Chapter Nine
In which a great deal of work is carried out…
Soryn awoke to the sound of the birds singing outside his tower window. He had chosen to remain in the tower instead of relocating to his father’s quarters. The blazing fire he made the night before had died down to embers, but the room was still warm. Yawning, he turned over and pulled the covers tighter around him. He knew that Jori would not be far off in bringing breakfast, but he wished he could sleep for hours. The previous day had been intense and he was not sure what he thought about the differences between his old life and the one that was about to begin.
He had almost drifted to sleep again, when he heard a muffled, throat clearing sound. Turning over, he saw the face of his manservant. Jori smiled, eyes twinkling. Soryn wondered if the manservant had suddenly gone mad.
“Jori?” the young noble inquired, “Are you quite alright?”
“Good morning, Lord Maslyn. You must dress quickly. Breakfast is waiting for you in the great hall,” Jori announced.
Lord Maslyn was astounded. “The great hall?”
“Of course; you are master of this castle not only in name, but in truth now. You must come and eat among your people. The steward is waiting for you,” Jori said as he helped Lord Maslyn out of bed to dress.
Soryn followed the manservant down the hallway in a daze. He was really going to see the rest of the castle. That knowledge made him both nervous and excited. As Jori turned the latch, and held the door open for his master to walk through, Soryn felt the surreal knowledge that he would be able to walk freely through the door at the end of it. Lord Maslyn took a deep breath as he gazed through the open door, seeing a curving hallway of stone lit by lanterns set in sconces. Warm air moved through the passage and he wondered if it warmed the entire castle. He was embarrassed that he did not remember the castle’s layout as best as he should, and he honestly had no idea where the great hall was. Heart beating madly, he took his first free steps into the castle in six years.
Jori went ahead of the boy after he had closed the door (without locking it this time) and led his master through the castle hallways. Soryn tried to keep count of all the rooms they passed, but he could not keep track. He was too intrigued by the paintings hanging on the walls. He saw many he did not recognize before they came to more familiar portraits. In one, his mother rested on a chair with her hair plaited down over her shoulder. She wore a pale lilac dress he remembered well. Her silvery white hair shone brightly in the light from an open window. A stabbing sadness welled in his heart while he gazed at her beauty and remembered her tender voice. Her red-brown eyes held mirth and joy as she looked emptily out from the canvas.
His father was the next painting. He stood stoically, also illumined by the window. Dark brown hair, very much like Soryn’s own in shape and texture, framed his handsome face. The artist had captured the kind but serious air that his father was remembered for. The boy hoped that he would be like him when he grew up. He hoped he would be a Maslyn that both his parents would be proud of.
Jori gave the Maslyn plenty of time to look at the images of his parents. Though the manservant passed those portraits every day, he knew that his master had not seen them in six years. He knew it must have been painful for Lord Maslyn. When Soryn finally peeled his eyes away from the images, Jori was ready and continued on. Just as they were nearing the end of the passage, the last portrait caught Soryn’s attention.
An image of three boys in formal attire haunted him. He had been five when the painting was completed, his brothers eleven. The memory was not hard to recall. Fenris had heckled the artist the entire time and Olan had tried to keep his brother from distracting the man. Soryn had said nothing—he never said anything much in front of his brothers. They were vastly different from him and, though he missed them, he had never really known them at all. He looked away from the picture and they moved on.
The castle was long, making up for in length what it lacked in width. Soryn noticed that the great hall branched off of the straight, central corridor. The boy looked up to see vaulted ceilings with bright lanterns hanging from beams at regular intervals. Enormous, clear-glass windows on each side of the hall let in rays of suns’ light and the young master found that he had left his mouth open in his awe. There was a long, rectangular table in the center of the room that had only one occupant. Soryn was surprised to see Father Kimbli sitting next to the empty throne-like chair at the end of the table.
Jori seated him next to the priest.
“Good morning, Lord Maslyn,” Father Kimbli said, smiling.
“Good morning, Father,” Soryn replied, surprised to see the old man.
“Sir, meet the new steward,” Jori announced.
Soryn was dumbfounded. He had no idea that Father Kimbli would have been allowed to hold such a title. The decision pleased him. Though he was often bored by the priest’s visits, Kimbli was a kind man and Soryn respected him.
“I’m very pleased with these arrangements, Father. Thank you, Jori,” Soryn said.
Jori bowed politely and walked away. After he left, Soryn could not even speak because two serving women came from a door towards the back of the room, near the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, holding great pewter trays of food. The boy’s eyes widened with delight and he was ecstatic to have such a grand breakfast with his ancient friend beside him. Father Kimbli said a humble blessing over the meal and the two of them eagerly ate.
“I had no idea it would be you, Father Kimbli. I’m glad you’re the new steward.”
“I’m very glad of that, my boy. I, myself, am petrified of the idea, but I suspected it would bring you happiness and help ease you into the life of the town’s Maslyn better than throwing you in with some stranger. I thought all of this freedom would be enough for you to handle, even without having to get used to some other person to work with.”
“It’s hard for me to believe that I’m free to go wherever I wish, mostly whenever I wish.” Soryn set his fork down as the enormity of that thought settled in his mind.
“Indeed. I am thrilled that I have lived to see this day.” Kimbli sighed, “I’m sorry that your confinement lasted so long. We wanted to keep you safe, but then Asmund decided to extend your stay in the tower. I’m very sorry we did not challenge his decision. Can you ever forgive us?”
“Of course, I forgive you. Although, I still don’t understand—what was it you were trying to protect me from?” Soryn wished all the adults in his life would come clean about the events of the fire.
“We will most definitely have that discussion, Lord Maslyn, but today is not the day. Today, we need to talk about your tutoring.”
“Oh yes,” Soryn muttered, “tutoring. If I’m to run a town, I suppose I should know how to be a Maslyn.”
“Even though Governor Frey resides in this city, he does not readily involve himself in the town’s affairs—that is your duty. You report to him just like all the other mayors in Oban,” Kimbli informed the boy.
“That makes sense,” he allowed.
Soryn felt the weight of his title as he contemplated all of the things he needed to learn in order to become the leader he needed to be. Suddenly, Soryn missed Arna and wished she could be with him while he was studying. He asked, “Who will my teachers be for tutoring?”
“Apparently, I will be your teacher. I will be responsible for several things while I work here,” Kimbli chuckled.
“You?” Soryn retorted, surprised.
“I studied politics and government before I went to seminary to become a priest,” Kimbli told him. “I suppose they thought I would remember enough from sixty years ago to be useful.” He hoped that Governor Frey and Fanndis had been right.
Soryn’s curiosity having been assuaged momentarily, they sat for a while, chewing their food. When they finished their meal, the two serving girls who had waited patiently for the dishes emerged from the perimeter of the hall and retrieved the plates and utensils. Soryn and Kimbli thank
ed them and left. It became apparent to Soryn that their lessons would take place in the previous Maslyn’s office. He was excited to be in a place where his father had spent much time.
It was a beautiful room full of ceiling-high shelves covered with books. There was a pine desk in the center, closest to the draped window that overlooked the castle gates and the village. Soryn saw that a smaller desk had been stationed near the great one, imagining that was where he would sit during lessons. He was surprised when Father Kimbli directed him to the larger desk, taking the smaller one for himself. Soryn saw that there were several books stacked there: Leading with Humility, New Kristiansand Politics and Economy: a Commentary, and Interpersonal Relationships in Business.
Soryn felt intimidated and grew uncomfortable. He had never had an interest in any of those subjects, but he knew that, if he was going to succeed, he would need to summon some quickly. Father Kimbli said that they should dive right in. Soryn picked up one of the books and began his first lesson on being a village leader. To say the least…he was a little overwhelmed. Father Kimbli assured the boy that he had what it took to be the new Maslyn. Soryn was glad of his friend’s confidence. He read the passages the priest outlined for him and took copious notes. By the time the morning was over, he was dying to see Arna. Father Kimbli laughed and waved him off. Soryn grabbed his coat and fled the castle for the woods.