A Joust of Knights

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Gwendolyn walked side-by-side with the Queen, escorting her across the golden skywalk that spanned the capital of the Ridge. The path was made of solid gold cobblestones, elevated fifteen feet above the city streets, spanning from the castle exit to all corners of the city. It was a walkway reserved for royals, and as they walked the Queen’s servants trailed behind them, holding up parasols to block the sun.

The two strolled arm-in-arm, the Queen affectionately linking arms with her and insisting that she take her on a tour of the city. The Queen fondly showed Gwen all the sights as they went, pointing out notable architecture and orienting her to the various neighborhoods of this ancient city. Gwendolyn felt comforted by her presence, especially after such a long stretch without female company. In some respects, the Queen was like the warm mother that she never had.

It made Gwendolyn reflect on her own mother. Her mother had been a cold and hard Queen, always deciding based on what was right for the kingdom—but not necessarily what was right for their family. She had also been a cold, hard mother, and Gwendolyn had had endless arguments and power struggles with her. Gwendolyn recalled the first time she had met Thorgrin, her mother’s epic struggle to keep the two of them apart. It brought back fresh bitterness and resentment.

It also caused Gwen think of other times, other places; she recalled the balls in her father’s court, everyone dressed in their finest, the jousts, the festivals, the endless years of bounty and good times, years Gwen was certain could never end. She recalled the first time she had ever met Thorgrin, back in the bounty of the Ring, just a young, naïve boy entering King’s Court for the first time. It felt like another lifetime. She felt so aged since then, so much upended in her life. Even here, within the splendor of this place, she had a hard time imagining days of comfort and security like that coming back to her again.

Gwen snapped out of it as the Queen pulled her along and pointed up ahead.

“This quarter is where most of our people live,” the Queen said proudly.

Gwendolyn looked down at the beautiful city, afforded a sweeping view from up here on the skywalk, and was in awe at its beauty and sophistication. The city was crammed with pristine houses of every shape and size, some built of marble, others limestone, all snuggled in close together, giving the city a cozy feel. The city looked perfectly worn, crisscrossed by cobblestone streets, horses walking through, slowly pulling carriages through the streets. Lining the streets were people selling their wares, and everywhere there was the smell of food: stalls were overflowing with massive fruits, while vendors sold sacks and barrels of wine. Other shops were everywhere, tanners selling hides, blacksmiths weaponry, and jewelers sparkling gems. Everyone was dressed in their finest, and they strolled about this luxurious city in harmony.

Gwen looked up and saw the impressive fortifications walling in the city, its ancient stone walls lined with knights, their armor gleaming in the sun. She saw the castle towering over the city, like a watchman, its ramparts staggered and lined with more knights, beacons of strength and perfect discipline. Church bells tolled softly in the distance, dogs barked below in the streets and children squealed in delight as they ran after them. A gentle breeze, heavy with moisture from the lakes, caressed her as she walked, and Gwen realized this place was as close to perfection as one could imagine. In the distance, the waters glistened and in the far distance, the peaks of the Ridge loomed over all of them, a faint outline on the horizon, shrouded in mist, making this place feel even more protected.

Gwen saw people open and closing their shutters, hanging clothes out to dry, and as she glanced down, she noticed many people waving up at them affectionately. She felt too elitist walking up here, on this pathway.

“You are distracted, dear Queen,” the Queen said to her, smiling.

Gwen blushed.

“Excuse me,” she said. “It’s just that…I prefer to interact with my people. I like to embrace them, to walk the same streets as they.”

Gwen hoped she hadn’t offended her, and she was relieved to see the Queen’s smile widen.

“You are a girl after my own heart,” she said. “I was hoping you would ask. I don’t like to live as royals do, either—I would rather be with my people.”

She led her down a curved, golden staircase, into the streets, and as they descended, there was an excited rush amongst her people; they all gushed at the Queen’s presence and rushed forward to greet her, handing her fruits and flowers. Gwen could see how loved she was by her people—and she understood why: she was the kindest Queen she’d ever met.

Gwen enjoyed walking the streets, loved the vitality, the smells of cooking meat stronger down here; it was bustling with people, and she loved the energy of this place. These people of the Ridge, she was coming to realize, were warm and friendly people, quick to smile and to embrace strangers. She was beginning to feel at home.

“Our walking through the street is, in fact, most convenient. My daughter whom you wish to see is on the far end of the city, perched in her library. This is the quickest way to get there.”

Gwen thought of where they were going—the Royal Library—which she so badly wished to see, and she grew excited. She also thought of the Queen’s youngest daughter, whom the King asked her to see first, and she wondered once again about her.

“Tell me about her,” Gwen said.

The Queen’s face lit up at the mention of her.

“She’s remarkable,” she said. “She has a mind unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You will see that there is really no one like her. I don’t know where she gets it from—certainly not from me.”

The Queen shook her head as she spoke, her eyes watering with admiration.

“How can it be that a ten-year-old girl can have an intellect powerful enough to be the scholar of the kingdom? Not only is she the fastest thinker I’ve ever met, but she retains scholarship unlike anyone I’ve ever met. It’s more than an affinity—it’s an obsession. Ask her anything about our history, and she will tell you. I’m ashamed to say her knowledge is greater even than mine. And yet, I am so proud of her—she spends all her days in that library. It is making her far too pale, if you ask me. She should be out, playing with her friends.”

Gwen thought of it all as she walked, remembering her first meeting her at the feast, and how taken she had been by her. Clearly, this was an extraordinary girl. Being so enamored of books, the two of them had clicked instantly, as Gwen had sensed a kindred soul in her. It made Gwen think of her time spent in the House of Scholars, and she knew that if her father had not intervened, she would have spent all her days locked away in that building, lost in books.

“Your husband told me I must see her first,” Gwen said. “He said I should ask her of the history before visiting the tower and your other son, Kristof. He said she would give me a primer, a better understanding of it.”

Gwen watched the Queen’s face darken at the mention of her other son. She nodded sadly.

“Yes, she will tell you all about that cursed tower and more,” she said. “Though I don’t know what good it will do. My children in that tower are lost to me now.”

Gwen looked at her, stunned.

“Children?” she repeated. “The king mentioned but one son. Have you others?”

The Queen looked down as they walked, cutting through the streets, passing vendors, and she remained silent for a very long time. Just when Gwen began to wonder if she would ever answer, finally, the Queen wiped a tear and looked at her, her face filled with sadness.

“My daughter lives there, too.”

Gwen gasped.

“A daughter? Your husband did not mention it.”

The Queen nodded.

“Kathryn. He never mentions her. He acts as if she does not exist. Just because she is touched.”

Gwen looked back, puzzled.

“Touched?” she echoed.

The Queen looked away, and Gwen realized it was too painful for her to discuss it, and she did not want to pry. A silence fell back over them as they walked, Gwen more curious than ever. These people of the Ridge seemed to hold endless secrets. It made Gwen think of the Queen’s other son, Mardig, and made her wonder what darkness lay in their family.

They weaved their way throughout the streets and finally turned a corner, and as they did, the Queen came to an abrupt stop. She looked up, and Gwen did, too.

Gwen gasped, in awe at the building before her. It was a building unlike any Gwen had ever seen, built of shining marble, with huge golden doors shaped in a tall arch, intricately carved. The doors were adorned with golden images of books carved into them, and long, tapered stained-glass windows lined the exterior. It resembled a church but was more circular in shape, and even more impressive, set in the midst of an open city square with nothing around it in every direction, encircled by a circular courtyard of clean, golden cobblestone. Gwen could see right away the respect that this city had for books, for scholarship; after all, this Royal Library sat like a beacon in the center of the city.

“My daughter awaits you inside,” the Queen said, a sadness now to her voice. “Ask her anything you will. She will tell you all. There are some things that are too painful for a mother to speak of.”

She gave Gwendolyn a quick hug, then turned and disappeared in the streets, followed by her servants.

Gwen, alone, faced the huge golden doors, twenty feet high, a foot thick, and as she reached out and laid a hand on their golden handles, she pulled, and felt ready to enter another world.

As Gwen entered the Royal Library, waiting to greet her was Jasmine, standing there alone in the vast hall of marble, her hands before her, lightly clasped at her waist, and staring back with a sweet, excited smile, intelligence shining in her eyes.

She rushed forward, beaming, and took Gwen’s hand.

“I’ve been waiting and waiting for you!” she exclaimed, as she turned and excitedly began to give Gwen a tour. “My dad said you would be coming this morning, and I’ve waited ever since. I must have checked the windows a hundred times. Did my mom take you on one of her long and boring tours?” she asked with a short laugh, delighting herself.

Gwen could not help but laugh, too, this child’s enthusiasm infectious. She was captivated by Jasmine from the moment she saw her, so intelligent and endearing. She was also talkative and fun. There was a bounce to her step, a playful giddiness which Gwendolyn did not expect. She expected her to be serious and somber, lost in books, like any other scholar—but she was anything but. She was like any other child, carefree, skipping along, joyous, warm and good-natured. In some ways, she reminded Gwendolyn of the carefree, joyous spirit she’d once had herself as a youth. She wondered when, exactly, she lost it.

As Jasmine led her through the halls, her talking never ceasing, she moved from one topic to the next with surprising dexterity, pointing out one rack of books after the other.

“This stack on the right are the tragedies of our first playwright, Circeles,” she said. “I consider them to be basically trite works, what you might expect from the first generation of Ridge playwrights. Of course, they were suited for different occupations back then—mostly martial. As Keltes says, with each generation comes a refinery, a move from martial to higher skills. We all strive for higher forms of grace, do we not?”

Gwen looked back at her, dazzled by her speech, her nonstop flow of words and knowledge, as she continued relentlessly, pointing out rack after rack of books. They passed through endless corridors, decorated with ornate wall paintings, their floors lined with gold.

The library was like a maze, and Jasmine led her down winding, narrow corridors lined with books on either side. The racks of books, made of gold, rose twenty feet high, and all the books looked ancient, leather-bound, penned, Gwendolyn could see, in the ancient language of the Ring. There were a staggering number of books, even for someone like Gwendolyn, and amazingly, Jasmine seemed to recognize every single one.

“And here we have the histories, of course,” Jasmine continued, pulling down a book as she walked and leafing through it. “They stretch for miles. It’s organized from the early historians through the latter ones—it should, in fact, be the other way around. You’d think the latter would stand upon the shoulders of the former, offer a more enlightened perspective into the history of the Ridge and the Ring—but that’s not so. As is often the case, the original historians were better versed than any who followed. I think there’s some truth to the notion that latter generations outdo the former—yet there is more truth to the notion of former generations holding ancient wisdom untouchable by the latter ones,” she said. “The firstborn syndrome, is it?”

Gwen’s mind spun in a flurry, trying to process everything she was saying, and she could not help but feel as if she were speaking to an eighty-year-old. This dynamo of a girl held the wisdom of Aberthol and Argon combined, but with a speed and energy to her that left Gwen dizzy. Gwen realized right away that she was outmatched by this young girl’s intelligence and scholarship—and it was the first time she had ever felt that way before, with anyone. It was both intimidating and exhilarating.

“You’re a reader, too,” Jasmine said, as she turned a corner, leading them down yet another twisting corridor of books. “I saw it in your face the moment I met you. You’re like me. Except you were burdened with your Queenship. I understand. It must have been awful. No more time to read, I presume. It is probably the worst part of being Queen. You probably love it here.”

Gwen smiled.

“How do you do that?” Gwen said. “You read my mind.”

The girl laughed back, giddy.

“It’s easy to spot another reader. There’s a distant look to your eyes, as if you’re lost in another world. A telltale sign. You live in a heightened world, more glorious than our own, as do I. It is a world of fantasy. A world of beautiful drama, where everything is possible, where the only limits are our imagination.”

Jasmine sighed.

“Our world, here and now, is so pedestrian,” she added. “Blacksmiths and butchers and hunters and warriors and knights—how dreadfully inane. All they want to do is kill one another, outmatch each other at jousting contests and the like. Dreadful. Redundant, too.”

She sighed, turning down yet another corridor.

“Books, on the other hand,” she continued, “are infinite. Reading a book, if you ask me, is more chivalrous than killing a man. And it offers a much more interesting world to explore. It’s a pity our society values the killers over the scholars. After all, without us readers, how would the armorer know how to forge the armor? The blacksmith to hammer the sword? How would the cobbler know how to mend horseshoes, or the engineer to build a catapult? And how would the King know whom he fought against if he was unable to read, unable to, at the very least, identify the banner on the far side of the battlefield? How would his men know who to kill?

“Knights do not fight in a void,” she continued. “They are more indebted to us readers, to our books, than they’d ever care to admit. I would posit that a warrior needs books to survive, much more so than weapons.”

She hurried down a flight of steps, Gwen right behind her trying to keep up.

“And yet, here we are, treated like third-rate citizens, relegated to our libraries. Thank god I’m a girl. If I were a boy, I’d be wasting my time right now on the battlefield, and missing out on all of this.”

She turned a corner, stopped, and gestured dramatically, and Gwen looked out at a room that took her breath away. Gwen found herself standing in a vast chamber, its ceilings soaring a hundred feet high, shaped in a huge circle, with marble columns stretched out every thirty feet, and steps leading down to a shining marble floor set with dozens of golden tables. On each of these tables lay heaps and heaps of books, of every size and shape, some as big as an entire table. The room was lit by an endless array of candle chandeliers, decorated with crystal.

Gwen stood there, in awe at the sight, while Jasmine bounded happily into it, clearly comfortable here, as if it were her personal living room.

“This is the main reading room,” she explained as she went, Gwen slowly following, taking it all in. “Sometimes I like to hide away in small nooks and crannies when I read—but most of my time I spend reading in here. This place is empty all the time anyway, so it doesn’t really matter where I read. But sometimes, reading in different rooms makes you feel differently about a book, don’t you think?”

Gwen looked out at all the tables, confused.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “If no one uses this room but you, what are all those books on all those different tables? It looks as if an army uses this room every day.”

Jasmine laughed in delight.

“Does it?” she replied. “Sorry. I know I’m messy. I’m not good at putting away my books.”

Gwen stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Are you saying that you alone are reading all these books?” she asked in disbelief, looking out at the hundreds of volumes spread out over a dozen tables, all open, in some state of use.

Jasmine smiled.

“It’s not that many,” she replied, demure. “These are just my favorites. I’ve actually resolved to read far more this year.”

Jasmine bounded from table to table, forgetting Gwendolyn, already preoccupied by the books before her. She practically dove into the room, rushing to the closest table, grabbing a huge book and scanning through the pages. Gwen watched in disbelief as Jasmine flipped through the pages with lightning speed. Gwen had never seen anyone read that fast. Jasmine was humming to herself as she read, lost in the book, as if she forgot Gwen was in the room.

In just moments, she finished it.

She turned to Gwen, a smile on her face.

“One of the less dull histories,” Jasmine said, sighing. “I really delve into histories, but I knew you were coming, and knew you’d want to know, and I wanted to be prepared. I assume, of course, you want to know everything about the history of the Ring, about our shared ancestors. That is human nature after all, isn’t it? Don’t people always want to know about themselves?”

Jasmine looked back with a twinkle in her eye and Gwen smiled, her mind spinning with all of Jasmine’s words, still trying to take it all in. She reached over and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“You are a startling, amazing human being,” was all Gwen, speechless, could say. “If I were to ever have a daughter, I wish she would be just like you.”

For the first time, Jasmine relaxed, beaming with pride, and she hurried over and gave Gwen a quick hug. Then she turned and went back to her books, opening a new one.

Gwen came over, leaned over her, and began to read over her shoulder. This book, oversized and leather-bound, was penned in the ancient language of the Ring, and luckily, it was a language Gwen could understand well, having been drilled into her since birth by Aberthol and others. Gwen felt thrilled to be here, in this still, sacred house of books. She could sit in this library forever, shut out all the woes of the world. There was nothing she would like more.

Yet as she tried to read, Jasmine turned the pages so quickly, it was hard for Gwen to keep up with her.

Jasmine quickly finished it, shut it, reached over, and took out another book.

“I’ll spare you the monotony of it,” Jasmine said. “The essence of that book is that the ancestors of Ridge and the Ring were shared. But you know that already. That book focuses more on the parting of them. Relatively dull stuff.”

“Tell me,” Gwen said, eager to know.

Jasmine shrugged, as if it were all common knowledge.

“At one point, perhaps seven centuries ago, there was a parting of the ways. A mass exodus from the Ridge. Your side of the family left here, crossed the Great Waste, and somehow made or found ships and crossed the sea. Of course there was an Empire pursuit, and many of your people died, either in the Waste, the jungles, or at sea. Many of those who first arrived in the Ring, too, did not survive. Most were killed in what I believe you call ‘The Wilds.’”

Gwen stared back, astounded at the history.

“Yes,” Gwen said. “The land beyond the Canyon, on the outer edge of the Ring.”

Jasmine nodded.

“The main challenge your people faced was building a bridge to span the Canyon. The first bridge was the Western Crossing. Three more were to follow. It took a thousand workers a thousand days to carve the rock. The beasts tried to cross, too, but your people were able to guard the bridge. Other beasts descended the Canyon to climb up the other side—but the theories were they were killed by the creatures who lived down below.”

Gwen listened, riveted, her mind swimming with questions but not wanting to interrupt.

Jasmine sighed.

“Of course, for those who made it,” she continued, “the original Ring was no easy place. It was filled with savage monsters in and of itself, its land was wild, and its Highlands insurmountable. Almost at once, there was a divide between the Western and Eastern provinces, which I believe evolved into the Western and Eastern kingdoms. The East was less fertile, more arid, and its climate more harsh. Savage tribes lived there, whom, I believe, formed the basis of the Eastern Kingdom.

“It was only once your people could secure the Canyon that things changed. And that, in turn, leads back to what mattered most in perhaps all of your history: the history of the Shield. And of the Destiny Sword. Without the Shield, the Ring was just another indefensible place, another island, a place as insecure and hostile as the rest of the world. But it was the first great sorcerers whose magic forged the Shield, that laid the groundwork for your people’s survival.”

Gwen had never been so immersed in a story; she had read histories her entire life, yet never had heard any of this. She wondered what precious volumes they had here in the Ridge that her people lacked in the Ring.

“Tell me more,” Gwendolyn said.

Suddenly, church bells rang out, muted, from somewhere outside the walls, and Jasmine looked up, distracted for the first time. Gwendolyn saw her expression darken, and wondered why.

“I can’t stand their sound,” she said. “They toll incessantly.”

Gwen was confused.

“Why? Who rings them? Are they not church bells?”

Jasmine shook her head.

“I wish,” she replied. “They are the bells of the tower. The bells of the false religion, the cult who hold my brother and sister hostage. Not physically, of course, but intellectually, spiritually—and those bonds are worse than shackles. I love them both dearly, and I would give anything to have them back.”

Jasmine had suddenly switched topics, had forgotten about the history of the Destiny Sword and the Shield, and Gwen realized something about her: her attention span was limited. Her mind worked so fast that she changed topics with an alarming dexterity. She was brilliant, but she was scattered. Gwen still wanted desperately to know more about the Shield and the Destiny Sword—but she would leave it for another time. After all, she had come to her to begin with at the King’s request, to find out more about the tower.

“Tell me about your siblings,” Gwendolyn said, eager to know more.

“What did Mother and Father tell you?” she asked.

“Not much,” she replied.

Jasmine shook her head.

“Of course not. They fear what they do not know and are ashamed of what they do not understand. Like most people. Provincial, wouldn’t you say?”

Gwen looked back, not really understanding.

“My brother,” she continued, “has been brainwashed. He was always zealous in all his passions, and unfortunately, they found the wrong subject. My sister, well…that is more complex. She was born the way she is. She has always been lost to us, in her own way. But now—she is amongst them.”

Gwen struggled to understand.

“She’s catatonic,” Jasmine explained, seeing Gwen’s confused expression. “She stares out the window, doesn’t speak a word. Ever since birth. Our noble people of the Ridge, with their culture of perfection, or warriors and knights and all that nonsense—are ashamed of her. Sickening, really. It is my parents’ greatest shortcoming, if you ask me. Anyone who is not perfect is considered a threat to our society. But I love my sister dearly—I always have. I always found a way to communicate with her. She has her way, too—you just have to be open to hearing her.”

Gwen began to understand, and felt sadness for them all.

“Your father asked me to visit them,” Gwen said. “To try to get them back.”

“A lost cause,” Jasmine sighed. “You cannot travel the canals of the mind.”

“But he also thinks the Tower holds a clue. That it is guarding something—some ancient knowledge, some secret history.”

Jasmine sighed and looked away, and for the first time she fell silent for a very long time, looking off into the distance with glassy eyes, as if debating something monumental.

“That rumor has persisted for centuries,” she said. “Many believe the Light Seekers hide the lost books. These are books I’ve never seen—I have never even seen proof of their existence. I begged my brother many times, and my sister: if they exist, I’d give anything to read them. But they insist that they do not—or at least, they’ve never seen them. And even if they do, even if they are hidden somewhere in the bowels of the tower, who is to say whether they really contain the great remedy for our destiny that all expect them to?”

She sighed.

“This is just another of my father’s dreams,” she continued. “Perhaps it has something to do with his age? His yearning for the return of his children?”

Gwendolyn looked away, feeling disappointed by the entire conversation, trying to absorb it all. Jasmine’s knowledge was dizzying, and Gwen figured it would take months to fully understand everything she was saying. It was the first time she had ever felt this way, so in over her head intellectually, and it was unsettling experience.

Jasmine must have sensed her sadness, because she looked over at her compassionately, and laid a hand on her wrist.

“Enough of the Tower,” she said. “You will go there and see for yourself. But I have seen in your eyes what is really troubling you. Thorgrin and Guwayne, is that right?”

Gwen looked at her, hope in her eyes, wondering how she knew.

“Has Argon not told you anything?” Jasmine asked.

Gwen looked at her, confused.

“Argon?” she echoed. “Tell me what? He is sick. He is unresponsive.”

Jasmine shook her head.

“No longer,” she replied. “Our healers are very fine at what they do. His healing has begun. He is conscious even now.”

Gwendolyn looked back at her, filled with hope, elated.

“How do you know?” she asked, baffled.

Jasmine smiled.

“Everything that happens in this court is carried by raven. I am known to be quite inquisitive.”

Gwen studied her, amazed.

“What is it that Argon knows?” Gwen asked.

“The ancient ones,” Jasmine said, “they hold a great many secrets, from the beginning of time. Also great knowledge, of which they do not speak.”

She looked closely at Gwendolyn.

“Speak to Argon,” she said. “Ask him about Thorgrin. About Guwayne. Ask him what he’s withholding. I am sure it will surprise even you.”