Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (16 page)

The night was
waning. Marcus stood on the deck of the small vessel, waiting for the sun to
rise. They should soon see the shores of the Isles of Solone, that fabled land
of wisdom and knowledge.

His father had
mentioned Solone to Marcus on many an occasion. It was a land, he said, that
prized knowledge above all else. The inhabitants thirsted after it, not only
the usual matters pertaining to the intellect, but they probed the mysteries of
the unseen as well.

Indeed, their
downfall was precipitated, Valerius deemed, by their exploration of secret
sects and occult rituals. It was a land famed for the Oracle at Ephilene, a
priestess who claimed to speak for Lopponios, the god of Light. It was said that
all knowledge belonged to him and many flocked to the oracle for revelation.

Valerius
himself doubted the validity of such revelation from the god. He had heard from
one who had made the pilgrimage that the priestess, or Sybillia, as she was
called, sat on a high chair before an altar. She was strangely quiet, until a
vapor rose from the altar; then she would be transported into an ecstasy, and
garble strange things in a language that no one understood.

This trance
might last for minutes or hours. When she returned to the world of the living,
she might say something intelligible as an interpretation of what was said in
the trance, or she might say nothing at all, and impute to the seeker of
knowledge, “Lopponios has spoken.” Such gibberish, as Valerius summed it up,
was of little practical use to one of sound mind, such as himself.

More to be
feared were those secret sects which never proclaimed their beliefs openly. It
was said that those who belonged to them had taken a vow of silence, never to
reveal the rites or creed upon pain of death if that silence were ever to be
broken. It was better, Valerius said, not to probe too deeply with those who
held such fantastical beliefs. Better to turn a blind eye, a deaf ear to those
who guarded their secrets so zealously.

It was rumored
that young men and maidens occasionally made pilgrimages to shrines, some never
to return, but don’t look too closely, don’t ask too many questions. If their
families did not ask the reason why, why should you? Leave such secrets alone,
Valerius reasoned.

Ah, but there
was true knowledge and enlightenment to be found in the Isles of Solone,
Valerius sighed. Some of the greatest minds of the age had been birthed in
those lovely isles. There were great philosophers who forsook the superstition
of their forbears to think earnestly on the great matters of life in a logical
and rational manner. They pursued the study of the intellect, and invented
reason, a process by which decisions were made not because of signs or
emotions, but as evidenced by facts and data.

Men of wisdom,
who debated in the agora regarding true versus false knowledge, who believed
the mind was to be exercised no less than the body, who pursued knowledge for
the sake of a sense of higher purpose, these men were honored in Solone. They
spoke on morality to the younger generation urging them to not turn aside to
those who deceived them in the belief that each man decided what was right in
their own eyes.

For such had
arisen in Solone, satyrs, Valerius called them, old men preying on the young,
lulling their ears with seducing lies, telling them they were gods, descended
from gods, and they were wise enough to determine their own  course, take what
they desired, and no consequences would ever be demanded.

For it was
true, Valerius intoned, that the Solonean forefathers believed they were
descended from gods. They believed the gods had created them, and each man had
within them the spark of the divine, yet they had fallen from their former
glory. Through sin and deception, they had wandered from the truth, and were
now lesser men than they once were.

The deception
that the voices of the new generation promoted, said Valerius, was that rather
than diminishing from their former state, mankind was instead progressing into
a heightened enlightenment, and was more than able to determine a new code of
morality and establish a utopia on earth, where each man could pursue his own
destiny, secure in the knowledge that whatever he did was right, because there
was no wrong. Sin did not exist because each man obeyed his own moral code.

It was this
fallacious teaching, pronounced Valerius, that sealed the fate of the Isles of
Solone. For the younger generation abandoned the wisdom of their elders and
indulged in the base pleasures of their lower nature. All manner of sensuality
was practiced and promoted, as they proclaimed the freedom of their new
enlightenment.

Alas, their
doom came upon them. Forsaking the discipline of exercise to harden their
bodies as they sought to expand their minds, they were no match for the hordes
of the Imperial Army of the Valeriun Empire that descended upon them. From the
west came the judgment that brought the setting of the sun on the once glorious
Empire. Solone was brought to heel beneath the foot of a ruthless invader.

Her voices of
enlightenment and reason were stilled beneath the groans of a captive people. No
more did the young dance under the moonlight in abandon; their feet were
shackled in irons for manual labor. No more did old men lift up their voices in
arguments of philosophic reasoning; they now cried out in the pain of their
imprisonment. And no more did the women perform the rituals of priestess for an
all-seeing oracle; they performed the rituals of mourning over their sons and
daughters and pleaded with gods who did not hear their cries.

All of this
Marcus pondered on as the ship neared the harbor. How short a time was given to
man, how brief the glory of nations to rule. Would it be thus one day with the
Valeriun Empire as well? Would her ruthless grasp for power one day be the
demise of her as she came under the yoke of a kingdom mightier than she?

Not much
farther to land: he could hear the shrieks of the gulls in the early dawn. A
slight breeze ruffled his hair and cooled his cheeks. The same breeze bore
aloft the fragrance of flowers from somewhere on the shore.

To the west
the sky was shadowed; ragged clouds like the wings of crows cast an ominous
shade, while in the east the clouds were wisps of pearl touched with rose and
mauve. The sky was a veil of palest azure blending to a deeper cerulean that
promised a fine day.

The clouds
glowed as if with an inner light, the sky seeming a mere background for their
glory. Suddenly, the expanse lit up dramatically as the sun rose in a blaze of
fire; the clouds shed their pastel tints and became dazzling white, whiter than
the wool of a lamb, while the deck on which he stood was kissed with a golden
haze. The waves shimmered as if the drops of water were beaded jewels; this one
opal, that one amethyst, blending into lapis. The sun rose higher and the sea
sparkled into sapphire and aquamarine. Marcus gasped as the morning broke upon
him.

And there in
the distance he beheld the shores of the outermost Isle of Solone. Her cliffs
rose high in stately dignity, like that of a monarch enthroned above mere
mortals. The colors of the isle in the light of dawn were touched with purple,
mauve, and blue. An air of mystery clung to her even now, as though she still
had riddles to disclose, revelations to divulge.

And Marcus
wondered as the ship came into harbor, what secrets would he uncover here?

As they sailed
closer to the shore, the rock cliffs above them became more imposing. They did
not rise as a sheer face, but revealed many layers of stone, piled layer upon
layer. Some layers were gray, some yellow, some a pale brown. The overall
effect seemed only to perpetuate and deepen the enigmatic air that still
permeated Solone, and emitted an aura of inscrutability, as though she were the
guardian of riddles to which she alone held the key.

The ship
headed for the slender canal. As it sailed through the narrow passage, the
walls on either side dwarfed it, threatening to overpower and crush the vessel.
Marcus breathed a sigh of relief when they passed through into a clearing on
the other side.

He caught his
breath at the beauty before him. The harbor was the natural shoreline of an
inland sea. For the Isles of Solone had once been all of a piece, but a mighty
volcanic eruption so long ago that none could say precisely when it had
occurred, had left them broken, connected here and there by land bridges with
one main harbor. The sea was tranquil, a clear, calm blue. Hills encompassed
the harbor on three sides, with glimpses of the hills on the outer islands rising
in the early morning mist. When the sun burned it off they would be clearly visible,
but now they appeared as ghosts, shadows of a former glory.

The hillsides
were dotted with buildings of every description: cottages of humble fisher
folk, the more stately public buildings of the great library, gymnasium, and
the House of Artifacts, and the broken marble columns of the ruined temples to
the various gods. One fact that did not escape the notice of Marcus was that
every building was white, either the white limestone of the cottages, or the
marble of the more imposing edifices. It struck him as an emblem of purity, a
once great people fallen into ruin.

The others had
now risen and joined him on deck. Fanchon gasped at the splendor of the harbor,
a smile of wonder illuminating her face. Dag seemed to drink it in with his
eyes, but kept silent as though fearing to break the spell of enchantment.
Felix took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh of appreciation. Small Cort
bounded from one side of the ship to the other, eager to see everything the
fair isles displayed for the viewer. Indeed, it was a sight to be savored after
the scorching desert and the monotonous gold of Koohyaram!

The ship
pulled into the harbor and dropped anchor. The band of friends collected their
parcels and took their leave of the Captain, and wished him a safe and pleasant
journey. As they descended the plank and stepped onto the pier, their nostrils
were assaulted with the smell of fish.

The market was
just setting up for the day and fishmongers displayed their fresh catches
alongside the vegetable sellers and fruit carts. A whirlwind of color assaulted
their eyes as produce of every possible description met their gaze: fiery red
tomatoes and cool green peppers, bright yellow squash and dark black olives.
There were rich purple grapes and pale pink melons, vibrant peaches and
delicate pears.

The sight and
smell of it all roused their appetites and set their stomachs growling. None of
them had yet broken their fast, so they made haste for a small inn that they
espied under the shade of an olive tree. They found the prospect of dining in a
shaded building more inviting than eating outdoors while standing up.

The inn had a
stone floor with many cracks that tripped the unwary. The wooden tables and
chairs had wobbly legs, so that one sat down carefully. It was an establishment
that had clearly seen better days. Even so, it appeared to do a steady trade.

Most of the
tables were occupied. Some of the patrons were shabbily clad, it was true, but
Marcus was struck by their demeanor. Never had he seen such radiant faces, so
many pairs of sparkling eyes. And laughter! Not the drunken silliness he had
witnessed in Gaudereaux, but laughter such as he had never heard. It seemed to
bubble up from within, from a source of deep abiding happiness, and not induced
by wine or the pleasures of the table.

For it was
clear in glancing around the room that most of the occupants were simple
people, breaking their fast on the simplest of meals. The majority appeared to
be eating fish and bread, there was no wine in evidence at this hour of the
day. Yet these people, (all of whom seemed known to each other) greeted one
another with a joy that seemed out of proportion with merely the dawning of
another day.

They were
seated, and their hunger intensified by the warm, inviting smell of freshly
baked bread that permeated the inn, they ordered some, along with fish, grapes,
and olives. The proprietor took their order and hastened away to see that it
was filled to their satisfaction.

When he
returned with their food, he replied that several rooms were at their disposal
in response to their inquiry regarding the availability of lodgings. That
matter resolved, they attended to the business of food. Too weary to talk among
themselves, they listened idly to conversation at the neighboring tables. Occasionally
the merry talk would drop to a whisper at some table, and those seated at it would
cast a furtive glance around the room before continuing their conversation.

A few times
Marcus noticed one person removing a handkerchief from the pocket and opening
it just enough so that the person across from him could view its contents. This
byplay roused his curiosity, so he resolved to pay closer attention.

Just then
Fanchon broke the silence with one of her observations of new surroundings.

“Is this not
quaint? The little rickety tables and wobbly chairs! The cracks in the floor!
They must not like to throw away anything old here, no? Just keep using it
until it falls apart! It certainly is different from Koohyaram! There they..”

Felix seized
her arm, and bade her be quiet.

“Why?” she
inquired, rubbing her arm while glaring at Felix.

“Because you
are being rude. These people are too poor to throw away what they still have
need of,” he explained patiently.

Fanchon had
the grace to blush. She did not mean to offend, she said, and lapsed into an
uncharacteristic silence.

Marcus
scarcely paid attention to their exchange, his attention riveted on the latest
display of handkerchief greetings. For as Felix and Fanchon exchanged words,
Marcus at last glimpsed the object that each revealed to the other.

It was a
pearl.