The Jewels Rise Again: Chapter 6

Notes: Yay! Two chapters! I'm doing this because 1) this chapter and the last happen at the same time and 2) I have my AO3 readers these two on the same day so I'm not about to slight you :D

Trusting in the One Who Heals

“Artham,” a quiet voice spoke to him. 

Artham sighed and turned around, now facing the ruins instead of the open fields. He had been trying to sneak out without anyone knowing, as a certain Durgan guildling had managed to do. Almost. “Yes?”

“Where are you going? Not only is it the middle of the night, but it’s freezing.” Arundelle shivered and pulled her blanket around herself more tightly. 

“Dearest,” Artham whispered. He walked toward her and picked his blanket up from the ground. “Use mine, too. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. There’s a young King in pain, and I need to talk to him.”

“Poor thing,” Arundelle clucked her tongue softly. “Oh, Artham. I feel so responsible for Janner’s death. If only I hadn’t told those boys what the Maker said to me in my dream then maybe —”

“Arundelle, there is no maybe.” Artham placed his hands on her shoulders. “You had no way of knowing the Maker spoke of Janner’s death. And even if you did, they were His words, weren’t they?” Arundelle nodded. “Janner did what he believed the Maker called him to do. Nothing you or anyone else said or did would have or will change that.”

Arundelle looked up at him lovingly. “Good luck convincing Kalmar of that.”

Artham shook his head. “It’s not a matter of luck. It’s a matter of whether or not the Maker works on Kalmar’s heart to make him whole again.”

It didn’t take long for Artham to find Kalmar. It was a simple matter, considering that he wasn’t trying to hide or cover his tracks. He was grieving. And the last thing he needed was to be alone with his thoughts. 

Artham glided down gently, parting from the night sky’s beauty. He landed a stone’s throw away from Kalmar and began walking towards him.

“Kalmar,” Artham directed his words at the boy-King sitting in the middle of a field of flowers. “What are you doing here?” He knew exactly what Kalmar was doing, but unless Kal said it himself, words would be pointless.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Kal said without glancing at his uncle. Artham heard the tremor in his voice and knew he had been crying.

“I’m having trouble sleeping too. Do you mind if I join you?” Kalmar shrugged in response and Artham strode the last few paces towards him and sat, knees up, arms behind him. 

Artham prayed the Maker would give him the right words to say. “I know how you feel,” He finally said after they had sat silently for a while.

Kalmar looked down at the white blossoms below him. The worst of it was that he couldn’t yell at Artham and say, “You don’t know how I feel!” because Artham did know. At least, he sort of knew.

“You’re feeling like a Throne Warden.” Artham said unexpectedly. 

Kalmar looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Artham picked one of the flowers and twirled it between his talons. Then he found another one — a strandilion puff, if Kalmar was right — and blew it gently, sending its seeds sailing gracefully through the Annieran air. Perhaps it was his imagination or the Maker’s beauty glistening in the land, but Kalmar thought he saw them twinkling like stars in the night sky.

“A Throne Warden has one job: to protect.” Artham closed his eyes, remembering the countless times those words — protect, protect, protect — had coursed through his mind and veins and given him strength. “He or she is supposed to protect the High King or Queen of Anniera, no matter the cost. Because of that, when something happens to the King or Queen — King in Janner’s and my places — the Throne Warden automatically feels guilty, even if what happened isn’t his fault.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Kal asked, a hint of anger on the edge of his voice. He didn’t need to be told that Janner lived his life feeling guilty because of the stupid choices he had made. Kal didn’t need to be told that if he just hadn’t sung that song, if he just hadn’t insisted they go to Throg, if he just hadn’t drawn that picture for Gnag, if he just hadn’t offered the Fangs and Cloven a Pardon, that Janner might still be alive.

Artham saw the hot, angry tears on Kalmar’s face and pulled his nephew into his arms. “Oh, Kalmar.” Artham sighed. “You feel responsible for Janner’s death. You feel as though you are the sole reason for your mother’s and sister’s tears.”

“Of course I do!” Kalmar shouted, pulling away from Artham and standing up violently. His blue eyes snapped with anger that he aimed at himself. “If I hadn’t run away to the Strander Camp when I really should’ve stayed with my family, if I’d been just a little more accepting of my duties as King, if I hadn’t resisted Janner so much then maybe,” Kal choked on his words. “Maybe our family would still be whole. Maybe I would’ve fallen asleep hours ago, fighting with Janner over who got to use the blanket. And we would’ve argued. And Mama would’ve told us to hush, but we would’ve kept quarreling because that’s what brothers do. But we can’t do that anymore! It’ll never, ever, happen again, because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

Kal collapsed onto the ground, sobbing. Janner was gone. He was gone, he wasn’t coming back, and it was all his fault. If he could go back in time and fix every wrong thing he’d done, he would. But he couldn’t.

“Keep your mouth shut when?” Artham asked.

Kal looked up at him. Artham was blurry through his tears. “The first night Janner, Leeli, Mama, the O’Sallys, and I were here, I insisted on opening the door to the Fane of Fire. That’s where the Maker told me what to do. That’s why I was going to even try melding. And then Janner came and took the stone away from me, and now he’s dead!” Kalmar buried his face in his hands, hiding from his shame. 

“So are you blaming the Maker?” Artham asked, worry growing in the pit of his stomach. 

“No,” Kal replied firmly. Artham glanced at him in surprise. “I’m blaming myself. I can’t blame the Maker for anything. Uncle Artham,” he sighed. His heart burned with what he knew to be the truth. He felt guilt and shame and pain, but there were other words. Words that he knew to be the truth that in one way made him angry and in another way comforted him. “When I look back on all that my family has been through, I can see where the Maker came through to help us. But do you know what I also see? I see where we all did things that got us into trouble! They weren’t things the Maker did, they were mistakes that we made.

“Look at Grandpa.” Kal smiled sadly when he thought of Podo. He would miss his one-legged grandfather. “He killed baby sea dragons when he was young and we all nearly died because of it! Mama and I were almost executed because I couldn’t keep control of the wolf inside of me, and Janner is dead because, once again, I sang that song and couldn’t be the sacrifice. So he was.” Kalmar’s voice broke. “The Maker is the only one of us who has never destroyed something or hurt someone. He is the perfect One. No one else is like Him. How can I blame Him for what I know is my fault?”

Artham sat in silence and looked at his nephew — his King — in awe. Kalmar spoke with words of wisdom that were well beyond his eleven years. Artham knew Kal spoke the truth, the hard, painful truth, in his words. They were words that could only have come from the Maker himself. 

Artham looked at his own life. He saw what he had done. He saw that he had failed his brother and paid the consequences. The consequences were not from the Maker and neither was his madness. No, they had come as a result of every wrong action he had followed through with. He had defied the Annieran blood that ran in his veins. Kalmar was right. Every one of them was responsible for what had happened. They didn’t have a right to blame the Maker. 

“What now?” Artham asked in a submissive voice. Kal had suffered as a Fang, and he had emerged as the Maker’s new creation. He spoke with the words of a King, and Artham longed to address him as one.

Kalmar bowed his head and breathed in and out slowly several times. Then he began. “Janner and I journeyed to Throg. We wanted to find Gnag in his castle and kill him. My mind was going crazy, and I wanted to do something worthwhile before I lost myself.

“That’s when we came across Clovenfast. We were traveling Oood, this really nice troll. Janner saved him from a bunch of fruit-thirsty ridgerunners.” Kal smiled at the memory. Oood smelled terrible, but he was a great friend. 

“When we were traveling through the Blackwood, a bunch of angry cloven attacked us. Oood fought them off, but they hurt him. He was dying. I didn't even know I'd done it, but I found the Water from the First Well and gave him some. The next morning, Oood was gone. We guessed some monster carried him away.

“It wasn’t until we joined the battle that Oood showed up, and told us about the Water. Janner gave some to the Sea Dragons, and not only did it heal their wounds — it repaired their wings that were bent and crooked.” Kalmar looked at Artham. “I believe the Maker can do marvelous things with that water. If He can restore what's been broken for centuries, surely He can bring Janner back. Can’t He?” Kalmar’s grieving eyes searched Artham’s for reassurance.

Then Artham saw the little boy again. He saw the precious, scared little boy who only wanted his brother standing by his side again. Artham put his arm around Kal’s shoulder. “Kalmar, the Maker can do amazing things. And if you know where the First Well is, then I certainly think we should try.”

Notes: hopefully everyone stayed in character :)