BOOK III: A ROYAL SON AVENGES HIS MOTHER QUEEN LEAH

Aunt Nisci and Uncle Yurok raised Amorian well and true to his mother and her people.  On his eighteenth birthday they returned in the same itinerant’s wagon to the valley of the gods and camped near the site of Leah’s Spa. 

Amorian was a sturdy young man and he hiked the whole valley in his eighteenth summer and found the treasure trove that his mother left to him.  Not just the gold but the truth of his heritage.  He had her diary from the day he was conceived until the day she was forced by his father to go to Esagilia and die.  A true clansman Amorian vowed to kill the man to avenge his mother.  He could afford to bide his time but he would soon insinuate himself into the king’s household and position himself to take revenge.  The man must know why he was dying and that it was his own son who took his life.  A life for a life.    

He went to the small grove where his godparent’s had set up their camp, “Good morning, Aunt Nisci, where is uncle?”

“He is showing a soldier where the old spa was,” she told him.  “Four soldiers came this morning to survey the area for a possible buyer.”

“And who will they pay?” Amorian asked dryly.

Aunt Nisci looked up and smiled at Amorian, “Indeed,” she said, “May her soul rest in peace.”

“Her spirit is here,” Amorian answered, “She is around every turn in the trail, her spirit rests in every glade, and she dances with the gods of the valley in every storm.”

He climbed into the wagon and rummaged around for a bit emerging with a three stringed instrument, “The time of mourning is over, we have found mother’s spirit and now we can sing again,” he announced. 

Aunt Nisci bowed her acceptance of Amorian’s announcement and she entered their wagon in her drab black of mourning and emerged in colorful, traditional dress with rings and beads decorating her plump body. 

Uncle Yurok came back to camp with a chicken for the pot and a gold coin for his labor and that night Amorian played and sang in his fine tenor voice while aunt and uncle danced around the fire and they all ate the chicken and emerged from the years of mourning. 

Uncle Yurok stood behind Amorian with his hands on the lad’s shoulder’s as he sang one of his mother’s ballads and Aunt Nisci cleaned the dinner dishes in a bucket of hot water at the fire. 

The next morning they were awakened early by the soldiers who hired uncle the day before, “You must vacate the valley old man, we will survey and build a palace for our employer.”

“Sir, we are but tinkers who repair kitchen utensils, won’t there be a useful place for us here?” he asked thinking of the pot of plenty that they brought with them. 

“Who is the boy?” the soldier asked.

“He is our orphaned nephew and a fine troubadour.  You must hear him sing,” Uncle Yurok insisted.

“Play, boy,” the soldier said, less than polite but aunt served him a morning tea by the fire and Amorian played and sang. 

The soldier was more than pleased with the boy and the tea.  He decided that they were harmless and useful so he invited them to stay and repair the kitchen utensils and entertain the architect and builders until the palace was finished.

The soldiers set up a tent pavilion for the skilled craftsmen and a kitchen near the tinker’s grove and slowly the planners and builders gathered and began surveying the land. 

The three itinerants lived off of the over-abundance of the wealthy as was their custom and Amorian perfected his songs and wrote new songs to entertain the skilled craftsmen. During the day he wandered the valley and communed with its gods and his mother, Leah, but at night he was just the troubadour. 

The architect was a man name Benjamin who designed great, public buildings on retainer for Good King Amorian.  He soon confided in Amorian that he was the king’s long ago exiled brother and that it was the king himself who was having a summer palace built here in the valley and it was to be called Leah’s Palace.   

Amorian was stunned at his good fortune and decided he would stay until vengeance was exacted.  The gods of the valley would bring his mother’s murderer to him so they could witness justice.  Amorian cultivated his relationship with Benjamin to get news of the king and Benjamin grew very fond of the young man and his music.  Benjamin’s parents were also gone so he felt a kinship with Amorian who claimed he had never known his father and told Benjamin that his mother had worked in the spa’s kitchen and garden which was the literal truth.

Benjamin asked young Amorian if he remembered Leah and the boy shrugged and said, “She was very beautiful and always kind and treated everyone well,” he said, “She spent days alone exploring the valley and she could feed the wild birds and animals by hand.  But” he smiled sheepishly, “those are things that a small boy would notice.”

“But it tells me much about the spirit of the woman,” Benjamin said.  “My brother was a very literal man, I am surprised at his choice of a queen.”  Benjamin confided in Amorian about his brother’s actions against himself and his mother before he became king. 

“Then,” Amorian asked, “He was not a very loyal man and took his ties lightly?”

Benjamin thought about it and said, “Amorian was raised with duty as the center of his being.  It trumped everything else,” he added.

Amorian was quiet for a few moments, “I must write a song about a very sad man who put duty before love, family, and the gods,” he said.  “It is very contrary to the culture in which I was raised,” he told Benjamin. 

Benjamin nodded his head in agreement and they parted company.  Benjamin occasionally asked him about the song but Amorian explained that he was having trouble setting the tale to music.    

        An army of workmen arrived and much to Amorian’s horror they had every intention of carving one of the ochre buttes into stones for the palace.  He walked among the huge rock formations that night and heard the rumbling of the gods as man planned the destruction of one of the formations. 

Amorian walked out of the valley that morning as the workmen assembled and he encountered Benjamin leading the men to the formation chosen for destruction.  

“Join us Amorian,” he yelled.

“No,” Amorian answered, “You are toying with the gods and they are angry.”

“What is that talk?” Benjamin asked.

“Believe me not one stone will be turned without raising the wrath of the gods,” he said, “You are acting against an ancient place and it will not be allowed.”

Some of the men familiar with the legends about the valley began to hesitate and Benjamin was ahead of the group as he continued his march to the designated butte.  Suddenly, out of the clear blue sky a bolt of lightning knifed from on high and all that was left of Benjamin was a burned patch on the earth as thunder rolled overhead shaking the ground beneath them.   

The soldiers questioned everyone especially Amorian who had predicted the event just before it happened.

  The head soldier asked him, “Troubadour, what do you know of this event?” he cuffed the young man.

“I know nothing of this particular event,” Amorian said, “But I do know the legends and felt compelled to warn Benjamin,” he answered. 

“Bah, legends,” the soldier said and stalked toward the butte with his sword drawn and when he raised it over his head to strike the rock another bolt of lightning knifed from the sky and left a black mark on the earth and again the thunder rolled.

Convinced and panicked the workmen ran from the scene and tried to hide from the sky and even the soldiers were fleeing from the valley floor leaving Amorian standing alone before the gods. Having spent the night with the gods he said a last prayer and went to the grove and the tinker’s wagon. 

“What happened?” Aunt Nisci asked.

Amorian explained that the gods became angry because the men planned to destroy a butte for building material.

“They are fools,” Uncle Yurok exclaimed in anger.

Amorian and Aunt Nisci smiled at each other, “Indeed,” they both said.

The soldiers moved their camp further out of the valley and sent a runner to the palace to get further instructions. 

The king himself came to see what the problem was and said, “See, while my soldiers cower in the foothills these itinerants remain in their grove.  What does this say about my soldiers?” he asked. 

He rode into the grove and Aunt Nisci invited him to tea.  He wore no insignia and sat at the fire with the three and passed the time of day.

“What happened here?” he asked them, “And why aren’t you afraid?” the king asked.

The youngest answered, “The gods know that we would not so much as move a rock or pick a flower in the valley,” he answered quietly. 

“So you believe the legends?” he asked.

“They are the truth,” he told the king, “And not just legends.”

The king was silent for a moment, “But didn’t a woman once live here?” he asked.

Aunt Nisci observed, “Yes, many years ago but she is gone now.  She honored the gods and danced with them in the night,” the aunt responded.

“What happened to the spa?” he asked, “I don’t even see ruble,” he said. 

“It was struck repeatedly by lightening when she left and the winds dispersed everything,” the young man shrugged and said, “That is what the legend’s say, but we were not here then,” he answered. 

“But you were here when the lightning struck the builder and the soldier?” he asked.

“Yes,” the troubadour responded.

“And you weren’t afraid the gods would kill you by accident?” the king smiled.

The young man said, “The gods do not have accidents.”

“You are well spoken for an itinerant,” the king said.   

“We travel far and wide,” the boy said and spoke to his aunt and uncle in their native tongue. 

“What did you just say?” the king asked.

“I said that the shadows grow long,” the boy said.  

The king rose to go and before mounting his stallion he asked the young man, “Is there any way to placate these gods of yours?” he asked.

“They won’t allow damage,” he said, “It is unacceptable.”

The king mounted his horse, “I will figure out a way to make this project happen,” and then asked, “Is one of you the troubadour?”

“I sing a little,” the young man answered, “Just old music of the region,” he added. 

“I will be back tonight,” the king said tossing several gold coins on the ground, “You will sing,” he said to Amorian and turning the stallion he rode away to the group of horsemen who waited for him. 

Amorian clenched his jaw and kicked at the coins in the dirt, “I will see you tonight, father,” he spit out. 

“I can do it,” Uncle Yurok offered.

“No, Uncle, it will be my pleasure,” Amorian claimed the right.

They sat at the fire sharpening the killing knife until later that afternoon and then Amorian bathed in a pool and strummed his three stringed instrument and sang softly to the gods until the king returned.  If they had been at the main encampment each male over eighteen would have taken a turn sharpening the knife.  It was clan revenge as well as the revenge of Amorian and the gods. 

When the king returned he wore a knapsack and asked the young man if he would enjoy a short hike into the buttes. 

Amorian told the king in front of his men, “If you plan to destroy the butte it will not be safe for you to walk among the gods.”

“Bah,” the king said, “I have walked there in the past, I will be fine.”

Amorian looked at the soldiers as if imploring them to stop the king, but they had seen the king’s temper and said nothing.

Amorian shrugged and shook his head as if it was against his better judgment but walked by the king’s side toward the darkening rock formations.  The soldiers felt a slight shaking of the ground and looked at their officers.  They slowly began to inch back from the valley until they were moving en masse and when a bolt of lightning illuminated the whole valley they panicked and ran to the hills.

The king kept walking forward as if to meet a foe and soon they were far from the horsemen and a large storm broke out with great sheets of lightning illuminating the rock formations and the wind moaned through the formations as if there was a large male chorus chanting sacred music.   

The young man warned the king again but the king’s face was tired and resigned Amorian thought and he walked even more quickly toward the center of the valley as if to keep an appointment.

“You hurry to your death,” Amorian mocked him.

“Who are you?” the king asked.

        “I am Leah’s son, father,” he spewed out at the tired, old man and drew the glittering knife which flashed as a bolt of lightning crossed the sky and thunder shook the earth. 

        “Take your revenge, my son, you deliver me from a lifelong purgatory,” he sighed and raised his arms to the heavens in defeat and as a sacrificial offering. 

        Before he could plunge the knife into his father’s chest a bolt of lightning sliced downward and the man burned to a black mark on the earth a few feet in front of Amorian. 

        An eerie silence fell on the earth and a deep darkness descended as Amorian fell to his knees and acknowledged the right of the gods.  A chorus of male voices chanted a hymn that echoed among the rocks and then the voices lowered as Leah’s voice raised itself in joyful life again and Amorian rose and sang with his mother and he thought he could see her in flowing white dancing over the rocks. 

Fare well and flourish from the valley of the gods.

October 2013 Karen MacEanruig