Daughter of the Dark King V
She watched as he road the battlements a silhouette in shadow, in motion, against the first breathes of dawn just leaping into the sky. His ceaseless traverse had worn the stones, his lonely vigil the days , his determination the ages. His memory alone remembered the King and his spirit quickened at the thought that his watch had not been in vain.
…
The Dark King followed his daughter and her entourage, his people now assembled once again as they once were, his ministers, his soldiers, the women and children each in their place. The road led now to his home, to that place where he had his beginning so very long ago.
…
He had seen her far out on the road, a seemingly lone traveler with a rag-tag company following far behind. The call went out now as it had not for ages, none in the town understood its meaning. He knew her, though he had not seen her before, and he knew who would soon follow.
He had never believed that the King was gone, he had seen the feints, the mock retreats, the bandying of illusion. They had had the strength to defeat him but not the wisdom, in the end he had fooled them all but the watcher. So the watcher awaited his return and and attended to the vigil. The townspeople thought the rider a curiosity, though those who remained originally after the king’s demise knew his purpose, none living now remembered it. And so he watched the traveler approach with a rag-tag behind and golden light about her that could not be entirely hidden and watched the horizon for the King and his host.
The townspeople gathered now to the walls as word went out throughout the city that events of interest were afoot, and they watched as the traveler drew near to the gate. She neither turned nor looked behind at what followed, but looked at the closed gate and up at the young horseman on the battlement above, as the clatter of his horse’s hooves fell silent.
This scene unfolded to the Dark King’s gaze, his host now a crescent on the horizon as seen from the city walls, and the wariness of his stance at the horseman’s presence belied the horseman’s unexpected stand.
“What name have you?” rang a voice from the plain, a voice that sounded of clear water and sunlight and bright open eyes; there was no response from the battlement to the dark King’s Daughter’s challenge.
Silence followed as all watched from the walls, the voice they had heard was wise, or so it seemed, and all would be well; but the rider did not answer and the silence drew into the murmur of many.
The King watched in puzzlement, his daughter’s expression unreadable as if she would use her stillness to pry aside the horseman’s shroud and read what lay behind, and her beauty pierced the rider’s heart even then as he waited and watched and prepared to defend his battlement.
The rider wove his spell, the king and his host looked on as a mist spread forth from the walls, to the plain, to the host’s feet. They looked up as the mist stopped, curling, and began to retreat back to the wall. The mist had flowed around the Dark Kings’s Daughter, parting its way to right and left as she watched the riders amazement at the spell gone astray.
He was strong and handsome, she thought to herself, though grim even in surprise.
“What name have you?” she asked again, more quietly this time.
“I am called Stone my lady, and what name would you have that you stand so boldly on my plain!”
“I do not know,” she answered, “I have only been for three days and two nights and do not yet have one; would you give me one to suit, kind sir?”
He ignored the clank of opened gates, opened as if to a visitor as the Dark King approached. He treated with a disregard the Dark King and his host as they entered. He cared nothing for the spellbound city and the Dark King’s puzzlement as he passed. He cared only for the fearless innocence gazing up at him from the plain, whose brow began to furrow and question for the first time he own existence. “Why do I not have a name like others,” she asked quietly, “nor clothing not given by another only yesterday, nor knowledge of what I do except that I must move forward?”
“I do not know all your ways my lady, but I can guess at many and would like to teach you what I suspect; I will begin with a name if you will have it, I will call you Cloud because you hide the light of day and give of it only sparingly.”
“I will have this name, Cloud, you say; if you will meet me at the gate so that I may see you more clearly and lift the mist from your shoulders – is it heavy?” she asked as she peered at the rider and his cloak in curiosity.
“Nay, it is not heavy, and I would have that it remain, as it has always been there and I would not feel myself without it; leave it so and I will meet you.”
“Done!” she cried, and the delight in her voice went through him like a shining spear.