The Lost Prince (9 page)

Allyn felt the surge of energy and delighted in the rush he had missed for thirteen years; the divine energy’s caress of his mortal form. The fire dwindled. He poured the ashen contents of the steel bowl into the wooden one, and swirled it with the ladle. Lifting the bowl he observed the quartz fetish carefully. It pointed confidently west. He turned the bowl and jostled it, and still it pointed west. Satisfied, he said to his family, “Let’s go into the church.”

2

“You’re a what?” Rosemarie asked.

The eyes of Reverend Allyn Grey’s family bore into him like a drill. Jesus watched, too, from his portrait in the corner. Allyn would tell the truth—all of it. He didn’t see any other choice; strangers might begin showing up from his past, for good or for bad. He could not leave his family ignorant of the facts.

“A cleric,” Allyn responded. “A prelate in the temple of Pelitos, the Golden Son.”

His words rolled out softly, without the confidence of his oratory. Jesus judged him unflinchingly from His picture. Under Christ’s gaze, Allyn confessed about his home in another universe and his role in bringing up a prince, a savior to his kingdom that he had sworn to protect. Allyn kept his voice low and steady, and spoke in a tone no different than if he were confessing to gambling away the church’s budget. He tried not to look as much the charlatan as he felt for not being who they thought he was. Except for Michelle’s occasional comment, his family remained in stunned silence.

“Oh Jesus … he’s gone and lost his mind,” Michelle said to her brother. Turning to Allyn, she asked, “Do you expect me to believe my husband, the Reverend Allyn Grey, a minister of Christ, is a pagan?” Her inflection rose on the word “pagan,” the way one would say “drug dealer” or “pimp.”

Theo looked uncomfortable, and not because he barely fit into his pew. Allyn was the older brother he never had. But if the reverend did not convince Michelle he was all right, she would instruct her brother to bring him to the psychiatric ward by any means necessary. Allyn continued, nevertheless.

“Thirteen years ago, I attended the naming day celebration for Prince Danel of Aandor,” Allyn said. “It was a huge affair. A prince of the empire had been born, a symbol of peace and reunification for a fractured kingdom. Before the celebrations commenced, a massive army attacked our nation. Enemy soldiers appeared within the castle. It was mayhem. I ran with a group of priests through the castle looking for sanctuary from the bloodshed, but the enemy was in all places at once. Some who pretended to be part of the celebration turned out to be agents of other kingdoms. The screams of dying men came from every corner—loud crashes—my brothers were cut down. I would have been, too, if soldiers from the Dukesguarde hadn’t appeared and fought them off. I followed the Dukesguarde to a room near the pantry. The grand magus, Magnus Proust, had a plan to save the prince and was thrilled to have found a cleric. He said the boy would need a spiritual protector, teacher, and healer. He asked if I would go to another realm to help raise Prince Danel away from his enemies. He used that word, ‘realm,’ as one would say ‘we were going to the next county’—a mere wagon ride. Of course, I agreed. No sane man would have remained in that war zone.”

Allyn stared at the painting of Jesus, looking much farther away than the portrait. The memory of his last moment in Aandor was crystal clear. “The wizard opened a hole in the universe,” Allyn said, incredulously. “Inside a large silver picture frame a portal appeared from which no sound or light emanated, no air flowed through—I could not even describe the color … it was a dead place outside of time. I did not know any man had acquired the knowledge to unravel the threads of creation. No one should have such power.”

“You are the rock of this church,” Michelle cut in. “Are you going to throw your life away on this fantasy?” Her expression weighed on Allyn’s conscience. She was a practical woman, dignified, but with a store of passion that she reserved for mourning the dead. Her argument was to be expected—his claims placed his church and his community leadership in jeopardy. Allyn knew better than to take her plea at face value. His wife was coming to grips with the reality that the man she married and bore a child for was a complete stranger to her.

He wanted to comfort her, but he could not stop now. If he did, he would never finish the story. “My task was simple,” Allyn continued, “to be the boy’s spiritual tutor and raise him morally and ethically to manhood.”

“As a heathen,” Michelle said, disgusted.

“Yes,” Allyn responded. “Does that matter now, Michelle? Insofar as the prince is concerned, I have failed. I do not know where that child is … or if he’s even still alive. I don’t know if any of the guardians are alive.”

“Why do you remember all this hokeypokey stuff now?” Theo asked.

“As I spoke to the congregation last night, a spell ignited my memories.”

“Something certainly touched your mind,” Michelle said. She grew more agitated with each explanation. He had always been her rock.

It pained Allyn to see her like this. Michelle prided herself on her demeanor—calm, thoughtful—she was always mindful of the image she presented to others. Allyn reached out and held her wrist. He closed his eyes and drew energy from the henge. Michelle’s heartbeat slowed, her eyes turned serene. She became calm.

“What did you do to me?” she asked.

“It’s called a
soothe
,” he said. “Clerics have gifts beyond simple oratory.” It was the lightest touch. Had he pressed harder with his will, he could have converted her—shown her the euphoria of the gods and rid her of all secular pains—rid her of all choice. Many in Allyn’s vocation believed such an act an atrocity; Allyn was one of them. Conversion was a cleric’s act of defense—the paths a person chooses to take in life are what should bring them to their faith.

Michelle pulled her hand away, as though Allyn were something rancid. She stood and left the chapel through the office door.

“What’s
that
called?” Theo asked, pointing to her departure.

“That was pure Michelle,” Allyn told his brother-in-law. A headache hit him right between the eyes. He squeezed the top of his nose. “She needs time to take this in. How are you doing, Rose?”

Rosemarie looked contemplative. She had inherited her mother’s intellectual capacity, but at twelve years old, was far more flexible. “Is that how you fixed Mr. Jackson’s gout?” she asked. “You soothed him.”

“In a way,” said Allyn. “Mr. Jackson’s house sits on top of the lay line. Although I didn’t know my true identity, I must have channeled the energy subconsciously.” Allyn’s proximity to the rivers of energy was an important factor. It explained why his healing was inconsistent.

“You a wizard?” she asked.

“No!” Allyn snapped, sharply.

Rosemarie and Theo’s shock caused Allyn to pause. His old prejudices were back, too. Rose was simply trying to come to terms with her father’s unorthodox past.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” he said. “Wizards and clerics use the same energy, but wizards have no regard for the soul or the greater good. They are pure secular intellect. They unravel the secrets of the universe for their own benefit, and their spells are abominations.”
And wizards are on this world,
he thought.

“So what’s your job then?” Theo asked.

“A cleric works in harmony with creation,” said Allyn. “We pay homage to the Makers and weave blessings of healing and protection. We exult the soul. We mark and celebrate the phases in a man’s life from naming day to last rites.

“Wizards, on the other hand, create spells for the sake of creating spells. They celebrate when they’ve acquired more power for themselves, with no regard for how they bankrupt the culture, the ecology. They are selfish, secretive, manipulative, and destructive. The one who stole thirteen years of my life was barely a teenager—following the orders of his master.”

Theo pointed to a pink-colored scar on his forearm. “I got this burn a few years back when I stumbled into a hot tractor pipe. Can you fix it?”

Allyn heard the question as it was truly meant.
Heal it, or we’re going to the crazy house
. Allyn put his hand over the scar and chanted in his order’s language.

“Ouch,” Theo complained.

“What?” Rose asked.

“Like a lit cigar being put out on my arm,” her uncle said. He bucked. “Ahhh!” he cried. But Allyn would not let go. Theo couldn’t take it anymore and broke free of Allyn’s grip. “What the hell,” he said looking at his arm. His scar was gone—replaced by slightly reddish, but whole skin. The linebacker stared at it, mouth agape.

“Lord Jesus almighty,” said Michelle, who had watched from the office door.

“More like Lord Pelitos almighty,” Rosemarie corrected.

“Rosemarie, please,” her father implored. The last thing he needed was to push Michelle any harder.

“What does all this mean, Daddy?” she asked. “Are we leaving the church? The universe?”

That question troubled Allyn most. He didn’t have the answer.
What did it mean?
Allyn owed the prince of Aandor his allegiance. But was it more than he owed his own family or the community that had come to depend on him? The kings of Aandor expected their subjects to put their rulers’ needs ahead of their own. But that was not the way of this world. It was not in keeping with Christian teachings.

And what of wizards? Who would protect this world from their games if not Allyn? Exodus 22:18 said
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.
In the Catholic Bible it read “sorceress” instead of “witch,” but the meanings are clear in all translations; by Calvinist interpretation, Allyn was considered a witch. Was this God’s plan … to bring him across universes to serve here, in this town, this church, with these people? Maybe that was his true calling, and the prince’s escape merely the vehicle that brought him to his vocation. Or was Christ’s father merely the god of one universe. If so, he genuinely was all-forgiving to accept such a flawed intruder into his house. Or perhaps the Mormon cosmology was closer to the universal truth than anyone suspected.

A loud knock came at the front of the church. Miles Jackson and Fred Gibbons from the church board of directors walked in with Maurice Taylor, the uncle of the missing children in Uwharrie Forest.

“I hope we’re not disturbing anything important,” Miles said at the sight of this impromptu family meeting. Allyn lied and warmly invited them in. His family also seemed relieved at the interruption by the “real world.”

“Any news?” Michelle asked regarding Maurice’s niece and nephew.

“No,” said Maurice. “We have thirty volunteers ready to join the police at nine thirty. There’s a cold front coming in tonight bringing the temperature down to the twenties. We’re out of time.”

“Allyn, how you feeling?” Fred asked.

“He’s tired,” Michelle said before Allyn could respond. She challenged her husband to contradict her with a subtle glare. Allyn knew better. “He won’t ask you himself,” she continued, “but he needs some rest before resuming his ministerial duties.”

Miles and Fred nodded in agreement. Maurice looked exhausted.

“Have faith,” Allyn said. “I will join the search.”

“The hell you will!” Michelle said.

Allyn walked the men out and reassured them he would help them search later. As he walked back down the aisle, he saw that Michelle was about to launch into a litany of objections. He put his hand up to stop her. Michelle flinched at the gesture, as though Allyn were about to do something otherworldly again. Allyn put both hands up in a nonthreatening posture and then motioned to the bowl of water, which was resting on the church altar. He picked it up and showed it to them. The quartz fetish pointed west. He jiggled the bowl and still the fetish continued to point west despite the waves.

“This crystal points toward Zachary Taylor,” he said. “And it will continue to point toward him all day, which I hope will not be necessary. I will take Theo and go on this search. I will find these children, Michelle. I am still their shepherd, and nothing that you say will dissuade me from doing this.”

Michelle acquiesced. He was, after all, functioning in his role as the leader of this church. Allyn saw that it brought Michelle some comfort—perhaps as sign that the man she’s known and loved for twelve years was still present.

“I need for you and Rosemarie to do me a favor, though. You must locate some people for me—a couple named Galen and Linnea Ashe and a man named Callum MacDonnell.”

“We ain’t got no magic,” said Rosemarie.

“
Have
,” corrected Michelle. “We
don’t have any
magic,” she emphasized, keeping her husband in her sights. She was suspicious of the request.

Allyn placed a hand on Rosemarie’s shoulder and smiled. “That, my child, is why God invented Google.”

CHAPTER 6

NAKED AMBITION

The weather had turned cold with the setting sun, and Daniel was tired of sketching the lake. He tried to find peace in this tranquil setting, but the vision of his stepfather, Clyde, choking on his own blood from a broken table leg jutting through his gut had pushed all other thoughts from his mind. It was all that occupied his thoughts when he wasn’t otherwise distracted. Even in death, Clyde would not give him peace. He told himself it wasn’t his fault—he didn’t want to fight his drunken stepfather, he didn’t have a choice—but some part of him wasn’t buying it. Daniel had wanted Clyde dead for so long, it was as though the universe heard and granted him his wish with no regard for the spirit in which he’d made that wish.
Be careful what you wish for.
The incident weighed heavily on Daniel—he hadn’t had a solid night’s sleep since the fight. He wondered if he ever would again.

Daniel opened the trailer’s sliding back door, and the smell of tangy barbecue assaulted him. The kitchen counter, an L-shaped breakfast nook that divided the living room from the cooking area, was packed with corn bread, ribs, pulled pork, sandwich bread, coleslaw, macaroni and cheese, a tub of pickles, and jars of extra barbecue sauce. It was a feast compared with the fare Beverly had been serving. Luanne sat on the other end of the counter working on a plate piled so high with food it belied her thin figure. She wore a gray, low-cut cotton tank top that highlighted her ample cleavage. Her mouth was covered with sauce, as were her fingers, which she kept licking clean. Daniel felt a stirring at the sight and quickly turned his attention to Beverly.