For your fleas.
Sparrow could write? Better than him? He lifted the lid on the jar and sniffed. It smelled of pine. He sat back on his heels, set his forehead on the edge of her bed. Sparrow gone? Forever? It couldn't be.
Picturing her face, he reached for her again, trying to push past her walls. Unfortunately, the fortress of Sparrow's mind was made of steel.
"Aargh!" Achan pulled himself up and limped back to the tower stairs, Shung shadowing him as usual. Moisture from the waterfall misted him as he stepped onto the lookout tower. He scanned the bailey and what little of the rolling road he could see before it twisted out of sight. No sign of Sparrow and Sir Eagan.
Achan turned and found the narrow stone steps off the right of the tower, just where Lord Yarden had said they'd be. He followed them up.
"Little Cham? Where are you going?"
"I must speak with Arman."
The stairs, cut from the mountain itself, tunneled through the moss-covered rock. Achan soon lost all light. Not having thought to bring a torch, he stumbled in the dark, his side, shoulder, back, face, and leg aching now. After a tediously steep hike, he exited into a green forest on the banks of the Betsar before the second major waterfall. Trees hung heavy with leaves and moss.
The white stone walls of Arman's temple appeared though the tangled greenery at the top of the first waterfall. The Evenwall misted most of it from view, but Achan could see the three circles etched onto the pediment of the temple roof. Despite his fatigue, he slogged up the mossy stone staircase that zigzagged up the rock wall. By the time he stood on the porch to the temple, his shirt was damp with sweat.
He stepped inside a square room built of stone with a cobblestone floor. A long polished altar covered in golden cups and flowers stretched across the far end of the room. No pillars. No gilded statue. Its beauty came from four long and narrow windows of colored glass, one on each wall. A fifth window with the design of three interlocking circles arched above the long window directly behind the altar. The sun shone brilliantly through the colored glass.
Achan had no patience to appreciate beauty at the moment. "I've done what you asked of me!"
A man at the altar jumped to his feet. One of Lord Yarden's advisors. Achan hadn't seen him, or he wouldn't have spoken aloud. The man bowed, then strode toward Achan.
"Forgive me, Your Highness. I'll come another time."
The man bowed again and breezed past. Achan felt a pang of guilt. These people treated him as if he were someone special. "But I'm not special!" he yelled after the man, who bounded past Shung on the porch.
Achan turned back to the altar. Why no statue? He wanted to look on Arman's face.
"I trusted you," he yelled to the tall window. "I listened to Sir Gavin. I listened to Sir Caleb. I've done what everyone said. I'm trying to do what you want for Er'Rets. I serve despite my own desires. So why do you betray me?"
The room remained still. Achan shivered. No heat meant no voice of Arman was coming to give him answers. Why did Arman say so little?
"I'll wait all day if I must! No wars will be fought until I hear from you. Nor will I marry any twelve-year-old girls."
Still nothing.
"You use me, make me act the puppet. Well, I need your advice, o great puppet master. What shall I do about my Sparrow? She has flown and I'm…" Achan knelt at the altar, placing his forehead against the smooth wood.
"What would you have me do? Why is it everyone else may do as they please, yet I am bound so?" A thought of Lady Tara entered his mind. He wasn't the only one who couldn't do what he wanted. It only frustrated him more. "I am trying. I thought you wanted me to be king. Then why don't you do something about Sparrow? How am I supposed to fix this?"
A bird's song caused him to raise his head. A tiny bird fluttered near the roof, then settled on a rafter of the hammer beam roof. Achan sat back on his heels and stared at the little black, grey, and white bird. A sparrow.
"Why do you toy with me? I'm not poetic enough to translate such symbolism. I demand to speak with you." He jumped to his feet. "I demand to see your face!"
The floor trembled under Achan's feet. Heat swept through the room as though a fire burned on the air. The gold cups on the altar rattled on the wood surface, trembling until each fell off the edge and clattered to the floor. The window with the three gold circles exploded inward.
Achan cowered on the floor, throwing his arms over his head. Heat coiled in his heart and spread through him until it reached the tips of his fingers. Wedges of glass crashed against the stone floor around him, breaking into even smaller shards. The sting of their sharp edges bit into the back of Achan's neck and arms.
His skin grew clammy from the heat. He sucked hot air into his lungs, fearing each breath might burn him alive. The floor stopped trembling, the room stilled, unnaturally quiet, but the heat remained.
"Arise, Gidon Hadar, son of Axel." A deep voice reverberated in the temple.
Achan peeked out from his arms and over the altar.
A warrior dressed in antique armor stood before the broken window, his presence so bright Achan could hardly look. Achan rose on shaky knees, keeping his eyes focused on the altar. The heat and light from the warrior's presence still smote Achan's eyes until they watered.
Achan forced himself to look the warrior in the eye. Brown eyes. This young man couldn't be Arman. The brightness and heat stung and he looked away. "Where is Arman? Why won't he answer?"
"Because no one comes to the father except through me."
A familiar phrase, one Achan had heard before. "You quote from the Book of Life."
The warrior raised his eyebrows. "I am the author."
Really? "You are Arman?"
"I am his son, Caan."
His son. Figures. Caan had his father's burning heat in common. Achan squeezed his hands into fists and dared eye contact once more. Caan's face was scarred, but his eyes were peaceful, despite the heat. "Why won't Arman answer me?"
Caan's gaze seared Achan's eyes. "It is also written: 'Do not put Arman to the test."
Achan squeezed his eyes shut, his eyelids cool against the burning. "But he's answered me before."
"Your thoughts are not His thoughts, nor are your ways His ways."
Why so confusing? "But if Arman has chosen me above all others-"
"Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, son of Axel. You have been invited, but you have not accepted the invitation. For many are invited, but few accept."
Had not accepted? Achan glared at Caan, then dropped his gaze to the wooden surface of the altar. "But I have. I've been trying to do my duty as Crown Prince."
"If you acknowledge Arman in everything, he will make your path clear and straight."
Frustration oozed from Achan's pores. He felt foolish for not understanding Caan's words. "What more do you want? This is a difficult role. Why must I do it alone? I lose everyone I care for. Why does Arman allow this?"
"Arman forces no man against his will, nor should you."
"But…Gren was taken against her will."
"Gren obeyed her father."
"But she didn't want to marry Riga."
"Yet she chose to, in order to obey her father."
Obey her…what? "And you would say the same for Tara?"
"She obeyed her father as well. Both women's respect for their parents pleases me. They sacrifice to show love for me. I will bless them greatly in time."
What kind of an answer was that? Caan was twisting things around, just like his father. Achan's knees pinched against the hard floor. He shifted them on the bumpy cobblestone. "But if their fathers loved them, they wouldn't force such a life on their daughters."