Chapter 2: True Beginnings
“ ‘‘Twas vain: the loud waves lash’d the shore, Return or aid preventing; The waters wild went o’er his child, And he was left lamenting.”
- Lord Ullin’s daughter, Thomas Campbell
Many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by a vast lake, there lived an old duke who had once been handsome; who might- if he washed more thoroughly- perhaps be handsome still.
But this old Duke had let himself go. The only thing more hollow than his cheek, was his coffer. His great hall had once shone as polished white as ivory, but now it looked grey and drab.
It had, of course, not always been so. Once, he smiled often. Back in the days when the single throne in the hall had been two, back when he had had his lady at his arm.
They called her Llorena, the silver lady, for every time the night wind blew through her fair hair, it danced as if made entirely of moonbeams. Her laughs had been musical and her smiles had been magic. Her skill with needle and thread was far surpassed by her skill with word and thought.
Once, two men had ridden to the halls hell bent on murder and they had rode out merely hours later, arm in arm and had spent the rest of their lives closer than brothers. There were those who called Lady Llorena a witch, an enchantress even. But when coffers are full and wine flows like rivers from stocked cellars, not many have cause to complain.
In this land where Llorena resided, all was plentiful. All that is, but water.
For as long as any could remember the land around Tlemismeria had been barren and scrub filled. Every week, carriages rode in through the pearly gates carrying tankard upon tankard of fresh water, which the Lady and the Duke gave to all freely, according to their need.
As for themselves, the palace had within its courtyard a single well, from which freshwater could be drawn. Enough to sustain, but never enough to waste. The well had its own wall and its own gate and at its base grew a single briar rose bush.
Soon, the lady and her Duke had a son, whom they named something sweet and strong I am sure, but today we know him as Harmel, so let us address him thus. He was a cherub of a child, with honey eyes and brown curls and a cry so strong it frightened the cats away.
It was when Harmel was a toddler, old enough to speak three words and smile his baby smile still, that it first rained in Tlemismeria.
And what rains they were. It rained so regularly that sand became loam and where arid winds had once blown, woodland now grew. The kingdom now had fields that never withered for want of moisture. Crops grew with almost no tending. By all counts it was truly paradise.
It is said that at first, the duke welcomed the thunder.
But something happened, as oft it does.
No one could say for sure, but this is what the cooks in the palace whispered, until the duke dismissed them. Dismissed everyone but the wrinkled woman Harmel called baba.
It was the man, of course it was. He strayed from his path and when the Silver Lady found out, she was devastated. With her heart in pieces on the polished floors of the great hall, she left, never to return. So many times was the story repeated, that it read as fact.
So it was that the old Duke ruled the ghost of a happy kingdom, so it was that Harmel grew up with only baba and a few guards and cooks for company. The guards entertained him when his father would not and if ever his father slapped him, baba would scrub the wounds away.
Now, whenever thunder came, the Duke paled and shivered like a fawn in the cold.
Now, if anyone set foot in the courtyard, the Duke would have them lashed. Creepers and bushes grew wild and in a year or two, the courtyard was a little forest, all on its own. But still, sometimes, after a fresh drizzle, or on an especially hot day, the apple scent of a briar rose suffused the air.
When Harmel was five summers old, he saw his father enter the courtyard.
When he was eight summers old, he followed him and when the guards began to teach Harmel how to hold sword and dagger, he found the locked door.
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