The Path Of Destiny (13 page)

The last remark caused quite a stir. “Hey, aren't you the
girl that was always with the senior councilor’s son? Maybe you like them
better than us.”

Lightning came trotting into view from around the side of
the barn, where she had been nibbling on a tuft of tall grass sticking out
between an old fence.
Don’t let them bully you, Christine.

But I’m just a girl.

You can be so much more. Stop hiding behind your skirt.

Christine swayed slightly. The rebuke from her horse came
with such force into her whole being.

Thoughts of Darius ran through Christine's head like a
sandstorm blowing in random gusts across the hot desert. Flashes of everything
she had learned from him, done with him, and seen with him flew around inside
of her. She wasn't sure what to say. Everyone watched her, waiting for an
answer.
What am I doing here?

Lightning softened.
Just speak your mind. They will
listen
.

Christine took a deep breath. “I am a farmer. My family is
one of you, and I will always be one of you. But that doesn't mean I have to
make myself suffer.” She was amazed that they seemed to be listening to her.

Go on.

“There are good people in the city, and there are
troublemakers. Just like there are good people in the farmlands, as well as
troublemakers.” She paused and looked around a little. A few eyes turned away
from meeting hers.
Why aren't they stopping me? Are they that confused?

“I learned more through my friend Darius than I have learned
from any of you. He treated me as a person. Not as a farmer or city person. Not
as an unintelligent girl, but as a person. He taught me of faraway lands, of
things in the forest, of languages. The most important thing he taught me is
that I am as good as anyone else is. I am not any less because I am a farmer’s
daughter. Now many of you want to stand up with your few to the greatest army
in the western world to show how brave you are. Many of them would then have a
good reason to say that we aren't very smart.”

Christine had some of the men thinking. A few even nodded
their heads.
Why doesn't someone stop me before I say something stupid?

Lighting whispered in her mind,
Because you’re not being
stupid, Christine. Yours is the first voice of reason they have heard. Do not
underestimate the power you have.

“I hate the way most of them treat me as much as you do.
Most of you have no idea how they treat us women and what they say to us. It is
a lot worse than what they say and do to you. We must show them we are as smart
as they are. That we are organized, and can identify what we want.”

“I want to fight,” mumbled Jain again to one of his friends.

“And what are you going to fight with? Your shovel and hoe
against their armor and swords?”

“I have a bow. And others have knives.” Jain stood ready to
fight.

“And they have a whole battalion of bowmen, and on top of
that a whole unit of riders with swords.”

“Then what do we do?” someone asked, as others echoed his
question.

Christine thought for a few moments. Christine had not been
prepared for the question. Sweat was soaking her back and dripping off her
face, and she, only barely seventeen years old, faced a couple dozen men and
boys. Now she was being asked how to stop years of persecutions.

“A petition,” she said after a long silence. “We think out
what we want, have our best writers put it on paper, and take it to the King.
We must have demands ready, but we must also show we are willing to talk, or
they will shut us off.”

“They aren't going to listen to words,” someone yelled from
the back. “I thought the men were meeting tonight.”

“She might have an idea,” said the man who knew her father.
“I think it is worth a try at least.”

“We might as well try,” said another. “It is better than
getting killed.”

“Maybe we are as stupid as they say,” said Jain, as he and a
few of his friends walked away in disgust. “Talk and more talk. That’s all we
ever do.”

Others joined in the conversation and began discussing their
demands. Christine sat back on a large rock and took a deep breath. Lightning
nuzzled up to her.
You did well
.

Christine smiled and ran her hand over her horse’s nose. She
didn’t know what she would do without her. Anya, Stephanie, Karel, and Thomas
crowded around her.

“Wow! How did you do that?” asked Anya. “I've never seen you
like that before.”

“Yah. You were good, cousin,” smiled Karel, patting her on
the back.

“I don't know.” Christine tried to pull away her sweaty,
sticky dress from her body. She was now feeling chilled in the cool air.

“We’ve been needing someone like you,” complimented Thomas
as he hugged her. Anya looked at the two of them and frowned.

“I think I need to go home,” Christine said. She hopped up
on her horse. Karel and Thomas were going to help Stephanie and Anya home. The
sleepover would not happen that night.

“Oh to be a kid again,” sighed Karel with a statement that
echoed all of their feelings.

While riding on Lightning once again, she began to doubt the
things she had said.

Be strong, Christine.

But my strength came from you. What if you are not
around?

Your strength comes from a long bloodline of power. And
don’t worry, I won’t leave you.

Christine wondered what her Cremelino meant about a
bloodline of power, but when she asked, she did not get an answer. The
Cremelino, she was finding out, could be very evasive and cryptic in sharing
what she knew with Christine.

The next day Christine's message and idea spread throughout
the farmlands. On the other hand her brother Jain became more distant from the
rest of the family and more argumentative towards his position in the whole
matter.

Groups of people began to stop by to talk to Christine’s
father, Stefen, about the idea. Though his physical abilities had begun wearing
thin in his older years, his mental prowess and knowledge were recognized
throughout the area. The group discussed late into the evening how to word the
petition to King Edward and who would take it to him.

The next morning Christine's father informed her the farmers
wanted her to accompany the petitioning party to the castle. She was shocked as
well as overwhelmed. She had not really realized the impact she was having on
the people.

“Aren't I young for this?” she questioned her father.

“You have won the hearts of the people, Christine.”

“How? All I did was get a little angry and offer a few
suggestions. I am no politician. I’m just a simple farmer, Dad.”

“You are nothing simple, Christine. The men see this. You
were friends with the councilor’s son, you ride an expensive Cremelino, usually
used only by the King or his chosen nobles, and you stated your position
brilliantly from what I heard. Plus many of the wives and women support your
idea,” smiled Stefen. “And we all know who controls the men.”

Christine laughed. “Oh Dad . . . But what if this doesn't
work?”

“Then we will try another way,” he answered in a
matter-of-fact voice.

“What other way? Do you think it will turn to fighting?”

“I hope not . . . but . . .” He sounded so tired to her.
“But we must not think of that now. In three days you will go to the city. That
is petition day. The king hears open petitions from any of his subjects. They
cannot turn you away.”

“Will you go too?” Hope filled her voice.

“No. I don’t have the strength for that anymore. I . . . I .
. . I find it hard going into the city.”

“If you don’t like the city, why don't you fight, Dad?” A
voice from the other room boomed as Jain came in. “Are you afraid to lose?”

Their father sat silent for a moment. He stared at his feet,
and then with a heavy head looked up. “The only thing I am afraid of losing is
you two and the rest of my family,” he said with teary eyes. “I would fight the
entire army myself for my family, if it would do any good. Please be careful.
Both of you.”

“But why?” asked Jain. “I just don't understand you.”

Stefen got up to walk out of the room, “Someday. Someday you
will understand. ”

“You upset him.” Christine turned on Jain.

“I just asked him a question. I don't understand any of you.
I want to fight.” Jain’s arms flew into the air. His face reddened under his
scraggly brown mop of hair. “I want them to know they can't kick us around.”

“Maybe the petition will work . . .” began Christine. She
didn’t understand why her brother was so angry all the time now. “Settle down
and let us try.”

“The petition . . . the petition . . . It’s not going to
work, but all this nonsense is making you famous in the meantime, isn't it? Is
that what you want?” Jain paced around the room, his voice booming. “You don’t
have your city boy around now, so you need to be a big shot on your own.”

“Jain. That's not fair,” Christine yelled. “I just made a
suggestion . . . You know I would never . . .”

“Well when your plan ends in failure, then we will put
my
plan in motion,” interrupted Jain.

“And what is your plan? To get yourself killed?” Christine
slammed her hand on the kitchen table. It hurt but she didn’t care. Her brother
was being foolish and stupid.

“Not to get killed. But to kill.”

“Do you know what you are saying? You’re still a boy. What
has gotten into your head? You have never killed anyone before,” argued
Christine.

“No, but I want to. I want to kill any city boy I can get my
hands on. None of them are good. None of them.” He turned to walk out of the
room, when he noticed Emily standing around the corner, crying.

“What about Darius?” she asked Jain, with tears dripping
down her face. “You don’t want to kill him, do you?”

He stopped as if he was going to say something, then just
continued towards the door, slamming it on his way out.

Emily ran to Christine and embraced her. “It will be all
right,” Christine whispered to her younger sister, wondering if it ever really
would be. 

THE CASTLE

T
he next three days dragged
by. Christine tried to help her mom around the house to take her mind off
things, but it didn't work much. She found herself thinking about Darius more
often as she tried to wonder how the petition would work. She knew Darius’s
father would be at the King’s side, and she knew that he didn't like her much.

Christine wished Darius were here right now to give her
suggestions and comfort. She wondered if he still remembered her. She wondered
if he even cared anymore.

He still cares
, whispered Lightning to her.

How do you know? He could be anywhere. I may never see
him again
. Tears of frustration came to her eyes and she wiped them off
with a quick brush of her hand. She knew he cared. She had to trust in that.

He will find his way back to you. Somehow, he must! Or
all will be lost. All will be lost.

Lightning’s words confused Christine. They faded out of her
mind. She was beginning to not only hear, but to sense somehow, her Cremelino’s
feelings. Feelings of worry, urgency, and power. She didn’t know what it meant.
It frightened her somewhat that she felt so close of a bond to her horse. She
needed to talk to others and determine if her ability was normal with these
Cremelinos. She knew how magic was looked upon in the Realm. She couldn’t risk
others finding out until she knew more about it. And where could she find
someone to talk to about magic? For now she would have to deal with it on her
own.

The day to deliver the petition came and Christine, along
with two men—one in his twenties, Alvyn Alstryn, and one her father’s age,
Martin Halverssn—headed towards the castle. The sky shone bright and sunny, but
the coolness in the air made her wrap her hooded green cloak around her more
tightly. She dressed in her nicest clothes; a simple dress with lace on the
edges, which her mother had made for her. Lightning walked with them. They
passed through the market area, and people gawked at them out of their tents
and small shops. A few offered their goods for sale, but most just turned their
heads away and ignored them. The smell of freshly baked rolls made Christine’s
stomach growl. She had been too nervous to eat that morning.

A few wayward children playing ran in front of them, almost
tripping them, until their mothers called them back to their homes. The small
group passed through the outer city and into the city center. Here, stone and
brick houses rose three and four stories tall. The streets were kept clean by a
night crew. Carriages and horses passed them by, carrying nobles to seemingly
important places. Their distrust of the outsiders was obvious as they turned
away their faces when they passed.

The castle loomed up in front of them as they headed up the
steeper cobblestone street. More guards were around to keep a watch on anyone
who approached. As they got closer, they joined a group of other petitioners
coming from other directions in the city.

All the petitioners were ushered through the palace gates,
into the castle, and down long hallways with far-reaching ceilings. They were
guided into a waiting room. It was too late in the year to hold the petitions
outside.

Once a month King Edward held a time in his throne room for
any commoner in the Realm to make a request of him. It was the only time the
small group from the farmlands would be allowed without an appointment. They
would never get in any other way. They would have been given excuses and
delays, hoping that the farmers would just give up. But today they were
admitted inside, and by Realm law and long-standing tradition the King could
not send them away.

A servant took them to a waiting room with the others.
Christine’s head swam as she looked around the room. She supposed since it was
a waiting room it was considered simple by the castle’s occupants. However, she
had never been in an actual room so large in her life. The ceilings were taller
than their barn. The heavy red curtains hung open and were tied with gold
tassels. Light streamed into the room, reflecting the sunshine onto the
polished tops of four tables placed throughout the room. About thirty chairs
were scattered around the room, each with sturdy, high backs and golden
cushions. Christine filled her lungs with a deep breath. She now understood
some of Darius’s bewilderment and perplexity with the farmlands, if this was
the type of place he was used to seeing.

The others in the room tended to keep to their own groups.
Some were from other cities, marked by their colors either in a sash, on a hat,
or by some other strategically placed design. Christine’s group was obvious for
being the only ones from the countryside, their clothes being less colorful and
fancy than the others in the room—but Christine’s dress was only a small notch
below the others. She smiled at that. At least they wouldn’t stick out too
much.

A few groups at a time were taken out and led into the
King’s throne room. Christine realized they would be in the last group. After
seeing the waiting room, she could not imagine the throne room. Her head spun,
seeing wonders that she couldn’t imagine. Glass and gold cases holding rare and
special objects decorated the room. The light from the window and the
additional lamps sprayed sparkles of light all around the room.

 Christine reached out to touch a case, but a guard shook
his head at her with a frown of obvious disgust. Her eyes moved to the
tapestries. The scenes of long-ago battles, of kings, and of other kingdoms
were woven with exquisite detail. Each tapestry hung larger than any room in
her house.

Christine suppressed anger at seeing all of the opulence and
wealth that was contained in this one room. It was more than existed in all the
farmlands north of the city and perhaps all the way to Sur as well. Many
farmers scraped by a living, some even starving at times. They were being
treated in an unfair manner by a city that threw wealth around like a toy. It
was unfair. Her anger felt good. It distracted her from feeling insignificant
around so many others of wealthy upbringing.

The group in front of them moved away from the King. She
could see, for the first time in her life, the Throne of Power. A thing of
stories and legends and myth. The pure size of the opulent throne amazed her.
Seated on it was the King of the Realm, the supreme leader, King Edward DarSan
Montere himself.

In the back of her mind, almost as a whisper, she heard
Lightning’s thoughts:
Such power in that throne.

Lightning was tied up at a small stable outside of the
castle. Christine wanted her close by for support.
You can feel its power?
she
asked her Cremelino.

Yes, can’t you? Close your eyes and feel it through me.

Christine did and gasped. It pulled to her and emboldened
her. This power was not something to fear but something to use. She wondered if
this King even knew what he had. It was wonderful. She was amazed others didn’t
seem to know it was there. But in her amazement she also wondered why her
Cremelino could feel it and how she could make Christine feel that power also.

Use the power and speak with passion. Good luck, child.

Darius’s father, Richard, stood next to the King. She saw
Darius’s resemblance in him. Richard looked older and more tired than the last
time she had seen him, but that had been earlier in the summer.

“State where you are from and what your request is,” Richard
stated formally with a bored voice, hardly even looking at the group.

“We are from Anikari, from just outside of the city, great
King,” said Christine’s older companion. “We have here some demands . . .”

The King raised his brows at the word “demands.”

“I mean requests,” the farmer continued. “We feel we have
been treated in an unfair manner, both as a group of people personally and in
trade. We are requesting that you read over our petition and join with us to find
a mutually satisfactory and happy solution.” He stopped and took a deep breath.
He had practiced the lines, trying to sound educated and flexible.

“We will consider them when we have time,” Richard answered.
The King handed him the petition. “As you can appreciate, we are very busy
today. It may take a while.”

“I think you should consider them soon,” stated the younger
man with Christine. They all looked at him in surprise. The man’s lips snarled
in anger. The group of three hadn't planned on him saying anything. “We think
it is a fair arrangement. But . . .”

“That is enough.” King Edward stood up and his voice echoed
around the room. “I hope you are not telling me how to run my kingdom.”

“The kingdom is not just inside the walls of the city.” The
young man from the farmlands stepped forward half a step. Guards around the
King stiffened and stepped forward.

“He is just concerned, Your Majesty.” Christine spoke for
the first time. It was as if Richard and the King had not noticed her before.
She spoke softly but with power.

“And who are you?” asked the King, turning towards Christine
with a mocking smile. He told the guards to hold their peace with a motion of
his hands.

Christine sensed Lightning in the back of her mind, urging
her to go on. Through Lightning, she pulled from the power of the throne.

“I am Christine Anderssn, my King,” she said with a perfect
curtsy. “I understand that a matter as important as this may take time to
discuss with your advisors. Please read over our petition and we will return
next month for your answer.”

Christine could tell the effect that the small amount of
power Lightning shared with her had on King Edward. He stirred uncomfortably in
the presence of her confidence.

Edward opened his mouth, stroked his hair on the side of his
head, below the jeweled crown he wore, then closed his mouth again.

Before he could speak, Christine turned towards Richard.
“How is Darius doing, councilor?” she asked in her most polite manner.

Richard covered up a small cough of surprise and stuttered.
“He . . . is . . . fine. Do you know my son?”

Before she could even answer, Richard must have put her name
together with the girl that Darius had been friends with. He had only seen her
on a few occasions before, and even then it was from a distance.

“I think you know who I am.” Christine gave him a sweet
smile. “If you see Darius, tell him I hope he returns soon.” She found herself
struggling to hold back the tears.

The King remained silent through this exchange.

Christine turned back to the King once again. “We will
return on next month’s petitioning day for your answer. That should be enough
time.” She motioned to the other men. “We’ll be going now. We don’t want to
take up any more of the King’s time.”

She turned and the other two followed her. They left through
the large doors, which a steward closed behind them, leaving King Edward and
senior councilor Richard Williams alone inside the throne room.

* * * *

The King sat in thoughtful silence with Richard at his side.
In time he turned towards his councilor.

“Did you feel that, Richard?”

“Feel what?”

“The power.”

“No, My Lord. I didn’t feel anything.”

“It was that girl. She did it. She stirred the power of the
throne somehow. I have never felt the power before. You have heard the stories
like I have. My father felt it a few times, but I never have. I always wondered
if it was because . . .” He stopped and looked around. They were alone, but he
knew that a few guards and stewards stood just on the other side of the
doorway. He lowered his voice. “Well, you know why.”

Richard shrugged. He too was concerned about the girl.

“Can she know where Darius went and why? I told them not to
tell anyone,” the King said with flashing eyes.

“I think she might know where he went, but no one knows why.
No one but us.”

“Ah, that is true, my friend. Not even Darius comprehends
why he is off training. But keep an eye on her; she could be dangerous. We
can't have her and her people causing trouble now. With the Belorians and
Gildanians generating trouble, I can’t deal with the farmers now. Watch all of
them, but keep a special eye on her. The power she stirred in the throne is not
something to trifle with.”

 Richard’s eyes widened but no words came from his opened
mouth.

“You have read the histories as much as I have, Richard. The
throne has its own power. Each king feels it, more or less, and that power
helps him to judge rightly and give him the confidence to be king. I don’t feel
it as much as my father said he did, and I think I know why that is. But this
girl, she drew some of that power to herself. I felt it.”

“Is she a . . . a . . . ?” Richard rubbed his forehead with
his hand.

“A wizard? I doubt it. But when the lesser wizards were
banished outside the city they ended up mixing with the farmers. Who knows what
remnants have trickled down the bloodlines through the years?”

Richard paced back and forth a few times. “We play a
dangerous game here, Your Highness. If the outsiders got hold of the power of
the throne, God help us all.”

“Richard, the farmers are the least of our worries. I need
some information on the man in Belor right now. What do you have there?” The
king switched the subject back to more important matters.

Richard motioned to the far end of the room, and the steward
walked out the doors and back again with a man in tow.

The man wanted to trade secrets about the Belorians for
gold. The King needed all the information he could get on the fighting in
Belor, so he bargained for half the money the man wanted if the information was
new to him. The amount was nothing compared to the full king’s treasury.

“They are training with swords and other weapons. Talk is,
they will attack soon,” the man spoke in seriousness.