Chapter 4 - The Raie’Chaelia
What is this book? Chalice’s thoughts raced. Every child has a story … And the freedom to choose … The Raie’Chaelia. There had to be a logical explanation. A coincidence maybe? She deliberated furiously as to what it could be. Finally, she asked: “Are you sure this is just a book of stories, Jeremiah?”
“Fairly sure. I mean, at least I was. What else could it be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just an odd coincidence.” Her eyes met his and they reflected the same thought back to her. It made her recall all those times they would arrive at the same thought at the same time. More often than not, she could discern what he was thinking without a word being spoken. The years had not erased this familiarity that kindled the silent communication between them.
He glanced back toward the book. “Hmm, sometimes I wonder if coincidences are really what they seem,” he said, scratching his chin. “You think this is talking about you, then?”
“Well, no. I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know. We don’t know who the author is or when it was written, right? So the only reasonable explanation I can think of is that this is either a mere coincidence or this last entry was written recently, that is, within the last eighteen years or so, sometime after I was born by someone who knows me …” She trailed off when she saw Jeremiah shaking his head.
“No, Chalice, that’s not possible,” he said and she knew that he was right. He had an authority in his voice when he was sure of something. He gestured toward the Delphaline. “This book has been in my family since before I was born and it has never been edited. And I know that it’s the work of one author who lived a long time ago. That’s what my mother told me. She never said who authored it, though. That’s all I know about it.”
She pulled away from his stare, straightened, and peered into the flames, thinking. “Okay, this is passing strange.” After pausing for a moment, she said: “Maybe it’s a namesake.”
“A namesake that just happens to have your birthmark in it? I don’t think so. Here, what does the passage say?” he asked and bent low to get a closer glimpse of the writing.
Chalice studied the page again and read the passage silently for a few moments. Then, she said: “The New Millennium translation is here, right next to the old one. It’s very good actually. It appears to have the same meaning and rhythm as the verse in Angaulic.” She read the verse aloud for him:
Raie’Chaelia
A fateful spirit’s time shall come,
To be embodied as Fire’s Bane.
Born of the blood by just one half,
Hidden from forces that reign.
A secret life and an open heart,
Travels west from an ancient chain.
Unveils the stones of knowledge lost,
And returns Shae’Ielian to Quaine.
She who is first, finishes last,
For her life and death remain,
The legend of the Raie’Chaelia,
Beneath the fallen rain.
Chalicia Maefeline Raie’Chaelia D’Ielieria
“Let me see that book, Chalice,” he demanded, holding out his hand. She gave it to him and he studied it intently. “What is Shae’Ielian?”
“That means the Rightful King. Why? What do you think the verse is talking about?”
With a grave expression, he said: “I think that this is beyond coincidence and if I’m right, it means that you and I are in a lot of danger. It’s a good thing we are leaving. I don’t think the King found the thing he was looking for. In fact, I don’t think it’s a thing at all. I think it’s a person, and I think that person is you.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she retorted, still determined to ignore what lay in the back of her mind.
“Yeah, but Chalice, it says here, ‘Fire’s Bane’.”
“So?”
“So, what do you know about the King?”
“Well … not much actually,” she admitted.
“The King’s men call him the Fierain, which means the Fire, but his full name is Lucce’Fierain Dar’Maalda.
“The Firelight of Maalda?” Chalice asked, recognizing the words in Angaulic.
“Yes. This passage is saying that this spirit, born of the blood, will become Fire’s Bane and return the Rightful King. And it describes a secret life and an open heart. That fits you. You have lived a sheltered life. You’ve even complained about it yourself.” She scowled at him. “Well, you have and if this story is somehow telling the future and if he knows about it, it would make sense that he’d be looking for you. If it’s true, then everything falls into place — everyone’s disappearance, the silence of your grandparents about your family, the attack on Canton and your grandfather’s instructions.” He paused and then glanced back down at the book. “Could this book be what my father had to give you, I wonder?”
She couldn’t believe it. This is just a story. It isn’t real.
“It can’t be!” she protested stubbornly. “My grandparents aren’t related to the royal family. They are Naeon, not Terravailian. I have no royal blood in me. I’m sure of it.”
“But you don’t know anything about the rest of your family, do you?” He turned to look into the fire. “Although, it is true that when the last King disappeared, all of his children were captured and imprisoned. I think they still are. So, yeah, that part doesn’t make sense … unless it’s referring to Davinthore …” He paused in thought and then turned to her questioningly. “Do you know anything about the disappearance of the last King? Do you know why so many in the Realm call Dar’Maalda the Naie’Ielian?”
“The False King?” she asked and he nodded. “I’ve heard people whisper it under their breath, but no, I don’t know the story. Papa didn’t allow us to talk about it. He said it was because he didn’t want to draw negative attention to our family’s business.”
“I wonder,” he said, setting the book on the drink table and making his way back to the kitchen. “You want some hot cider? I have some ready.”
“Yeah, thanks!”
After a moment, he returned with two thick, steaming mugs. Placing hers next to the book and taking a seat in the other chair, he stretched out his feet and took a sip.
“Alright, I’ll tell you what I know. Keep in mind, this is not from my own memory, but my father’s. I was around two years old at the time. According to Father, the Realm hasn’t always been the dark and fearful place that it is today. It rightfully belongs to the Ielierian, or the Royal Family, which is an unbroken family line that is old, almost ancient. Before Dar’Maalda seized power, the Realm existed in peace and harmony, or at least as close to it as anyone could get. The reason being that we lived under the rule of a good and just king. His name was Duquainois Bronaan D’Ielieria, or more commonly known as King Duquaine.”
He paused for another sip and then continued: “Anyhow, it was around nineteen years ago that he suddenly disappeared and Dar’Maalda emerged as the new king. He isn’t the Rightful King, though. If Duquaine had died, the throne would have passed to his younger brother, Davinthore, the next in line of the Ielierian, but it didn’t. A great battle was fought, but Dar’Maalda and his army were too strong. They had a more powerful leader, better weapons, and were more skilled in the art of warfare. The Royal Legions, well, those still loyal to the Royal Family anyway, were crushed. The survivors retreated and haven’t been seen since.” Jeremiah rose to stoke the fire. “No one knows where they went, just as no one knows what happened to Duquaine. Some think he is still alive. Father told me that they are still searching for him in secret, though, because Duquaine is the only one who is strong enough to challenge Dar’Maalda, or so the story goes.”
Chalice blew onto the hot, steaming mug of cider. “But why would they think he was alive? It seems to me that Dar’Maalda would have killed him if he was the only one strong enough to be a threat.”
Placing the
iron stoker back onto its hook, Jeremiah retook his seat. “You’re right, but I don’t think he could. I think those close to the Royal Family had to swear a Terravailian oath of some kind. I don’t know the details about the oaths, but I’m fairly certain they protected them. However, Duquaine could have died from something else, though, like an accident or an illness or something. That’s always possible and given that it’s been nineteen years and he hasn’t been seen, it seems likely.”
“What happened to Davinthore?”
“He lost the battle, but was allowed to live on as Duque of Avielia. And that doesn’t make sense because usually no one in the Royal Family would live with that kind of humiliation. They are trained from birth to choose death over defeat. Many say that Davinthore isn’t very strong. I think that’s an understatement. Father said that he was surprised to learn that he was such a coward, too, given that Sir Darren perished along with his soldiers in the battle.”
“Sir Darren?”
“Sir Theodore Darren, the Terravailian Battle Lord of the Royal Legions. He was a great battle leader, but unfortunately the final commands were given by Davinthore, who foolishly overthrew many of Darren’s decisions. So, Sir Darren died on the battlefield because of Davinthore’s mistakes. That’s why we call it the Darrenfell Moor, because that’s where Darren fell. You see?”
“Oh … yeah. The moor. That’s right.” She thought the name sounded familiar. She remembered how she had passed south of the moor on her way to Branbury. Suddenly, something else occurred to her. “Well, alright, if Davinthore is still alive and living in Avielia, then this passage here can’t be referring to him.”
“Why not?”
“Because, silly, you have to disappear first before you can be returned again. It says here: returns Shae’Ielian to Quaine. That translates to: returns the Rightful King to the gate. Whatever that means.”
Jeremiah scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That’s right. Then it can’t be him.” He sighed. “I don’t know who it’s talking about then. I don’t know what returning to the gate means either.” He peered into his cup, rubbing his temple in dismay.
A few moments passed, then Chalice asked: “You said something about the Royal Legions being divided during the battle. Why? What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I think it had something to do with Duquaine, but that doesn’t seem right. From what I gather, he was generally revered by everyone. It seems more likely because of the incompetence of Davinthore.”
“And Duquaine’s children were captured and imprisoned after the battle?”
Jeremiah nodded and took another draw from his cup. “Yeah, before the battle, actually, and he couldn’t have had another child because the Queen died. So the verse in this book doesn’t make sense.”
“How did she die?”
“Good question. I don’t know the answer to that either. There’s quite a bit I don’t know. I have a lot to ask my father when we see him.” Suddenly, he slapped his forehead. “What am I saying? You have a lot to ask my father when we see him. I’m sure he’ll have the answers to all of this.”
She smiled at him warmly. “You seem so sure that we’ll succeed in finding them. Sometimes I wish I had your optimism.”
He shook his head. “Not seem. I am sure.”
“Well, I believe you, then,” she responded. “You know, I’m wondering, how does your father know so much about the Royal Family? It’s a bit odd for a Naeoman living so far away from the capital.”
“Like I said, he knows a lot about a lot. I don’t know how he gets his information, but I do know that it is correct. Rumors can twist original stories into fictional accounts, but my father always seems to have the facts about things.”
“How do you know?”
Jeremiah shrugged. “He just does,” he said as he got up from the chair and placed his mug on the table. “I’m going to pack our things for tomorrow. We have an early start and an uncertain journey ahead, so it’s probably a good idea to get some rest tonight.” He motioned back toward the study. “If you want to take a bath—”
“I know where the washroom is,” she interrupted. “I’ll find my way.” Placing her mug next to his, she slowly rose from her chair and stretched. The thought of a warm bath after her hard journey appeased her. She could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen as she made her way toward the study. She assumed he was getting water for the tub.
When she pushed open the door to the washroom, she found everything she needed. A wide, porcelain tub sat to the left of the door and two soft wash towels hung on a silver rack next to the mirror to her right behind a bench that supported a large porcelain wash bin. The opposite wall opened to a small passageway that led to a sort of indoor privy.
Odd, she thought.
She stepped in and shut the door behind her. A chill ran up her legs as her bare feet met the coolness of the marble floor. She unbuttoned her riding dress and peeled it off. Draping it over the clothes stand in the corner next to the towel rack, she turned and discovered the same type of spouts above the tub as above the metal wash bins that she had seen in the kitchen. She had a guess as to what they were, but decided to ask Jeremiah anyway.
She suddenly realized how unclothed she felt standing there in her short, blue silk shift. Goose bumps decorated her arms as she shivered. It was colder at this end of the house. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her dark, copper-colored birthmark caught her eye and she turned her right shoulder toward the mirror as she stroked her thumb across it. What is it? she wondered. What does this mark mean? Does it have a meaning? Telling herself not to think about it, she turned and opened the door to call for Jeremiah.
“Jer—” As soon as she looked up, she found that he was right there in front of her. “Oh, there you are. I—” She cut off as his face turned a bright crimson color. There was a long, heavy pause.
“I … I thought you would need help with the tub,” he said awkwardly and glanced around the washroom behind her. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.” He darted up the staircase and returned with a long, woolen robe. “Here, this is my mother’s. It should keep you warm.”
“Thanks!” she said happily as she slipped it on. “Yeah, I was just about to call you for help. What are these things for?” She motioned toward the spouts above the tub.
“The left is for hot water and the other is for cold.”
“You mean this is how you fill the tub? I thought so.”
“Yeah, here, I’ll show you.” He turned the handle of the left spout and she felt the water. It was hot to her touch. She pulled her hand back quickly and gaped. Then, she turned the other handle and a strong flow of cool water poured out into the tub.
“You also need to place this in the drain,” he said as he grabbed a marble stopper and plugged the hole on the bottom.
“That’s incredible. How does it work? Where does the water go when you’re done?”
“I’m not sure about the details, but I know that my father built a system that can harness the force of the current from the river to make things work around the farm. My mother is the one who shaped the pipes that channel the river water to and from the house. Acqualin is what they call it. Before the water reaches the house, it is filtered and purified. After it drains out of the tub, it goes back into the river. It’s really ingenious. Someday my father will teach me.”
“So, it’s cleaner water?” she asked and he nodded. “You know, I will have to refill my water skin.”
“I’ll do it when I get back into the kitchen. I have a couple more things to finish in there.”
“Thanks, Jeremiah.”
“Don’t mention it. Here is the soap for washing and the soda water for your teeth.” He motioned toward the bench in front of the mirror. “I should have everything packed for tomorrow by the time you’re done in the washroom. You can use my parents’ room tonight. It’s the first one on th
e left when you get to the top of the stairs.”
“Okay, good night.”
“Good night,” he said softly and shut the washroom door behind him.
As soon as the tub was full and steaming hot, Chalice turned off the flows of both spouts, undressed, and eased herself into the relaxing warmth of the water. She could feel all her bodily soreness and tightness that the last few days had imposed upon her wash away with the heat.
She wished she could stay in the house for more than just one night, but Jeremiah was right. They were probably in danger, and in any case, they needed to find the others. They had a perilous road ahead of them. She would need to pluck up her courage once again for the days ahead. She was beginning to tire of the road, but for the moment, all she wanted to do was put it out of her mind, relax, and think of home.
When she was finished washing, she threw on her slip and robe, grabbed her riding dress, and found her way to the bedroom. The bed was soft and warm. She got in, curled up and before she knew it, found herself once again in front of the white marble stairwell.