The Golden Orb

 

 

 

 

Doug Voll

 

 

To Nathaniel and Savannah, and bedtime stories told long ago.

 

And to Natascha, always.

 

Chapter 1

 

          England, 1526

 

          Something came to fill the void, something that did not belong.

 

          Marie Culvineer shivered. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. A biting wind whistled through the cottage but the shawl did nothing. The cold seemed to be coming from within.

Maybe I should put another log on the fire, she thought. No, she decided. She would just check on the children and then get warm under her blankets. The days were getting colder and she worried that they had not collected enough wood for winter. She held the candle close to her chest lest some cold finger of winter slip through the porous walls and snuff out her flame. Quietly she opened the creaking door to the children’s room.

     “I thought I put you two to bed?”

     She appeared to be annoyed but inside she was smiling. Do these two never get tired of it?

     Savannah’s cot was empty, the blankets neatly made up as though Marie had never tucked her daughter in for the night. Savannah was six years old (“almost seven”) and her hair was like a brilliant sunset. The darker shades of orange and red blended with the last golden hues of the day. Her mother always said that she was a mix of sunrise and sunset; the knowledge of today combined with the promise of tomorrow. It was one of the many reasons Marie told Savannah that she was “an old soul”.

 

     “Why can I not be an old soul?” Nathaniel would always ask. Nathaniel was nine, a strong, handsome boy, as dark of hair as his sister was fair. Nathaniel bore the cuts and bruises of one who would leap before he would look. Marie often made Nathaniel take his sister along whenever he ventured into the woods so that he could protect her, but Savannah knew it was her job to keep them both safe.

Strangers were always surprised that they were brother and sister, until they approached and saw that both had the same dark eyes of their mother and her warm, gentle smile. Savannah’s hair and fair complexion they attributed to her father, which was a topic of discussion that was quickly deflected whenever someone was so bold as to ask.

     “Because you are a young soul,” Marie would explain to Nathaniel. “You have the joy, and the pain, of discovering this world for the first time. That is very special. You must always treasure that. But know that when you die, your spirit lives on. It will live on in another newborn, who may or may not be open to learning your past experiences.”

     “So father lives on?”

     “Yes, yes he does,” she replied, dabbing her eye with the sleeve of her shirt.

     “And are you an old soul?” Nathaniel asked.

     “I never thought I was, but recently I have had memories that are not my own. At first I was frightened by them but now I see them as a friend.”

     “So perchance I am an old soul too?”

     “Perchance you are.”

     “But how do you know Savannah is an old soul?” he asked.

     “Because she tells me her dreams. There are things she has seen, and things she knows, that only come from being there. But I just tell her they are dreams so she does not get scared. She is too young to truly appreciate her gift, but when she gets older she will be a wise advisor.”

     “Or maybe she will be a leader?”

     “Maybe.”

 

     “Savannah, Nathaniel, I thought you would be sleeping. Is anything wrong?”

     “No mother,” Nathaniel replied, “we just hoped you could tell us a story.”

     “Oh, well let me think.”

     “No, read one,” Savannah corrected her brother.

     Marie nodded, set her candle in the holder, turned away from the children and smiled. She didn’t ask which one since there only was one book in the cottage. Marie kept it hidden under the mattress of Savannah’s cot. That seemed easier since Savannah always squeezed into Nathaniel’s cot at story time. Savannah claimed it was only for warmth.

     Marie lifted Savannah’s lumpy mattress of hay and pulled out the gilt-edged book. She brought it close to the candle and admired the intricate illustrations and the talent of the monks who put magic onto parchment. She was about to begin reading when Savannah reminded her.

     “Let me look at it, please.”

     “Yes,” Nathaniel chimed in, more interested in the drawings than in another reading lesson. Thankfully, mother was too tired to give them a reading lesson tonight.

     After several minutes of oohing and aahing at the pictures of King Wadanhyll and the Battle of Kesselring, the children gave up the book.

     “Why is it we must not read?” Savannah asked.

     “Because we are peasants.”

     Savannah wanted to ask another question but Nathaniel hushed her. He was anxious to hear the story he knew by heart. Marie sat at the foot of cot, on Savannah’s side, and all leaned in. Nathaniel held the candle and Marie interpreted the calligraphy written on the pages.

 

 

   The Golden Orb

 

      It was during the Reign of Terror that young Prince Hadwyn of Kesselring came upon an old man gathering sticks.

   “These woods belong to my father, King Wadanhyll of Kesselring. I could have you killed for trespassing. What be your business?”

   The old man hunched over his bundle and ignored him. Prince Hadwyn tapped him on the shoulder with his sword. The old man slowly turned. His face betrayed the battles he fought to acquire and keep his secrets. He smelled of this earth but he seemed to be above it. The old man stared at him, or more correctly, right through him. Although Prince Hadwyn was armed and was stronger, a moment of panic seized him. He felt as though this stranger communicated that he could crush him like a gnat. The old man set down his bundle and released his gaze.

   “You worry,” the old man said, with a toothless grin and a knowing eye. “You worry that King Freiderich will turn his eye towards Kesselring and squash your father’s uprising before it begins.”

   “How do you? No, that’s not true. Who sent you? You are a spy for King Freiderich!”

   Prince Hadwyn held out his sword, debating whether to run him through. The old man reached down and pulled out a stick from his bundle. He pointed it at the prince.

   “This stick,” he said, “is weak and useless on its own.” The old man snapped it in two. “But together,” he said, looking down at the bundle he had gathered, “it could ignite a countryside. You must tell your father to unite the kings.”

   “But he has tried. He has sent out messengers to our allies but the messengers never return.”

   “Then he must have his allies come to him.”

   “Yes, of course,” Prince Hadwyn cried, “but King Freiderich has bought their allegiance. My father has nothing to offer them.”

   “Hmm,” the old man said. He seemed bored and began to gather more wood.

   “Do not turn away! Tell me what you know!”

   “What I know? You want me to tell you all that I know?” the old man said. “A life’s worth of learning? And what would you give me in return?”

   “Your life,” Prince Hadwyn replied, once again turning his sword on the stranger. Then he smiled and lowered his sword. “And a clean bed, and a full pantry, and Kesselring’s hospitality for so long as you live, provided your knowledge is valuable.”

   “Oh it is.” He winked and dropped his sticks. He glanced over his shoulder, and all around, before reaching deep inside his threadbare tunic.

 

   A pulsating glow emanated from the stranger’s closed hand, for his fingers could not hold the light. Slowly he opened his hand. The stranger and the young prince shared a look of wonder and awe. Prince Hadwyn felt his heart race. I must have this, he thought.

   The stranger read his mind and closed his hand. Prince Hadwyn was once again in control of his senses.

“What is this?” the young prince asked.

   “It is what it is.”

   “Yes, but what does it do? How did you come into its possession?”

   “The second question is easier,” the old man said. “It found me, one day when I was gathering wood.”

   “And the first?”

   The old man looked up at Prince Hadwyn. “You felt it. I know you did. You know what it does. It gives you life, strength, courage, wisdom.”

   “And why would you give it to me?”

   The old man smiled. “I am wise enough to know that I am too old to be gathering sticks. That is why I had you come.”

 

   And so it was that this wood collector became advisor to the court of King Wadanhyll. Instead of sending messengers, he advised the king to let the serving staff catch glimpses of the orb. They whispered the secret to everyone they knew, and the word spread faster than if the king had sent his finest steeds. And the word could not be stopped for King Freiderich’s men were looking for royal messengers.

   Kings sent their sons to Kesselring to learn of this secret. The advisor recorded the numbers. Prince Edward of Wessex could promise six hundred archers, Prince Gerring of Sutherland one hundred knights. King Wadanhyll’s army grew but all eyes looked to the north. One morning a guard trumpeted their arrival. Prince John of the Black River arrived with his younger brother Alexander. King Wadanhyll was pleased. The northerners had held their land for centuries but rarely attacked. If they joined the cause, King Wadanhyll could end Freiderich’s Reign of Terror.

   A great feast was held. Venison filled their stomachs but the pints of ale could not quench their thirst.

   “Honoured guests,” King Wadanhyll announced. “I have kept you in the dark too long. It is time to bring you into the light!”

   Prince Hadwyn stood at the other end of the table. In his outstretched hand he held The Golden Orb. Those princes closest to him stood to grab it, but King Wadanhyll’s men restrained them. Even Prince John and Prince Alexander, who sat with the king at the far head of the table, felt its pull.

   “What you feel,” King Wadanhyll cried, “is the birth of a free land! Let us unite!”

 

   The princes cheered and allegiances were struck. They feasted long into the night and drank until they passed out. But not Prince John; not Prince Alexander. They did not trust a power that could so easily turn noble men wild. And they did not trust the king’s advisor.

   “Alexander,” Prince John whispered, “our time is now.” Prince Alexander agreed, both knowing that they would never see their homeland again.

 

   “A word,” Prince John asked of Prince Hadwyn. Prince Hadwyn excused his men and the two met in private. But no words were exchanged. Prince John drew his sword but Prince Hadwyn was no fool. The two battled in Prince Hadwyn’s private quarters. Prince John was more skilled but Prince Hadwyn found strength in the orb. It was fate that guided Prince John’s thrust. The Kesselring prince fell and Prince John had the orb.

 

   Prince Alexander remained outside, guarding the entrance. Silently they escaped the castle, but the night was black. They could not trust their steeds so they fled on foot. Trumpets sounded, hounds barked and the castle awoke. Streams of men poured out from its gates, travelling in all directions. The young princes moved as fast as they dare but the sounds grew louder. In a small clearing they buried the orb. Prince Alexander carved a symbol on a young pine to mark the place. Then they cleared their tracks as best they could. The sounds grew louder.

   “We must lead them away,” Alexander said.

   “And we must not go together.” John hugged his younger brother and the two chose separate paths.

   The Kings’ men divided and followed both long into the night. An archer’s arrow felled Alexander and John stopped a moment. He sighed and then ran on. The men caught up to him just as dawn broke. An archer raised his bow but the king lowered it.

   “This one we keep.”

 

      Marie closed the book and returned it to its hiding place. She kissed her children. “Savannah, do you want to sleep in your bed?” Savannah shook her head. Marie expected that. Every time she read the story, Savannah would need her brother to keep her safe through the night. “Then go to sleep my sweets.” Marie took the candle and closed the door.

 

The children waited until they heard their mother climb into bed. Then Nathaniel slipped out of bed for they too had a secret hiding place. Nathaniel reached into his cot and extracted their prize. Light glowed between his fingers. Savannah leaned close. Nathaniel opened his fingers and the light from the orb shone on Savannah’s face.