The Amber Legacy (9 page)

Q
ueen Sunset had good reason to curtail her city parades. The Rebels were determined to kill her and the people were unsettled by the rebellion. But the Seers refused to let political matters interfere with religious celebrations. So, a month past, on Alunsday, she had reluctantly ridden the King’s Way, heavily protected by her escorting Elite Guards, expecting an assassination attempt throughout the entire morning’s journey. The festivities went without incident. Crowds cheered as they always did and the street was as packed with people as any other year—and for a short moment in her turbulent life she almost felt that there was no war taking place. The feeling quickly evaporated. She still reasoned that to appear in public when political tensions were at their bloodiest was testing the theory of luck too arrogantly.

‘Your Highness,’ Seer Diamond had argued when she informed him that she was not going to parade in public again, ‘the coming Erinsday is a holey event you cannot afford to dismiss so lightly. The people look to you for their spiritual guidance, and your presence among them is always much sought.’
She remembered staring at the man, his long white beard and equally white hair irritating her because it was the look everyone expected of a priest. She also wondered whether or not he was serving two causes. The Rebels were supported in their bid for the throne by his colleagues—Seers who sided with her son, Prince Future—so how much was Diamond’s desire to get her into the public arena driven by alliances with his Rebel colleagues?

‘We serve Jarudha, Your Highness,’ Diamond reassured her when the rebellion began, and Seers like Light and Truth declared their unwavering support for Prince Future’s bid for the throne. ‘True disciples of Jarudha have no political aspirations. My peers are misguided in aligning themselves with either side. We should stand above such pettiness, and focus upon the spiritual battle for souls.’

Of course, she knew that Seer Diamond and his faithful colleagues also used that view to justify their complete non-involvement in the current war, and therefore their non-support of the Queen’s troops against Prince Future and the Rebel Seers. Their non-involvement meant that Future’s army held an advantage, because the Rebel Seers used their magic against her men and she had no method to counteract them.

And her Intermediary, Follower Servant, whose father had served her father, supported the Seers in their push to make her maintain her public profile. ‘Your Highness,’ he argued, ‘you are loved by the people. Prince Future is not embraced with the same passion as you, so he is trying to foster popular support. If you lock yourself away in your palace, the people will think that you are afraid of your son, and they will begin to think that he is the stronger one. People are fickle, Your Highness. They sway like reeds in the wind. You must
be seen to be the strongest. Your presence in the Erinsday parade will show them that you are confident and they will follow you.’

Follower’s advice was seldom tarred by political machinations, except devotion to herself. She acquiesced again. After the Alunsday success, she felt confident that a public speech in the central market square in the Northern Quarter of the city on Erinsday would be a safe and significant act in ensuring that she retained the love and support of her people. So when she looked down to see twin darts jutting from her right shoulder and arm as she opened her speech, she was caught between shock and disbelief. There was pain—a numbing ache, rather than the piercing agony that she always imagined soldiers felt when they were wounded on the battlefield. And the darts were in
her
—and that didn’t make sense. The crowd’s silent anticipation dissolved into confused background noise as she looked towards Follower Servant whose face mirrored her disbelief. Seer Diamond and Seer Vale were staring at her. Someone was yelling behind her, but the noise was evaporating like the daylight, and she was surprised to be dying.

‘It will take a few days for the poison to fully leave your body, Your Highness,’ Seer Diamond explained. ‘The surgeons said that you must rest and drink often.’

The Seer’s wrinkled and white-bearded visage withdrew and was replaced by Follower Servant’s smooth-cheeked and blandly handsome face framed against his black attire. ‘We caught the assassins, Your Highness,’ he reported, smiling at his success. ‘One was unfortunately killed refusing to be arrested, but we have the second one locked away in the Bogpit. He confessed, of course.’

‘And?’ Sunset asked.

‘Another attempt by your son, Your Highness,’ Follower replied. ‘This is the fourth.’

Queen Sunset turned her head away. Follower always presented the assassination attempts as orchestrated by Future, but in her heart she knew that her son, as much as he might covet her throne, would not resort to murder. The Rebel Seers might have blinded him with their religious views and with the talk of how the Kingdom needed to be led by a man, but he would not kill his mother.

‘I’m sorry to bring this—hateful news, Your Highness,’ Follower offered apologetically. ‘I understand how it must feel to know that—’

‘Go!’ the Queen ordered, snapping her head around to glare at the Intermediary.

‘Your Highness—’ Follower began, but she cut him off.

‘Go!’ He bowed and withdrew. Seer Diamond stood a pace from the bed. ‘I need to be alone!’ the Queen asserted, and broke into a coughing fit. When it was over, she opened her eyes and was pleased to find that she was alone in her chamber, the afternoon sun slanting between the golden curtains, filling the room with light. She’d cheated death again. But how could she bring her son back from across the vast chasm of religious and political ambition?

News of Samuel’s death eventually spread through Summerbrook when people noticed that he didn’t make his customary appearance on Erinsday to rail against sinners. Rumours did circulate after Alunsday, but Meg’s discovery of the dead soldier, and the arrival of the Queen’s soldiers shortly after, blurred events enough for people to forget the old man. Besides, no one went to his cave unless they were
desperate for a foretelling. But when he didn’t come in his habitual manner to the market on Erinsday the rumours sprang to life again. ‘They’re saying that old Samuel’s dead up in his cave,’ said Mykel as he tossed a morsel of meat to Sunfire.

‘Who’s saying that?’ Dawn asked.

‘I heard it in the inn.’

‘And what were you doing in there?’ Meg asked, looking up from the mixing bowl where she’d been kneading dough.

‘I was helping Fletcher Archer,’ Mykel replied defensively.

‘It’s just a rumour. We’d know if he was dead,’ said Dawn. She passed a jug of water to Mykel.

‘How?’ he asked.

‘Emma would know.’

Meg let the conversation run its course as she worked the dough for her mother. She knew the truth.
Who will be the first to confirm the old man’s death?
she wondered.
Will Emma tell someone? Or will the curious eventually go up to the cave and find the grave there?
Because Emma had asked her to keep the truth to herself, she had.

Later that day, Meg saw Iris Baker go to the front door of the house and speak to Dawn. When Iris left, Dawn came out to where Meg was cleaning the fowl yard and said, ‘It’s true. Old Samuel is dead.’

Meg stopped raking and leaned on the rake. ‘Who found out?’

‘Fletcher Archer went up to the cave. He said someone had already buried Samuel, so he went to see Emma and she said it was her. Apparently she found him dead in his cave. He was old. It’s not a surprise.’

‘Did Fletcher say anything about what he found?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ Meg stumbled, realising she knew more than anyone else was meant to know. ‘I—what will happen to all of his things?’

Dawn shrugged and brushed flour from her yellow apron. ‘Who knows? I think Emma will get them. There’s not much the old man had that anyone else would want.’

Meg nodded. ‘So I guess everyone knows,’ she said.

‘Iris is spreading the word. She says there’ll be a Singing On tonight at the inn. We should go and pay respect to the old man. Samuel knew a lot of things, more than most people. I expect you to come along.’

‘As if I wouldn’t,’ Meg answered indignantly.

Dawn shook her head. ‘I remember what you thought of him. Respect for older people is important. It’s time to show that respect.’

The minstrel’s arrival was a welcome addition to the night at Archer’s Inn, a distraction from what otherwise threatened to become a depressing evening with the Singing On in memory of Samuel. No one in the Inn said as much, but Meg could tell that most people thought it. ‘It’s times like these that we could do with a Jarudhan priest,’ Fletcher Archer said when he called for everyone’s attention to begin the Singing On.

‘We don’t need religious twaddle,’ argued Millwheel Miller. ‘You go to the towns, Fletcher, and you find out just what sort of trouble those priests create.’

‘There’s a war going on because of them,’ Beam Carpenter chimed in.

‘You men leave off arguing long enough to pay the dead respect,’ Dawn interrupted. ‘Where’s Emma?’

‘She won’t come,’ said Brightday Tailor.

‘Then let’s get the Singing On done with,’ said Fletcher, ‘so the minstrel can sing us the latest news.’

The small gathering sang two songs for Samuel. First there was the traditional elegiac piece sung at every Singing On—‘The Journeyman’s Call’—that reminded everyone of the long journey through darkness the dead undertake to reach the golden shores of Paradise. When it was done, they hesitated, unsure of what else to offer respectfully to a man who’d been well known to them all and yet utterly unknown. The visiting minstrel broke the uncomfortable hiatus. ‘What about a round of “Friends Who Are Awaiting”?’ he asked, and the suggestion received ragged, relieved approval.

Meg joined in the quiet dirge, singing:

‘And at the edge of Death’s pathway we sit and gaze in wonder,

Unsure of what our life-lost friends will find on paths up yonder,

But there will come for us a time to walk the paths alone,

And in the mists of death we’ll find our friends we thought were gone.’

The second song concluded, Fletcher Archer passed around a jug of mead from which every person poured a measure, and in unison they drank to Samuel’s memory. ‘Well now,’ Fletcher said, wiping his lips, ‘that’s the formalities done with. Let’s hear what our minstrel has brought for us this evening.’

Meg wished that there was someone who could have spoken for Samuel. The Singing On seemed too brief to celebrate a life. But who could have spoken for him? No one knew the truth about his background—except for Emma. Still, she felt as if more was needed to acknowledge a person’s life than a pair of songs.

The minstrel produced a five-stringed instrument Meg recognised as a bandolier and a Shessian two-throat flute from his backpack. He chose a stool by the bar and sat, with his flute ready to play. He was a thin-faced, wiry man, she estimated in his mid-twenties, possibly older, and his black hair was jutting untidily from a narrow blue and red cap. His knee-length brown boots were dusty from travel. ‘For those who never met me,’ he said in a voice more like a young woman than a man, ‘I am Bandolier Talemaker.’ Brief introduction made, he piped a lilting tune that made Meg imagine she was listening to the antics of a honeyeater bird in the wattle. He followed that tune with another that was even more energetic, and people got up and danced.

‘Another!’ Iris Baker asked as the reel finished, and the minstrel obliged, setting the inn echoing to stamping feet and clapping hands.

‘Give us a song about the world!’ Millwheel Miller bawled after the second dance ended.

‘Sing that one about the Queen and her son!’ Fletcher requested.

‘I’ve got a newer version,’ Bandolier told them. ‘It’s called “The Bastard Son”.’

‘That’ll do fine,’ said Millwheel.

Bandolier exchanged his flute for his namesake instrument, and his fingers danced across the strings as he began to sing:

‘And good it is to have a child who grows to be well-lived,

And right it is to have a child who loves as he is loved,

And rare it is to have a child who knows how to repay you,

And sad it is to have a child who grows up to betray you.’

Meg listened to the minstrel unfold the story of a Queen who gave birth to a boy out of wedlock, but had him taken away in secret while her courtiers told the world that her baby had died at birth. Before he was taken away, she named him her Treasure, and gave him five kisses for good fortune. The boy grew strong and handsome, completely unaware of his true mother’s identity, but she kept a maid in his household whose job was to keep her informed of his progress. When he came of age, she sent for him and her secret was confessed. With a bitter smile, he said that he would forgive her when she gave back to him all that was rightfully his, and he betrayed her by raising an army of her own people to march against his mother.

The ballad went for longer than she thought it warranted, but the minstrel’s fine voice and his skill on the bandolier kept her entertained, and the tale was poignantly rendered. Everyone clapped and cheered for another when the minstrel finished. ‘And how is the Queen?’ Fletcher yelled above the calls for another song.

‘The latest rumour is that she was killed and resurrected on Erinsday,’ Bandolier replied, his expression grim.

Silence descended on the room. ‘Really?’ Millwheel asked.

The crowd’s anticipation of the minstrel’s answer irritated Meg. She looked at the minstrel whose face remained serious. ‘Two poison darts,’ he said. ‘The assassins got her and she died.’

‘Really dead?’ Millwheel asked.

‘Really dead,’ the minstrel confirmed.

‘And?’ Fletcher asked.

The minstrel grinned. ‘She came back to life!’ he snapped, and took up a vigorous rhythm on the bandolier, singing:

‘They laid them low down in the earth, buried them down and deep O,

But no one keeps a spirit down, if a dead man he can’t sleep, ho!’