Chapter 38

Iber sat in same chair he had less than a fortnight ago near the same cheery fire that warmed The Crazy Lady with a comforting glow. The wait staff were no more pleasant than the last time. After a few unsuccessful shoves of the barmaid by Vyna, Mitty and Trevelyn had happily taken over the position of ferrying hot bowls of stew and ale to the guests. The king sat regally in the chair across from him ladling stew in her mouth as fast as it was seemly.
Orin sat at the bar, his head cushioned by one arm and Masonae sat next to him, one hand on his shoulder, trying to console him. Malek and Lasser had taken seats at a table vacated by the regular patrons as soon as they had entered. Saratin sat in a third chair by the fire, looking for all the world like he wanted to be gone as soon as it was polite to make his goodbyes.
“It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could do,” Masonae was telling the prince for about the fifteenth time.
“What kind of king am I going to be if I can’t even complete a measly quest by myself correctly?”
Saratin sighed and stood up. He flanked Orin on his other side.
“Tell me, Orin, when a king goes into battle, does everyone expect him to single handedly destroy the opposing armies himself?”
“No.”
“And is it proper for a king to make all the decisions without receiving any help from his advisors?”
“No.”
“And does a good king send soldiers needlessly into battle when a peace can be reached by other means?”
“No.”
“And does a good king grieve for every soldier lost, even if that soldier gave his life knowing it was for the betterment of others.
“No. I mean yes. But Cybele wasn’t a soldier.”
“But she knew what she was doing, and I’m sure that I speak for all the Great Mages when we say that there’s no one else in Galadin that we’d rather see as king.”
“Your mother has been a good king. There’s a few things we wouldn’t mind seeing her do differently but overall-”
“His mother is sitting right here,” Deseda called. Lasser shrugged and looked sheepish.
“I know, but-”
“And what do you want seen done differently?” King Deseda demanded.
“Well, there’s the whole thing about no dragons and green cats allowed in Capital City,” Snult called loudly from the fireplace.
“Do you know how many idiots tried to bring home pets from the forest that were completely inappropriate for city life? The was one fellow who started selling dragon eggs and when they hatched, the things inside went running amuck and no one could stop them. People died.”
“That didn’t mean you had to ban all of them,” Snult said, shifting a log around with his tail. “Some of us magical creatures are rather splendid at adapting to city life.”
“That’s true, but what do you suppose I do about the rest of them? The worst thing is when a creature got loose, no one would claim it, and I’d end up with the blame for the whole incident. People in the city are still very wary of magic.”
Prince Orin’s head finally lifted off the bar. “You could license them. Hire an inspector to approve all creatures allowed in the city and give them tags in case they escape. That way the owner would get the blame and not you.”
“That’s a great idea!” King Deseda sat up in her chair, completely excited by the new idea.
“I am not wearing a collar,” Snult grumped.
“Not you, but Pylon, for example.” Hearing his name, Pylon lifted up his head, looked about, then went back to his nap.
The door to The Crazy Lady swung open. Tarik, mayor of Vilane, stood there, cheeks red as tomatoes, chest heaving up and down as if he’d run all the way from the village at top speed. He pause his breathing long enough to get out one word.
“Tree.”
Everyone was immediately on their feet. Tarik looked behind him for a long moment before moving out of the doorway as if to let someone pass.
“What’s wrong with the tree?” Iber asked, feeling the tension rising from within him. Without even thinking of it, his sword appeared in his hand and every muscle readied itself for a fight.
“The tree…”
“Yes, the tree. The tree is what?”
“Coming.”
Iber took a step back and looked at the ruddy faced mayor. He didn’t look like he’d been drinking, but his cheeks might be a sign.
“Tarik, trees don’t move.”
“This one is! I swear, she’s coming.”
Vyna came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Insanity must run in the family,” she said, shaking her head. She turned and went back into the kitchen.
Tarik turned his eyes back out the door. Suddenly a calm swept through the inn like a soft breeze scented with lavender and pine bows. Iber put his sword down as he felt the tension run out of him. He felt as if he’d just stepped out of an hour long bath, pink, wrinkled and refreshed.
The woman who stood in the doorway was Cybele, but she wasn’t. Her features were familiar, but they altered enough that Iber knew that this creature was not the childlike one he had seen so distraught at the base of the Calca Tree. Her springy green hair flowed down her back nearly to her waist, and her flawless chestnut skin glowed with an aura of natural beauty. Her limbs were slender, but healthy. The dress she wore was not made of leaves, but a blue gossamer silk that reminded Iber of water the way it flowed easily with her movements.
She smiled at them for a long moment, then reached out and touched Tarik on the shoulder with a comforting hand. His breath immediately returned to normal and his cheeks faded to more of a rosy happiness.
“Be at ease, Tree Watcher,” she said calmly. “Good afternoon, my mages, my children.”
They all stared in wonderment at the creature before them. Prince Orin was the first to break the spell.
“Cybele?”
“We are Cybele. We are Calca. We are glad to have a voice after so many ages. Long have our cries gone unheard. But you have helped to heal us, and we are greatful.”
Tarik fell to his knees.
“No, Tree Watcher,” she said as she calmly lifted him up with a strength that belied her frame. “Do not prostrate yourself before me. I lost my voice long before you and your kind took more of my fruit than was given freely. I do not fault you for it.”
“But we…” She silenced him with a single finger to her lips.
“You are my children, and it is the nature of trees to forgive and to be grateful.”
Orin approached. “You mean Cybele isn’t dead?”
“She has healed me, and we have become one. Her voice and spirit give us a body. We are happy.”
“So you are healed?” Saratin asked timidly.
“Not completely. Enough to offer a gift to you,” she extended her hand to Prince Orin. “Your quest deserves a reward.”
“But it wasn’t just me. Masonae helped, his parents… Snult.”
“You may choose your reward to benefit others, if you so see fit.”
“I…” Orin looked around, rather lost.
Mitty stepped forward. “Can you make another Great Mage?”
“Only eight trees stand in the Ring of Ancients, and long has it been since I’ve had the power and health to sustain them all. I can manage another, for now, but no more.”
“Eight?” King Deseda questioned. “I thought there were only seven.”
“Nelyr,” Trevelyn added. “He’s still alive. We just turned him into a statue. Can you heal one of those that are sick?”
The tree nodded.
“You weren’t thinking of bringing back Nelyr, were you? After all the trouble he’s caused? He tried to kill us all, you know,” Lasser said. Trevelyn disappeared. A moment later she had Lynah by the elbow.
“Trevvie, what are you doing? I was right in the middle of…” Lynah looked up with wide eyes. “Who are all you people?”
“I was thinking that maybe you could heal her,” Trevelyn said to Orin.
Suddenly there was a bed in the middle of the room. Iber recognized Brother Chau as the occupant.
“You could make him a Great Mage,” Saratin said. Chau’s eyes opened and he tried to sit up. Saratin put a calming hand on the top of his head. “He’s dieing.”
“But what about Masonae?” Mitty said. “He helped you the most. You could make him a Great Mage.”
“Mother,” Masonae said firmly.
“No. It’s true. He deserves it more than anyone.”
“But Mother, I didn’t help Orin because of that.”
Mitty opened her mouth again and Malek pulled her back against him to silence her.
“The boy must make his own decision, Mitty.” She glared at her husband.
“How do I know if I want to be a Great Mage? I’m only… what day is it?” Masonae thought for a moment. “It’s my birthday! I’m fifteen today.”
A chorus of happy birthdays resounded through the inn. “But that’s not the point. I do have to make my own decision, and don’t want that kind of responsibility yet. Besides, I think I’d like to be taller before I stop growing.”
“Then Chau would be a better choice,” Saratin said softly. Chau closed his eyes and let out a sigh that rattled through his chest. There was a sadness on his face that sunk to the very heart of Iber.
“I don’t want to be a Great Mage either, Saratin.”
“But you’re going to die!”
“And I’ve lived a long, fruitful, happy life.”
“But you can live forever. You don’t have to die.”
“I was not destined to be a Great Mage. I was destined to serve them and find happiness and fulfillment in guiding you and hopefully taking the place of the father you never knew.”
“But Brother Chau-”
“No buts Saratin. If you offer it to me, I will not accept. I’m tired.”
“Then Lynah is all that’s left.” Trevelyn pushed Lynah towards the prince.
“Hello, who are you?”
“I’m Prince Orin.”
“A prince? Of what?”
“Of Galadin.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m princess of Galadin, and I don’t have any brothers. Trust me, I wish I did. Then my father wouldn’t be so concerned with marrying me off.” Trevelyn sighed and yanked Lynah back to her side.
“You see?”
“I see,” Prince Orin said. “Then I suppose it does go to her for now. Is there a way to heal you completely so that if Masonae decides later that he wants to be a Great Mage, he can?”
“Yes. If more seeds join us.”
“Oh,” Orin said, “another quest. I suppose we could handle that.”
Saratin still sat on the edge of the bed looking tormented. Chau had closed his eyes, his strength slowly seeping from him, his breath more shallow and labored. The tree approached and sat on the other edge of the bed.
“Death is necessary in all things,” she said to Saratin, her own face mirroring the pain in his. “Seasons bring the falling of the leaves to make room for new growth. I cannot take away the pain of grief, but I can take away the pain of death.” She touched Chau’s head gently.
“Sleep, my child. Leave this shell behind you. Make way for the new and enjoy the peace that you have so rightfully earned.”
A smile spread itself across Brother Chau’s face. His chest rose easily once more, before becoming still. Saratin let out a choking sob that broke the surreal silence of the inn. His head fell upon the body of Chau and he weeped freely. The tree stroked his hair, comforting him.
“Grief is proper, but you will find solace in your friends.”
Tears leaked down Iber’s face and he wiped them away with the cuff of his sleeve. He looked around. Prince Orin was hugging his mother tightly and Masonae had joined his parents who embraced him openly. Lynah simply looked confused, but she clung tightly to Trevelyn’s hand. Lasser was trying unsuccessfully to keep his tears at bay, and the mayor was hiccupping loudly.
The tree stood and walked towards Lynah who backed up until she hit the bar and could go no further. Lynah watched the hand as it touched her cheek, but didn’t flinch out of its way. The tree smiled at her and then, as smoothly as she had come, drifted out the door and out of sight.
They paused, and as if they had been holding their breath, they all breathed deeply in unison, exhaling out a bit of their sorrow.
Lynah was the first to move. She smacked her hand against her head.
“I’ve been a rather naughty princess, haven’t I?”