3: HoneyGold

Talan watched the trees in the Brightwood forest pass by, like green uniformed soldiers ready for battle. He was riding in the royal coach. It was a massive contraption, with plush velvet seats, four windows, and its wheels—at their peak— were a good foot above its roof. Talan had never seen anything like it. As he watched the trees go by he could see that this part of the King's Crown had recently received a healthy helping of rain. The pine trees and the ground around them were still wet from the moisture.

The man with the white beard, Rassa, was finally able to convince Talan to at least go for a ride to the castle for a feast (in Talan’s honor—Rassa didn’t tell Talan about that part) and meet the High Commander.

On the other side of the coach Talan could see Bane lopping along at a slow gait. At first the royal steeds were quite skittish and wanted nothing to do with the wolfcat. However, Bane was able to calm their fears by speaking to them mentally. Talan thought that would be interesting to be able to talk to animals with his mind and help calm them.

You can talk to me. thought Bane to Talan, in response to the stray thought Talan had.


Yeah, I know. He responded. Somehow, Talan didn't think it was the same, since he could only talk to the wolfcat because of the connection that FilaFlis had created with his walkin magic. Talan was getting use to having the massive beast in his mind; however, it still made him jump every time a thought that wasn't his own popped into his mind, however.


Talan looked down at the item he had in his hand. It was a sword, a perfectly balanced weapon. To Talan it seemed light, but he knew that before the walkin's magic transformed his body he would never had been able to lift it, let alone the hammer that he had used to make the weapon. He didn't know how to use the sword. He did attempt to identify everything that had happened to the metal used to make the sword, but all he envisioned was extreme heat and pressure for a long time, then for an even longer time he sensed a period of cold and having a great weight on it and finally the thoughts of being dug up and moved to Master Gann’s Smithy. He had asked Master Gann where the metal was from and was told that it had just recently been dug up from one of the local quarries. Talan could only guess that the experiences that he learned from the metal were its creation and that it was buried underground. He had hoped that the metal had once been apart of a sword or some other weapon.

The weapon was long, with a silver colored blade and a black hilt. The handle of the weapon was much longer than Talan’s two hands put together side to side. Master Gann said that he should make the weapon in that style so that Talan would be able to grow into it. The weapon was as tall as Talan—tip to handle butt, which to Talan’s mind was massive. It would have been perfect for a full-grown man.

Rassa had been sitting across from Talan in the coach. For the past hour Rassa had been talking about the crop yield and how each of the towns had been doing financially. Talan really hadn’t heard a word that had been said by the white-haired man. He was still confused—due to everything that had happened to him since the morning before—and this Rassa was just confusing him more with all of this talk of the state of the kingdom.

        Why does he keep talking about these things? I don’t even understand half of what he has been saying. Thought Talan to himself.

They had been riding in the coach for several hours. Talan had worked on his sword, starting when Master Gann splashed him, until the next morning. Once Talan had felt that he was done with the sword and he let Rassa take him in the coach.

     “Halab is the town Magistrate for Farlre and he would like to have an audience with you as soon as you deem it appropriate.” Said Rassa. “He is an agreeable enough man, if you don’t mind people who don’t have manners and are willing to speak over you as if their voice was an avalanche and their breath the stench of a whole crop of rancid onions…. Makes me want to cry, just thinking about it.” The man’s voice was still sing-songy, but there seemed to be a slight pout as if he were actually about to cry.
     Talan looked at Rassa askance. “I take it you don’t like this Halab very much?”

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s fine enough, but he likes to deal with the Dragon King and that will always get you into trouble.” Rassa responded with a half-cocked smile. “He won’t admit it, but everyone knows that he has been entertaining some of the Dragon King’s, shall we say, friends?”

“Who is the Dragon King?” Asked Talan, honestly.

“Who is the Dragon King?” Asked Rassa with utter disbelief. “Only the most diabolical, evil, idiot-driven, blinded…!” Hissed Rassa. His voice had gone from a droning sing-songy to almost a dark rumble—if a voice like a meadowlark’s could be dark. Rassa continued with adjectives until he started saying words that were relatively nice. “…toothy, bland—er—tulendor.”

     Talan just looked at Rassa with a blank stare. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what a tulendor is.” Rassa was incredulous.
     Again a blank stare from Talan.
     “What has that smithy been teaching you? That stone is the main ingredient for bread?” Rassa asked rhetorically.

“Now, hang on. Master Gann is a good man…” Talan tried to respond, but Rassa cut him off.

“Never mind, I didn’t mean to offend you, but by your fourth birthday you should have known all about the kingdom in which you live and more than likely will be governing.” After a slight pause to think of how to describe what he had in mind, Rassa continued. “You—if you choose to accept the crown—are the King. There have been many like you in the past—as far as history has been recorded. As you may know the way a King is chosen is by the signs of walkins and tenacins attending to the child. This is important because the Queen Princess has deemed the child to be worthy of the crown. We, the resident royal court, maintain the kingdom and prepare the child for his people. We don’t know how the Queen Princess knows who should be the next King, but we know how to recognize him.

"A tulendor is a King who has chosen to take the gift given by the Queen Princess. This gift includes taking on the magic from the first walkin that found the King as a child. It is a great honor for a walkin to give up his magic for the King. But not all Kings choose to take the gift, these pass on to the next life. And not all Kings are worthy of the gift—and so in that case it is never offered.”

“But you said that the Queen Princess deemed each King to be worthy of reigning. Why wouldn’t a King be worthy of the Queen Princess’ gift?” Asked Talan.

     Rassa looked at Talan with a searching eye, “A King is born to be such, but it is his choice to reign in a manner that is best for the people of the kingdom and for Farsis as a whole even.”

Rassa paused to let this thought sink into Talan’s mind. “In your case, I see a tenacin, of which there should be two. However, it is enough to prove that you are the next King…but you should be crawling with walkins.” Rassa said the last bit to himself pensively tapping his finger to his lips.

“Anyway, we’ll get to that later.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders, resigned to not being able to figure Talan’s puzzles out by himself. “Back to my explanation—once a King has become a tulendor he makes his way among the people, protecting, or becoming a counsellor for the next King.”

“How many tulendors are there?” questioned Talan

“At least a hundred, at last count.” Responded Rassa, “but only a few of them are actually a part of the royal court. And they come and go.”

“Wait, a hundred? How can there be that many. If a King lives for sixty years at least, that would mean that the oldest one is really, really old. Don’t tulendors ever die?” Talan was obviously confused.

“Yes, tulendors can die. Some things are permanent, but this life—this life is never one of them.” Rassa became solemn and stared out the window at the elongating shadows cast by the sun’s dying light. A sadness formed in his eyes that Talan felt he shouldn’t interrupt. Rassa had slipped into another time, another place. Talan could only guess that this time and place was sad and had deeply affected Rassa. So Talan left the older man to his reverie.

“The day is going. What am I thinking? We’ll need to stop soon.” Almost as quickly as he had dropped into his reverie, Rassa came out of it. “HoneyGold? Hello-o, HoneyGold?”

“Who are you talking to?” Asked Talan.

“HoneyGold? She’s a walkin who’ll help us with our shelter for tonight.” Responded Rassa.

The wood paneling right above the seat back to Rassa’s right started to shimmer a deep gold color, as—to Talan’s eyes—a shimmering amorphous cloud of mist seemed to seep out of the grains. Talan didn’t see a walkin—at least not what he had seen the day before with FilaFlis—all he saw was a cloud of what seemed like gold dust.

“Hello, Rassa.” Said a voice so melodic that Talan jumped. The voice caressed every syllable of the two words as if the language was a feral kitten, ready and willing to bolt at any moment. “What would the Royal Crown request of me today?”

At the sound of the voice coming from the amorphous cloud something in the back of Talan’s mind—which hinted that FilaFlis was still around—started to buzz with excitement. Talan hadn’t seen the walkin ever since before he started working on the sword he was holding. This was the first evidence that the little man wasn’t just a figment of Talan’s imagination.

“I am a figment of your imagination…Isn’t she beautiful?” FilaFlis sighed, dreamily. He appeared right above Talan’s left shoulder. He was floating and laying on his stomach with his feet crossed in the air and his head propped up by his hands.

HoneyGold immediately turned her attention to the male walkin. “FilaFlis! What are you doing up there!? And where have you been!?” Talan could tell that HoneyGold was not happy with FilaFlis.

“Don’t you know that the Wood Council has been worried sick about you? You walk into stone and no one ever hears from you again? You can’t just leave everyone that relies on and cares about you out in the cold like that!” HoneyGold stood on the seat next to Rassa, her deep gold dress a fantastic contrast to the burgundy velvet of the cushion behind her. She had one hand on her hip and another that was wagging a finger at FilaFlis. Talan had seen that many times from Master Gann’s wife—usually when he was in trouble.

FilaFlis smiled at the scolding he was receiving.

“Don’t you dare smile at me, you good for nothing feather-duster.” HoneyGold continued for another minute until her hair was frizzled and she couldn’t come up with any more names to call FilaFlis. Still FilaFlis smiled even deeper as if he liked to see that fire in someone else’s eyes, or maybe it was just that he liked to see it in HoneyGold’s eyes. Talan couldn’t be sure.

“Well what do you have to say for yourself, FilaFlis?” HoneyGold waited for the response she knew she wasn’t going to get.

FilaFlis didn’t respond. All he said was “It’s wonderful and a most happy time to meet you again too, my lovely HoneyGold. Give my regards to the Wood Council, and if you have time, to the Queen Princess.”

With that he disappeared by slowly fading out his body starting with his toes all the way up to his head until all that was left was a pair of blinking eyes that were staring right at HoneyGold. With a blink they were gone.

“Insufferable lout.” Talan thought he heard HoneyGold’s beautiful voice say, but he wasn’t sure.

Rassa was dumbfounded. He had been quiet through the whole conversation because he couldn’t figure out who HoneyGold was talking to.

“You walkin’s are quite strange sometimes.” Rassa said apologetically. “Who is FilaFlis?”

“Good question. Better yet what is FilaFlis? I’m more than happy to answer that question. A cheat, a grubby scoundrel, a trickster, a good-for-nothing worm-chomping…” She probably could have gone on for a half hour if Rassa hadn’t cut in.

“Alright, alright, forget I asked. HoneyGold, it is getting late and we need a place to stay. Would you be willing to set us up with a shelter?” The older man asked the female walkin.

HoneyGold’s temperament was still a bit sour, but she turned from where FilaFlis had been floating and looked at the older man. With a huff she turned towards the wood paneling and stepped into it as if there was nothing there.

A few minutes later Talan could see lanterns on posts through the trees. He thought it strange to see any signs of life way out here in the middle of the Brightwood. When the coach came closer to the lanterns, he saw a cobblestone road lined with a deep golden hedge. The cobblestones were of the same color also. Talan hesitated as the coach pulled onto the cobblestone road and traveled for several minutes. During that time Talan watched as the lantern posts and the golden hedge passed by the coach. There must be hundreds of these lantern posts he thought.

The coach pulled up to a gate, and two liveried servants opened the gate to let the coach pass through. Talan put his head out the window and saw the most grandiose, majestic building he had ever seen. (Just to help describe it you should think of the old estate buildings in England: Pemberly, Chatsworth, you get the picture.) Talan had never seen anything like it. There were so many windows—all of them twice his height—all over the front of the building. The length of it had to be the same as twenty of the coach  he was riding in, (including the horses) and it looked like it had three or four stories.

There standing in the doorway was a man and a woman. The woman wore a deep daffodil-colored dress with a golden sheen and the man had a wide brimmed hat in his hand--a vest, shirt and trousers--all of the familiar purple. HoneyGold and FilaFlis were awaiting their arrival.