The lonesome crown, p.70
The Lonesome Crown, page 70
“Bringing back the Silver Throne is not all we must do, Your Excellency,” the vicar said to the king. “There is one more thing we must do before Fiery Absolution, one more task we need complete for scripture to be fulfilled.”
“And what is that, Your Grace?” Jovan asked, suspicious eyes still on the throne. “Is it to bring back my sword, Sky Reaver, the sword of my enemy?”
After the weapon’s theft, Leif had charged his younger brother, Glade, with finding Seita, Liz Hen, Dokie, and Jovan’s sword. But the young Dayknight, and the contingent of soldiers in his charge, had been scouring the city to no avail. Mancellor hoped Liz Hen and Dokie would never be found. He wished no ill will on his friends. He knew that if they were found, they would be hung.
“Sky Reaver is another matter altogether,” Denarius answered. “I talk of something more vital to the survival of Gul Kana and humanity in general.”
“And what is that?”
“It is true that Archbishop Spencerville shall arise from the dead before Fiery Absolution and that Princess Jondralyn shall arise with him.For I blessed Jondralyn that she would come forth during the return of Laijon, clothed in glory, immortality, and eternal life. But until that day, an empty seat remains at my side amongst the quorum of five.” Denarius bowed low to Jovan. “And that seat shall be filled by you, my king.”
The king’s eyes widened. “To fulfill the prophecy in the Revelations of the Fourth Warrior Angel.”
“Indeed,” the grand vicar answered, and quoted the scripture. “ ‘In the latter days a king shall be made bishop upon the Silver Throne, one of humble means from Wyn Darrè bearing witness,’ ” Mancellor felt the nervousness rise up in his own throat as the vicar tuned to him and confirmed, “And we have the representative soldier from Wyn Darrè right here. One of humble means.”
“Me?” Mancellor took another step back.
“Peace be unto you, Ser Mancellor Allen,” the vicar said. “For this moment is the culmination of your destiny. That is why you, in my foresight, have been summoned to such a special occasion. Will you bear witness to what sacred things are to follow?”
Mancellor gulped, heart hammering. “Yes.” He bowed to the grand vicar.
“Most excellent.” Denarius bowed in return. “For what happens now will require both strength and great faith from what few of us remain in this room.”
The grand vicar stepped toward the banquet table, beckoning Leif and Glade Chaparral to follow him. The vicar turned and faced everyone. “Each of you here will be required to take part in the glory of a special sacrament that has never before been performed in the history of the Five Isles.”
Denarius motioned for Leif to pick up the silver urn of oil. He motioned for Glade to grab the large paintbrush and folded white sheet and small, rusted iron mallet.
“Place them before the throne,” the vicar ordered. The brothers did as told, setting each item carefully in order on the stone floor before the throne: silver urn, brush, white sheet, rusted mallet. The urn was the heaviest of the items, filled to the brim with what Mancellor surmised were at least two gallons of consecrated oil.
The vicar addressed King Jovan. “Today you shall fulfill prophecy by joining in the righteous brotherhood of the quorum of five. You shall first be stripped of all raiment unto pure nakedness by the brotherhood. Then your flesh shall be bathed in the sacred oils of our priesthood and placed under a pure-white veil, wherein your lungs shall be pressed and purified of all noxious air. And you, Jovan Bronachell, king of Gul Kana, must complete this sacrament in utmost faith and righteousness and trust in your fellow brethren.” Denarius stared straight at the king as he asked, “Do you agree?”
“I do.” Jovan nodded.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the four archbishops—Vandivor, Donalbain, Leaford, and Rhys-Duncan—descended upon the king. They tore at Jovan’s clothes with clawing hands, ripping the black shirt from his shoulders, chest, and back, tearing the fabric, shredding it. Jovan, taken off guard, began to fight against the archbishops. It was reactive self-preservation. He punched and kicked.
“You must not resist!” The grand vicar’s voice rang loudly through the hall. “You must place all trust in your fellow brethren!”
Jovan breathed heavy from the struggle. Archbishop Vandivor ripped the belt from around the king’s waist and tossed it across the floor. Donalbain and Leaford yanked down the king’s pants and underclothes, revealing his privates. The king covered his exposed parts with one hand, embarrassed, trying to brush the two archbishops away with the other.
“Give in to the sacrament!” Denarius called out. “You think you have known happiness in the past, but you shall never know full joy until you fully embrace all the sacraments of Laijon, until you have gone through your purification.”
Jovan, one hand still cupping his groin, let Donalbain and Leaford remove his boots and pull his pants down and toss them aside. The king cowered now, completely naked save for the silver crown atop his head.
The grand vicar was now soaking the large paintbrush in the silver urn of oil. Once Jovan was divested of his clothing, Denarius took the dripping brush and commenced to slather consecrated oil over Jovan’s naked form from head to toe, whilst praying.
“Jovan Bronachell, in the name of Laijon and by the power of the priesthood I hold, I, Denarius, grand vicar of the Church of Laijon, consecrate your body in the name of the great One and Only, even in the name of Laijon. May you retain health in the mind and strength in the marrow and in the bones, and may the power of the priesthood be upon you throughout your purification and throughout eternity.”
To Mancellor it looked as if the archbishop were basting the king with butter like a chef basting a plucked Adin Wyte tom turkey, readying him for the fire. Donalbain, Leaford, Rhys-Duncan, and Vandivor began unfolding the white sheet at the foot of the throne.
Done brushing the oil over the king’s body, Denarius ordered Jovan to take his seat on the throne. Leif and Glade held Jovan under the arms so he did not slip on the now oil-soaked tile floor. Once the king was sitting naked on the Silver Throne, the Archbishops draped the white sheet over Jovan’s body from the top of his head to his lap, covering the nakedness of his upper torso completely, leaving his lower legs exposed.
Donalbain and Leaford stood on one side of the throne whilst Vandivor and Rhys-Duncan stood on the other. Donalbain and Leaford grabbed one end of the sheet, Vandivor and Rhys-Duncan the other, and then they all four walked around toward the back of the throne, pulling on either end of the sheet as they went, the stretched sheet pressing the upper part of Jovan’s body and head against the back of the throne. He squirmed uncomfortably in the oily seat. The four archbishops continued to pull on the sheet wrapped around his upper body. Mancellor could see the king’s arms struggle for purchase under the taught fabric. But the strength of the four men pulling on the sheet forced him back into the seat, the white, oily fabric now molding to every contour of his chest and arms, molding around his heaving neck and face and gaping mouth. The king strained for breath.
“You’re suffocating him!” Leif called out.
“All is as it should be.” Denarius stepped forward. “For this is his purification, his final sacramental anointing into the quorum of five. We must all remain strong as the breath of life leaves his body, we all must remain true to our faith in Laijon, as our great One and Only breathes new life into him.”
Leif is right. They are killing him! Mancellor watched Jovan Bronachell heaving for breath under the straining sheet. He felt the bile rise in his throat, nervous now for the king. They are purposely killing the king! But before his mind could form any more coherent thoughts than that, the grand vicar began his entreaty and plea to the almighty.
“O great Laijon, hear my prayer!” Denarius held both hands, palms out, toward the vaulted ceiling above. “Hear my prayer, O great One and Only!”
Denarius lowered his hands, motioning Leif and Glade Chaparral forward. “You grab the urn,” the vicar ordered Leif. “It should still be about half full of oil. And you, Glade, gather up the mallet and place it in the king’s right hand.” The two Dayknights did as Denarius bade them whilst the four archbishops kept the sheet tight around Jovan’s face and heaving torso.
Glade freed Jovan’s right hand from the confines of the sheet and placed the mallet in his straining grip. “I cannot breathe,” Jovan gasped, holding the mallet tightly, voice muffled and weak. “I cannot see. I beg of you, release me.”
“Don’t fight it,” the vicar said. “Accept purification, Your Excellency.”
“I cannot breathe.”
“If you but pray to Laijon, he will deliver you from this death. It is up to your own faith now. Do you not remember the many previous purifications at my hand? Do you not recall the purification you asked me to perform on Tala? This is but a similar thing, only harder to endure, for you, like no man before you, will have to speak at the same time your breath is forced from your lungs. But endure it you will, for I have faith in you, my king. Every member of the quorum of five has faith in you. For we too have been similarly purified.”
Denarius bent and whispered in Jovan’s ear. But all in the hall could hear his words. “Knock the mallet on the arm of the throne when you are told, and repeat after me when spoken to. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Jovan gasped, voice still muffled, the sheet still being pulled tight around his mouth by the four archbishops behind him. The king was breathing hard now, chest heaving in and out in panic.
Denarius stood before Jovan, placing his right knee against the exposed and oiled right knee of the king. “Between truth and lie and legend shall be a veil,” he said. “Do you have any questions to ask of me, Your Excellency?”
Jovan just sat there, strained breath hissing through the oily fabric. With a nod from Denarius, the four archbishops behind the Silver Throne pulled the sheet tighter around the king’s upper body and face.
“Do you have any questions to ask of me?” the vicar repeated. “Tap the throne once with the hammer if you do.”
The king raised the mallet and tapped its rusted iron head against the arm of the throne once. It sounded like a door knocker knocking on a hollow door.
“And what is wanted?” Denarius asked, as if indeed Jovan had been knocking on a door and the vicar had just opened it.
“Release me,” Jovan pleaded. “I can’t breathe.”
“Wrong,” Denarius said. “When you know, you must repeat all I say unto you, my king.”
Denarius then leaned over and whispered into Jovan’s ear. But this time nobody could hear but the king. Jovan listened, breathing hard, and then repeated, his mouth and voice straining under the sheet, “Having been true and faithful, I, Jovan Bronachell, king of all Gul Kana, having no way to see through the veil, desire further light and knowledge in the priesthood of Laijon as set forth in The Way and Truth of Laijon.”
Denarius, knee still pressed against Jovan’s knee, answered. “The front leg of the Silver Throne you now sit upon represents the exactness and honor of Laijon in keeping the covenants of the Five Warrior Angels. And that is the secret of the priesthood of Laijon.”
Then the grand vicar motioned to Leif. The captain of the Dayknights lifted the urn of oil over Jovan’s head and poured. Jovan spat and sputtered under the sheet as the oil slithered down his face, unable to breathe. His struggle lasted a few minutes as the oil soaked into the sheet, seeping into his mouth and down his throat. He gagged and heaved, then his breathing became somewhat normal again, though slow and strained.
The vicar said, “Knock upon the throne twice now, and your next request shall be granted.” Jovan coughed, then knocked with the mallet twice. “What is wanted?” Denarius asked, again leaning forward and whispering the answer in the king’s ear.
Jovan repeated, voice strained and muffled from the near drowning at the hands of Leif, “Having been true and faithful, I, Jovan Bronachell, king of all Gul Kana, having no way to see through the veil, wish to know the mysteries of godliness.”
Denarius answered, “The second leg of the Silver Throne you now sit upon represents the undeviating course toward the eternal life of godliness that awaits you among the heights of the stars. And the mysteries of godliness are as follows: obedience and faith. For they are simple mysteries. And in the stillness of the night will come the wraiths; they will shriek and sing, echoing off one side of your head and the other, but with the mantle of archbishop that you shall soon take upon you, you can stave off such demons with but a simple thought. And only those close to godliness can do such.”
Again Denarius motioned to Leif, who lifted the urn of oil over Jovan’s head and poured. Jovan struggled and gagged and nearly drowned. Whimpers of humiliation and pain could now be heard from under the sheet. But his breathing eventually steadied.
And the vicar said, “Knock thrice and your next request shall be granted.” Jovan knocked three times against the arm of the throne with the mallet. “What is wanted?” the vicar asked. And as Denarius leaned forward and whispered in the king’s ear, Mancellor felt some amount of pride that he was being included in such grand history as this, that he was included in scripture and prophecy, that his name would go down in the annals of time as one who had brought Jondralyn’s body to Amadon and had witnessed the king of Gul Kana become an archbishop. Did I ever really even know my religion, or my place within it? Had every moment of his life led up to this?
Done whispering in the king’s ear, Denarius leaned back, and Jovan repeated, “Having been true and faithful, I, Jovan Bronachell, king of all Gul Kana, having no way to see through the veil, wish to now pass through the veil of death unto the other side and enter into the priesthood of Laijon as one of the quorum of five.”
Denarius answered, “The third leg of the Silver Throne you now sit upon represents your entrance into the quorum of five. It represents your faith and trust in The Way and Truth of Laijon. It represents the power and tokens of Laijon’s holy priesthood as given unto the grand vicar and bestowed upon the quorum of five.”
For the third time Leif lifted the urn of oil over Jovan’s head and poured. And once again oil ran down the sheet, soaking into the king’s mouth, clogging his throat. He gagged and heaved and cried out in pain. And still the four archbishops behind the throne hauled tight on the sheet, pressing Jovan’s head back against the throne as he struggled to regain his breath.
The vicar said, “Knock now four times and your next request shall be granted.” Jovan knocked the mallet on the arm of the throne four times. But this time the knocks were weak and nearly soundless. “What is wanted?” the vicar asked.
“I can’t breathe,” Jovan tried to cry out, but his hissing voice was but a faint, weak sound. “I will die if we continue.” His breaths had slowed.
“You must carry on,” the vicar said, knee still pressed against the king’s. “It is the only way. You must now knock again, four times.”
Jovan knocked again with the mallet, feeble knocks, four times. “What is wanted?” Denarius asked. Again the vicar whispered in the king’s ear.
Jovan repeated, “Having been true and faithful, I, Jovan Bronachell, king of all Gul Kana, still having no way to see through the veil, wish to know my place at Fiery Absolution.”
The grand vicar answered, “The fourth leg of the Silver Throne you sit upon represents Fiery Absolution, that every knee shall bend and every tongue confess that Laijon has returned, and that you, Jovan Bronachell, are Laijon returned.”
Leif lifted the urn of oil over Jovan’s head again and poured. Jovan didn’t even try to breathe through the oily mask covering his face this time. He just sat still as if holding his breath. In fact, for a moment Mancellor thought the king was dead. But Jovan eventually let out a great gasp and cough, and began breathing again slowly.
The vicar said, “Knock five times and your next request shall be granted.”
Jovan knocked with the mallet five times with scant relish or effort. “What is wanted?” the vicar asked. Denarius whispered into Jovan’s ear.
The king repeated, voice strained, “Having been true and faithful, I, Jovan Bronachell, king of all Gul Kana, still having no way to see through the veil, wish to know the true names of the five of fellowship.”
“And who are the five of fellowship?” the vicar asked, again whispering the answer in Jovan’s ear.
The king answered, “The five of fellowship are the Gladiator, Assassin, Thief, Princess, and Slave.”
“That is correct,” Denarius answered, then whispered into Jovan’s ear again.
“And what are their names?” the king asked with his last breath.
The vicar answered, “They are known as the five of fellowship, yea, even the Five Warrior Angels. And their names shall soon be revealed. And they shall join you under the Burning Tree and the veil shall be removed from your eyes.”
But Jovan was no longer breathing; the mallet dropped from his hand.
The four archbishops released their hold on the white sheet. It loosened from around Jovan’s face. All was silent. Then the king’s eyes flew open as he tore the sheet away from his face, gasping for air.
“And thus you are consecrated, Jovan Bronachell,” Grand Vicar Denarius called out. “For you shall arise from the Silver Throne as Laijon returned. You shall arise from the throne at Fiery Absolution as the head of the Five Warrior Angels reborn. And you shall take up what weapon and angel stone is rightfully yours and strike down your enemy, that false imposter, Aeros Raijael, and put an end to his slaughter.”
Reave the ethic shroud, a song that carries forever on the wind. A princess shall sit upon the throne. A princess shall flee with the claw. The ground will crack asunder.
—THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON
