The Curse of Kalathan

Two: A Journey

Theo was mad. He stood with his brothers in front of his father and mother, his arms folded, trying to control the muscles in his face so he wouldn't betray his anger and frustration. Again, Father was going to make him waste his time on some stupid religious pursuit. There were a thousand things he would rather do than spend a week sitting on a horse. He would miss all the council meetings in the throne room just as they were getting interesting. He had only yesterday found another old scroll in the archives that he wanted to get stuck into translating, and he needed to keep up with his training if he wanted to beat Kaspar at the archery tournament again this year. Kaspar was nearly five years younger, still a boy really, but he was getting better every day. Theo wasn't ready to give up his title to his eighteen-year-old scrap of a brother; there was no way he was going to let that happen. The twins didn't care; they did all right in the games without training much, but all they really wanted to do was play their silly lutes and flutes and make up songs. If they were all going on this ridiculous pilgrimage there would be plenty of time for singing and all that along the way. But there was no library on the road to blasted Paristia. Just miles of road, acres of fields and farms and a few dirty inns.

"Father," he said, looking over at his mother, who had walked over to the window of the high-ceilinged parlour where the family had gathered. She gave him a sympathetic smile, pulling aside a heavy brocade drape to look out over the green courtyard. "Are you sure? I thought things were going better on the South Western border."

"No, no," said the king, shaking his head and rubbing his forehead. "They were, for a while, but not lately. We need the Spirit's help. We need to prove our devotion." Father always wore his crown over his turban unless he was in his private apartments, and Theo knew the heavy jewel-encrusted gold was uncomfortable. He had to wear one himself, when they went to worship at the temple, and he hated it. When I am king, he thought, I will not wear that crown every day. Or one of those hot old-fashioned turbans. And he certainly wouldn't waste precious time going on pilgrimages to appease spirits that he suspected didn't care much whether anyone visited them or not. But he felt guilty, instantly, for his disloyal thoughts. His father was the king, placed and held on the throne by God himself. Even if Theo thought this pilgrimage was unnecessary, that didn't mean he should doubt his father's authority and wisdom.

There was a rattling from the corner, a clanking of charms and a rustling of fabric as a figure rose from the chair she had been sitting on in the corner. Theo's heart sank. Shihazar. Wonderful. He should have realised. "It is God's will," said the woman in her raspy voice, her head covered as usual in that dreadful ratty hood, the bones and stones that hung from her patchy cape swaying as she stood. "The Spirit of Victory requires our devotion before he will help us to defend ourselves against our enemies."

"Why do we need to travel all the way to Paristia to show our devotion?" asked Kaspar. He looked around expectantly at his family and Shihazar, and Theo almost envied him his innocence. Kaspar always said what he thought and asked what he wanted. Theo had questions and opinions, more, he suspected, than Kaspar did, but he had learnt not to speak out too quickly. He had learnt to look for answers himself. If Kaspar was expecting a straight answer, he wasn't going to get one. Father was a good king – except for the recent trouble on the border, for the twenty years of his rule Kalathan had thrived. He was respected, if not always liked, and even his family were a little in awe of him, of the weight of the divine right he carried. But lately, when it came to religious matters, Theo felt that Father wasn't as wise as he could be. He listened to crazy old Shihazar too much, that was certain.

"It's because the shrine is there," said Jandrin, leaning back on the long couch where he and Jameth had stretched out, all long arms and legs, when Father had finished explaining what he wanted them to do. They were both in green silk today, dressed alike as they often were. Dandies, thought Theo, noticing their pointed boots, the mother-of-pearl buttons on their long tunics, the gold embroidery on the high collars. "The spirit lives there, doesn't it?"

"It is there," said Shihazar, her gravelly voice making Theo cringe, "that the Spirit is most accepting of our devotion and sacrifice." She turned to the King and bowed low, the charms on her cape almost touching the carpet. "To send all your sons to the shrine will be an act of devotion far exceeding anything you have done before, my Lord."

The king did not look at Shihazar. He stared out, over his sons' heads, towards the courtyard. "Yes," he said, quietly. "I have in the past shown my devotion in many ways. But never like this."

"All of us? Am I going too, Mother?" Maikal tugged on his mother's sleeve and she looked down at him, her hand stroking his fair head.

"You are," she said, as if she hated to say it. "If your father has his way, you are all going."

"When?" Bendegarth was excited, as Theo knew he would be. He was only twelve, barely out of the nursery, and had never been anywhere outside Kalathan city. "When do we leave? Can I watch the sacrifice?"

"Soon," said Father. "As soon as we can make the preparations. I will be sending a priest with you to conduct the sacrifice." The king looked over at his wife as he spoke, and Theo saw his mother meet his eyes, then look away again, her face expressionless. She's not happy about this either, he thought. No wonder, if all six of her sons, even Ben and Maikal, were going. But Father was her king too. No one, not even Mother, questioned his will, even about something like this.

The king held Theo back as Mother and his brothers left the room, Maikal and Ben whispering excitedly. "Theo," said the king, facing his son and placing his hands firmly on his shoulders. "Kalathan needs this. We are in more trouble than you know. I am counting on you."

Theo was confused. "More trouble? What do you mean, Father - on the border?"

The king sighed, releasing Theo and turning away, rubbing his forehead under the crown again. "Yes, on the border. But it is more than that. More than I need to explain now. But I am counting on you to make sure this pilgrimage is successful. We need God's favour, Theo. We need it desperately."

"I will ... make sure it is successful," said Theo, looking over to where Shihazar still stood, her face half-hidden by her cape. If this was so important, why wasn't she going herself? As he followed his father out of the room, he looked back at her. There was a smile on her wizened, old face, he was sure of it. She realised he was looking at her and changed her expression, bowing low again in what he was sure was mock respect. He was glad she wasn't going. He didn't trust the old witch at all. And he wondered, for the thousandth time, why his father didn't feel the same way.