The Forgotten King

aboard, none could tell. But somehow he made himself Admiral of the fleet, and, as he ordered, the others followed.

TheBarber was not foremost in the fleet, for the other ships had surrendered and been taken by the French. With Willard, the King of Atilta, aboard, the sailors cheered as they made way for them to pass through. ‘Hail Willard Plantagenet,’ the men roared, ‘Rightful King of Atilta.’ Willard stood on the bow as they went, his figure that of a king. His limbs were Atiltian trees, girded with the golden armor of a king. His hair had surrendered to civilization and his beard no longer obscured his beautiful face. His countenance was tempered steel, his eyes inured to emotion. He was once a wild man; he was now a king. He was a king by birth, by strength, by merit. Above all, he was a king in the hearts of men.

Ivona stood beside him, but her eyes were not his. She had passed the test of lust and was left to God alone. Horatio took his other side, standing freely as a bear. Patrick stood behind. He was still a youth, but his passion was doused and only desire remained. Beside him, Lydia shared his arm. And she was beautiful.

Vahan Lee and the King of France sat underneath the canvas shelter. The king watched Willard’s homecoming with a leaking eye, but Vahan busied himself with several pieces of paper. He was careful lest anything won by battle be lost by diplomacy and he crafted treaties before the armies had even dispersed.

De Garcia and Leggitt stood uneasy at the victory which they had finally won. De Garcia was bandaged already and his wound found to be harmless. They were men of war. When the war was finished they had little left. Their lives had been consumed in the conflict of the age, the great power struggle of the Dark Ages, and when it was complete, they were men without a country. For they were citizens of war.

The foremost ships reached the castle. In the rising water they could come alongside the highest towers. Everything else had been consumed by the tide. The survivors were taken aboard, almost twenty thousand men. As each ship was filled, it turned to the open sea while another took its place loading the survivors. The Barber was the last to come. By then only the central tower remained aloft. All had been evacuated but the last handful.

“Come,” Willard called when they reached the window, “Come out, for we are friends.”

It was broken open from within and several people appeared where it had been.

“Friends, you still live!” Willard said in excitement. “I had feared you went down with your land.”

“My lord,” Alfonzo bowed lowly to his king, “My lord, it is no one’s land but God. I am glad you have returned, though, your majesty.”

“No, today you show deference to no one, Alfonzo of Melborough; for the honor of victory is yours. I know royal blood, but I know better a royal heart!”

“Yet I see no victory,” Alfonzo crossed the extended plank to the ship, the last of those inside.

“Father!” Ivona cried, throwing herself into his arms. “Father, forgive me!”

“What words are these?” his limbs threw themselves about wildly. “Forgive you? You were right, my lovely daughter and I a foolish, bitter old man. Yet now, I see!”

She kissed his cheeks gently, “You are healed, father?”

“Where is your faith?” he laughed. “I am healed in body and in heart.”

Her eyes opened and her beauty poured out. “Then you believe?”

“Yes; a thousand times over, I believe!”

“God is good.”

As she spoke, Willard turned and their eyes could not be kept apart.

“God is good,” she whispered, “And I will dwell with him forever.”

De Garcia met his brother as he came forward and knelt before him, sobbing. But then, when he opened his eyes to look, he found his brother kneeling before him as well, sobbing all the same. They exchanged a look of grief and wonder.

“Do you ask me for forgiveness?” de Garcia asked, “When I am the one who has sinned against you? I deserted the cause of freedom and betrayed my comrades for lies. I am disgraced. And yet you kneel before me ?”

“You are disgraced, my brother? Then I am doubly so, for I did not desert to Gylain; I served him by default. Our breach is my fault, do not blame yourself.”

As they spoke, the Fardy brothers gathered around them.

“What is this, my brothers?” the blond Fardy asked. “I am a patient man, and you my better in that family virtue.”

“Do not disdain yourself,” the black Fardy began.

“Let me finish,” and he struck his brother’s head. “De Garcia and de Garmia, I have known you both. I have fought alongside you both. Here even my great patience is taxed liked French tailors, that you do not arise and embrace. There is nothing else to be done.”

“My most-patient brother is right in this,” the brown Fardy added, “Arise and embrace.”

They did.

“You are right, friends,” de Garcia said, “We are brothers, de Garmia and I.”

“Amen,” the other answered.

“Come below with me, then,” de Garcia said. “We have been apart so long I have forgotten how you fight. We had best return to practicing, lest we become unable to serve our king.”

“You speak truth,” de Garmia replied. “Willard will need our swords before this mess is cleared.”

The two turned and disappeared into the hold. Meanwhile, Alfonzo and Celestine were joined together once more. This time they were not to be separated again.

“We have finished the fight,” Alfonzo said. “Our fears and hopes mingle, but what is left will not be done by us. We are left only to love.”

She held him and they kissed beneath the falling dew of heaven.

Cybele stood beside them, flourishing a smile like a sword. “How can you rejoice when our father is missing?”

“The Admiral!” Alfonzo cried.

He looked out upon the deep, where once was Atilta. All that remained was forest canopy. Even that would not live long. The ship had been sailing north and was nearing the forest west of what was once Thunder Bay. Two figures danced wildly to gain their attention. When they were spied, The Barber came alongside the upper Treeway, upon which they stood. It was built on the very tops of the canopy: the lower platforms were already below the waves.

“Come aboard, there,” Alfonzo called out as the boarding plank was extended.

It was Lorenzo and Meredith, wheezing in exertion as they came aboard.

“Our reunion is that much merrier,” Alfonzo laughed, “For our friends survive.”

“Yes, we live,” Meredith panted. “But – by Beelzebub and the ten princes of the air – we cannot celebrate yet, my friends.”

“No, for the war is not complete!” Lorenzo added. He pointed to a distant clump of trees, to which the upper Treeway extended. Two figures could be seen through the distance, locked in a deadly combat. “William and Gylain yet live!”

Chapter 95

“William, what fate is this?” Gylain smiled through the dark forest air. The ground was flooded and spouts of rain came down from the canopy. Behind him stood Montague and his soldiers.

“The fate we have made,” William Stuart returned. Meredith and Lorenzo stood behind him with the rangers. “I thought to find you in the wasteland, Gylain.”

“And here I am, in the flesh and of it. Now the battle can be accomplished.”

“Was it not for freedom and oppression? For strength and possession?”

“Was it? You know yourself what it was for. There are kings and there are queens; but though the queen is powerful, she is not the end. For that we hold the king before the light.”

“Yet who is the king? Not you nor I.”

“Why not? Do we not at least represent the players?”

“Perhaps; but you are evil, as am I. The shadow from there is an aberration.”

“The shadow is but that which casts it; there can be no aberration. If one player is light and the other dark, both are evil and for themselves.”