A Tale of Crown and Country

Tavin

  Tavin awoke before the sun. He dragged himself out of bed with the reminder that if he didn't get moving he'd end up sleeping on the side of a road somewhere. Making as little noise as possible, he replaced the chairs he had slept on and folded the blankets, placing them neatly on the table. He smiled at his handiwork; it was the least he could for such a generous family.

He threw his much heavier satchel over his shoulder, it being filled with apples and bread and articles of the like from Mrs. Surstan who had been appalled at his lack of food. His canteen was full of fresh water, and the pouch on his belt clinked with the few coins he had left, plus the ones Mrs. Surstan had demanded he take.

Weltyn was calm in the morning. Citizens had begun to awaken, but the streets were still bare. The sun was peeking over the distant forest, and Tavin headed straight for the tree line. He expected the day to become exceedingly hot, and the shade of the trees would provide momentary relief at times, however meagre.

Tavin smiled as he stepped further and further from the small town. It was nice, but he was used to the city, any city. It also meant he was moving forwards, and after his revealing conversation with Edwein and Dialla he now had a clear purpose; and a clear purpose is one of the most inspiring things to a young quest-seeker.

The day trickled by as Tavin continued to place one foot in front of the other. At one point he tried counting his steps. He then realized he had no point of reference having forgotten where he had started counting and subsequently lost track. He found a nice walking stick, but he tripped over himself and the stick stuck into his hand. In a moment of fury he threw the stick as far as he could into the neighbouring woods. Several times a single horseman rode by, bypassing the young traveller and reminding him of the fatigue that came with walking all day; or a merchant's cart thundered along, quickening their pace to avoid being stopped for a ride. Not that Tavin would have necessarily asked for a lift to Quaelsi, but he would have liked if someone had given a thought to him.

Deciding if he stopped he'd have a terrible time resuming his journey, Tavin ate as he walked. He savoured one of the apples Mrs. Surstan had given him. When he had picked off every possible bite of the juicy flesh he tried his arm to see how far he could throw the core. He tore off a piece of bread and ate that too, first tearing off the crust, then rolling the soft bread into tiny balls which he popped into his mouth one at a time like candies.

After the sun had passed over its halfway mark Tavin's mind returned to the prophecy; specifically, the part he had yet to decode. He floated the words before his eyes and let his mind wander to the minimal information he had retained about Allriya and its king.

Although Tavin knew nothing of the regime King Crolimus of Allriya led, it having nothing to do with his situation as citizen of Reightneir, a country isolated by its high mountain range and cold climate, he knew the basics of the royal family and a little on the politics which he did not find very productive. In his own country, the people came directly to the leader; in Allriya, divisions of the country were led by members of the court, who collected taxes but not complaints. The people had little to no say in their country, a fact Tavin found slightly disturbing. How could people be content to live in such a place? He recalled a short lesson in school that had prompted him to do his own readings: Queen Liseita had died almost a decade ago, leaving the king with three children.

Tavin stopped in his tracks. Was that the key? Three children. The prophecy had mentioned three: If one becomes three, and three mature, then will the third destroy the life-giver. But for the second to assist the third, the first must not be given, he reminded himself. He hadn't given the prophecy much thought before leaving Revdellen, only that it concerned Allriya and was important enough for Grandfather to keep a secret. But something tickled the back of Tavin's mind now that he had truly begun to consider the meaning behind the words. Why write something so important in a way that was impossible to decipher, impossible to understand? The prophecy being so secretive, surely the few people who knew of it would understand its meaning. But Grandfather hadn't known, and he hadn't been lying. He also hadn't even tried to decipher it himself.

Allriya's father was King Crolimus. Three royal children. Three maturing, according to the prophecy. If he thought of the numbers as numbers of people, than three maturing could mean the age of maturation, which in Allriya–and Reightneir–was sixteen. Well, Tavin smiled to himself, he had figured out part of the first line. But part wasn't enough. He was stumped again. If one becomes three. He mulled it over. Children didn't split apart; you couldn't reasonably split a person–literally and, as far as Tavin knew, figuratively–in three. Moving on, he thought, sighing. This was making his head hurt, and he couldn't afford to finish off his water being still so far from his destination.

If one becomes three. No, that didn't make any sense. He moved on: the third destroy the life-giver. Now sure of his interpretation, Tavin knew what this meant: the third child would destroy the king, the life-giver of the children. It could have meant the queen, but she was already dead. No wonder someone would want to hide the prophecy, he realized, it told of one of the king's own children–presumably the youngest–destroying their father. It made sense in terms of the prophecy, but Tavin had a hard time believing it in practice: the third child was a girl of his own age named... he couldn't remember, but it was far less likely she was the one spoken of than her two older brothers.

A cart hurdled past him, spooking him from the trance of deciphering the prophecy. Tavin hadn't heard it approach he had been so enveloped by his own thoughts. Watching the cart continue down the road, spewing dust behind it, Tavin was reminded of how much further he had to go. His train of thought dissipated by the disruption, Tavin went back to counting his steps. He knew from the map and the height of the sun that he had a few hours longer till he reached Quaelsi. It was most likely he would arrive before dark, and then Tavin would have to seek out a place to stay overnight. Tavin conjured up images of a warm bed and some heavy food to fill his growling stomach, and he forced his feet to move faster. The faster he moved, the faster he'd reach the town.