The Stranger Who Would Be King

    “…and then he shrieked like a lass finding a spider in her knickers!”

    The whole table laughed at Flick’s version of the day’s events, specifically Sean’s near decapitation.

    “Hey now, you’d have screamed too if you nearly got that short of a haircut.” Sean rebutted, smiling. “Besides, I’m not the only one who got a shock this afternoon. Flick here tried to jump across an itty-bitty puddle and ended up soaked to the skin.”

    Flick batted the back of his head lightly. “That’s ‘cause I was trying to make you feel better about how close you’d come to meeting the Ladies. ‘Twas intentional! Now, when we got further in…”

    Sean stretched, tuning the story out as he surveyed the crow. The horn’s call had carried, and within the span of an hour searchers had begun to trickle back through the gates – hunters with mud to their waists and farmers with cattle dogs leashed tight, most of the able bodied townsfolk had gone out to look for the children. Each group had returned home to a mug of ale – courtesy of the Tipsy Thistle – and the sight of Colin and Nancy fussing over their children in the common room.

    By nightfall, the whole village had gathered in the palisade at the front of the inn for a shared meal. A bonfire crackled merrily on the green, its light frequently occluded by the shadows of dancers.

    The youngest of the village’s children all laid and played together on a set of well-used blankets in the middle of the green, while the eldest watched over them from their parents’ sides. Caitlin and Owen were among the former, content to just relax and eat as their peers struck up a game of tag.

    Sean pulled in a long breath through his nose, savoring the feast’s smells. Many of the townsfolk had contributed their dinners to the impromptu celebration and the tables groaned beneath the weight of the various dishes on offer. The centerpiece of the meal was, unsurprisingly, the inn’s mushroom and chestnut stew. Colm was bringing out another round of bowls when he caught Sean’s attention and motioned him over.

    “You’re going to have another bowl, right lad?”

    Sean laughed weakly and eyed the three empty bowls at his seat. “Well, I’m not sure, I don’t want to be a glutton.”

    “Nonsense, lad. Eat up!” Colm said as he forcefully pushed another bowl of stew into Sean’s hands. “Between you, me, and the Ladies, the pot never runs out. It’s a bit of magic from my grandfather’s day.” He whispered, giving Sean a conspiratory wink before moving on to his next victim

    By the end of the night, Sean had been cajoled into eating one more bowl of the bottomless stew, as well as several rolls, some preserved beef, more varieties of greenery than he could recognize, and – perhaps fittingly – a large slice of bilberry pie.

    He closed his eyes and tried to reconcile a love/hate relationship with his stomach, he heard the buzz of conversation die down around him. A sharp elbow from Flick made it clear he couldn’t ignore the change so, reluctantly, he reopened them to find the whole village staring in his direction.

    Colm came up to his seat, accompanied by Colin and Nancy.

    “Lad, lass, the village of Greenbough wants to thank you again for finding the wee ones.”

    There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

    “Young Ryan told me you were searching for a new place to live. Now, we don’t have a headman, but I’ve spoken to some of the village notables and we’d like to offer you one here.”

    The murmurs turned to shouts of encouragement, which Colm let go for a moment before waving them down.

    Nancy walked up to Sean and took his hand. “Nothing my husband and I own would be enough to repay you for bringing our children home. We hope, if you’ll accept, that you’ll stay with us while the village builds you and miss Flick a house of your own.”

    “And I’ll take you on at my forge.” Colin offered. “Owen’s a wee bit too young to start his apprenticeship and I’d be happy for the help. It won’t make you rich, but it’ll teach you a trade and keep you fed.”

    “Thank you, all of you.” Sean started. “Really, I appreciate the offers and the kind words.”

    His gaze was drawn up to the top of the inner palisade, where Corvane stood. The raven had watched over the evening’s proceedings silently. The bird dipped its head in his direction.

    Sean stood and cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I haven’t given you all the whole story. While I am looking for a place to start over, I come from a place much farther away than I admitted to.”

    The low hum among the partygoers faded as the village looked at Sean in confusion.

    “Where that is isn’t important right now, though. What’s important is who brought me here and why. I know you don’t really know me, but..." Sean trailed off in the face of the blank stares he was getting from his audience.

    Every instinct he had screamed at him to apologize for ruining the mood and to make a quick exit. Instead he grit his teeth and reached beneath the collar of his tunic, drawing out the pendant that had been warming against his chest. The runic raven on its face caught the bonfire light.

    “Three goddesses, the ones you call the Pale Trinity, have charged me with uniting the land of Aiane." He said, raising his voice to carry across the enclosure. "They've sent me here to restore your land to its former glory and bringing prosperity to its people. They have chosen me to be your King!’

    As he looked out across the assembled villagers, Corvane took flight from the wall and glided down to rest on his shoulder. Sean could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage.

    A doubtful ripple moved through the crowd. Colm looked at Sean with concern. “Alright, lad, I think you’ve had too much of the house ale. Let’s get you off to bed and we can give all of this a think in the-”

    Corvane let out a sharp caw, interrupting Colm. Immediately, all around the courtyard, other birds took up the call. Hundreds of ravens and crows, almost invisible against the blackness of the sky, began to swirl overhead. Their cries and the flapping of their wings blended together into a voice that rattled the assembled glassware. 

    "Sean Byrne.” The voice thundered out his name. 

    The people of the village, almost as one, sank to their knees. Many muttered prayers to the goddesses under their breath. Others, eyes darting in vain to track the circling corvids, were struck dumb with fear. A baby began to cry, but its mother couldn't muster the nerve to hush her.

     “Successor. Champion. King.” One sister’s voice broke from the unified tone with each word.

    “Do you swear upon your life and soul to lead well the people of Aiane?” Mog asked.

    Sean looked up, eyes wide, and gulped down the lump in his throat.

    “I do.” He answered,

    “Do you swear upon your life and soul to protect them in times of war and cherish them in times of peace?” Mag asked.

    “I do.” He answered again.

    “Do you swear upon your life and soul to place the needs of the land above the needs of the king?” Mig asked.

    “I do.” He answered once more. 

    Though there was nothing Sean could see, but he could feel the attention of the trio swing towards the village folk. 

    "People of Greenbough, why do you cower so?" Mig asked, her voice lacking none of its prior impact, but softening as she addressed her people. "Fear not my sisters and I, for we mean you no harm. Instead we gift you that which has not walked Aiane for many years - not just a king, but a Hero." 

    "Now rise and give your oaths, knowing that to forsake them is to forsake us." She commanded, her voice hardening once more. The villagers scrambled upright to follow her direction. "Do you swear to follow the king wherever he may lead? To obey him in times of war and honor him in times of peace? To place the needs of the land above your own when called to serve her?"

    Everyone on the green answered in eerie unison, even the ones barely old enough to talk. "We do."

    A weight settled as much in Sean's heart as it did on his shoulders as the Sovereign’s Chain grew noticeably heavier for a moment. The links in his hand turned shiny in the flickering light, the age and wear fading away in front of his eyes.

    The three goddesses spoke again in unison, their voices echoing beyond the horizon.

    “Thrice witnessed and thrice sworn. May all of Aiane know this: the Pale Trinity has anointed a champion and a king. Let none call him pretender, for the land herself now knows his name.”