CHAPTER SIX
The mask of darkened night had passed-over and covered the face of the land until, the rising sun, brought into play the motions of the morning life. People's voice covered the singing poetry of the sparrow and the cooing of the falcon-cranes, that glided on high, with the gods.
As the night progressed, Brook sat in his viewing room and pondered the problems that he knew were destroying the unity of his beloved land. This pretty land that had once surged with the majesty and splendour, created by his father, descended from The Blue.
When the day broke, Brook emerged from his diversion of thought. His mind and soul were determined to make strong his rightful rule in the land.
With Lloyd at his house, knowing Dearborne was safe, he made his way to
Canon's Butte to the Halls Cathedral, and the ArchBishop.
The streets were crowded with people that morning, for the Week of
Jubilee began on that day.
Slowly, he trod on the walkways by the emporiums and through the square, where he gave his 'good days!', to Empal and other loyal friends who stepped aside, and let him pass without a struggle.
He spoke to his subjects during his walk, and offered some bits of confidence to them and received some in return. Strength returned to him and his apprehensions about his meeting with the ArchBishop decreased in severity. With his faith in good and his will prepared to conquer evil, through a show of strength, he replaced his insecurity.
But evil played the game well and the roles of strength were weighed in a balance by patience and peace. Both were prodded and teased by temptation and mistrust, and attempted to tip the scales in favour of the incubation.
Brook stood in the confines of the cleric's office and looked out the window at the water fountain below, where the vicars and novices pruned the grass and floral scape, and had some fun. They bathed their white skins on this day, allowed for this Week of Jubilee to be without their habits when within the walled grounds of the Cathedral. Their abundant loin-clothes flapped about in the slight breeze that blew off the ocean nearby. So close, in fact, that one would be able to see it from the windows of Halls' southern most parts.
Brook waited a long time. He was apprehensive about seeing the ArchBishop. After all the times that Brook denied his own conference to him, he was now himself being refused the immediate audience that he demanded.
Brook became nerved and enraged but he knew that he'd dare not leave now, for it would show defeat on his foe's ground and on his foe's terms. He knew, that to choose the humility of his waiting for a subordinate, would moreso be forgotten than if he were to retreat from the stand-off with the ArchBishop, and his weapon of time and patience.
He brewed hateful thoughts within him mind. He cursed and prayed for God's vengeance to be his, upon the entrance of his adversary. He was aware of the ignoble egotism in the ArchBishop, with his delusions of holiness and the calling of himself: "The Almighty". But Brook knew what excrement this holy man really was and the utter evil that he possessed, inherited directly from the ancient Canon Di'Vaticanus.
He waited and then waited some more, nearly reaching a point which lacked a noble virtue. Brook waited until the ArchBishop bounded in through his iron-twined door, as if he were a majesty himself.
They stood far apart and silent. The entire length of the room loomed in silent space between them while they just glared at one another.
Finally, the ArchBishop's ill-meaning smile skirted his face as he sat down behind his desk. He never took his eyes off his Lord and master Scullion, until he was first to speak. Brook waited for the most heartless sign of homage, if he was to receive one at all. He never.
"How are you, my … brother?" mumbled the ArchBishop. His voice carried overtones of mockery, intended to disturb.
Brook moved to the man's desk, his eyes fixed on his brow and the evil smile, which looked as if painted onto his face, until he, too, finally reverberated.
"You tread on soft ground, brother! Your delusions of grandeur have carried your mind off into another space."
"I don't understand?" the ArchBishop's smile left his face momentarily.
Brook laid his palms on the surface of the grand cleric's desk top and mocked him in turn. "What?" Brook laughed. "The Almighty not understand something? Come now brother … I was made to wait here too long, and for you!" He lifted his hands from the desk and made his way back towards the window. "Maybe I should have you tried. Made an example of; should I not, my dearest brother?" He reached the window and looked out of it to the fountain below. The same time, he slightly grinned, knowing the effects that he caused to come over the ArchBishop's mind. No sooner did Brook finish speaking, did the cleric challenge him.
"Make yourself clear, Brook. State your business and take your leave!" blurted the man in the holy garb.
Brook's grin left him as he swung around and poked his hand into the air, in the direction of the religious leader, and stared right into his now pale eyes.
"You are but a mere man — and not even so — and you can bleed!" He ceased for a moment and saw a spark of fear flame over the ArchBishop's face as he twitched in his chair.
"Yes, my brother … You can bleed. Wouldn't a real god be immune to bodily injury? A real god would not sit on his … broad alter and live off his people, growing fat from their love and their worship and yet give them nothing in return. Not only that … you had sent for me — so, unless you inform me as to what you want … you may take your leave!"
"Good speech. State your — "
" — Your tongue will be silenced either by my command or by my hand, Manguino! I shall give you leave, if I care to, and for good." Brook's words, the strength of their usage, greatly startled the great ArchBishop who sat back in his chair and blinked aimlessly as the sovereign continued, after some silence. "Word has reached me, that you are starving several of the united districts, in the north, with an embargo on their trade! As of this moment that will cease and with that, extra trade will commence between Phoride and Besten. It has been long enough, that you have had your petty vengeance on them."
"You agreed on that embargo!" Manguino advanced.
"Yes. Now I change my mind. Your 'will' be … none!"
Brook turned his head and focused his eyes upon Manguino.
Silence clutched the room again. Brook stood majestic and powerful in the presence of his brother. The evil high priest, Manguino, was now totally disturbed by Brook's show of strength and power.
"It would not have made a difference!" Manguino said as he pushed himself from his chair and moved over to where his brother stood.
"I will make the difference now! As of this moment." Brook shouted at him. "You … you may only follow. You will not be permitted to exercise your power unwisely."
The sovereign's judgement had been made and the idea frightened Manguino and choked the room with a silence that removed hope of the existence of any breath.
Manguino turned back to his desk. The silence created a term of indecision in him that he had not experienced since before Smith Blue died.
As if against his will, Manguino found himself leafing through some papers on the corner of his desk, desperately trying to formulate a plan in his mind to rebuke Brook. Instead, however, he found himself writing and signing a retraction to the trade embargo. He stretched out his hand, holding the document in offering, to Brook.
"How do you mean this return of trade to take place? By the week, month or year?" asked Manguino, his tone sounding significantly defeated.
"By month. I suppose that this would be reasonable!" An expression of shock came over the ArchBishop. He whined like a child, then took control of himself and finally showed his anger.
"Reasonable? Treating them like our masters and that, you say, is reasonable?" he stopped for a moment and wondered if Brook was indeed sane, then laughed a little in a half-hearted manner.
Brook proceeded.
"Yes, I believe that a monthly caravan should suffice. They would prove more profitable to us as our friends than as our enemies."
"Why don't we send them goods every day? mocked Manguino.
"Careful, Manguino! You tempt the wrong feelings in my heart. Anyway, if Phoride could survive the strain, I would consider daily caravans. And now onto another annoyance." He looked at Manguino with contemptible eyes, intended as prejudgment on his brother. "I shall not tolerate any further words between the Cardinal Allen and my wife. If I learn that he speaks with her, or another other woman of my household, just once more, I will have him arrested and whipped until death." he turned to Manguino and sneered a grin suggesting a pleasurable thought. "I might even do it myself!"
"I don't know what you are talking about!" defended Manguino, seemingly innocent of the fact that the Cardinal Allen tried to force his will on the Lord's spouse.
"Oh?" is the only response Brook made, then added, "Well, make certain you do not continue with this ignorance, within your own ranks. You would not appreciate the subsequent consequences!" Manguino lowered his head and looked to the floor, but in realization of his defeated mannerisms he quickly straightened and eyed Brook as he moved towards the door of the office. He opened it and before making his exit, he quickly turned to give him one last icy glare.
"You will never again keep me waiting." commanded the sovereign and Manguino tipped his head with unwanted compliance, realizing this meeting was a bounty in favour of his rival brother, Brook.
Manguino, the grand. The great ArchBishop of all Phoride and the continent, slowly dragged himself back to his desk and sat in his chair. Back in it all the way, he breathed heavily a few times and contemplated the last few minutes that had elapsed and Brook's conquest of wills. 'What to do?', was the only question that paraded about Manguino's mind. Finally, the answer came to him. He would have his revenge in a short fortnight, during the celebrations to commemorate the wedding between Brook and his beloved Dearborne. Cardinal Allen will have his pleasure on that night and so would the ArchBishop entertain his satisfaction. He will have the triumph over his noble brother, in the midst of the highest citizens of Pomperaque. He would ruin his brother forever. He smiled to himself and mumbled under his breath, and the gleam of a maybe victory flashed across his eyes.
"Yes, that would be perfect." he said and repeated it, then with this he proceeded to scribble on some clean paper, a request for accompaniment to some select cardinals, for that evening of merry-making.
As the great keeper of Halls set his plans of abasement to honour his brother, another man was alive as a loyal servant, keeping true his word to his master.
Sitting in Brook's chair, in the viewing den, Lloyd leafed through the large book. The night before, he sat up to all hours and listened to the Lady Dearborne as she conveyed to him the circumstances surrounding her husband's apparent meekness, and their son, Boyce. While he read the great book he remembered what Brook had told him about his noble heritage, and the emergence of the elite group of people, that followed the global devastation long ago.
Lloyd observed the details of the colourful pictures that showed the way of life in the age before the time of chaos. He read the ancient lines which spoke of the great rulers of that time. Those men that tried to prevent war at any cost, and others who wanted it, at any cost.
His eyes loomed across the words spoken by the great presidential leader of this ancient land. His thoughts that were spoken the very day that his life was taken from him by an assassin, hired by some warmonger.
"We're called a civilized people. Let us behave as civilized people. Do not let war shatter our tiny planet for the benefit of just a few, who would profit from it — become rich and powerful from the death of those weaker than themselves. Let us seek a world unity — a brotherhood of love — before it is too late … before we give our all, for nothing!"
Lloyd sighed. The power and spirit behind those words still rang true, even to this day. Where every land was under its own governing directions, ruled by no central idea or council and indeed, being nothing more than a communal feudalism.
He continued to turn the pages of the great book, THE HISTORY OF NORTH AMERICA, and stared in amazement at its details, almost right up to the very day of the holocaust. That detail was mainly in the last few pages which appeared to have been put into the book, at a much later time. He saw that someone did not want a noble life, a great civilization, to die and be forgotten forever. How, to him, the book began to take-on an almost holy aura that drew him deeper and deeper into the words' strength, until a tear issued from his eye and slowly meandered down his fleshy cheek.
He wiped the tear from his cheek, in one motion of the back of his hand. Boyce rumbled into the den carrying a tray of food and drink, and quietly set it on the table by Lloyd.
"I have brought you food, my Lord!" informed the boy.
Lloyd looked up from the book and smiled as he thanked the boy and requested him to join in the eating. Hesitant, the boy suspiciously looked at Lloyd with questions in his eyes. He nodded and smiled, then boy finally moved to the corner and brought back a stool, and so sat by him.
Lloyd motioned to Boyce to take some food and not knowing what else to do in this circumstance, he took a piece of the roasted fowl and smiled before he bit into it.
"Thank-you, my Lord!" the boy exclaimed.
"You are welcome." returned Lloyd, and continued. "Say, Boy. You will call me Lloyd … I have had enough people call me sir and Lord!"
"Thank-you … Lloyd!" Boyce responded, startled by the show if friendship offered to him by the injured man that he helped to carry back to the Blue Mansion.
They ate the dinner.
They didn't say much to one another while they ate. Lloyd resumed his reading of the great book and the boy looked-on at Lloyd's changing expression, his eyes almost bursting into a fall of tears, throughout it all.
Lloyd looked up from the book, at times, and caught the boy's eyes locked onto him as he read. "My Lord Brook promised to teach me to read that," Boyce stated, "but he has not found the time!" He looked hollow for a moment and a feeling of loneliness seemed to hover over him until Lloyd, with a compassionate voice, grabbed the boy's craving for some adult rapport.
"Brook had asked me to teach you. Would you like that?"
"Yes." Boyce's answer was short and direct, and full of obvious excitement. He continued to eat.
"I spoke to Lady Dearborne yesterday."
"She's a very nice lady!" added Boyce. He looked up at Lloyd and smiled, and Lloyd just laughed.
"That she is, Boyce, and you are very fortunate that she and Brook are your parents."
Boyce was astonished. He stopped eating, looked at the meat that he was holding then slowly dropped it back onto the tray. He stood up and aimlessly started to walk a few steps away from Lloyd.
Through the hush of the room could be heard the sounds of life echoing-in from off the streets. There were short playful screams of the little girls being teased by the boys. Boyce faced Lloyd. After eyeing him for a time, he finally spoke.
"She told you? — Why?" he said, as if in order.
Lloyd nodded.
"Will you tell my father?"
Lloyd's face showed apprehension, and he answered the boy.
"No, I won't. But I have a strong feeling that he may already know." he ceased for a moment and grinned a little. "Afterall, you do look more like him with each passing day."
Once again there was a short silence between them but it was broken up by some sighs and a welcomed laugh from Boyce.
"Yes, that is true. Perhaps that is why he asked you to teach me?"
"I cannot begin to know what goes on in someone's mind, but that just may be, my young friend."
With their confirming smile and nod, they acknowledged their new friendship.
There was a powerful understanding which formed between them. The presence of it could be felt within the room and it was then that Lloyd made a suggestion.
"Shall we start the lessons?"
Excited, Boyce nodded that he would like that.
"Can you read?"
Boyce shrugged with an embarrassed grin.
"I know the old alphabet … my grandfather taught me, but I can't understand very much.
Lloyd showed his understanding with a nod, and begged Boyce to sit again on the stool, and when he did, Lloyd handed him the book.
"I will do what I can to teach you, young Lord." Lloyd promised then allowed Boyce to leaf through the pages to familiarize himself with the contents. He turned to a large and colourful map and began to read slowly:
"The North American continent stretches between two oceans and from the northern icecaps to the southern tropics. Its land varies from mountains and prairies, to dense marches and arid deserts. The people of North America are united under a political ideology known as DEMOCRACY, which prime advantage lies in the FREEDOMS given to each individual citizen."
Boyce finished his time consuming and irregular method of reading and smiled as he looked up at Lloyd. He waited for a response.
"You did well, Boyce!"
"Tell me, Lloyd … are we Americans?"
Lloyd quietly pondered the question for a moment then eased back in his chair and tried to answer his anxious pupil.
"In some ways, yes! Every one of us cherish freedom and would like to be proud of our land, rather than collect into small individual districts and territories which are hostile to one another! Lloyd finished, feeling that he had adequately answered the boy's question. He waited for another question, which came quickly.
"I can't understand, how such a strong land could be destroyed?"
"Every living man wanted power. There was tension and there were wars and the people lost faith in those who governed them. Then came the final war. Those who were greedy and survived and those who were of great intellect, took command of the land. Both called themselves Kings, Queens and Lords. Both, to some extent, ruled with fear. We still have this, but there are some men that are sore from this dark heritage. Men like my father and your father."
"And I, also!" stated Boyce, his face lighting up with the spark of freedom that touched his spirit.
"We all learn, my friend," said Lloyd. "you now learn about a once hectic life and subdued value. We now have only these memories and there are some men that would even deny us this."
Boyce shook his head, understanding what Lloyd meant and then followed the motion of his hand that instructed him to continue reading. This time he read the leaflets, added by some obscure person:
'… in the final decades of the Twentieth Century, there came to power, in their world, men of questionable sanity. These men called themselves THE SAVIOURS OF EARTH, believing that they were sent by God to make Earth into a second Eden. Yet, not a single soul was saved. Millions died, and many others had perished in the subsequent plagues that spread throughout the entire planet, after the scourging battles. The only way for great nations to survive, was to wage war. The final years saw the greatest of all wars, fought in the ancient Holy Land called, the Middle-East. It was God's will, at the beginning, that the war of the end would be fought at that sacred place. Armageddon heralded the end of mankind.
GIN — AUGUST 27, 1986'
The Seer watched the life there, with a teased curiosity, and he foresaw a postponement to his visit; so stayed upon the mountain.
What he was seeing, was of deep interest to him.