Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (27 page)

For a long
time he simply looked at the river, watching its whirls, staring blankly at the
stray objects, twigs, blades of grass, even a water beetle that got caught in
its current and swept on at its mercy. Marcus observed the water beetle as its
legs flew up, suspended for a few seconds, struggling to break free, then
surrendering to a force greater than itself. The river took it and it sped on
out of sight.

Oh, how hard
life was, and like the water beetle, what a struggle it was to survive! Was it
even worth the fight to go on, when misfortune and heartbreak met one at every
turn? Such were the thoughts that raced in his brain. What his emotions were,
he could not say. At present he was numb, and wondered if after the shocks of
the day, he would ever feel anything again.

It was difficult
enough to accept Tullia’s rejection, and her matter of fact spurning of his
proposal, but to face the betrayal of Felix, knowing him to be the author of
the calamities that had befallen him and his family was asking too much to
bear! How he had trusted his friend! Only to find that trust misplaced.

His months of
bitter slavery, the imprisonment of his parents, and the loss of his home and
position had caused suffering enough, but to find that it came about at the
hands of one he trusted was a pain intolerable. It tore at his heart; Marcus
felt a burning in his chest that would not abate. His throat felt as though
powerful hands were strangling him, such was the agony of his unshed tears. Yet
he could not cry. Tears would not bring any relief for such treachery.

For Tullia,
Felix had said. He had betrayed him for Tullia, who in her turn had rejected
him because of his reduced station.

How could he
go on? If life was nothing more than this, just an endless mockery of all he
had believed, and continual betrayal by all he trusted, how could he endure?

He thought of
the water beetle, how it could not withstand the force of the river, and
succumbed to its power. For a moment he wished he could do the same. Oh, how
easy it would be, how soothing just to jump in and let it overpower him, never
to feel this pain again, only sleep, deep blissful sleep, where his heart would
never trouble him again. How sweet, how healing it would be…

And then a
vision of Valerius rose to his eyes. His father! He depended on Marcus to
release him from his prison. His mother also, languished behind those grim
walls. Marcus
could
not give up, he
must
not fail them.

Nevertheless,
it would not be easy to go on, not with this new knowledge of duplicity. How
could he undertake the journey home in the company of Felix, knowing that it
was due to his treachery that he owed all of his misery? He could not; he
simply could not. If Felix had any honor left in him he would return to
Valerium by another way and depart from Marcus. For he wished never to set eyes
on Felix again!

Unbidden, the
words of Xenon came to mind: you will never defeat the kingdom of darkness
unless you conquer the chambers of your own heart.

The words fell
with a thud on the stone that Marcus’ heart had become. For so he thought it.
For was it not stone that could break into pieces if struck with enough force?
And had his not endured so many strikes over the past year, so many that it
could break into pieces, never to be whole again?

Marcus
struggled with the confrontation of his feelings with his faith. All have
sinned and fallen short of the glory of Dominio, said faith. True enough, and
he was as guilty as any of that statement.

Yet his heart
cried, I
hate
Felix for all that he brought on me. I would
kill
him were it not a mortal sin. Every evil thing that has befallen me and my
family has been done by his hand turning against me.

Love your
enemies. Do good to those that hate you, answered the words of Alexandros,
almost in mockery.

Yet, how could
he love Felix ever again? How could he do good to one who had ruined his life?

All through
that long night he struggled with those questions. And found no other answer.
At last he turned to Logos for final resolution.

“By this we
know love, that while we were yet sinners, Alexandros died for us.” “Be kind to
one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other…” 
He could not escape it. He saw only two choices before him. Either he must
forgive Felix and could thus go on with his journey as a believer. Or he could
reject Felix yet be rejected himself, and his journey with Dominio ended right
here in Lycenium.

Then Marcus
remembered Felix in tears: when he accepted Alexandros and prayed for mercy,
and when he confessed what he had done to Marcus. He could have lied and said
that he was prevented from keeping the appointment, that the Palace Guards had
waylaid him. Yet he did not. He chose honesty and confession. Did Marcus have
the right to judge Felix and withhold forgiveness?

The answer was
no, he could not. For in their newfound faith they were no longer merely
friends. Their bond was deeper than it had ever been, even in the days before
Felix betrayed him and he was his favorite companion and most trusted
confidante. They were now family, bound together by the blood of Alexandros
shed on their behalf. Blood brothers, indeed.

And yet, how
could he forgive Felix for all the suffering his betrayal had inflicted on him
and his family? How could he trust Felix ever again?

There was no
reason to linger in Lycenium. Having had a few nights rest and replenished
their food stores, they set out to continue their journey on the fourth day
after their arrival.

For Marcus,
the departure could not come too soon. After the rejection of his proposal by
Tullia, and the revelation of his betrayal by Felix, he felt he could face any
punishment meted out to him by the Empress for the failure of his quest.
Surely, she could only inflict punishment of a physical nature, which must be
far easier to bear than this heartbreak that robbed him of all joy in living.
The worst she could do was to execute him, and then his earthly suffering would
be over, and he would live forever in the Kingdom of Heaven.

He would,
however, insist on seeing his parents one last time, that he might share with
them the Good News of the Kingdom, and the blessed hope held out to them by the
One who loved them more than any other could. Still, Marcus could not predict
how Valerius would receive such news. Long had he stated that for him the
heavens contained only stars. Unlike the devout Honoria, he believed in no
gods. How then would his father react when Marcus informed him that he had
enlisted in the service of Dominio, the One true God, and to be a soldier
advancing the Kingdom of Heaven, a messenger proclaiming the love of
Alexandros? What lay in store for Marcus when he proclaimed his new mission to
Valerius?

They loaded
their newly restocked provisions of food and water into the little boat. Dag
released the rope from the dock, and they slipped from the pier. Slowly, then
with gently accelerating speed, they departed from Lycenium, that great city of
stone bridges and sacred books, of theaters and theology, where culture and
commerce met.

They had
enjoyed their short stay in Lycenium, and such was its power to transform that
even the rugged Trekur Lenders left it slightly more polished than they entered
it. Young Cort had new clothes of an infinitely better quality than the ones he
outgrew, and relayed to Marcus with great excitement details of a classic play
that Kyrene had taken him to see in the amphitheater, even acting out the
various roles to the amusement of the others.  

Dag had
availed himself of the access to the great library, spending hours with Felix
browsing parchments on philosophy, theology, and literature. To the surprise of
Marcus, Dag could read, although his command of letters was not great. Dag
sheepishly admitted that young Cort, whose education had been a cut above
Dag’s, had taught him how to read and write while on the voyage to Gaudereaux.
Dag had proved an eager pupil, and hungered for more knowledge. He did not want
to remain an ignorant wild man if he was to wed Fanchon, he explained privately
to Marcus.

Marcus found
this admission touching, and Dag’s humility and desire to improve himself only
deepened his respect for the rough-hewn Trekur Lender who proved himself to be
noble on better acquaintance; frequently more so than certain aristocrats that
Marcus knew in Valerium.

Kyrene had
savored the opportunity to listen to glorious music, such as she had not heard
even in the Isles of Solone, while Fanchon had indulged herself in the rich
bazaars, where luxuries of every description were imported into the city daily
by way of the great river, and the cloths she purchased served as mementos of
the grandeur of that splendid metropolis.

Marcus alone
had found no joy in the city that he once loved to visit with his family. For
him it would forever after be the city of treachery, where he discovered the
duplicity of the two he loved the most. He reflected on the irony that both
betrayals had taken place in a garden where the aroma of roses permeated the
air.

His father had
explained to him once the custom that prevailed of a carved rose in the ceiling
of the dining hall of every Valerian home. It literally meant that they sat
under the rose, where all confidences were held sacred. Thus it had been from
time immemorial, the custom having originated when the first Emperor of
Valerium had given a rose to his bride upon their marriage, committing himself
to her and no other. Not for Marcus, though. The rose, that flower that
signified loyalty and trust, would always be an emblem of betrayal.

The boat
passed under one of the pillars of a majestic bridge. The little band of
friends looked back on the city, taking their leave of its delights and
distractions. Fanchon sighed in longing for the lavish bazaars, and Kyrene
smiled with fond reminiscence of its refined entertainments. Cort recounted
wistfully the joys of the amphitheater and quoted a line from one of the
comedies he saw with such a perfect imitation that the others laughed. Dag
smiled, but was already looking ahead to the next part of the journey. Felix
looked grim and did not look back.

As for Marcus
he did not care if he never saw the city again.

The River Zoe
swept them on, taking them where she willed, as she sped on the course that she
determined.

Out of
Lycenium, away from her bridges and ports they went back to the wild. Here and
there they saw signs of civilization; roads running parallel to the river bank,
bordered by wooden fences whose rails were partially hidden by the overgrowth
of green grass that sprung up untended by any human hand. Occasionally they saw
tree covered spits of land that projected into the wide river where hardy souls
had built little wooden huts on the flat projectiles. These belonged to the
fishermen who supplied in-lying villages with fresh fish, and found it more
convenient to live as close as possible to the source of their livelihood. 

On and on the
River took them, past scenes of incredible beauty, as they left the upper
elevation of the mountains and descended to the lush valleys below. The cool,
dry air of the heights turned warm and moist as they returned to the lower
reaches. There were changes in the River as well as in the surrounding
landscape. Whereas in the mountains the River seemed confined and restricted by
the peaks and narrow passes, here in the lowlands the River was so wide at one
point they could not see the opposite shore.

They became
aware of a lightening of their hearts as well as of the June sky. For as they
raced on in their little boat the puffy white clouds of the mountain regions
cleared away, the sun above them loomed a great yellow orb, and the sky was
such an intense hard blue it hurt their eyes to look at it for any length of
time. Lycenium had retained the last vestiges of the cooler clime of spring,
but here in the valleys summer was well underway, and they knew the temperature
would climb rapidly.

All the
morning they sped on, carried by the whim of Zoe. None of them was inclined for
idle talk at the moment, preferring to bask in the warmth of the morning, so
they each became lost in their own thoughts, reflecting on what the end of the
journey might possibly hold for them when they returned to their own lands.

Marcus
reflected that Dag and Fanchon had only happiness lie ahead for them as they
prepared to soon be married in his homeland of Trekur Lende, although how
someone as pleasure loving as the light-hearted girl would fare in such a
wilderness he could not imagine. Young Cort would live with them, away from the
parents who would have sold him into slavery; for him the outcome was almost
like a dream come true. Kyrene would stay with the little band as a mentor
until the time Dominio released her to return to the Isles of Solone, possibly
following the wedding of Dag and Fanchon, as she could hardly travel alone with
Marcus and Felix, who must return to Valerium. Felix would go home to his
father’s villa in Potentus, and his life would resume as usual.

Marcus alone
had no inkling of what the future held for him. He had failed the Empress in
his quest, and the fate of himself and his parents hung on the outcome of it.
Would she be merciful and release them from their captivity? And Marcus: would
she allow him to live after failing to fulfill her command? Or would she live
up to her bloodthirsty reputation and slay them all?

About midday
when they began to think seriously about lunch, the river narrowed abruptly.
They saw on either shore the outskirts of a forest. From the water they could
hear bird song as the tiny feathered beings called to one another in a language
known only to themselves.

With delight
they listened to the trills and coos, cheeps and whistles. A nightingale’s
voice rose above the others, pure and clear like silver raindrops. It was
answered by a lark, whose golden tones were as resonant as the chimes of a
bell.

As the River
narrowed further still, the forest seemed to invade the River itself. Here and
there were dotted tiny islands where one or two or as many as half a dozen
trees crowned each one. A gentle breeze rustled their branches, so that they
too seemed to sing. The water was so clear that it reflected the trees, and in
the absence of clouds it was difficult to tell what was river and what was sky.

Cort cried out
in delight that the world had turned upside down. Dag smiled at his childish
notion, but Fanchon laughed in joy, and pointed out the patches of daisies that
graced the little banks. She then sang out to the birds, who sang back to her,
and she clapped her hands in simple glee.

All of them
seemed to be suddenly possessed of an unaccountable merriment, and each
recalled some delightful experience they thought was long-forgotten. Here in
this forest of enchantment the memories came rushing back, as vividly as though
they had taken place but yesterday, and would await them again on the morrow.

Cort
remembered hunting for similar daisies to take to his mother to adorn their
plain wooden dinner table, and the way she smiled her thanks, and hugged him
warmly as she placed them in a clay pot. Kyrene recalled splashing in the sea
surrounding the Isles of Solone, and collecting shells to make necklaces,
exulting when she found the occasional stray pearl that floated free of the
decomposed corpse of a long-dead oyster. Dag thought with longing of the forests
of Trekur Lende, and the thrill of the hunt, as he slew with his long spear the
mighty bear or the wild boar.

Fanchon was
reminded by the reflected trees of the green lushness of the woods of
Gaudereaux, and the bird song brought back memories of dancing under a night
sky at the height of summer. For Felix the clear water was almost as good a
tonic as his beloved baths in Valerium, where he washed away the stain of his
early morning exercise. So too the crystal water seemed to offer ablution from
his guilt.

But Marcus
felt in the softness of the breeze, the light caress of his mother touching his
cheek as a small child in a gesture he had forgotten until now. Odd, but the
breeze which touched the trees was not blowing here on the River, yet he felt
the touch on his cheek. He could almost hear the voice of Honoria, low and
soothing, in the lullaby of a whisper, “Hush, my child. All will be well.”