s possession. She gave it to the lord Aldebaran. Anneline knew that Aldebaran was in danger from her family, and she advised him to flee. He gave to her a prophecy that had come to him as a vision.

Just before Anneline’s wedding, the great Aldebaran escaped the Kalitz mansion and the bonds of magic that Talitha had placed upon it. Aldebaran’s power did not match that of Talitha, although he surpassed her in wisdom. Talitha caught him, and she and others exiled him from the country.

The king married Anneline Kalitz, who was beautiful and good. A baby was born to the king and the queen, and he was named Cassius also. He would have become King Cassius III. From the first, the boy had the eyes of a king, and he was loved by the people. And when Queen Anneline saw this, she began to suspect that Aldebaran’s prophecy had meaning, and so it was made into a book, as were all the prophecies of old.

The silver eagle contained great power—the power of freedom. And Aldebaran knew that it must be protected by any means. It was part of his prophecy, and if Lucien found it, he would destroy it. So Aldebaran hid the talisman where no one could find it.

After his father’s death, Lucien Kalitz grew even more fiercely
determined to take over the country. There were many whose allegiance he could buy. He set up factories to mass-produce foreign firearms—weapons that had not been seen in this world before. He had imported them from somewhere far away and employed some of the country’s cleverest scientists to discover how they worked.

One night Lucien Kalitz’s army stormed the castle. There was no one who could withstand the foreign guns. At Lucien’s orders, his soldiers murdered the king and the queen, who was Lucien’s own sister. But when they came to the prince, they were afraid, because of the prophecy. So they took him to Lucien. Lucien commanded Talitha to exile the boy. It would have been unwise to kill an innocent child who was so loved by the people. So the prince was exiled to England, where Aldebaran also was. And the lord Aldebaran took the boy into his care and sought to bring him up as one fit to rule Malonia.

Lucien’s army took control of Malonia, and he named himself Commander of the Realm. Less than a year later, his government were calling him King Lucien instead. And he turned away from the prophecy, cast it aside as if it was a joke, and pretended he was invincible. But perhaps he remembered it sometimes, because others believed it was true. There was a chance. He knew that something must be done to prevent its fulfilment, so that the people would look away from dreams, back to reality.

Lucien knew of the powerful charm that Aldebaran possessed, and he sent his soldiers to England, to seize it. But they could not find it, and torture had no power over Aldebaran. Talitha was needed for the war that Lucien now waged on Alcyria, and she could not afford to be weakened by searching in vain for the silver eagle.

Then a rumor began: the prince had never been exiled; he had been
shot with his parents on the night that Lucien took over the country. People had seen it happen. A child’s body was found, and it could have been the boy’s. The rumor spread like a germ through the country. The prophecy was forgotten. The people accepted Lucien as king. They stopped waiting for the boy’s return. They were a broken nation. They had no guns, no money, and no power. And they had no hope either. And we ask who started that rumor.

I tell this story as I see it, because this is what I believe about our country. This is what I have seen. To write these words is my God-given right, and I will not be silenced by fear. I will give everything I have, and I will give my life, if it is my own destiny to lose it for this cause. The prince is not dead. He will return. We should not give up hope because the Golden Reign is ended. The earth circles constantly from day to night, and back again to day, and when we are in night, we have the day to look forward to, but in the day we have only the night. And I tell you truly that the Iron Reign is begun.

Perhaps it was fortunate that I could tell that story by heart, because tears had been blinding me for a long while now. I breathed in silently and blinked them out of my eyes. Stirling’s face was distant, and he did not seem to have noticed. “I have lost the page,” I said, bending over the book and leafing through it. “Wait a minute.”

I went on reading hastily.

Aldebaran closed the book. “Do you understand that story?”

The boy nodded. “This is the story of my family.” He got up and went to Aldebaran’s side. “Who wrote this?”

“My nephew, Harold North. I have been copying it down
chapter by chapter using my willpower. You know that I can see what he writes.”

“He wrote it like a legend,” said the boy. “Like one of the old stories you used to tell me, about good and evil.”

“He told it like that because he wanted to make people listen,” said Aldebaran. “He will suffer for this book, but he wrote it anyway. You know that this story is real. You have seen Lucien and his military commanders and the great Talitha. You have seen the marks of torture on my arms and legs.” The boy nodded. “Here in England, they used to believe that the king was appointed by God,” Aldebaran continued. “That is not true. It is chance that you were born the son of the king of Malonia. But there are people in your country who would die to see you take the throne again, because of the prophecies surrounding you, because your father and grandfather ruled the country well, and because they are already dissatisfied with Lucien. People like Harold North. People are prepared to die for you, and you in return will give your life to them.”

“That is why I have to remember about Malonia,” said the boy.

“Tomorrow I will begin to teach you,” said the man. “So that you do not forget.”

The last light lay, glittering, on Stirling’s hair. He did not seem to notice that I had stopped reading. I wiped my face on my sleeve. I was almost glad that he seemed barely to register what was going on around him while I was crying like that over some story about my father’s book.

It was true that he had suffered for it. That chapter had been one step too far for the great Harold North. They put a
price on his head and banned every royalist book in the country. And now here we were, his two sons, who he would not have recognized, sitting here reading his declaration of freedom. Those were the last words he wrote before he left us for good.

“I think you were right,” I said, wiping my face and trying to keep the tears out of my voice. “Aldebaran did not die, or the prince. If this story is true, they went on living in England.”

Stirling had shut his eyes, and I did not know if he heard me, or if he was sleeping. I put away the book, then took his hand and sat beside him in silence until Grandmother returned.

“I
heard you talking,” Grandmother said when she came in with a bowl of soup for Stirling. “Were you telling a story, Leo?”

I shook my head and let go of his hand, standing up. Stirling turned to her weakly as she sat down where I had been, on the side of his bed.

She tried to spoon soup into his mouth, but he vomited it straight back up. We went through this process about three times every day, because he had to keep his strength up. He had to, otherwise he would not survive the final stage of the illness, which was unconsciousness. The next stage.

When I trailed back upstairs with the washed-out bucket, Grandmother asked me, “Leo, will you go to church?”

“What?” I said, trying to get my brain to work.

“Will you go to church?” she repeated. “ To pray for Stirling.”