The King's Trial

There’s an old tradition for the kings of the island. No one can tell you much about it. Really, all they can say is that before his coronation, every king undergoes a trial. I could tell you a bit more.

Every man has his god, and every god has its devil. The night before his coronation, the king faces both. Many have died in the encounter. In times of good men, the space between each trial is so long that nearly all forget its existence. In times of evil men, the trials are very close together. You can guess why. In times of both good and evil men, one thing remains true: all who hear the tales of the trials treat them as though they are mere metaphor, descendants of some far-off legend. You could probably guess why that is, too.

Jonathan, King of the Isle, died in battle against the Invaders. Reports said that he stood on the outcropping of rock, directing his ships, when enemy cannon-fire struck the cliff. It collapsed in a heap of rubble, and he was lost in the sea. Asa, his son, was king, though his coronation was delayed by the crisis of the Invaders. He lacked his father’s experience and tactical gifts, and the battle was lost. The capital city burned, and its inhabitants fled. The young king vanished into exile, though he fled not as far as the enemy thought. Hiding in the rugged wilderness of the mountains between the capital and the coast, he wandered the shore after the destruction, searching for any sign of his father.

Seven years passed between the day the invaders came and the day I again saw King Asa. When the Invaders came, young Asa was still a child—sixteen years old, handsome, quick to smile, curious, a little timid, and eager for a bit of nonsense at almost any time. Had I not known better, I might have thought the man I found to be nearly ancient.

I had been hiking for days, seeking any sign of the lost king when I finally emerged in a meadow. A mountain meadow is like a breath of air after a long time underwater. Chipmunks scampered along the edges of the forest, and bumble bees hovered between the wildflowers that grew. Songbirds were calling to one another, and a very territorial squirrel had been jabbering at me since I broke through the trees. “Relax,” I said, softly, looking at the squirrel, where he leaned out from a slender tree branch. “I’m not here for you. Even if I were hunting, I’d seek something with a bit more meat on it.”

“Something like me?” A raspy voice asked, as a stick poked my back. I turned, and Asa grinned at me, but his eyes were without humor. “Have you all resorted to cannibalism yet? I have not needed to.”

I stared at him in silence, taking in his broad shoulders, wiry frame, rugged beard, hair just long enough to tie back and already peppered with strands of gray, wearily tanned face, and frighteningly expressionless eyes.

“Have you come for me?”

“Yes,” I said, finding my voice at last.

“It was only a matter of time,” he said. He shrugged and lowered the spear he carried. Bending, he collected the brace of rabbits he’d set on the ground, and he passed me, walking toward the hut.

I stood awkwardly on the edge of the meadow, unsure whether to follow. Then, I remembered myself. I had not searched for months and walked for days to wait endlessly on the edge of a meadow. Tall as he was, his stride was short, and I caught up to him quickly. It was not long before I realized he was limping. “What happened?”

“I fell,” he said.

The answer raised more questions, but his tone did not invite them.

As we walked, we passed a mound of stones, on which rested a tarnished silver circlet. “Your father?”

He grunted in response and entered the hut, where he waited. Once again, I paused awkwardly. “There’ll be enough stew for the both of us,” he said.

I entered the hut and sat down quickly on a wooden stool, but I said nothing else. He bustled around the hut, assembling the stew over an open fire pit in the center of the hut, but “bustle” is really the wrong word. His movements were slow and precise, even as the process was quick and efficient. When all that remained was to let the stew in the cauldron slowly boil, he wiped off the knife he’d used for the rabbits and sat on the ground across the fire from me. I felt the weight of his eyes on me like a curse from above. I waited for the accusations: You betrayed everything kinship is supposed to mean. You abandoned me. They made you king. You’ve come to kill me.

“Would you like bread with your stew?” He asked at last.

I could not eat from his table—table though there was not—and betray him. I could not. “Yes, thank you.”

He nodded and rose, grunting like an old man as he found the basket he sought, pulled out a bundle of cloth, and unwrapped it to reveal a large loaf. I was unsure how he could have baked it—lacking a proper oven. I glanced around the hut and realized it lacked even a proper bed. There was a fur lying on the dirt floor in the corner, but that was all.

He watched me searching the place. “I come here only on the anniversary. I’ll move on soon enough.”

He kept a calendar, I realized. “It took seven years for the Invaders to ratify a treaty that would give us any sense of peace.”

He frowned and handed me the bread as he sat again. He had taken none for himself. “And is everyone satisfied with this long-awaited treaty?”

“No,” I said, calculating the odds that the bread had been poisoned. Asa had done nothing to it now, but he was so unsurprised by my arrival that I suspected he’d known I was coming. “Myself least of all.”

“Not satisfied with your sovereignty?” For the first time, there was bitterness in his tone, and I began recalculating.

“Asa, I had no trial, and I’m to be coronated tomorrow.”

“Have you come seeking your trial?”

I shrugged.

“You said you came for me,” he said. “Why? What do you want?”

With genuine curiosity in his gaze, he looked a little like the old Asa. The unformed intentions that had been in my mind when I set out dispersed altogether now. “I don’t know,” I confessed. I had simply needed to find him.

Without warning, the dam that had held back all my questions of conscience, all the loss, all the shame, and all the heartache finally burst. I dropped from the stool to my knees, my head bowed as the tears flowed freely. The fire was warmer here, and as my tears fell onto the stones that encircled the pit, they hissed slightly and evaporated.

I did not hear Asa move, but I felt his hand resting atop my head. He knelt beside me, and his hand remained, in silent comfort. “Well, cousin,” he said at last, “I suspect we’ll both face trials of some kind tonight.”

As I wiped my nose and eyes and returned to my seat, he stood and ladled the stew into a rough-hewn bowl. Again, he ate nothing. Eventually, he seemed to notice me watching him. “There’s only one bowl, just like there’s only one fur.” He stood, cut himself a slice of bread, and took his seat again. Leaning forward, he reached across the fire and dipped his bread into my stew. He smiled and took a bite. There was genuine warmth in the smile. “Still—you should stay here tonight. I keep the old laws of hospitality—any traveler is welcome, and any guest who eats from my bowl or sleeps under my roof is sacred. The bears and coyotes will not be so kind.”

I nodded blankly and tried not to stare in amazement. This was not the timid boy who’d vanished so many years ago. In spite of his promise, I was afraid of him.

***

I lay awake that night. Asa snored softly next to me. The fur was not large enough for us both, and he’d given me the lion’s share. Pardon the joke—it was a mountain lion’s skin.

I lay awake meditating upon my earlier thought. I was afraid of him. Why? That was harder to answer. Probably because he knew that of all the people in the world, I should be happiest with the treaty we’d signed with the Invaders. I would be king. My close relation to the royal family had nominated me for the position. My military takeover after Asa’s disappearance had guaranteed it. I should have been protector of his throne and crown, and here I was—an usurper, aided by the foreign Invaders, coming to him for solace on the anniversary of his father’s death. He had every right to hate me.

I believed his promise that I was safe under his roof. He had never lied to me before. If he learned of the vast army that would support him, should he rise against me, though, would he take it? If he knew how tenuous the treaty was, would he break it? Would he take vengeance purely because of the betrayal I’d wrought?

My dagger was in my hand, under the fur. He was a loose end, already believed dead by most of the world. No one would know, and I would be safe. When the time came that we were strong enough for me to break the treaty with the Invader, I would do it, but until then, things would be at peace. If Asa was dead, I could even blame the Invaders. Claiming to avenge him would bring the last of the support to our side.

I watched him for many hours. Asleep as he was, he looked more like himself and more like his father. His face seemed less grim. How many times had we shared a tent on a hunt as boys? How many times had I, the older and more restless, woken in the night to make sure he was well? How many times had I had to steal back the blanket from his side of the bedroll? I smiled, in spite of myself, at the memory of his six-year-old self waking, utterly offended that I dare suggest he was hard to live with. We were all but brothers.

I could never strike him. I silently slipped the dagger back into its sheath and lowered my hand to rest on the ground between us. In that moment, I realized how silent it had become. I could not remember when the snoring had stopped. Another horribly long moment stretched, and Asa rolled over to face me. His eyes were open. “I knew you would not do it,” he said. Shame burned through me. Then, he smiled. “Now, you’ve had your trial, and you’ve been victorious.”

“It should be you,” I said at last. “You should be king, and not I.”

“I will be, Enoch,” he said. “Someday.”

“How do you know?”

His silence was long, and then he shrugged. “I’ve felt closer to God since I’ve lived up here. I have time to think, and I’m not so isolated as you might expect. There are things I’ve come to know and trust. Someday, I suspect not too far in the future, you’ll be forced into a position you cannot abide, and that the people cannot abide. By then, we’ll have grown strong enough to force the Invaders from our shores, and you’ll need someone to do it. That’s when I’ll return, and I’ll protect you when I do.”

“Then what will be your trial?” I asked.

“Whatever temptation or madness or shame that still haunts me, I expect. Father’s was his fear that he’d lose my mother. But I suppose we’ll see.”

I rolled to face the other direction, unable to look at him any longer. Instead, I stared at the embers resting in the stony hearth. “I’m an illegitimate king.”

“Only legally,” Asa said. “Despite that, you’ve stayed where I could not. You’ve bargained with devils, and you’ve maintained your honor. In spirit, you are all a king of the Island should be. That’s why you could pass your trial tonight.”

Finally, with his hand atop my shoulder and my face toward the flames, I fell asleep. In my dreams, I saw the stony mound with the king’s silver crown atop it. The crown began to rise, and the form of my uncle appeared. I was frightened, and I scampered back, but my uncle smiled. He extended his hand and patted my cheek. “Yours is the battle now,” he said. Then, he disappeared.

I’ve never forgotten that night. I can still, when I think of it, feel the ghostly king’s fingers on my cheek, and the living heir’s hand on my shoulder. I can smell again the scent of the lion skin and the living embers, and taste again the rabbit stew. I remember every word we spoke, and the tearful parting that came by morning.

Asa suspected he was closer to God in his hermitage in the mountains. He might have been, for he foresaw the following years. I held the line, and I fought for our people by bargaining with the Invaders. When the treaty began to fail, when I knew there would soon be a rising, I helped where I could, as secretly as I could. The rising succeeded, and the Invaders were banished. When King Asa deposed his usurping cousin and took his rightful place as king, he kept his word and protected me by offering mercy to that usurping king. I lived in his house until the day his old age took him.