Kingdom's Edge (12 page)

CHANGE OF HEART

Over the next three days, we spread the message from the Silent Warrior to the Knights of the Prince: “Be ready!”

Of course, everyone repeated my statement with a question: “Be ready for what?” But before we could discover the answer, the kingdom of Arrethtrae saw the dawn of total oppression.

I
AWOKE TO A MORNING
that was bright and cool, yet I felt a heavy darkness descend like a thick fog. I attributed it to a restless night's sleep and tried to shake it off as I washed my face in cool water, but it lingered.

Rob, William, and I journeyed to northern Chessington to organize a mission that would send us beyond our region. The city of Drisdol was in desperate need of supplies.
Those who pledged allegiance to the Prince were plundered daily by Histen's men. Though we suffered similar persecution in Chessington, our city was larger and afforded greater protection and supplies.

For several streets, we walked in vigilant silence. William spoke first. “There is evil in the city today.”

“I feel it too.” Rob's ever-present grin was absent. “We've done all we can to recruit people for the Prince. Our numbers are great, but Histen's oppression and control increase with each passing day. How long must we carry on? Why must we carry on?”

I felt Rob's despair and was also growing weary of the fight. Our brothers and sisters were persecuted continuously. Histen wanted us out of his way, and I knew that persecution would soon turn to killing. Yet the Prince was—

“Get your grimy paws off my fruit, you filthy li'l mutt.”

The shouts of a produce shop owner interrupted my thoughts. A young boy scampered over a barrel and knocked down the shop owner's fruit and vegetable stand. The boy ran across the street with a stolen apple in hand. We winced at the string of cursing that followed. The shop owner's face was red with rage, and he emphasized each curse with a clenched fist.

The curses eventually subsided until he turned to see his produce scattered on the walk and the street.

“May we help you, sir?” I asked as politely as possible, hoping to soothe his anger a bit.

The man was barrel-chested with stocky legs to match. He looked middle-aged, and his curly dark hair was laced
with wisps of gray. He glanced our way, but his countenance had not changed. The anger in his face seemed to be a steady companion.

“You stay away from my food,” he bellowed. “I'm no fool to trust the likes of you nor any other thief in this city.”

He yelled over his shoulder toward the shop door. “Cassy! Get out here an' clean this mess up, right now!”

Within seconds, a woman who appeared to be his wife emerged. I could see her beauty beneath the lines of strife and bruises of abuse on her face. She did not look up at us but quickly moved toward the spill, taking care not to get too close to her husband. His lingering anger was still evident. He raised his hand to strike and vent his frustration as she passed.

“I would advise you not to do that, sir,” William said as we stepped forward.

The man turned to look at us. “I will do as I please, and you will stay out of my business!”

It was enough distraction for his wife to pass by beyond his reach. The moment passed, and he cursed at us as he turned to right his produce stand.

Rob's face displayed the anger we all felt as we stepped into the street to pass this shop of despair. A few steps brought us to the man's wife, and we knelt to help her fill a basket.

“Please—no!” came a soft plea from her weathered lips. “Just leave now or he will hurt me more.”

The man was kneeling and reaching for a broken table leg near the base of his shop's front wall when he glanced up to see us giving aid to his wife. “You get your—aaah!”

His scream seemed the result of searing pain. He stood
up to reveal a fire asp coiled around his forearm.

The fire asp is not only the deadliest snake in the kingdom, but its effects on its victim are horrific. The poison is quick, and death is certain once it reaches the brain. Its length is a little longer than a man's foot, and its breadth is no bigger around than a finger. It is brown in color, making it difficult to see until it strikes, when the skin of the asp changes to a fiery red. It is aggressive and bites only once. It then dies with its victim.

The initial sensation around the bite is a torturous burning and swelling that spreads with the poison until searing pain permeates the entire body. As the poison enters the brain, the overwhelming pain drives the victim into madness. Death follows within moments of the initial bite.

The shop owner continued to scream as he clutched his right arm with his left hand. Panic was evident on his face.

“William! Rob! Quick—come with me,” I shouted. We ran to the man and sat him on the ground. “William, remove the asp with your knife. Rob, give him something to bite on and hold his arm steady!”

The man's wife slowly stood up and backed into the shop. Her mouth was open and shock was on her face.

“Stay as calm as you can, sir. The slower your heart beats, the better chance we have of saving your life,” I said as gently as possible.

My grandfather had once saved his brother from the poisonous bite of a fire asp, but I knew the odds were slim. I had never heard of any other victim living through the ordeal.

I secured a leather strap around the man's upper arm
and tightened it until no blood could flow in either direction. William finished removing the asp, and it lay limp and lifeless on the walk. The swelling was already spreading to the man's hand and to his upper arm. So was the pain. His legs shook violently, and the cloth between his teeth only slightly muffled his screams.

“William, quickly make some mud from the alley and bring it here,” I said.

I unsheathed my knife and opened a vein above and below the bite to spill the contaminated blood. I massaged his arm toward the cuts to empty the veins. I knew he might lose his arm, but it was his only hope. William returned with the mud.

“We must prick his arm in multiple places before we apply the mud,” I told William.

Rob was occupied holding down the man's other arm. I glanced at the man's shoulder to see if the poison had spread beyond my leather strap and was slightly relieved to see no evidence of swelling there. The small cuts we gave him hardly bled—a good sign too. We quickly encased his entire arm in thick, cool mud to draw the poison out.

“What next, Cedric?” William asked.

“Now we wait, gentlemen,” I said. “We will know in a moment if we are successful. I must loosen the strap and return blood to his arm, or he will lose it. But if I do this before the mud has drawn out the poison, it will spread, and he will die.”

I looked for his wife, but she was gone. If we were successful, I wondered if I had condemned her to a slower, more painful death than her husband was facing. During
such times, there is little time to think, only time to react.
What would the Prince do next?
I wondered.

Moments passed. The man was still breathing and had not gone mad. The mud was drying, and the pain seemed to ease.

I slowly loosened the leather strap and watched for the swelling to spread. The mud began to turn red from the new flow of blood to the cuts we had made in his arm.

The swelling seemed to be contained, so we peeled the mud off. After washing his arm with clean water, we applied a clean bandage. Although his arm was twice its normal size, enough time had passed to know that he was not going to die.

He wiped away the tears that ran down his face. We gave him some water to drink and leaned him against the front of his shop.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“I am Cedric. This is William and Rob. We are Knights of the Prince.”

He breathed deeply and closed his eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you,” came a weak but sincere reply. “I do not know why anyone would bother to save the likes of me. Even my wife is gone, and I do not blame her.”

“We have seen the compassion of the Prince and know that every man is worth saving,” William said.

“Will you listen to our story of His love for the kingdom and for you?” Rob asked.

“I am anxious to hear it, for I don't even know what kindness and love are,” the man said. “I have never seen nor felt them … until today.”

“What is your name, sir?” I asked.

“I am called Derek. Please, tell me of this man you call the Prince.”

He was eager to hear our story of the King's great love for His people—a love so great that He sent His Son to teach us and, ultimately, to die for us. We told of the Prince's miraculous reappearance and of His promise to take us to a new kingdom where there is no hunger or despair.

Each word of our story began to soften Derek's heart. A heart as hard as granite was slowly transformed to a heart ready to give and receive compassion. The story of the Prince does that to men. It breaks them down, removes the rubble, and builds a castle where there once was a prison.

Derek wiped more tears from his eyes. This time they were tears of repentance and joy.

“Please come to my house for a meal,” Derek pleaded. “I want you to meet my family.”

We traveled one street to the east of his shop and found ourselves approaching the door of his home. Two small, frightened faces peered out the window as we approached. When we entered his home, the children did not run to greet their father. They each darted to a corner to hide behind a piece of furniture. His wife, Cassy, was shocked that he was alive, and she slowly moved to the back of the room.

Derek walked slowly toward his wife. She looked like a cornered mouse, too afraid to move. I thought she might collapse from her fear.

The little boy and girl seemed to know what was coming and buried their heads in their knees, covering their ears with little hands.

“Cassy,” Derek said in a hushed, quavering voice. Tears rushed to his eyes once again and flowed down his cheeks. “I am so very sorry.” He dropped to his knees before his wife. His large shoulders heaved with each sob. “How can you ever forgive me?” His hand reached to gently touch the hem of her tattered skirt.

Cassy looked at Derek's bowed head for a moment, perhaps waiting for this horrible trick to end. She looked at her children and then at us.

I smiled and nodded to affirm the reality of Derek's transformed heart.

She slowly moved her calloused hand to Derek's head. It was a gesture of forgiveness, though she could not yet speak the words. Her eyes welled up with tears, and I knew her heart wanted to believe the unbelievable. How could years of abuse be stripped away in an afternoon? It was an emotional reconciliation for everyone.

The children were surprised at the silence and stole a peek to see their father humbled on the floor before their mother.

Derek looked up and beckoned for his children. Slowly they left their cover and cautiously approached Derek. The girl placed a protective arm around her little brother.

“Daddy, please don't hurt us anymore,” said the tender little voice of the girl. Derek carefully leaned forward to span the remaining distance between him and his children. He gently brought them into his arms, and his weeping deepened.

“I promise I will never hurt you or your mother ever again,” he said. “I love you, children.”

Their little arms wrapped around his neck, and I was certain it was the first time they had felt their daddy's love.

Derek slowly stood and let Cassy look at his moist face. Her eyes were full and her lip quivered as she yielded her heart to the truth that Derek was a new man.

“I love you, Cassy. I hope there's room left in your heart to love me … even just a little.” Derek's arms encircled her with the morning embrace of love.

“Oh, Derek!” Cassy said, and she melted into his embrace.

I leaned toward Rob. “This is why we must carry on, my brother!”