"The one who tells the stories rules the world."
Hopi Proverb

The King's Choice
An Inworld Tale featuring the Protector Uwin
By Genevieve Kierans

Author's Comment
This excerpt was chosen by Theodora Goss who read it for me at Clarion.

Excerpt

The woods surrounding the castle were its strongest protection, an ancient Earth-magic set to shield the King and his residence from any unauthorized incursion. Uwin had told him that in bygone days Kings could actually sense the intent of every person who approached down the broad road from Cedartown. Some stories even went so far as to say they could direct their sight out of their bodies and observe in secret from beneath the trees.

Nedron thought this last tale somewhat fanciful and would have had his doubts about the other stories as well had it not been for Uwin's evident surprise at his lack of manifestation of any of the traditional powers of a Faírelanian monarch. Nedron philosophically assumed it had to do with either the fact that he had been reared elsewhere or his disfigurement, and doggedly set about cultivating skills that would compensate. So, instead of communing with the trees, he scanned the ground for more mundane clues to the runaway's whereabouts.

The girl had been blinded by tears and had left scuffed earth, broken branchlets and other such markers. Down the road a short measure, then veering sharply into the thicket.

At length the forest path became clearer and Nedron realized with consternation that she had tumbled across the very trail he himself followed to his favorite glade above the Tepíl. He cursed silently. The bluff was dangerous at night. For one not familiar with the terrain... A surge of fear for the little maiden lent his legs greater speed and he loped along the path as quickly as his lame foot allowed. Had he been in less haste, he might have noticed that the roots which usually rutted the path were surprisingly unobtrusive, the overhanging branches less obstructive. But he had no thought except for Sina until he arrived at last at the promontory and a branch he could have sworn had not been there before snagged his cloak and prevented him from blundering into the grove. Panting, he grabbed it for balance, and scanned the clearing for his quarry.

The grove was bathed in moonlight, glowing with an eerie, blue luminescence. He imagined he could hear the sweet vibration of otherworldly music. But that could not be. He shook his head, discarding such fancies, and fastened his attention on the maiden.

Seemingly unaware of her surroundings, she had stumbled perilously near the edge of the cliff, and for a sick instant Nedron feared she would blunder over it. Too far away to save her, even if he had been able to sprint across the clearing! And he dared not call lest he scare her further. Time froze as he implored the gods to protect her. The shimmer in the grove intensified along its perimeter and the girl took a small step back, and then another, away from the precipice. Had the mysterious radiance actually repulsed her? Suddenly aware that he had been holding his breath, Nedron shook away the notion as he exhaled softly.

"Maiden..." he whispered, trying to fill his voice with utmost gentleness. She reminded him of a wild thing... a deer... no, a wren, tightly strung, ready to bolt in an instant.

"I was so sure I heard the sea..." she murmured as though waking from a dream. "Who is there?"

"I've been sent by your brother to find you, lass," he replied. Strangely, tonight the Tepíl did sound like the ocean, but there was no time to wonder at that. "May I approach?"

"I cannot marry..." Her voice quivered and she inched closer to the cliff edge. "What value is a girl's maidenhood if it is wrested from her?"

"Nay, child, do not fret. He bids me say he will not force you against your will."

The girl turned towards him, and the moonlight shone in her large, haunted eyes. Nedron thought of the folktales of his childhood, of seal changelings who sometimes appeared as women to enchant unsuspecting mortals. In the eerie moonlight, he could almost believe them.

"Will... will you come back to the castle with me?" he asked, offering his hand tentatively. "These woods are unsafe at night."

She wavered a moment, caught between fear and flight. Then she placed her hand trustingly in his mangled paw. Rather than shrinking from its twisted ridges, she lifted it to her face, stroking the scars delicately. "You've been hurt..." she said. Her touch was gentle, and sensing no scorn in her, he resisted the urge to pull away. Her skin was tanned from many days of travel in the warm spring, but it was soft as a chick's. For an instant he basked in the sensation of that silkiness against his scars.

Then he felt self-conscious and compelled to fill the silence. "Ah... It is rare that a Faírelanian maid should choose not to marry..." he offered clumsily.

She did not seem to think him awkward. "I am not...I was not raised in Faírela," she confided. "Where I come from, women who... women such as I do not marry. I am..." she paused again, as though choking on her words. "I am unwell."

"So your brother has said. But perhaps our wizards..."

"My brother is a good man," she blurted suddenly. "Perhaps too good. He seeks what is best for me."

"Then he is to be commended."

"But sometimes what is best for one is not best for another."

"True. But I have learned that sometimes what is not best for one may in fact be best for everyone else. In such cases, which should take precedence?"

"You are the King." She stated this with certainty, and Nedron wondered how she had known. His hood still concealed his face. "In such a case then, my liege, everyone else must take precedence."

No more was said as they returned to the palace, though Nedron fancied that her tiny hand, so trusting in his own deformed appendage, squeezed it slightly in comfort before her brother's effusive embrace took her from his side.