The Forgotten King

“Lionel,” the blond Fardy called him by name, “How long?”

“There she is, already!” and he pointed to a Marin, riding low in the water. Beside it was a Timber, and to their left was another pair: Timber and Marin.

“The signal, then, Lionel.”

Lionel bent the handle of the rudder down, latching it to keep the ship’s course straight. Then he drew a pipe and match from the flap of his jacket and pretended to light the first with the second. He left the first match alight for three seconds, then blew it out and lit a second match for five seconds, lighting the pipe with it. A short time later, the same pattern was repeated by each of the nearby vessels: the Timbers and the Marins.

“Good: they are ready,” the clerk said. Then, turning to the black Fardy, he continued, “My masters to the first, and Lionel, Clifford, and myself to the second?”

“Of course. When it is over we will meet upon the first Timber?”

“Patience,” Clifford laughed, bouncing his shaggy eyebrows, “For if all goes well, I will be sleeping in a feather bed ere twelve hours have passed.”

“And may Gylain sleep below the sea!”

As the blond Fardy said this last line, the cutter passed the first Marin. The Fardy brothers – each armed with a short sword – looked over at the edge of the deck to the Marin, but a few feet below them, as it was mostly submerged. Several men stood there. When they saw the Fardy brothers, they motioned for them to jump. It was no more than five feet down and as many over. They landed with a soft thud.

“We are ready,” said the black Fardy.

“And so are they,” the blond Fardy gestured to the cutter, which had already reached the second Marin.

“Then we have only to capture the captain,” said one of the men, stepping forward from the shadows. He was short – no more than five foot – but strongly and stoutly built. He was evidently a dedicated geometrist, for his face was as round – proportionately – as his nose, his mouth, and his belly.

“Timultin!” cried the blond Fardy, “We are at last reunited! How have these treacherous days befallen you? But patience, for we have no time for idle speech at the moment. Where is the captain?”

“In her quarters: I am on watch.”

“ Her quarters? By the devil, let us hope it is not the devil. But come, we cannot delay! You must watch us as we imprison her . Come, to the bridge.” With that, the black Fardy entered the Marin through the third story door – the first and second were already many yards beneath the surface.

The door opened into a bare sealing room. They sealed themselves in and entered the main portion of the Marin, into a hallway lit only by covered lanterns. It stretched beyond sight in either direction, curving with the contour of the Marin, for it was the primary thoroughfare, connecting the various departments together. On the outer side there were no doors except the airlocks, but on the inner side doors were spaced an even three feet apart. Some led directly to rooms, others were steep, narrow stairways that tunneled into a deeper section of the floating mini-city.

“She is in the captain’s room?”

“Yes, when I left,”Timultin answered.

“And her lieutenants?”

“On the bridge.”

“Then let us be off.”

The black Fardy stepped forward and opened a nearby door, no different in appearance than the others: the walls of the hallway were wooden, as were the doors, latched only by a revolving finger. This door led into a cave- like staircase: only two and a half feet across, while the steps were made of a black chestnut wood, each a foot tall. It was a like a tunnel in the ground, for the only light was from lanterns hanging in the landings, where the stair reversed course and continued to descend. On these stairs, the party pierced into the heart of the Marin and soon came to another door, into which the staircase ended.

“It is time,” but the black Fardy paused, listening to the silence. He trembled slightly.

“We must do what we have come to do,” the blond Fardy raised himself with a dramatic gait. “And though I am a peaceful man – and above all, a patient one – I will not relent on the edge of the cliff, though I should die in the descent. For here we are, and there we need to be!” The others understood, under the influence of the same horrific atmosphere.

Silence took the throne. At length, the black Fardy answered, “My patience grows thinner than my brother’s beard,” and the blond brother inadvertently stomped his toe.

“Then we go,” said the brown Fardy, and he extended his arms as if to open the door. But before he could, the air was filled with a shrill scream from the bridge beyond. It was followed by a screaming laugh and a whipping sound, then by voices too faint to be intelligible. The three brothers looked to each other for an instant, then kicked open the door and stormed onto the bridge with their swords drawn.

“The devil!” cried the black Fardy. “We have come, fair Celestine, and will not leave you to your torturers! Forward brothers, forward, and let us end the curse of Saxony forever!”

Chapter 61

“Celestine!” Alfonzo whispered in the darkness of the temple ruins, “Celestine, will you not have a thought for yourself? If not for yourself, than for me; for I am weak.”

“Yet I will not be persuaded, and do not play with the winds if you will not be rustled by them. She is my sister. I must go to her. It is not my choice to make.”

“When so many have died to free you, would you return yourself voluntarily to Gylain’s power? Think what he would do, in his anger.”

“You misjudge him, Alfonzo. He had chances, but did not take them; for if he is evil, he is not cruel.”

Alfonzo looked to the ruins around him and then to the darkness of the encircling forest. “You say he is not cruel? What is not felt is easily forgotten, perhaps, but what of your father and myself? Torture does not flee the memory like courage does the heart.”

Celestine’s countenance clouded. “My father’s fate was by my mother’s hand; and Gylain rebuked those who tortured you, sending a doctor to heal you.”

“Even God rebukes the devil, even as he uses him for his own purposes.”

“Yet Gylain is not the devil and you are not God.” She paused, breathing on tip-toe. “Forgive me, Alfonzo, but I will go. If I am to be strong, I cannot be weak with my sister. For though she is shadowed by the past she is not shadowed by betrayal.”

Alfonzo did not turn his countenance from the forest. It was late morning and the council had just been completed. Above the forest that came in close on every side was the sun, beginning its daily march with its usual soggy-eyed approach. The buildings of the long forgotten city were made some of cobblestone and others of a white limestone; but in the harsh conditions of the forest, nothing remained but scattered debris. Nothing grew within the circle of the ruins and the ground was flat and barren as an ocean of rock. Only the central tower still stood and even its top had collapsed onto the lower section.

After a moment, Alfonzo soaked up strength from the immutable scene in which he was immersed. “So be it, Celestine: go, if you must. But as much as I am yours in love, I am Atilta’s in duty. If you are captured I will not rescue you again, though by it I am shown to be a coward.” He paused. “Cruel fate! Men say we fight for our women and our children; yet who must be sacrificed ere the end?”

There was silence, as Celestine softly kissed her husband. Neither spoke, though their eyes courted for a moment. Then she stood and left, with a bundle in hand she had prepared the night before while the others slept. Alfonzo had seen it when he woke and his eyes could not part with it all during the council. She left. She did not even turn for a parting glance. Instead, she climbed the rope ladder to the Treeway and began walking northwest, to Eden.

The sun came down at a gentle angle and as it passed through the cloudy foliage it gave a hazy, green light to the leafy tunnel. On either side the trees let down their uncombed tresses, brushing away Celestine’s weariness as she went. The ancient trees’ branches were muscled and as thick as the trunk of a lesser tree. Their leaves, however, cut a contrast: where one was ancient, the other was young; where one was steadfast, the other blew with the wind. There, one upon the other, were nature’s oldest children and her youngest, the old and the new joined together. Yet they did not break apart, for the one was not wine nor the other wineskin.

Celestine traveled the living clouds for a day, entering the gates of Eden several hours before the Fardys