Whispers of a Dream: The Binding Saga, #3

By Sandy Frediani

As a young prince, Thurin is surrounded by secrets. When he becomes King that doesn't change.

The moments and mysteries in his life are woven together in the unseen tapestry of a forgotten prophecy, each thread connecting it all. As much at home in the camp of the Forest People as he is in the City palace, Thurin longs to unite the two societies and is compelled to unravel the secrets surrounding him. Perhaps the most elusive answer he seeks though is how to impart the importance of his quest to his heir. His own son may prove to be his greatest obstacle to what he hopes to achieve.

A fragile trust with the Forest People has been built over the generations by Thurin's father and grandfather. If Thurin and his son, Ruul, don't fulfill their parts in the legacy given to them that trust may be lost. Perhaps forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy Frediani
• Release date: Oct 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386503743

Book preview

Dedication

Dedicated to two of my best friends.  Gone, but never forgotten.

Acknowledgements

So many people have helped in the long journey to bring this story to life.  There’s no way to remember each and every one, although they all contributed.  My thanks to Cait, who sometimes beta read parts and sometimes helped edit parts.  Many thanks to Sharon Crosby who helped with one of the more difficult parts – writing a blurb that makes some sort of sense.  Last, but not least, hats off to Mariah Sinclair, who’s able to take my awkward cover ideas and come up with something absolutely awesome.

Chapter 1

Disclosures

EIGHT YEAR OLD THURIN stood in front of the big desk and stared at his shoes.  He put his hands behind his back to keep the offending appendages out of sight.  A lock of his dark brown hair fell over his eyes when he glanced at the stern visage of the man on the other side of the desk.  He returned his gaze to the marble floor beneath his feet as an uneasy silence filled the room.

Thurin, said Tov.

Yes, sir, Thurin mumbled to his feet.

Tov leaned back in his chair and observed the frightened little boy.  He looked up as Kamar bustled into the room.

Your Highness, she said, I'm so sorry.  I'll....

Tov raised his hand, interrupting her.  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk.

How is Shay? Tov asked quietly.

He's... he's resting in his chambers, Your Highness, replied Kamar.  He's recovering.

Tov inclined his head and briefly closed his eyes in relief.  Shay's fragile health was a constant source of concern.  With Shay resting, he was free to speak with the boy.

Thurin and I are having a man-to-man discussion, he said quietly meeting her frightened gaze.

Yes, Your Highness, of course, she said fearfully, her gaze flying between the King and her son.

Close the door behind you please, Tov said, dismissing her.  He watched her leave, pulling the door shut behind her.  Damn he hated this.  It'd been almost three years since she and Thurin had moved into the palace and they were both still terrified.  He leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand down his face, then pushed back his hair.  He understood Kamar's insecurities, but he'd gone out of his way to welcome both her and the boy.  His gaze fell on Thurin, who was still looking at the floor.  Shay's son.  Shay's only child.  He shook the thought away.  It was time to deal with the young man's... misdeeds.  He wasn't angry, but the boy needed to know it wasn't acceptable.

Thurin, Tov said quietly, look at me please.

Thurin faced the King, his chin quivering.  He was in trouble.  He knew it.  He shouldn't have done it... whatever it was.  He waited for whatever punishment the King would hand out.  Maybe the King would send him and his mother away or maybe just him.  His mother was wed to the Prince, but he was only adopted.  If anyone was sent away, it would be him.

Tov lifted the top sheet from a stack of papers and swallowed a smile.  One side was the neatly written summary of a treaty with a neighboring kingdom.  He turned it over and looked at a child's drawing.  He looked at his grandson again and set the paper down.

Come here, he said to the frightened boy.

Head still downcast, Thurin shuffled around the desk and stood beside the King's chair, fighting hard to hold back his tears.  Tov pushed his chair back and pulled the boy closer.  Lifting him up, he sat Thurin on his leg.  The boy looked up, his bright green eyes widening in fear.

Are you afraid? Tov asked gently.

The little boy nodded.

Why are you afraid?

I'm sorry, Thurin mumbled and hung his head.

That's not what I asked, Tov said as his arm tightened around the boy and a small smile slipped out.  Why are you frightened?

Please don't send me away, Thurin blurted out as he raised his head and looked at the King.  Tears slipped down his cheeks.  I'll be good.

Now we get to the core of the matter, Tov thought.  No wonder the boy was afraid if he thought he might be torn from his mother and sent away.  He could no more send Thurin away than cut off his own arm.  In fact, cutting off his arm would be preferable.

Why would I send you away? he asked gently.

Because I was bad, Thurin replied, wiping his face with his hands.

What did you do that was bad enough for me to send you away? inquired Tov.

I don't know, said Thurin.  He sniffled trying to stop his runny nose, then gave up and rubbed it with his hand.

I'm not going to send you away, said Tov pulling the boy close and fighting to hold onto his own emotions.  I will never send you away.  Not ever.  He hugged his grandson tight and whispered, Never.  His heart soared when Thurin laid his head against his shoulder.  He prayed the boy believed him.  There was still the matter of drawing on important papers to discuss.  Opening a drawer of his desk, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Thurin's face, then held it so he could blow his nose.  He chuckled at the loud honk.  Setting the cloth aside, he picked up the paper and held it so they could both see the drawing.

What's this? Tov asked gently, trying not to frighten the boy any more than he already had.

Thurin looked at the drawing and sagged.  He hung his head and mumbled, I'm sorry.

Tov shook his head and chuckled, That's not what I asked.  What did you draw?  These look like people, but I'm not sure.

Tov listened quietly while Thurin described his drawing.  The lad was really quite good, especially for eight years old.  However, drawing on the back of treaties wasn't acceptable.  He turned the paper over, showing the neat lettering of his scribe.

Why did you draw on this? he asked.

Mother gave me some paper, but I ran out, Thurin replied hesitantly.

So you came here looking for more paper and saw this, Tov held up the paper.

Thurin nodded and said, The other side wasn't writed on.

You're not to draw on papers which already have writing on them, said Tov, looking down at the little boy in his lap.

Yes, sir, replied Thurin, looking down.

Grandfather, responded Tov, I want you to call me Grandfather.

Yes, sir... Grandfather, Thurin said, looking up hopefully.

Good, said Tov, smiling.  He knew it would take time before the lad felt comfortable, but he was his grandfather and wanted to be called that.  It gave him hope he thought he'd lost.  Now, we have this matter of not enough paper to settle.

He set Thurin on his feet and stood.  Taking the little boy's hand, they left the office and walked through the hallways.  Tov had given much thought to a solution long before calling Thurin into his office.  He chuckled softly, recalling the day he saw the boy drawing on one of the walls and a few days later a servant showed him drawings on the ballroom floor.  He glanced down at his grandson and smiled.  The boy liked to draw with a single-minded passion.  He hoped his solution made the boy happy.  Taking a deep breath, he knew he'd do anything for his grandson.  Fortunately, they arrived at their destination before Tov could pull the boy into a crushing hug.  Instead they stopped before a closed door.

Tov pushed the door open.  As it swung wide, they stepped inside the room.  He'd consulted with many designers and builders before choosing this room and having it altered.  Along one wall was a large bank of windows, letting in the type of light most desired by artists.  Cabinets for storage lined another wall.  In the center of the room were an artist's table and chair.  They were appropriate for Thurin now and would be replaced as he grew.  He glanced at his grandson and grinned.  Thurin's eyes were big as dinner plates and the expression on his face was priceless.  He gave Thurin's hand a small squeeze and led him to one of the cabinets.  Opening a drawer, he pulled out a stack of blank paper.  Handing it to the boy, he closed the drawer and opened another, picking up several pencils.  Steering his grandson to the table, he set the pencils down and lifted the boy into the chair.  He stepped back and smiled, waiting for the boy's reaction.

Thurin couldn't think.  He’d been sure he was going to be punished for drawing on the back of the paper in the King's... Grandfather's office.  Instead he’d been asked about the drawing and then brought... here.  He raised his face to look at his grandfather, uncertainty in his eyes.

Tov crouched and asked, This is a better place to draw, don't you think?  No more drawing on walls, floors, he grinned, or 'writed on' papers in my office.

This is for me? Thurin asked, awestruck.

This is for you, replied Tov quietly.  Your very own drawing room with an endless supply of paper and pencils.

Thurin's eyes welled with tears.  He dropped the paper on the table and launched himself at his grandfather.

Tov wrapped his arms around his grandson and held on tight, fighting back his own tears.  He prayed this would end any more thoughts of being sent away.  The love he felt for his grandson nearly overwhelmed him.

THURIN WALKED THE HALLWAYS to his grandfather's office.  Grandfather had asked him to arrive an hour after the evening meal.  They’d been working on a trade agreement earlier in the day.  Perhaps there was some point Grandfather wanted to clarify.  He stepped in the open doorway and rapped lightly on the door.

Close the door, Tov requested when he saw his grandson.  He pushed his paperwork aside, sat back in his chair and smiled.  The exuberant little boy had grown into a handsome young man, the very image of his father but for his darker hair.  He sighed and motioned Thurin into the chair before the desk.  If Shay had lived, he'd be the one doing this, but Shay died five years ago and now it was up to him to speak with Thurin about the Forest People and the Binding Ceremony.  He remembered talking with Shay the night before taking him to the Forest.  It hadn’t been easy then and it wouldn't be any easier now.

Thurin sank into the chair and waited.  Seeing the papers pushed aside, he knew it wasn't the trade agreement.  He wondered at his Grandfather's pensive look.  Whatever it was must be more important than the trade agreement.  He met his grandfather's gaze and waited.

Tov rubbed his hand over his face, then through his hair.  He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.  He looked up and saw his grandson grinning at his nervousness.  He returned the smile although it didn't help.  Inhaling deeply, he blew it out and let his smile fade.

What I'm about to tell you, said Tov gravely, does not leave this room.  Is that understood?

Yes, Grandfather, Thurin replied.

I'd like you to listen carefully, Tov said.  You may ask questions after I'm finished.  We'll discuss any concerns at that time.

Thurin nodded, curiosity flaring to life and he leaned forward.

A long time ago a man from the City assaulted two women of the Forest People, stated Tov.  He saw Thurin's mouth open to ask a question and held up a hand.  Later.

Thurin closed his mouth.  The Forest People?  There was mention of them in his lessons, but his tutors had assured him they were only legends.

The man was captured and taken to their camp for punishment, said Tov.  He was to be castrated for his crime, but the Dhe'an, the holy woman, stopped the punishment.  She’d spoken with the gods.  Instead of castration, the man's seed would be used to bring life to a dying people.  He was the first to participate in the Binding Ceremony.  Tov stopped and poured water into a goblet and sipped before continuing.

The Binding Ceremony takes place in the summer of the nineteenth year of the heir to the throne, Tov said.  It consists of four nights, the first of which is the Night at the Place of Stones.  When first brought to the camp, the Chosen is stripped and examined by the Dhe'an to determine suitability for the Ceremony.  Next is preparation, then going to the river for a ritual bathing.  Tov stopped and blew out a deep breath.  He was glad he’d insisted questions wait until later otherwise he might not make it through.  Then the Chosen is taken to the Dhe'an's tent and given the masa'a.  The masa'a is a drink which will knock you cockeyed, but it prepares you... the Chosen for his night with the goddess.  Tov sipped his water again.

Thurin listened intently as his grandfather spoke.  It dawned on him that his grandfather sounded like he was speaking from experience, but how could that be?  He was drawn from his thoughts by his grandfather's voice.

The second night is the Night of Receiving, Tov continued, when the Chosen receives the seed of the men, holding it safe.  He stared at his grandson to emphasize his next point.  This night, of the four, is symbolic rather than literal.

Thurin's mind reeled.  The Chosen received the seed of the men... if the Chosen was male, then that meant....  Surely he couldn't mean....  His eyes widened and he inhaled deeply.  He pulled his attention away from that thought and returned it to his grandfather.

The third night is the Night of Giving, continued Tov, when the Chosen returns the seed to the women of the camp, giving it his vitality.  The fourth night is the Night of Sharing when whoever chooses, man or woman, will come to the Chosen.  The next morning, the Chosen is fed, bathed and sent home.  Silence fell over the room for a few moments as he met and held his grandson’s gaze.  This ceremony, the Binding Ceremony, forever binds the City and Forest together until such time the gods decide it's no longer necessary.  Tov blew out a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, waiting for the questions he knew would come after his next statement.

Thurin leaned back in his chair still trying to grasp everything.  His mind was so busy he almost missed his grandfather's final words.

This is the summer of your nineteenth year, said Tov, and time for you to participate in the Binding Ceremony.

Stunned, Thurin stared at his grandfather, wondering if he’d misheard or it was some kind of joke.  All his thoughts came to a grinding halt when he saw his grandfather's expression.  This was no joke.

My..., he stammered, ...time.

Tov nodded.

Father?  Thurin asked hesitantly.

Yes.

You?  Thurin stared at his grandfather.

Yes, Tov replied.

Your... father?

My mother, Tov responded with a smile.  My father was one of the Forest People.  His voice saddened when he added, That's where I met your grandmother.

Thurin fell back in his chair, stunned.  His thoughts whirled as he sought to absorb his grandfather's revelations.

Why tell me this now? he asked.

Tov pulled out a folded paper and slid it to the center of his desktop.  Carefully, he opened it to reveal the single oak leaf inside.  He looked up at his grandson and said, The summons came today.

Cloistered in Tov's office, they spoke well into the night about the Forest People and the Ceremony.  Tov answered Thurin's questions in detail wanting his grandson well prepared and aware of the secrecy demanded.  When all Thurin's questions were answered and both men yawned after the long hours, Tov stood.

It's late, he said weary.  We should go to bed.

When do we leave? asked Thurin as he rose stiffly from his chair.

First light, Tov replied, looking at his grandson.  Unless you need more time?

Thurin said, I'll meet you in the stable yard.

TOV WATCHED BRYY AND Thurin vanish into the deep shadows of the Forest trees.  He sighed deeply and memories crowded his thoughts.  This was the same field in which he'd first seen Bryy’s father, his half-brother.  When his own Visit was finished, he’d been met here by his mother.  A corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile as he recalled how upset she’d been with him for sneaking off to the Forest on his own and her surprise when Shayra had returned with him.  The smile faded as memories of his dead wife flooded his mind.  He looked to the Forest one more time, then gathered the reins of Thurin's horse, mounted his own and turned toward the City.  He still needed to speak with Kamar.  In five days, he'd return for his grandson.

THURIN SILENTLY FOLLOWED his guide into the Forest.  His grandfather obviously knew the man, although he wasn't introduced.  He recalled there would be no names until the Ceremony was completed.  The only one to speak would be the Dhe'an, the holy woman.  He was so deep in his thoughts that he bumped into his guide when the man stopped.  His guide held a wide strip of leather in his hand... the blindfold.  Thurin stood still as his eyes were covered.  The saddlebags were lifted from his shoulder, his hand grasped in a firm grip and the journey continued.

Thurin followed blindly as he was led in a convoluted, twisting trail.  He knew why.  No one knew the location of the camp of the Forest People.  Leading him blind and in circles assured he'd have no idea where they were going.  He might have been afraid, but Grandfather trusted them and he'd trust them also.  Grandfather had impressed upon him the importance of this Ceremony.  When they finally stopped and he felt the warmth of sunlight on his face, he knew they’d arrived.  Blindfold removed, he looked at the man who stood before him, a man who could be his grandfather's twin if it weren't for the age difference.  Pushing his nerves aside, Thurin picked up his saddlebags and walked toward the large oak tree in the middle of the clearing.  Whatever happened he’d face it with dignity.

THE MORNING OF THE fifth day, Thurin sluggishly pushed himself up from the grass and yawned.  The Ceremony was over and he was free to speak.  He scrubbed his face with his hands and wondered how much time there was before he left to go home.  He smiled when he saw his guide approaching.  Gratefully accepting the bowl of hot food, he dug into the nutritious meal.  When finished, he looked up and smiled.

Leave the bowl here, said his guide and then held out a light blanket.  You might want this.

Thurin took the blanket, then the man's arm when it was held out.

I'm Bryy, said Bryy, tugging Thurin to his feet when his arm was grasped.  Shall we go to the river?

Thank you, Thurin said wrapping the blanket around his body.

When they arrived at the river he saw his clothing neatly folded and set nearby.  The cool water of the river was refreshing, but he was glad to pull on his clothes.

Bryy, would it be acceptable for me to make some sketches of the people and the camp? Thurin asked as they walked back to the camp.  Is there enough time before I leave?

Bryy thought a moment and replied, Let me ask my father and the Dhe'an.

Thurin walked to the tent where his saddlebags lay and waited.  When he’d packed the bags, he’d included his sketching material.  Gazing over the camp, he knew what he wanted to draw.  He watched Bryy speak with a wizened old man sitting in the shade, the Dhe'an nearby.  After a few minutes, Bryy returned.

They both approve and give their blessing, Bryy said with a smile.  Wander the camp at your leisure.  If you have questions, ask.  It'll be a few hours yet before you leave.

Thank you, Thurin said enthusiastically.  Pulling paper and pencil from the saddlebag, he slowly wandered the camp, stopping to make rough sketches along the way.  When he had enough, he walked to the lone oak in the center of the clearing, sat down in its shade and concentrated on his drawing.

Bryy waited a bit before walking over to sit down next to Thurin.  He watched the young man work at his sketches, amazed at the life shown in the simple lines of a pencil upon paper.  He spied a folder, lying in the grass near Thurin’s foot.

May I? he asked.

Thurin glanced up and nodded before returning to his work.  Bryy opened the folder and looked through the sketches.  One after another, they showed the people and moments of daily life in the City and palace.  He grinned at one showing a couple kissing, their passion obvious.  He pulled two sketches from the folder and set it on the ground.  Holding a drawing in each hand, he compared them.  One was of Shay a year before his death, the other a month or so before according to the dates on them.  He was astounded by the difference.  The first was the Shay he knew, older, but the same.  The other was still recognizable, but exceedingly old.

Tell me of your father’s death, Bryy’s voice was hushed.

Thurin looked up from his work.  About six months before he died, he said, he had an episode, fell down some steps and broke his leg.

I thought he stayed downstairs, Bryy interrupted.

He did, Thurin replied.  Grandfather made sure he stayed away from the stairs.  These were two little steps which led to the Mountain Garden.  Two little steps.  Frustration was clear in the young man’s voice.  Several hours passed before anyone noticed him missing.  The episode was over, but he was still unconscious when he was found.  His leg was splinted and everyone thought he’d be fine.  He stared at the pencil in his hand.  He had another seizure about two months later which left him paralyzed on one side.  After that, he kept getting weaker and weaker.  Mother and Grandfather cared for him, but he seemed to fade.  One morning, he was gone.

You think he lost the will to live?

Thurin shrugged a shoulder.

Bryy leaned back against the trunk of the tree and felt its strength.  He sighed deeply.

Thurin, your father was the strongest man I have ever known.  He had the strongest will to live I've ever seen.  He wouldn’t have lost that.  He looked at the young man seated beside him.  Tell me what you know of Shay’s life before he wed your mother.

What does that have to do with....? Thurin stopped seeing Bryy’s expression.  He was held captive for a couple years until he regained his freedom.  He was sick part of that time and that’s why he was so weak afterward.

Bryy shook his head in dismay.  Shay ran away after a disagreement with your grandfather.  He was captured and sold into slavery to one of the most depraved men who ever lived.  He was starved, beaten, raped and still his spirit was so strong Marag had to resort to narcotics, but he never, ever, broke that spirit, that will to live.  He looked intently at the young man.  What he suffered would kill most men.  I’m sure you learned of various narcotics in your studies.  Tell me what you know about the one called Night Drops?

Night Drops?  It’s one of the worst, Thurin replied, wondering where this was leading.  I think there’s only one or two which are stronger, but they’re very rare.  It’s taken by the drop, mixed in a liquid and drunk.  The usual dose is one or two drops to a goblet, any more than six drops results in a hideous death.  It’s almost impossible to break the addiction.  The stronger the dose and the longer it’s taken, the more difficult.  He stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts.  The dose must be taken at the same time each day as withdrawal symptoms begin within an hour of the missed time.  Symptoms of withdrawal are severe pain increasing over time, tremors which become convulsions, lack of body control..., Thurin’s voice faded.  He turned to Bryy in disbelief.  Is that what... was that what... my father...?

Bryy nodded.  He was receiving six drops a day for more than a year when he escaped. He wasn't rescued.  He killed two men for his freedom, then swam from the ship where he was kept, through freezing water to a nearby shore.  He was ill, injured and in full withdrawal when he was found.  Soon after, my father brought him here to the camp.  He sighed and then continued.  Few thought he’d survive a week, but his strength, his will to live, was such that he did.  He fought his way back from the brink of death.  His recovery was long and hard.  We became friends, more than friends actually, during that time.

Bryy shifted the papers back into the folder and handed it to Thurin.  Pushing himself up from the ground, he said, Now you’d best finish your drawing.  We leave soon.