Destiny's Kingdom: Legend of the Chosen (9 page)

It had been a profitable day for Trina; thirty-five chid had jingled in her pocket, and twenty five of that she'd given away, to merchants or to those who seemed to need it, either by secret deposits to their gaping pockets as she walked by, or from generous tipping for routine services.

As they left the dwindling hum of the marketplace, Trina saw, off away from the carts and the merchants, a shape that she'd seen before, that she'd helped before. Clea glanced over to Trina's face, following her intense stare as she looked over behind a barrel of fresh cut flowers, to see a very old man sitting alone, whittling at a piece of smooth bark, though not watching his hands as he did. Wordlessly, Trina made her way toward the old man and Clea followed. As she approached, she was sure to make plenty of noise with her feet, because she knew that the old man was blind and would not see her coming.

"Hello," Trina said warmly, leaning down toward the old man who appeared to be trying to carve the wood into something. "How goes your afternoon my friend?"

The old man looked up toward the voice that addressed him, and there was acknowledgment on his face but no focus in his stare. "Ah! The young artist and her fair faced friend!" he said. "The afternoon goes well. Another beautiful day."

Trina's eyes knit together in hopeless sympathy. The man was all alone, and she ached to see him sitting on the dirt. She glanced to Clea, who knelt beside her, a bit more detached than her less traveled friend.

"What's that you're carving?" Clea asked, trying to distract Trina's bleeding heart.

"Oh, this," the man said with a dismissive wave. "Once, many years ago in my youth I carved kava flutes. Carved them and played them. I sometimes revisit the hope that one day my sense of touch will be so polished that I can do it without visual aid." He turned the whittled wood over in his hand and laughed. "I don't think today is that day, though!" He threw the wood over his shoulder and shrugged.

"Well at least today you keep all ten fingers," Clea chided. "It's a brave man who wields a knife like that with no eyes to guide it." Trina shoved her lightly with surprise at the bold comment, but the old man laughed along with Clea.

"Bravery or foolishness? Hard to tell the difference these days," he said. A breeze blew through the air, evidence of the coming night.

"Where will you go tonight dear sir?" Trina asked, tightening the shawl around her neck and feeling guilty for having it when he had none. "Won't you call on the assistance of the kingdom to give you a warm bed and meal?" Her voice was hopeful, gently persuasive.

"No, my dear. I've a home of my own. Modest, but adequate. I camp in the north wood, close enough to the sea that I can hear the crashing breakers on the shore below, and catch the occasional scent of salt water on the air." The old man stood, brushing off his dirty clothes. "I should be getting back now, in fact. The air is beginning to chill."

Trina felt the inside of her shawl for the last several coins from her day's earnings, and untied the woolen garment from her neck.

"Can we escort you?" she asked. "How do you get home from here?”

The man shook his head and hobbled toward a donkey cart nearby. "No thank you, dear. My friend here, the flower merchant, drops me close enough that I find my way. You get home yourself, before night falls, now."

Trina walked up next to him, threw her shawl over his shoulders and handed over her container of mushroom stem soup. "Have these, then," she said, securing the tie around his neck, and wrapping his fingers around the tub of stew. "It will do me good to know you've had a warm meal and a cloak around you for the ride home." The man started to protest, but Clea chimed in.

"No point in arguing kind sir. She's very stubborn." He smiled, his grin strange from missing teeth.

"Thank you," he said simply, nodding his head.

"What is your name, gentle man?" Trina asked. "I never know how to address you."

"Lamont," he replied. "And I know you must be the artist Bel’ah. I can smell the oil of pastels on your hands." He had reached the cart that would take him home, and he waved goodbye to the two young women who stood nearby. Trina sighed, troubled and distressed. Clea put her hand on Trina’s arm, steering her toward home.

"You cannot protect them all, Trina."

"But I must," she replied as they walked. "They are my people. My responsibility."
 

Clea sighed. "He will have a warm sleep and a full belly tonight."
 

"Yes," Trina replied, "but tomorrow is another day."

"People like that live day to day, Trina. Today has been a success for him. Be content with that because it is true. People choose their own path and believe me," Clea shook her head from the images in her mind. "The very worst here on Bethel is paradise compared to the best on lots of other planets."

"So I'm told," said Trina and she looked at her friend with sadness.

CHAPTER 5

T
rina dropped her supplies on a chair in the corner and stooped to look in the mirror before she walked out of her bedchamber. Her hair had almost dried on the walk from Clea's house, but it still seemed a bit dull from the rinse that she'd given it that morning. Dark was nearly fallen though, and perhaps no one would notice until she had the chance to wash it out thoroughly later on. She turned and headed out the door, down the stairs and along the hallway toward the place where she knew she would find her father.
 

The Courtyard of the Moons had long been known as the Keystone's favored spot for reflection, and he took time on more evenings than not to walk its spacious grounds, and think on things of importance. As the moons of Bethel rose above the circular wall of the courtyard, their muted light bathed the area with a perfectly even glow. It seemed that the night blooming flowers and plants craned toward the moonlight as much as the day plants stretched toward the warmth of the sun, and the energy within this particular area of the castle was balanced and invigorating. Stone paths and low, braided wood fences made a decorative maze through the gardens, and had been laid along the path of the moons as they moved around the planet, so that one walking in the garden would, if he walked slowly enough, be following the natural movement of Bethel. As Trina entered the courtyard from the heavy wooden double doors of the castle, she paused for a minute to watch her father. The Keystone stood, facing east and looking to the sky. Trina looked up to see what he saw. The moons had risen over the Courtyard, one full and one with a shadow creeping over its perfect circle. A billion stars twinkled shyly as the darkness grew deep, and the gentle wind rustled through the leaves of all the plants. For a moment, Trina thought twice about interrupting him. He was dressed in his lounging clothes, and seemed very strong and serene from this distance as he looked to the sky. His presence was something so large and so great that it could hardly be contained by the walls of this courtyard, and even out of the more formal ceremonial attire he would don for his consultation the next day, he still seemed a person of immense wisdom and knowledge, far beyond his youthful years. She stood quietly, admiring his proud posture, his height and his noble demeanor, and wondered if she would ever be able to emulate it accurately. So lost in her own thoughts Trina started when, without turning or even gesturing, her father spoke.
 

"Come stand with me, my daughter," he said, his voice clear and deep on the evening air, his old-world accent something that Trina had always loved. "Tell me what weighs so heavily on your mind this peaceful eve."

Trina walked slowly across the expanse of the courtyard, noticing the beauty of the foliage, aware of the life force the surroundings held, a thing her father had always instructed her to do, to be conscious of. It had never been a difficult thing for her to remember.

The Keystone reached his hand behind him as she approached, and Trina took it, the warmth of his skin a pleasant and calming familiarity. The Keystone stood upon a bridge that was built over a large pond, and the aged wood and stone creaked beneath her feet as she walked over the sturdy, carefully laid logs. It was just wide enough for two people, and her father squeezed her hand before he released it, and made a motion toward the patch of hyacinth flowers that grew next to the water.

"The flowers seem eager this year, for the Twilight Bloom," he said. Trina looked at the bush, at the tightly swollen blossoms that appeared to be ready to burst from their size.

"I'm starting on the horses tomorrow," she said. "I might have to paint them all three myself this year. I'm not sure if Quade or Clea will be here in time to do theirs." The Keystone smiled, then finally looked to his daughter.

"If I recall, even when they are here to paint their own you do most of the painting, Kitrina," he said. Trina laughed, knowing it was true, and her father reached out a hand to touch her hair, examining the lock that he held between his finger and thumb, then looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She glanced away, avoiding his unasked question, remembering why she'd come to talk to him in the first place.

"Father," she said, turning to grasp the wooden rail along the bridge, looking down to see the colorful fish that swam in the pond beneath them. "If a person of the kingdom was in need of help, but was too proud to ask for it, how would one persuade him to let go his pride, and request assistance?" The Keystone leaned on the rail and stared at his daughter, waiting to see if she would continue. When she did not, he spoke.

"Assistance is available to all of Bethel who require it," he said simply, knowing more of the story had to reveal itself before he could offer the advice that his daughter needed. "Of course we make no judgment of who they are or why they request it. These are things you already know, my daughter."

"I know," Trina said, thinking on what words to use. "But if he still would not ask, how would one make him ask?"

"Perhaps he is not truly in need."

"No, he is in need. One wouldn't camp in the woods if he weren't in need."

A silent minute passed and Trina looked at her father, wondering how much to reveal, wondering if she'd already revealed too much. She studied his kind face, his dark eyes, searching for the power that he held that she could somehow not find within herself.

"Father," she began again, "you're able to persuade anyone to do what's right, and what's best. I've never been able to capture that ability, and I need your help in learning it. Otherwise I fear that I won't ever be the leader fit to stand next to you to guide these people of our kingdom. Show me how to do this, how to help those who are in need, few as they are."

"Kitrina," Aushlin said slowly, "you must first be able to discern what is right for each person, or each kingdom or planet, before you can expect to lead them in the correct direction. Everyone's needs differ, and you must be able to accept this fact before you can offer your guidance." He sighed and ran his hand over her hair with affection, noting the frustration on her face at his answer. "Listen to their words," he continued, "listen to hear if what they speak is truth. If it is, and you will know the truth when you hear it my daughter, for the truth is spoken from the soul, then you will know if they are in need of your help, or simply in need of your support. Or perhaps even your non interference."

The last word that he said caught Trina's ear, the way that 'interference' sounded more like 'anterfreeance' from the inflection of his accent, and she almost laughed. His wisdom seemed too simple still, but she felt as if she should concede for the time being, since she didn't have the right words to continue the challenge.

"If you want we can speak of the matter at greater length when I return. Or perhaps by then you will have answers of your own," he said, planting a gentle kiss on top of her head. "But now I must prepare for my journey tomorrow, and get some rest. I've an early morning, and much to do before I leave, my Trina."

"I know," she replied, looking back to the sky. "That's Maylyn there, isn't it father? The bright star burning beneath the blue star of Norrd?" Aushlin craned his neck back and looked up to where she pointed.