Faeryn knocked lightly upon her brother’s door.  She knew that at this hour he would be deep in studying lessons of his own.  Whenever Faeryn saw him she was glad that she was not destined for the throne, for who could envy him the many hours of study that were required every day?  Besides the basic affairs of court, he had study battle plans, the use of weapons, the complete history of Orotaek and the surrounding nations, how to command men, how to raise or lower taxes, how to set up a draft when needed, how to attack an enemy’s castle, how to defend one’s own castle, the proper incantations to use when venerating all the gods, the proper ceremonies, what honors to accord a knight for brave service…the list went on and on.  Faeryn was glad that she only had to learn the basic knowledge required to become a counselor to the king.  Being an inquisitive person who enjoyed learning, she had picked up a lot of what her brother knew without being taught it, but that was different from being forced to learn it.  He was given strict tests every day to make sure that what he was learning was always at the forefront of his mind.  Being a woman might have some disadvantages, but she was grateful for the freedom she had.

            Eranhart opened the door, and the light from is study lamp spilled out into the hallway.  The light coming from behind was not enough to illuminate his face, but his silhouette looked hunched and tired. 

            “Eranhart,” Faeryn whispered, “I need to speak with you.”

            “Faeryn,” he said, just realizing whom it was, “Come in.”  He stepped aside to make way for her, and when she stepped past him he closed the door.  Faeryn turned toward him and studied his face, unable to discern from his expression whether her interruption was welcome or not.  Perhaps he himself was still trying to figure that out. 

            “What is it you wish to speak to me about?” he asked. 

            “I…I’m leaving.”

            “Leaving???”

            “Leaving Orotaek.  Eranhart, I went to talk to Byerron – “

            “That treasonous scoundrel who was imprisoned today?!”

            “Yes – no, I mean, I was there, and he isn’t like that!  He only cares about the people and sees that they are oppressed.  Any other ordinary person could have said the same thing and gone home a free man.  He says that things are changing here, and that Orotaek is growing darker, and that our father is under the influence of a sorcerer!”

            “That can’t be true!  Our father is a just and good man; he would not become a puppet of some religious manipulative priest.”

            “But Eranhart, our father imprisoned Byerron simply for saying the people were oppressed!  What if he is right?”

            “Faeryn, you are listening to the rumors spoken by a wandering troublemaker.  You are my sister, and I will not have you follow him into the wild simply because you feel that he might be right.” 

            “Oh, but Eranhart, if you had only been there!  He talked of his god, and he said that there is only one God, and that we have all been walking in darkness!   And he said that his god actually spoke to him, when he was in the mountains!  Oh Eranhart, to have a god actually speak to you!  I want that more than anything else in the world!  I asked Byerron to take me to his god, and he didn’t want me to go at first!  He said that it wouldn’t be right, a man traveling alone with a woman.  Does that sound like the kind of man who would lead a girl astray?  But I told him I would help him escape if he would promise to take me, and he finally said yes.”

            Eranhart’s eyes narrowed.  “This is foolishness, Faeryn.  Gods don’t speak, and we are not ‘walking in darkness’, whatever that means.  We make sacrifices to all the gods, known and unknown; we have priests and seers of every kind, and enough books of wisdom to fill a dozen rooms.  No, if anything the light shines in Orotaek.  You shall not go with the man who speaks such folly!  I will prevent it!”

            “Eranhart!”  Fear gave a harsh edge to Faeryn’s voice as she realized that it might have been a bad idea to come to her brother, who could easily bring her before the king and accuse her of treason.  Then she would never be able to go.  “Eranhart, you stop and think for a moment!  You are denying all of this is false without even investigating it!  You still haven’t answered my question; what if he is right?  Wouldn’t that really put us in a bad position, if there really is only one god and we deny his existence?  And how can our father be just if he threw Byerron in prison?  You are avoiding the point!  This isn’t like you, you should be listening to me!”

Eranhart turned around and walked away from her without answering, but then unexpectedly he turned back. 

            “I will come with you to see this man,” he said.  “Then I will judge for myself whether he is honorable or not.”

            Faeryn lead the way, feeling less apprehensive about the journey down to the dungeon now that she had her older brother behind her and a glass lantern in her hand to illuminate the previously dark and ominous passageways.  The realization that she had nothing to fear on this journey through the castle flooded Faeryn with relief.  She dared not think ahead to Eranhart’s meeting with Byerron, lest worry crowd out her momentary peace. 

            The guards at the dungeon were less suspicious and far more respectful when Faeryn came down the last stairs, leading the real prince Eranhart.  Both guards kowtowed before the future king of Orotaek and hastened to open the doors for him, paying little attention to Faeryn beyond a respectful nod. 

            Faeryn strode quickly down the corridor to where Byerron was, and Eranhart was not far behind.  Byerron was kneeling in a corner of his cell.  He looked up when Faeryn approached, and when he saw who she was leading he rose hastily to his feet.  He bowed deeply before Eranhart, in his gentlemanly way, but he did so in such a way that he seemed to maintain his own dignity while doing so. 

            Silence followed as the two young men studied one another through the bars, a small glimmer of kinship in their eyes.  Both were between the ages of twenty and twenty-five, and life had already laid heavy responsibilities upon both their shoulders.  Neither was inclined to think of the other as less than himself, for they saw in each other the same solemn, dignified responsibility: one standing proud in the glory of his future kingship, and the other resolute in his status as the prophet of a God who claimed to be the only God, and determined to follow Him, though the cost be death.  Finally, however, Eranhart turned away, as though he couldn’t bear to look at Byerron any longer.

            “You may go with him,” he said to Faeryn.  “He is an honest, upright man.”  Eranhart looked one last time at Byerron, who stood silent in his cage.  In that moment Eranhart’s face betrayed more pain than Faeryn had ever seen in her brother.  

            “More so than I,” Eranhart murmured to himself, and he turned away without having spoken a word to Byerron. 

            Faeryn let her brother walk down the hall alone, and she stared after him, not sure what to make of the whole situation.  She turned to Byerron, and found that he was also watching Eranhart leave. 

            “He is close in coming,” Byerron said suddenly, half to himself.  Faeryn looked at him quizzically, but he gave no explanation.  After a minute he turned and walked to the other side of his cell, as if he had forgotten Faeryn altogether.  Faeryn watched him resume his kneeling position on the floor.

            “Byerron,” she said, staring at the floor, feeling that somehow it was wrong to stare at him as he knelt on the floor.  She couldn’t explain the feeling, but she sensed that whatever he was doing was not for her to know. 

He looked up.  “Yes?”

She raised her eyes to him.  “We leave tomorrow night.  I’ll try to have everything ready.” 

He half-smiled.  “Good.”

Byerron turned his face away from her again, but still Faeryn lingered.  She didn’t know what she wanted, really.  Encouragement, advice…anything.   The planning of a grand escape was left entirely to her, Faeryn, a sixteen-year-old princess who knew almost nothing of the outside world.  Anyone who helped her could be convicted of treason.  She had never felt so utterly alone. 

Byerron ignored her, whether intentionally or not, she could not tell.  She was forced at last to return to her room. 

She slept little the rest of the night. 

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

“I have come to speak to you,” she said at last, wishing she sounded just a little more intelligent.   She had come to respect this man for standing up to her father, and now his presence was rather intimidating.  Faeryn berated herself for this small cowardice, trying to remind herself that she was the princess, she was royalty, and this man was a beggar behind bars, a wandering no one.  But despite her impressive bloodline and Byerron’s shabby one, Faeryn felt that outward rank didn’t really matter any more.   

            “About what?” Byerron asked, dropping the note of cynicism now that he knew she hadn’t come only to stare.

            “I…I wanted to know more about the things you spoke of up in the Great Hall.  I have never heard anyone say anything remotely like what you said today, about the taxes and the sacrifices, and about there being only one god.  And you seemed so confident, I…I believed you.  I want you to explain more to me.”

            “I will.  Ask me what you wish.  It is not often that people wish for me to tell more of matters such as this.  Mostly they are reviled by what I say.  They have convinced themselves that they are unable to accept anything but a plurality of gods.”

            Faeryn couldn’t help but think of her father as Byerron spoke those words.  Now more than ever she wished that her father had listened.

            She paused, trying to pick one question out of the many that swirled in her mind. 

            “Are things really as you said?  Are the people really starving because of the taxes?”

            Byerron’s face grew grave.  “They would be able to survive if it were only the taxes.  The tax is very heavy, but they could survive it if it weren’t for the daily sacrifices to the gods.”  He shuddered.  “One bull and three goats for each of the main deities and two goats for each of the lesser gods, every day, provided for by the people.” 

            With thirteen main gods and dozens of others being worshiped in Orotaek, this added up to a staggering number of sacrificial animals. 

            “You have to be lying,” Faeryn said.  “The people of Orotaek could not survive under those conditions.”

            “They can’t, and they aren’t.  If you merely walked through the streets you would see.” 

            Faeryn grabbed one of the bars to steady herself, reaching for stability as her mind whirled in a confused vortex.  “How can my father do this?  He has always been a just and upright man, who works to do what is best for the kingdom.  How can he allow this?”

            “I will tell you why.”  Byerron began pacing slowly in his cell as he talked.  “Now, I may not be completely right on all I say, but I believe my guesses will be close.  I have been watching for a long time.”  He paused and stood still for a moment, and then began to pace again.  “Your father has come under the influence of a new sorcerer by the name of Sarvoniere, who comes from the east and has brought with him the religion and worship of a new goddess: Ryselleacar.  It is Sarvoniere who has imposed the high sacrifices, and your father has listened.”

            Faeryn was at a loss for words.  She was horrified, but not as shocked as she thought she should be.  “How,” she asked grimly, still wondering if she could really believe everything that Byerron said, “could my father listen to such a man as Sarvoniere.  Surely a man such as my father would see the folly of all this?”

            Byerron’s face was sullen as he paced.  “Anyone,” he said, “who is not always alert and on guard may be deceived, if the deception is woven slowly and carefully.”  He stopped pacing for a second, one foot half-raised as if he were going to take a step, and looked over at Faeryn as if to say, “believe me, this is real”.  He then resumed his pacing.  “As for Sarvoniere, he had the aid of his dark magic.  Your father is really an incredible man, and he would have seen and put an end to all this by now if it weren’t for the spells that Sarvoniere has woven over him.” 

            “Dark magic…exists.”  Faeryn found herself clinging to the minor points Byerron had said, as if trying to avoid thinking about the points he had made. 

            “Yes,” Byerron answered her.  “Somewhat.”  He came to a rest in front of Faeryn.  “The effects do actually exist, but they are not accomplished by the means told of in the folklore.  Spells are not composed of powerful words that work the magic themselves, but they are actually, in their truest form, prayers to summon up dark spirits, who then do what the magician asks.” 

            “So…the spells control the spirits.”

            “No.” 

            “Then…why do the spirits do what the magicians ask?”

            “Because the evil spirits are working to control the minds of men,” Byerron answered.  “Carrying out a task for a magician is a small price to pay for ruling over his mind.”

            Faeryn’s eyes went wide, and she shuddered. 

            “Sarvoniere’s mind is now almost completely controlled by those demons,” continued Byerron, “and that makes him very powerful, or rather, the demons are powerful through him.  What they will is what he wills.  And now that he has the ruler of Orotaek under his thumb, there is no end to the damage he can cause.”

            Faeryn rested her forehead against the bars.  Her strength seemed to suddenly have slipped away.  “Can anything be done?”

            Byerron sighed heavily.  “I tried,” he said, his voice filled with sorrow.  “I did.  I thought that perhaps I could convince the king.  He…he has listened to me in the past, when I came the other times to warn him of danger to the kingdom.”  Faeryn looked up at him, surprised at his sudden emotion.  He didn’t seem to be speaking to her anymore. 

            He raised his hand in the air.  “I thought…I thought that I could do it, and that he would listen to me.  I had this chance – I should have been able to convince him!  But I couldn’t.”  His hand fell to his side, and he hung his head in despair.  “I tried.  And now I’m here.  Now I can’t do anything.  I could be killed, for all I know.  Not many who have been imprisoned here have ever become free men again.”     

            Faeryn stood speechless.  She could not find any words to comfort this caged man, who had tried to stop the evil in the kingdom but had only brought trouble down upon his own head.  What could she say?  How could she do anything to help him?

            But perhaps there was something she could do.

            “I’ll get you out,” she said. 

            Byerron looked at her, startled.

            “I’ll set you free.  If you promise…”

            “Yes?” Byerron asked.  Hope had returned to his voice.

            “If…” Faeryn thought for a moment.  “Byerron, tell me about your god.”

            A far away look came into Byerron’s eyes, and light seemed to radiate from within them.  He stared over Faeryn’s head at the wall behind her, seeing neither her nor the wall of the dungeon, but something Faeryn could only guess at. 

            “Faeryn,” he said.  “I…it was…He…” the prophet groped for words.  “I cannot…I can’t find words that will convey…the power, and the love, and…oh!  The task is beyond me.” 

            “What…happened to you?  Just tell me that.” 

            Byerron relaxed somewhat.  “I was staying with the elves…”

            “Elves?” Faeryn laughed.

            “Faeryn, they’re real.  I swear to you, am not lying.”

            The princess stopped laughing.  She wanted to believe what Byerron was saying.  She had never been able to completely deny the existence of elves to herself, and she dared to hope that perhaps Byerron was not lying.  Her heart had leapt within her when he had mentioned them.  But she had to admit, it was easy to doubt a prophet when he started speaking of mythical beings. 

            “Where do they live?”

            Byerron hesitated in answering, and Faeryn could tell he was debating whether or not to give away the location. 

            “They live at the far end of the forest behind Mount Liathan.”

            “You mean…the Forest of Mist?”

            Byerron laughed.  “Is that what they call it in Orotaek?  I had no idea.  The elves call it Aenywroe, which means ‘jewel’ in their language.”

            “Aenywroe.”  Faeryn liked the feel of the name.  “So…you were staying with the elves…”

            “Yes.”

            “In…Aenywroe?”

            “Yes.”

            “What happened?”

            “Well…I was wandering in the woods behind the lake in Raendolin, when I came upon the entrance to this canyon.  I was curious, so I walked down the narrow path until I stood at the bottom of the canyon.  On both sides were steep cliffs, and the only way to get out was to go back.

            “I was just standing there, looking around me, when suddenly there was something like a great flash of light, and I fell down.”

            Faeryn gasped.  “What happened then?”

            “Nothing happened for a great while.  I felt that someone or something was near, and I waited for it to make a move.  I tried to get up, but I couldn’t move.

            “The waiting was so unbearable, and I felt so helpless.  When I could stand it no longer I cried out, ‘Please, take me!  I am helpless, and I would rather die now than starve.’

            “And then – and this is so strange, I can’t understand or explain it, even though it’s been years since it happened – I felt, as if out of no where, that someone was standing directly over me, but when I looked up I saw nothing.  At that moment I was so terribly afraid that I closed my eyes.  And then…”

            Faeryn stared motionless at Byerron’s face, silently begging him to continue. 

            “…I…I heard a voice.  It wasn’t like a normal voice, that you hear first with your ears and then inside your head, but it seemed to start from within my head and work it’s way outward to my ears.  The sound of it was deep like thunder, but it was melodious too, like the voice was more used to singing than to speaking.  I felt myself shaking.

            “The first thing it said to me was my own name.  ‘Byerron.’  As the voice said it, I felt that it knew everything about me.  I cowered in fear, as much as a man can cower when he’s lying on the ground and can’t move. 

            “ ‘Byerron’, it said again, and then it asked me, ‘why have you come?’ 

            “I didn’t know if I dared to respond.  It repeated the question, ‘why have you come?’ 

            “I saw that I would have to say something, and I responded, ‘I found the entrance to this canyon, and I came down to look at it.  I didn’t think I’d be intruding.’

             “I don’t think that was quite the answer the voice was looking for, so it asked another question.  ‘Why did you come to Raendolin?’

            “I replied that the elves had found me wandering in Aenywroe, and they had let me stay. 

”It asked a third question.  ‘Why did you venture into Aenywroe, leaving behind all you had ever known?’

            “ ‘I had nothing at home,’ I said.  ‘Everyone hated me.’

            “ ‘Why did you decide to go where other men dared not to go?’ it asked.  

            “ I replied, ‘I was tired with my life.  I wanted to find something…spectacular.  Something that was beyond the ordinary.’ 

            “The voice asked, ‘Did you find what you wanted?’  Now the question surprised me.  I thought that the speaker, whoever it was, would have figured out by now what it wanted.  I was tired of the questions.  They were digging deeper and deeper into my heart, and I didn’t like that.

            “ ‘I found the elves, didn’t I?’ I responded.

            “The voice repeated the question, ‘Did you find what you wanted?’

            “ ‘No!’ I shouted.  I was shocked by what I had said.  That response hadn’t been anything like what I had planned.  But I continued without stopping, as if I couldn’t stop.  ‘I didn’t find what I want,’ I said loudly, my voice echoing in the canyon.  ‘I thought that when I found the elves and saw all the wonders of Aenywroe, I would…I would feel different.  But I don’t.  I’m the same as I was before.  There’s nothing left for me, you see!  No matter how hard I search or where I travel, I’m never going to find something more spectacular than what I’ve seen!  I don’t know what I’m searching for, and I’m never going to find it!’  I was so scared by how blatantly rude I’d been, and I started weeping.  I hadn’t wept since I was three years old, and I thought I wasn’t able to anymore.  I dreaded to see what the voice would do to me, now that I had been so irreverent.  I had decided by that time that I must be speaking to one of the gods that I had learned about when I was young, and I was more terrified than at the start of the incident.  I waited to see what it would do to me.   

“It seemed like an eternity before the god spoke, and when he did, his answer nearly broke me. 

“ ‘You came to Aenywroe,’ he said, ‘because I drew you.’

“There was nothing I could say.  Every time I tried to speak, I choked on my own words, so I remained quiet.  I heard someone wailing in the canyon, and it wasn’t until I put my hands to my face and felt the tears that I realized it was me.  Faeryn, I have never felt so weak as I did at that moment, when he spoke those words.  In my mind I kept fighting against what he was saying.  My mind didn’t want it to be true, but I knew…somehow…I don’t know how…that he was right.  And you know, while part of me didn’t want it to be true, the rest of me longed for it to be true, in a way I can’t describe.  I struggled, and then gave up fighting with myself.  I asked the first questions that came to mind.

“’What do you want with me?  Who are you?’

“He answered the last question first.  ‘I am,” he said, pausing just for a moment.  “I am the one who created time, and I am the one who will end it.  I am the one who imagined the sky before any even dreamed of it, and I am the one who formed the stars out of light.  I placed the earth below the stars and gave it being, I shaped the waters of the deep and of the heavens.  I created the winds and the mountains, the forests and rivers, the plains and all green things.  I gave to the day the creatures belonging to the day, and to the night the creatures belonging to the night.  I gave life to the elves and the nymphs, to govern the earth and belong to it.  And,” he said. “I am the one who, when creation was nearing completion, breathed life and a spirit into humankind, to which you belong, for myself.’

“I trembled, Faeryn, as He spoke, and as he named each successive thing His voice grew louder and louder, and my shaking grew greater and greater until I was certain that I would never recover.  As he spoke the final words, ‘for myself’, I felt a thrill run up my spine, and I fell flat on my face. 

“ ‘Lord of the Universe,’ I screamed.  ‘Do what it is you want with me!  Please do not delay my death, if that is what you wish!’

“He did not respond immediately, and the skin on my back tingled, waiting for something to happen.  When he finally did speak again, his voice was like a whisper, whereas before it had been louder than thunder. 

“ ‘Byerron,’ he said.  ‘Be not afraid.  I am the one who made you, and who knows more about you than you yourself ever will.  And I know that you desire me, because that is the way I made you.  Do not be afraid.  I create no desire that I do not fulfill.  I love you like a father loves his son, and I am going to guide your steps.  I love you, Byerron.’

“I don’t really know what happened after that.  No one had ever told me that they loved me before.  I recall vowing that I would serve the Creator of the Universe with my whole life, but that memory seems distant to me.  All I could really think about was the fact that the God had said he loved me.”

Byerron looked up at Faeryn for the first time in a while, and he stared at her in an odd way.  Faeryn suddenly realized that she had been crying, and that Byerron must be seeing the tears streaking down her face.  She wiped her eyes, and Byerron continued: 

“He told me things, Faeryn, wonderful things, some of which I can’t even describe to you.  He told me to remember all of them.  I can’t recite them all to you now, but whenever there is a need for them to be spoken, they come back to me as if I had just heard them. 

“When He was done instructing me, he told me that I was to be his prophet, and that He would show me what to do.  And He commanded me to seek Him, and to look for Him in unexpected places, and He said that He would always be near me, wherever I went.  After that He told me to go back to the house of Anwyr, so I did, with great reluctance.

“I was afraid to tell the elves about my experience, so I didn’t say anything for a while.  But Anwyr could tell by my appearance that something tremendous had happened, and after a time he took me aside and asked what had happened.”

“Who is Anwyr?” Faeryn asked. 

“He is the lord of the elf dwelling of Raendolin,” Byerron replied.  “He befriended me when the elf scouts first found me and brought me to Aenywroe.  I don’t really know why.”  Byerron gave a half-smile.  “He has almost been like a brother to me.  I can’t really explain how it is.”  He shook his head, as if trying to clear his poor explanation out of the air.  “Anyhow, I eventually told Anwyr the whole thing, and he said that the elves had knowledge of the One and worshiped Him, but he also said that none of the elves had ever spoken with the One as I had.

“ ‘The Holy One has set you apart to be special,’ he said.  ‘I am anxious to see what will come of it.’

“After that, I stayed a long time with the elves, and then began to wander into the countries of men.  I have always felt the presence of the One God with me since the day that I first met him, but not always as strongly.  A few months ago I was staying in Raendolin when I felt that He was near, and He told me to come to Orotaek and tell the people about Him.  I came, and I saw that the people were oppressed by the worship of these false gods, and since I had advised your father several times in the years of my wanderings, I went right away to speak to him about it.”  Byerron sighed painfully.  “I didn’t expect things to be so bad – with your father, I mean.  I knew that Sarvoniere was gaining a hold, but I didn’t realize how strong it was until today.”  He bent over, discouraged. 

“Take me to see your God,” Faeryn said, her words appearing suddenly, as if out of thin air. 

Byerron stared at her.  “Take you to see Him?  He’s not a sightseeing attraction, you know.”

“No,” Faeryn said, her excitement growing.  “Not like that.  Take me to where you met Him.  Maybe He will speak to me like He spoke to you!” 

“Faeryn, I’m not sure…” Byerron fumbled for words, uncertain.  “You…you know, he set me apart to be a prophet.  I don’t know if He would speak to you in the same way.”

“But He might,” Faeryn said, pounding the bars in her excitement.  “He might!”  She thought quickly about the situation.  “I could set you free, and you could take me to Raendolin.”

“Travelling alone?”  Byerron shook his head violently.  “No.  I couldn’t do it.  It wouldn’t be right.” 

“Please!” Faeryn said. 

“No,” Byerron said, stepping backward from her as if she were a crazed woman, his face clearly expressing that he was against the idea.  Then his expression softened and his eyes refocused.  Faeryn felt that he was staring through her instead of looking at her.  Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

“Yes,” Byerron finally said, startling Faeryn.  “Yes.  You will let me out, and I will take you to Him.” 

Faeryn drilled Byerron with a stare, trying to get him to explain why he had changed his mind, but he said nothing about it.  Eventually, after waiting to no avail, Faeryn spoke.

“I will do what I can to get you out.  I don’t have any guarantees about how successful I will be.”

“That is fine,” Byerron said.  “Do what you can.”  He bowed to her.  “My lady.”

Byerron obviously thought the conversation was over.  Faeryn wished to keep speaking with him for hours, but, since she could find nothing else to say, she gave a nod to Byerron and strode back down the dungeon corridor, pondering everything that Byerron had said.  She barely noticed the when guards bowed to her as she exited the dungeon. 

It may be late, but Faeryn knew tonight’s work was not done.  

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note: As this is a rough draft of my story and still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was late when Faeryn finally tip-toed out of her room down the long spiraling staircases, dressed in a long dark cloak and hood to conceal her identity, and carrying a basket with some of the fruit from her dinner.  Not many were about the castle at this hour, and all the way to the dungeons no one saw her or stopped her.  It was unnerving, though, when a board would creek beneath her feet, or she would imagine that she heard footsteps behind her.  When that happened she would press herself into the wall, trying to blend into the shadows.  It would have worked rather well, had anyone passed, but no one did. 

            The dungeons were another matter though, and Faeryn had to draw upon her extra reserves of courage to even draw near to them.  They were always guarded, even though there were usually only a few prisoners, and the guards could be nasty at times, especially during the night shifts.

            Faeryn’s heart was racing as she approached the entrance, but when the guards stopped her and asked her business, she calmly replied;

            “My brother, Prince Eranhart, sent me to give these fruits to the prisoner Byerron and to relay a message to him in private.”

            The guards seemed to take that as a fair answer, and one of them removed his helmet and bowed.  The other one was a little more disgruntled, and he grumbled a little as he unlocked to door leading to the cells.  “He’s near the far end, my lady.”

            “Thank you,” Faeryn replied softly as she stepped through the door.  She had made it this far!  The rest of it shouldn’t be too hard.  Except, of course, trying to get back out again.

            She tread silently -- a little too silently -- down the row of cells, an overreaction caused by her fear.  Walk normally, she told herself.  Act as if you belong here, not like you are sneaking in.  She forced herself to resume a normal pace, but when she did her steps echoed violently off the harsh stone walls and low ceiling.  It seemed as though everyone in Orotaek should be able to hear her walking into a dungeon she didn’t belong in.  Her limbs quavered a little, and though she couldn’t quite stop it.  She was playing the part that she had set for herself, but part of her refused to pretend that she wasn’t afraid. 

            Though Faeryn had been expecting to not see very many other prisoners, she was still surprised at how empty the dungeon was.  She passed one old man in a cell near to the entrance, and by his unkempt beard she guessed that he had been there many years.  Upon searching her memory, she recalled that Rendreik had told her once that there was a man in the dungeon who had tried to lead a rebellion years ago.  He had been caught before anything serious had happened, and he had never left the dungeon after that.  Faeryn wondered if the old prisoner she saw was the same man. 

            As Faeryn came toward the end of the passageway she saw a hunched figure in the far corner of one cell.  The figure rose as she approached and startled her, and she saw that it was Byerron.  He came towards where she was standing.

            “Come to view the prisoner, my lady Faeryn?” he asked in a sad, almost cynical tone.

            Faeryn struggled to figure out how to answer.  “Ah…Yes.  How did you know who I was?”

            “The king makes it no secret that his daughter is the fairest in the land.  I saw you in the Great Hall and assumed you were the one he spoke of.”

            “You assumed correctly,” Faeryn said, stating the obvious in an attempt to cover her surprise.  Byerron had seen more than just the king when he spoke in the Great Hall, although to Faeryn it had seemed that his eyes had never strayed to observe anything but her father.  Faeryn wondered how he had managed it. 

            Byerron said nothing, following the custom of never asking a question of one of higher rank, and Faeryn stood there awkwardly for a minute trying to think of something to say. 

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

Cressida felt like weeping with Faeryn.  The girl’s despair was almost too much to take.  “But Faeryn, can’t you see that if you will choose to become a woman, you will be able to make the world a safe and happy place – a wonderful place – for others who will depend on you?  The love and the security you give will last forever in the lives of those you help.  It stays though outward beauty fades, and it makes you truly beautiful.  Think beyond yourself, Faeryn.  As long as you live to serve others, you will never be unhappy or lonely.  Don’t join with the women you know in being vain and superficial; be the difference.  Be the one that changes the world.”

            Faeryn lowered her head.  “I can’t,” she said.  “It is impossible.”

            “Do not think that,” said Cressida.  “Think back to when you were younger.  You pretended that you were grown up and were married, even though it wasn’t real.  But eventually you did grow up and get older.  Now, even though it seems futile, pretend that you can really make a difference, and head for that goal.  Even if you only go a little way towards it, that is better than if you just stood still.”

            “Yes,” Faeryn said.  “That is better than nothing.”

            “Now,” Cressida said, “choose the road that seems the best for you and for others, not just the one that you want.  In a way it is better that you truly desire neither, for your choice will be easier.”

            Faeryn stood up, to emphasize what she was going to say.  “I…I will go to Byerron and speak with him, even though it is not what my father would wish.  Perhaps he will show me what to do.”  Faeryn hesitated, all her weakness and fear coming back to her slowly.  “I don’t know how I can persuade my father to lower the taxes.  If I try to do that, he might throw me in prison like Byerron.” 

            “Courage, my lady,” Cressida said in a strong, hopeful tone.  “Things always work out for the best.”

            “Why?” Faeryn asked.  “Why do things always work out for the best when there is no one to make sure that they do?  How do you know?  The gods are not concerned with the affairs of men.”

            “I have seen it in my life and in the lives of others,” said Cressida.  “Everything that seemed a setback when I was a child has turned into a blessing instead.  Those things that were hard to endure have made me stronger.  And I am certain that the same will happen with those things that are a setback now.”

            “That cannot be,” said Faeryn.  “The gods are not concerned with the affairs of men.  If we do not sacrifice, they send destruction.  That is the extent of their affairs with us.”  Faeryn sighed, a long, heavy sigh.  “I have wished, you know, that the gods would be concerned with us.  That would mean that we mattered somewhat in the universe.  I wanted there to be someone else ordering things, not just us simple men trying to work our own way against all odds.  But no, the priests and elders of the people have always told me that they care not what happens to men.”

            Cressida was lost in thought, hearing what Faeryn was saying but also wrestling with the issue in her own mind.  “I do not believe the priests and the elders,” she said at last.  “Have you ever noticed when you looked at a leaf that it had many tiny veins on it?  Or a bird in flight?  Or the way water flows over the rocks in the stream?  All of it is so amazingly beautiful and detailed.  I do not believe that the gods would make the world and make mankind and then abandon all they had made.  I have always felt a sort of attachment to everything I have ever made.  I think it must be the same for the gods.”

            Faeryn had never thought about the situation like that, and she desperately hoped that somehow Cressida was right.  She looked down at the floor, hands clasped behind her, as Cressida had often seen the men of the court do.  Surely she has been in need of feminine counsel for a long time, Cressida thought.  If only her mother had not died.

            “I will speak to Byerron about this,” Faeryn said.  “He seems to know something about the gods.  At least, he says that a god spoke to him.  Oh Cressida, I hope he is right.  The gods of this land are cruel and cold, ever demanding blood.  I –“ Faeryn jerked upright in anger.  “I hate them!  They frighten me!  They –“ Faeryn stopped speaking, dropping her head in her hands and sobbing. 

            “The world is cruel,” she said.  “I wish everything was different.”

            Cressida held out her hands, and Faeryn ran into her arms and cried upon her shoulder.  Cressida stroked her mistress’s long auburn hair and let Faeryn cry for a while.  When the tears had subsided, she spoke softly.

            “Faeryn, what you know of the world is cruel, but you do not know half of everything.  Could it be that what you do not know of the world is good, and that the cruelty you know is not much in comparison?”

            Faeryn wiped her eyes.  “I… I… I don’t feel it, but I will believe you.  I suppose in the end it will turn out that you were right all along.  I never can see very far.” 

“My lady,” Cressida said in a comforting voice, “you are yet young, but you have a sort of wisdom that many have not gained.  You will find a way.  Do not despair.” 

            There was silence for a moment as Faeryn pondered over what she had heard.  “Thank you, Cressida.  Would that you had been my sister instead of my servant.  I would have had a happier childhood, I think, if I had had you around.”

            The two girls embraced, and then Cressida was forced to depart to help in the kitchen.  Faeryn sat in silence for a long while, and then she made up her mind.

            She really would go to see Byerron.  She owed him that much, and it was the right thing to do.  Even if her father caught her and punished her, she could rest in the fact that she had done the right thing. 

            And, while she was at it, she would be able to satisfy her curiosity about this prophet who said he knew a god.

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

            Right then Cressida entered the room with a tray of food and saw Faeryn standing at the window.  “My lady, are you alright?  Shouldn’t you be resting as your father the king said?”

            Faeryn turned back to the stuffy room, irritable at having been both interrupted and reminded of her father’s command.  Did everyone now know of how her father had gotten angry with her and ordered her to her room?  “Yes,” she grumbled, “I suppose.”  She couldn’t hide her frustration, and Cressida stayed, quiet but concerned.  “If I may ask, my lady, what is troubling you?”

            “Oh,” Faeryn sighed in frustration.  She was about to tell Cressida that she shouldn’t ask, and that she should know better than to ask, but instead she told Cressida what she was thinking.  “Oh Cressida, I don’t know what to do!  While I was in the throne room with the Chancellor a man named Byerron appeared before the king and complained about the way the people were being treated.  He seemed like a good man, just and honorable, but my father became angry and imprisoned him.  He then sent me here.”  Faeryn paused, painfully conscious that she was confiding in a servant, wondering what her father would think if he knew that she was speaking to her maid like this, and whether or not Cressida was that kind of servant who would tell all the other maids about the encounter once she got back to the servants quarters.

            Cressida seemed to read her thoughts, and said, “You can keep going ma’am.  I will tell no one what you say.”  She smiled her sweet, caring smile, and Faeryn couldn’t help but divulge all of her doubts and fears.  It was freeing, to have another soul hear her mental struggles and how she felt that her world was coming apart.  Cressida listened patiently and sympathetically until Faeryn had finished talking, and then she spoke; simply, yet her words were heartfelt and true.

            “It seems, my lady, that you fear that your world is changing, it is to some degree, but the change is not yet as great as the change in your mind.  You have seen things that you can’t explain with your old way of thinking, and being who you are you are forced to change the way you think.  It is a difficult thing to do.” She looked at Faeryn sympathetically.  “What you decide now will determine the course of the rest of your life.  Changing the way you think always does that.  And I know you don’t want to.  I know you feel that you are a glass vase at the top of a tall tower, and if you take a step in any direction you will fall into a million pieces, but that is not true.  If you choose rightly, you may yet find a safe path.  But you cannot stand still.  We cannot hold moments in time, we can only welcome them as they come, enjoy them while they are here, and let them go when they pass.  If you try to pretend that things will not change, then the change that has already begun will catch up to you in the end, and you will lose everything.”

            “I don’t want to decide, really,” said Faeryn.  Every time I feel that I’ve come to a decision, I immediately go back on it.  I hate change.”

            Cressida sighed mournfully.  “Everyone does.  No one wants to see a good thing slip away.  But life is change, and life is not always bad.  Change brings sweet things as well as bitter.  You can yet find a better path than the one you are on now.”

            Faeryn’s eyes began to fill with tears against her will, and she could barely whisper past the lump in her throat, “I feel that I am losing my childhood forever.  If I let go of what I have now, I will never get it back.  I have no guarantee of finding, only of losing.”  Two tears made their way down her cheeks as she gazed up at Cressida. 

She continued, “Either choice I make, I loose what I already have, and I still have to grow up.  I do not want to become a woman!  Womanhood is cold and silly and vain, and I don’t want that!  To merely stand around for show because of your looks, marrying and bearing children, and then pretending to still be beautiful even when you are rotting from old age, that is no life!  Where is the purpose!  Why be a woman at all?  Wouldn’t it be better to take a man’s role, and die fighting in battle?  I don’t want my value to only be in my looks!  What about my thoughts and feelings?  No one cares about that when you are a woman.”

            “My lady,” Cressida said, distraught that Faeryn should take such a condemning view of things.  “Why do you think womanhood is this way?”

            “I have seen it,” Faeryn said bitterly.  “All the wives of the courtiers, when they come for the yearly feast held in the Great Hall.  The young are vain and parade their fine gowns and pretty faces, and the old powder and paint themselves and pretend they are young.  All their words are idle gossip, and their thoughts are on themselves.  And they expect me, me, to do the same, to be the leader of the throng, even!  I must look finer than anyone else, and know all the latest gossip, and think of myself more than anyone else.  I will not do it!  I refuse!  I will cut my hair and pretend to be a man the rest of my days!  I…I will kill myself, so that I need not endure this!”  Faeryn fairly exploded in a sob of confused rage.

            “My lady Faeryn,” Cressida said slowly and gently, stroking Faeryn’s hand as she spoke.  “I think what you have seen is the worst example possible of womanhood.  That is not what womanhood is.”  Cressida smiled to herself, and then continued.  “A true woman is…gentle, and patient.  She knows when to speak and when to be silent.  She is merciful to all, and she is nurturing.  A true woman is a person, but she is also a place people can run to when they are hurting.  Oh Faeryn, life isn’t all about marrying and bearing children, but you cannot do a better thing than raise a child.  You are their comforter and their home, and they need you more than anyone else.  You make them into people who can love and care like you do.”  Cressida smiled, thinking of her own mother.  “Surely your own mo—“ Cressida cut herself off, suddenly remembering what she had forgotten, and desperately wishing she hadn’t started speaking. 

            “My mother,” Faeryn said, “is gone, and always has been, for me.  I don’t even have a memory of her.  When I think of her I think of sunlight through the leaves in the trees, and a cream-colored warmth, and the smell of vanilla.  Those who saw her tell me that she was beautiful, and those who knew her say that she was kind.  She is a vision to me, nothing more.  She died in childbirth a year and a half after I was born, and the baby died with her. “  Faeryn looked at Cressida, and the dim light reflected weakly in her eyes and magnified the sadness that was in them.  Her face was a haunting vision, plagued by a sadness that could not be amended.  “Don’t you see?” she whispered.  “Even those women who are truly beautiful die or are abandoned.  There is no happiness for a woman.  Only children are happy, and that is because they are too young to understand the cares of the world.”

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

Eventually Faeryn stopped crying and tried to get to sleep, but her mind would not let go of the issue of Byerron.  This is not important, she told herself, he’s just an unusual man with a nice face, one who speaks treason.  But it was more than that.  He had more than a handsome face, he…he seemed so sure that he was right, and he seemed to know the truth of the situation.  And – what was it he had said – that he knew the Living God.  How strange, she thought, that a man could know a god.  And why would one god matter?  Were there not many, and shouldn’t they all be worshiped?  Surely this was a man with strange ideas, a man set apart.  And, now that she thought about it, she couldn’t quite remember how criticizing the high taxes was considered treason.  Couldn’t an ordinary laborer do the same, in front of the king, even, as she had seen done before, without being thrown in prison?  There should be no exception for Byerron.

            Faeryn paused in her train of thought and found herself on her feet, pacing as she thought, up and down the room in some vain attempt to set the situation right in her mind.  She forced herself to sit down, reminding herself that her father had directly told her to rest, but as soon as she picked up her thread of thought she was on her feet again, pacing endlessly across her apartments.

            If Byerron had been thrown in prison when another man would have gone free, then that meant her father had treated him unfairly.  And if her father could treat Byerron, who appeared to her a just and upright man, then what was going to prevent him from mistreating another?  Could he, then, really be oppressing the people?  Was all as Byerron had said? 

            Faeryn walked over to the window and opened the shutters, letting the cool evening breeze cool her skin and her mind as she stared off into the distance.  The more she thought about Byerron, the more important he seemed, and the more she felt that the way he was treated by her father reflected the real state of things.  She hated the idea, for if it was true it seemed to upset her delicately balanced life.  Before this she had always trusted her father, and it had seemed that her trust in him was deserved.  Now reality was forcing her to rethink all that she had taken for granted, and it bothered her to find that the number of things taken for granted was larger than she had thought.  If her father was wrong and she stood by him, then she was wrong also.

            It was then that Faeryn decided that no matter what was going on with her father, Byerron was getting an undeserved stay in prison, and she must go to him to set things right.  Surely it would be good for him to know that not everyone in Orotaek was against him.

            But, she thought suddenly, what would her father think of that action?  If he had thrown Byerron in prison, he might do the same to her!  She dared not go! 

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

Faeryn entered the great hall by the side door just as the man called Byerron and the doorkeeper entered by the main door.  Byerron looked considerably different, the bath and the clean clothes leaving a startling impression.  His hair, which Faeryn now saw was golden, was combed down and made his particularly brilliant blue eyes jump out of his face.  Byerron was now clad in tan clothing and a tan cloak which had been provided for him as a gift, but he kept his black boots, which kept up their constant clamor as Byerron walked.  

The doorkeeper glanced at her as he passed, but Byerron took no notice of her, intent upon what he was going to say to the king.  Faeryn found this rather peculiar, for she was used to people looking at her.  Her father had made it no secret that his daughter was fair to look at, and surely, being the only woman at the court, she would be noticed even if she had been ugly.  Added to the fact that her gowns were some of the most colorful and expensive that the kingdom had ever known, she ought to be recognized.  This man must really have something to say, to completely pass her by without noticing.

            Faeryn walked as quickly and as silently as possible to where the chancellor stood at the far end of the hall, slipping behind the pillars instead of walking in from of them so that she wouldn’t be noticed.

            “Faeryn, I’m glad you made it,” the chancellor whispered to her as she walked up next to him.  “You really have impeccable timing,” he added playfully.         

The princess smiled at him, enjoying his jest, but the voice of the herald announcing Byerron brought her to attention.

            “My Lord King, Laencastere of Orotaek, I present to you Byerron, son of Credo, formerly of the Red Forest.”

            The king spoke, “What is it you have to say, Byerron?”

            “Oh King Laencastere, sovereign ruler over Orotaek, I come bearing a warning, and counsel, if you will heed it.”

            “By all means, speak your warning and your counsel, Byerron Credo’s son.”

            Byerron hesitated a moment before answering, “Oh king, as I have walked through the land I have seen many who were suffering under the weight of the taxes you have imposed, and they are hardly able to sustain themselves because of the enormous daily sacrifices required by the priests, particularly the priests of Ryselleacar .  Oh Laencastere, I have heard the teachings of the priests of the new goddess, and all their words come out as empty lies.  I implore you to lift the taxes and restrict the sacrifices, so that the people will not starve.”

            Laencastere leaned back in his chair, a small gesture of defiance, and then spoke;

            “I see no such problem with my kingdom, oh Byerron, such as the one your eyes have imagined.  The taxes are paying for the army that keeps them safe, and the sacrifices and teachings of the priests are good for them.  They need more religion in their lives.”

            “But my lord, there is no war going on at the moment, and you have more than enough men ready to fight at a given moment.  And what of the teachings?  Don’t you even care whether they speak truth or not?”

            Laencastere reached into the bowl that sat near the throne and pulled out an orange.  As he ripped it open he spoke in a rhetorical tone;

            “Truth?  What is truth?  No one knows if the gods even exist, but we sacrifice to them in case they are.  And for simple folk such as peasants, I think a little belief in the gods is good for them.  They are superstitious folk and need something to cling to.  Come now, you don’t believe that there is anything so real and steadfast as this ‘truth’ that you are talking about?   The gods demand sacrifice and homage: that alone never changes.  There is nothing else.”

            Byerron looked at the floor for a moment, his face impassive, and Faeryn could tell he was weighing his words on the scale of his mind.  What he was about to say had a gravity greater than all he had previously said, and it was a subject very dear to him.  His fear of ridicule was getting the best of him.  Then it seemed that he made the decision in his mind to go forward, and he looked Laencastere straight in his hard brown eyes. 

            “While I was in the mountains,” he said, “a god came and spoke to me.  He said that He is the only god in heaven, on earth, and under the earth, and He said that worship of any other god is abominable to Him.  He said that if we would serve only Him, he would show us truth.  Oh Laencastere, if we would stand as an upright nation, we must follow this god.  He is the only God, and if we do not follow we risk His anger.”

            “If he is the only god, and if he even exists.  Am I right in guessing that this so-called god has appointed you to be his prophet?  How lucky that the god who speaks to only you has come to you and told you to start this new religion.  And I suppose he also wants you to preside over all matters belonging to this religion?”  Laencastere laughed, a teasing, unbelieving, mocking laugh, and said: “No, Byerron, I cannot allow this.  You have driven yourself mad, living alone in the mountains, and have begun to have hallucinations of a new god.  The old gods have been good enough for us.  Why do you think your new god will be better?”

            Oh, stop it!  Faeryn thought.  Let him speak!  Does he look like a crazed man?  He speaks from his heart, do not crush him so!

            Byerron did not take his eyes off the king, although his shoulders sagged a little, having received the answer he had feared.  In a low voice, he said plainly, “Laencastere, for once in all your years as king you are wrong.  You are making an unwise decision.  If I am right,” he paused, as if uncertain.  “If I am right, destruction will not come from without, but from within.”

Faeryn saw her father’s face harden dangerously, and his eyes seemed as though they would shoot poisoned arrows into Byerron.  Did the man not know the peril he was putting himself in by angering the king?  Surely Byerron must stop his accusing, now that he was risking his freedom by tempting the wrath of her father!

            But Byerron did not stop.  It seemed then that he couldn’t stop speaking, even if he had wanted to, until his task was done.  “My lord king, I beg you to listen.  Do what is best for the people.  Lift the burden of these taxes and let them live free.  Let them learn of the truth instead of walking in blindness.”    

Laencastere leapt up, charged with fury, rising to his full height of six-foot-seven and lifting his head in defiance of all that Byerron had said.  The orange fell from his hand and rolled forgotten on the floor.  “How dare you,” he said, starting quietly but growing louder with every syllable, “How dare you think that you know what is best for my kingdom!  It is I who guide the kingdom, I who make the decisions!  Do you really think that you, who are barely into manhood, can have anything to say in the matter?  The people are not overburdened.  They are not harmed by learning of the gods.  You shall not come in and say they are without reason.  I, with my wisdom, have decided what is best.  You are nothing but a confused beggar!”

Byerron said nothing.  Looking back years from then, Faeryn was struck by the irony of the situation.  The king was accusing Byerron cruelly, and he simply stood there in silence.

“I name you,” the king said, his voice booming and ringing over the hall, “a disturber of the peace.  You have come only to incite trouble and instigate a rebellion.  You are a treasonous dog.  Guards, arrest him – “ Two guards came, almost before they were called, and grabbed Byerron.  “ – and throw him in the dungeon.”

Faeryn gasped.  This shouldn’t be happening.  No one was arrested in Orotaek for this reason.

Byerron looked at the king one last time, not with anger so much as with sadness, before the guards forcefully dragged him across the Great Hall.

Watching Byerron being removed from her father’s presence, Faeryn could be silent no longer.

            “My Lord King, please do not do this!  This man has done nothing wrong!  Why have you imprisoned him?”

            The king looked at her with a lazy impatience that made Faeryn feel that she was only three inches tall.  “Faeryn, he spoke treason,” he said slowly, as if explaining things to a very small child.  “All those who speak treason are imprisoned.”

            You don’t need to explain it to me like I am a child, Faeryn thought.  I’m almost a woman, and I know the proper sentences to be given for every crime known to man.  “My Lord, if that is treason, than half the beggars that come to you at Mid-Moon should be locked away.  They spoke much the same words as Byerron, although they didn’t do it nearly so well.”

            The king was no longer so unconcerned about what she said, as if suddenly realizing that she might have made a well-reasoned point against his decision.  His voice had more of an edge to it as he replied, “I am the king, and in this land the word of the king is law.  I see this Byerron as a threat to Orotaek, so I am removing the threat.”

            “But what of justice, my father?  He was only trying to help the people!”

            Laencastere never answered her question, but only said, in a voice that was calm yet amplified so that everyone in the hall could hear, “Faeryn, I believe you are worn out from the day’s work and are not able to make a sound judgment.  I suggest that you return to your quarters and rest.”

            Faeryn could have screamed in frustration, but what could she do?  The word of the king was law, and she had to go.  She turned without a sound and left the hall.  It wasn’t until she got to her room that she ran to her bed and sobbed into her pillow.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

Chapter 1 -- Part 4

Faeryn wandered through the gardens on the west side of the palace as she waited.  She paused often in all her favorite old places, for every spot had a memory.  She had spent her childhood playing pretend in these gardens, dreaming that she was an elf or a fairy, or that she had found a wild phoenix and learned to ride it.  Beautiful memories, they were.  Back then the gardens had seemed like a fairyland in and of themselves.  Back then she would listen to the wind as it rustled through the leaves and fancied that they were speaking to her.  But, though she still loved such things, time was pushing her ever forward, and she found that this time she really had to grow up.  There could be no pretending about things that did not exist anymore.  She had to become a woman. 

            Yet Faeryn still mourned the passing of her childhood.  Strange, she thought, that I should feel this way.  Most girls can’t wait to become women.  But womanhood seemed cold and cruel still.   She didn’t want to leave the world of her imaginings.  The servants and the courtier’s wives were the only women she had ever known, and she didn’t want to become like them.  She wasn’t sure what to do, or why she felt like weeping at the thought of her womanhood ceremony.  I feel like I’m waking up to a world where I am a pawn in the game of politics, where my first duty is to marry and bear children and my second is to advise my brother, where my days must be spent doing needlework, and where my life is confined to the castle.  I dress up until I am no longer beautiful, and then I continue to powder and perfume myself even though my looks are fading, and then I die.  And for what?  I don’t want to wake up.  Maybe I am waiting for the things I dream of to come true.  Maybe I am waiting for a reason to live a real life.  But life isn’t like that.  There is no reason behind everything.  Those kinds of things belong in fairy tales, and I just have to accept that.  But she couldn’t.  She envied the men, who got to hunt and fight and rule.  They got to take part in things that were actually real, instead of being stuck indoors all day, dressing and acting in such a way as to fool the world into thinking you were the perfect person and frittering away time doing things that didn’t matter.  Womanhood seemed to Faeryn to be another sort of pretending.  I am transitioning from one form of pretending to another that is cruel, and all I want is something to be real. 

She came at last to her favorite tree, which stood right next a place in the wall that was overgrown with ivy.  Many a day in years past she had climbed up into the tree with her notebook to be alone and write poetry.  She wondered briefly if she could climb it now.  Immediately her mind rose up and protested, reminding her of the trouble that would be caused if someone saw her, but as she glanced around the gardens she saw no one.  Quickly she tied up her long skirts, and, looking around again just to make sure there really was no one around, she leapt between the tree and the wall.  The ivy that grew there was so thick that it could support her weight, so she carefully clambered up it until she reached the lowest branch, which she grabbed onto and proceeded to go from branch to branch until she reached her favorite spot, and found it just as she had remembered it.  At this point the branches curved around to make a sort of chair, just perfect for writing and thinking. 

Faeryn settled herself in her spot, glad to have arrived without mishap, and gave herself up to her memories of the place.  It was here that she had written her first poem, not a very impressive thing, to be sure, but she had been proud of it just the same.  Many poems had followed after it, inspired by nature and the elements, and the beauty of everyday life.  Ah, poetry…Faeryn regretted that she hadn’t brought her book up here with her.  It had been a long time since she had written anything, and she missed doing it. 

She wished to stay here forever, watching the sunlight waft through the leaves, listening to the breeze as it danced through the trees, and letting the sound of the little waterfall below her flow into her ears.  If she twisted around a little she could look down and see the little pool that the waterfall emptied into.  Nearly everything was as she would wish it.  This was how she imagined the mountains, full of beauty and openness and life, without the bustle of people or the formality of the court.  When she was here, in her favorite spot, a feeling of peace would always wash over her, and Faeryn thought it reminded her of her mother – or at least what little she remembered of her.  

            As she was thinking this, she heard a faint voice in the distance.  Could it be that it was calling her name?  She listened, and heard the voice again, louder this time, calling, “My lady Faeryn!  Faeryn Aenara!  My lady!”

            Faeryn pushed aside the leaves and saw a page coming down the walk, calling her name repeatedly.  As he came closer Faeryn held her breath and tried not to rustle the leaves.  She hoped fervently that he would not see her deep blue dress and find her.  A member of the royal family up in a tree would be the topic of gossip for the next year if a servant with a loose happened to notice the occurrence.  Finally he turned a corner and started walking away from her, and she scrambled down as quickly yet as quietly as she could, pounded by fears of being discovered or her dress tearing.  Luckily neither of these things happened, and when she was safely back on the path she answered the page’s calling.  He came running, but though he had a quizzical look on his face, he did not break formality by asking a question of a superior.  For once, Faeryn was glad of the custom.  The page quickly stated that he had been sent by Chancellor Rendreik to inform her that Byerron would now appear again before the king, and then he turned to lead her back to the Great Hall.  Faeryn fell into step behind to page, discreetly trying to smooth her hair as they approached the castle. 

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

 Chapter 1 - Part 3

          The door at the end of the hall slammed once again, and in strode the doorkeeper followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man in a long dirty cloak and heavy boots.  His hair was short, unusual in Orotaek, and from where Faeryn stood she couldn’t make out the color of the man’s hair.  He walked calmly but determinedly across the great expanse of the hall in huge, heavy strides that echoed off the walls.  When he came near to where Faeryn was standing and she could make out his face, she couldn’t help but notice his large, wildly blue eyes, which radiated a power and a passion that Faeryn had never seen before.  “Byerron,” she whispered to herself, trying it out and deciding that it fit the man splendidly.  Here, she thought, is a man to rival my father.  I wonder what he has to say.

            Byerron stopped at a respectful distance from the throne and waited for the doorkeeper to announce him.  The king, however, did not wait, but commented immediately;

            “I see that you didn’t bother to bathe before you came here.  Most people do, you know.”

            Faeryn felt sorry for the man, wishing he hadn’t been criticized by the king right from the start, but Byerron didn’t seem at all bothered by it.  (She decided later that he had probably received similar comments the other times he had visited.)  He opened his mouth to say whatever it was he had to say, but the king cut him off.

            “No,” he said.  “This really won’t do, Byerron.  Doorkeeper, take him and have him cleaned off and give him some clean clothes, and then I will listen to what he has to say.”

            Byerron shut his mouth and reluctantly followed the doorkeeper back across the hall, making just as much – if not more – noise with his great black boots.

            Faeryn felt rather impatient.  How could her father put off the encounter any longer?  She wanted to know more about this odd stranger, and she wondered how long it would take him to clean himself and get dressed.  Anyhow, now that he was gone she would have to try to refocus on her lesson, and she was sure that she didn’t really want to.

            She must have sighed a little, because Rendreik looked up at her and decided that he would get no more real concentration from Faeryn and that their lessons were over for the day.  As he closed the books he said, “you are released.  We will have no more study for the day.”

            Faeryn was glad for the break, but she realized that her lessons were her only free pass into the great hall.  Unless she was with Rendreik, she would not be able to see what happened when Byerron came back to speak to the king.  She opened her mouth, torn between voicing a thank-you or a complaint, but Rendreik whispered;

            “I will find a way to get you back in here when Byerron comes back.  He’s quite a man, and I would hate for you to miss this chance to see him.” 

            Faeryn could have hugged the old man, but, as that gesture went against the rules of court formality, she merely smiled and nodded her thanks as she turned to leave.

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note:  As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

Chapter One – Part 2

            Chancellor Rendreik watched as Faeryn approached him from the opposite end of the Lower Hall.  He was glad to be able to tutor such a lovely and brilliant young girl in the things he loved best.  Faeryn never made it too hard for him to communicate to her the points he tried to teach her in their lessons.  He ran his fingers through his white hair, pondering on the fact that her Womanhood Ceremony was not far away, and that their lessons would soon come to an end.  He would miss seeing her so often; he had never had any children, but if he had he would have realized that she was like a daughter to him, and that she trusted him as a child would trust her father.  Since her own father was distant from her, she often confided to Rendreik her deepest emotions, and he was able to guide her in straight directions.

“Thank you for coming to see me today, my Lady Faeryn Aenara,” Chancellor Rendreik greeted his student.          

“Thank you for having me, Lord Rendreik Chancelloran,” Faeryn said, returning the formal greeting.  Though Chancellor Rendreik was close to her, during her lessons with him they were required to follow the formal rules of speech and conduct.

“There have been many interesting matters of state that I want to discuss with you, occurances that are perfect for teaching you more about how to rule a kingdom.”

“I thank you again, my Lord Rendreik, but may I venture to wonder why my father would have me learn how to rule if I shall never wear the crown?”

The chancellor paused to consider how best to answer.  “Let me suggest to you, my Lady Faeryn, that since you may one day be your brother’s advisor it would be best to have a knowledge of what would be his best course of action.  And, in times of war, you may be called upon to rule while your brother is overseeing the army.”

            Faeryn thought about that for a moment.  “I consider your advice with great pleasure, my lord, and I am grateful for this courtesy you show me by bestowing it.”

            “You are a wise one, my lady.  Now, today we will be looking over the census records, which are kept in the Great Hall.  Come this way.” 

They went through a large oaken door into the Great Hall, which served as a throne room.  The Great Hall was truly a breathtaking marvel, the walls and great columns that lined them being made of pure white marble and hung with richly embroidered tapestries, nearly twenty-five or thirty feet in length, in all manner of blues and greens.  Upon the whole back wall behind the throne was a carving of the Battle of Tsirmhost, with men and horses in a fevered skirmish.  The ceiling arched high above, painted with a scene from Orotaekian mythology.  The pillars on each side of the hall were etched with tiny lines depicting Eranhart the Bold, first ruler of the land, aforesaid king’s victory over the Cariens, and the Orotaekian landscape, all bordered by vines and ornate flowers.  The hall and the pillars had been built by the first Eranhart nearly 300 years before, the tapestries were added by his son, the second Eranhart (and repaired by subsequent rulers), and the carvings were commissioned by Laencastere the first, only 40 years before.  The third king by the name of Laencastere, Faeryn’s father, now sat upon the gilded throne at the far end of the hall. 

One would think that the whole Great Hall had been inspired by this man, for he truly looked the part of a king.  His face was noble and regal, with shoulder-length golden hair and a flowing golden beard rolling over his breast.  He was somewhat young for a man who had two grown children, and not a gray hair marred the depth of the gold on his head. His brown eyes were sharp, but not hard, and he looked to be the picture of justice.  He wasn’t as fitful and ill-tempered as other kings had been, and he preferred to turn a cold shoulder than burst out in rage.  Unmatched was he in his command of men.  People often joked that if he commanded his soldiers to wear dresses for a day they would all do it without blinking.  Faeryn was proud to have him for a father, though she barely knew him. 

Courtiers stood between the pillars and around the throne, discussing the business of state while consulting books that lay on tables around the hall.  The chancellor directed Faeryn over to one of these tables.

“Here, my lady, are all the records from the last census, just taken during this last harvest.  All of the people in the kingdom and their possessions have been accounted for.  Now, on the left side of the page, we have the last name of the family and the number of persons in the household…”

As they were speaking, the door at the far end of the hall slammed open and shut and the doorkeeper strode quickly across the whole length of the hall to whisper something to the king.

            “Well,” said the king in his loud, booming manner of speaking, “why do you tell me of this?  Surely he is just a beggar, desiring food and shelter?  This is not a matter for the king to be concerned with.”

            Faeryn ceased listening to whatever it was Rendreik was lecturing her on to listen as the doorkeeper answered, “But, my Lord King, the man specifically asked to see you.  He says he has something of great importance to say to you. And – I think he really means it.”

            “Why?” Laencastere was losing his patience, and he had adopted the tone best suited to frighten the doorkeeper.  “Why do you think this?”

            “Because, sire,” replied the thoroughly frightened doorkeeper, “he threatened to knife the page that answered the door unless his presence was reported to you.”

            Laencastere’s sharp brown eyes turned thoughtful for a moment.  “Did this man say his name?” he asked at last.

            “He said his name was Byerron, my Lord.”

            Laencastere leaned back in his chair.  “I thought as much,” he said.  “Send him in immediately.”

            “But sire – “

            “Immediately!!!”

            The doorkeeper ran off to do as the king bid. 

            Faeryn turned to apologize to Chancellor Rendreik for not listing to his lecture, and found that he had also been paying attention to the doorkeeper’s discourse with the king.

            “Byerron,” he remarked, half to himself.  “I figured he would turn up again about now.”

            “Who is he?” Faeryn asked.

            “He…well, I don’t think I could give you a fair description of him.  You shall see him for yourself soon enough.  But now, as I was saying about the census…”

            Faeryn forced her mind to return to the affairs of state, away from the thought of the unusual man who was to be granted an audience with the king.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places and events may be subject to change.**

**Another Note: The prelude to my story is below, if you haven't read it yet.**

Chapter 1 - Part 1

“Cressida, can you open the shutters?  I can’t see anything in this darkness,” Faeryn told her maidservant as she tried to dress in the early morning.  Cressida pulled the shutters back, revealing the prairie below the southeast tower bathed in a golden-warm glow.  Faeryn paused in what she was doing and walked over to the window, gazing out at the beautiful sight. 

            Cressida observed her new mistress with interest.  She had been serving Faeryn for almost three months, but the princess still surprised her.  If one observed her when she appeared at court, one would think that she was already a woman.  Faeryn dealt with her father’s councilors with such a noble bearing that people often mistook her for the queen.  But in private she was still a girl.  Here she was now, standing at the south window in her white under-dress, her long, wavy light-brown hair falling free, craning her head to try to get a glimpse of the western mountains.  At a moment like this the princess did not seem to be all of her sixteen years. 

            “My mistress, the view of the mountains would be better from the northwest tower,” Cressida suggested meekly.  She couldn’t quite understand the princess’s longing for the mountains, but then, she still could remember trying to get a view of the castle whenever her family went to town when she was little.  Perhaps it was the same sort of thing with the princess.  After all, it hadn’t been so long ago that she herself had been a young girl, and she still remembered what it felt like.  “We could go there as soon as you are dressed.”

            Faeryn turned and smiled at Cressida, but the smile was immediately followed by a sigh, and the regal princess that she was returned to her face a little as she spoke: 

            “I wish I could, Cressida, I wish I could, but I have a meeting with the chancellor today, and my father has made it plain that I must attend.  But perhaps another day.”  She sighed again, and the girl was back.  “You know, Cressida, I want to visit the mountains someday.  I want to see what lies beyond the first peaks.  I am tired of only looking at them.  But my father will not let me leave his court long enough to go anywhere near them.”

            “That may change soon,” Cressida said.  “You know that your Womanhood Ceremony is not that far away.  Perhaps your father will change his mind when that happens.”

            “I can only hope.”  Faeryn paused for a moment.  “Father wants me to learn more about managing a kingdom and stepping into the affairs of the outside world, but how can I do that if I am not in the outside world?”

            Cressida thought about that for a moment.  “Pardon my objection, my mistress, but perhaps it is better that you learn these things before you are introduced to the outside world, so that you will be ready.  My mother never let me go ten miles from my home while I was growing up, but in that time I learned how to serve, and that has brought me here, farther from home than I could have imagined at first.  I may not know much, my mistress, but I have learned that you don’t learn how to swim by jumping into deep water the first time, if you know what I mean.  Your time will come.”

            Faeryn looked out the window, her head resting on her closed fist, her eyes focused on the courtyard below.  She did not speak for a few moments.  “I suppose you are right,” she said at last.  “My governess did not teach me to embroider by starting me off on one of those large tapestries that hang in the Hall.  I suppose I shall have to be content with the small square of cloth I am given at the moment.”  She lifted her eyes as she saw a falcon that had been resting on the castle wall take off and fly far to the west.  She watched it ‘till it was out of sight. 

            “I still long to see the mountains, though,” she added quietly.  “I don’t think I could live my life and die never having seen them.”

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names and events may be subject to change.**

Prelude

A man lay waiting beneath a small overhang in the cliff, watching the road.  The Stag’s road, it was called; it was a little-used pathway, especially at this time of the year when most people were preparing for the harvest, but for the past few months it there had been almost no travelers.  Strange, the silent observer thought, since the Stag’s road was the only useable pass through the mountains into Carien.  In past years there had always been a few merchants, even when times were rough.  Something strange must be going on in Orotaek. 

            The man was tall, with tangled, with short golden hair that was encrusted with mud, and the beginnings of a beard on the lower half of his face.  Around his body was a travel-stained cloak littered with holes, which was thoroughly dirty to the point that you couldn’t make out the original color.  In the man’s bright blue eyes one could see that he was no purposeless wanderer.  This was a man with some serious task at hand, calm and focused, not easily upset, yet always aware and alert. 

            He stood, pulled the cloak tighter around himself, took another long look down the road, and then walked silently down the slope and into the trees on the other side of the road.  Anwyr was right; something out of the ordinary was afoot.  He must see for himself what was amiss in Orotaek.