Chapter 1: The Funeral

From the Chronicles of Father Piet George of Brenham

Good King Charles was buried on this day, 14^th Jounes, 950. The funeral was held in the church of Brenham, and all attended. As I have previously noted, King Charles had been ill for some time with a disease that appeared to wane and then wax, causing great consternation amongst the physicians and experts called from the Portal. After all their efforts, he seemed to rally, only to fall unconscious and die a few days after.

It was spectacular to see the glare of the portal as the guests stepped through it to leave. Harold was there. Fulfilling his duty to visiting dignitaries, he waited a few moments before returning to the Castle.

I have to prepare for the service of investiture now. The plans have been drawn up and all is nearly ready, except I am unable to find the circlet of power. It has been searched for, but has apparently been mislaid by the armourer — much to Harold's annoyance — but we are covering this with a copy of the circlet. I doubt that it will make much difference.

Private Journal of Harold — King Harold I of Brenham

Too long my brother suffered from the illness, and how it hurt me to see him like that ... I was told the poison was fast acting! Never mind. It's done now, and the out-worlders have taken my sister, Susan, away so she won't be any bother to me. It's all arranged that I will be crowned King — as was my birthright! Being the second son wasn't my place I was destined to be the King and I will reign as a true king would!

My first act will be to remove that blasted captain of the guard. He's been watching me, I know it. But I have my own men who will ensure that he won't be any further problem. After that, I will ensure my own people control the guards and then I'll start my pogrom to take over the whole of the land.

The only problem is the loss of the circlet of power, that which will activate the armour of protection, without which I cannot activate the computer inside the wrist-bands. And for some reason, the sword, Twilight, will not talk to me as it did to my brother — I tried it last night and ordered it to obey me, without success! I don't understand this. I have to read through the books in the library to find out why this is.

While thinking of the books ... I find that the notes of the Journey of the first King, John, my father, are missing and the only things I have are the stories that he would tell us of his travels, but I have to admit that I didn't really listen to them, as most of tales are too far-fetched to be real, although the transportal system does give me cause for concern. It would be too easy for people to try to use them to escape from my benevolent rule.

I'll have to sort something out about that ... a bit later I think.

The land of Brenham was still in mourning for its king. In his forest lair, Lord Bran brooded about this. He had seen a darkness coming, and coming fast. He wondered if he should have consulted the Green Lady and Brenda about this.

Bran shook his head. Leave it for the time being; if it affects the forest, then perhaps ... But that would be in the future. The death of his friend, the man Charles, was had made him sad. All life was sacred, but Charles was the son of his other friend John.

Although he wanted to speak to both John and Margaret, he knew that to do so would invite more people to study them and possibly pierce their disguises, something that he was reluctant to do.

His mind went back to when he first met with John Aitkens. At first he'd thought the man as one of those who was intent on destroying the land with their evil, but then he saw his daughter, Genius, with him and so he watched.

Then the man began singing — songs from another land that brought strange, happy sensations to Bran, and he wanted to know the man better. And so he did.

He found that John had a commitment to escort the Lady Brenda, this had brought him into conflict with Brak Distar, and it was only due to the influence of John that Brak was defeated.

Bran found that his connection with The Green Lady strengthened and that he was now able to travel to other worlds and that his powers had increased due to this. Somehow, Brak had been reducing the influence of the guardians of the lands. Later it was found to be part of the programming of the intelligence known as the Red Queen.

Like Lord Oberon, the guardian of John's home planet, Bran had an affinity for the land and would never leave it for long, but the need to help John transcended this obligation.

And so, when the battle returned to Brenham, Bran was there by his side for the task ahead. He had thought to help the people of the land by creating the church so that the mortal folk had a focus for their faith. He hadn't consider the impact it would have on his own people. in fact when the Supreme One appeared to them all he was forced to reconsider his own mortality

He laughed. A machine man worried about his soul? That was what backups were for. In that way would he be saved and a replacement would then take his place with all his memories intact.

The Supreme One? That was a confusing thing. It seemed to look favourably upon John and Margaret and spoke to everyone through the priest Pieter, another human who had surprised Bran. They spent several hours talking about things; how the people and the land were connected; how the faerie folk and the people of Brenham were now working together, even if he never entered the church itself. Although he had built it for John and the then Brother Pieter, he felt a connection to it.

Bran shook his head. How could he think of this? he must be getting old. He smiled and then called the folk to dance and to sing. This was the way to celebrate a friend — to be dour and sad wasn't the way to remember Charles.

In the land of Brenham, things were happening. The new king, Harold, had declared that his brother had been poisoned by persons unknown, although he did think that the Captain of the Guard was involved in the plot, as he was now missing.

Because of this, the entire palace guard was now imprisoned and new guards were installed. In fact they almost trebled the original number of guards.

Because of the problems, Harold announced that travel through the portal would be controlled until the main group of plotters were found, although he did think that they had already escaped. But he feared for his sister Susan as well as himself.

The townsfolk at first applauded his actions, but then found that they were being stopped and their property searched.

Then taxes were imposed to pay for the new guards and buildings, and a wall was being built around the town — for their protection — by convicts, whose numbers had greatly increased due to violations of the new tax laws. These were driven by the guards, who looked down on them.

Some folk tried to cross country to get to other towns to escape from this new regime. They were soon traced and pulled back, Accused of association with the poisoners of King Charles, and flogged before being imprisoned.

Soon, decrying of the king was declared treason, and anyone who spoke against his majesty was arrested and hung. The townsfolk were fearful of saying anything, lest the person they spoke to report to the king.

Fear stalked the street, although only during the daylight hours, as a curfew was in effect. Nobody was allowed on the streets between sundown and sunrise. Groups of more than 10 were not allowed to meet except for church services, leaving that as the only place for people to get together.

Father George protested to King Harold, but got nowhere.

"You forget yourself, Priest. As king of this land, I can decide who the priest is and who is not. Any further protests and I'll have to find someone who will listen to my words and pass them onto the faithful."

Father George frowned. "But the Supreme One decides who is called to the faith. It is not up to us mortals to make such decisions. I would suggest that you meant-" His protests were cut off by Harold jumping to his feet.

"I am the King, priest. I am the one to whom the Supreme One talks to now, and who passes on his words to you. So I embody the faith. You have been told that you are allowed to open your church for services as normal. I will now pen the sermon that you will recite and that you will pass onto your parishioners and the Monastery. Do not deviate from the script. You are dismissed," Harold angrily retorted.

Father George tried to protest, but the guards moved forward to escort him from the chamber.

That Sunday, Father George got to his feet and glanced at the papers he had in his hand. He strode to the front of the Church and spoke. "In the name of the Supreme One ... Brethren, I have here the words of King Harold. In it he states that the church and the crown are now joined for the wellbeing of the people. It is the duty of the people to obey the crown in all things. He states that since he is the head of the crown, he should also be the head of the Church."

Father George looked up at the top of the church at the guards who were standing there. "I have contacted my Prior, who understands my feelings on this, and he also shares them. The church has always been non-judgemental in the workings of the crown, offering aid to those who require it. We have to maintain our distance from the crown to ensure our even-handedness and so I cannot, in all faith agree to this missive. And-"

The rest of his words were stopped by guardsmen, who ran through the aisles and down the centre walkway to him. They grabbed him and quickly ushered him away and out to the castle.

The new captain of the guard stood at the altar. "By order of the King, this church is closed due to the actions of the traitorous Father George. It will re-open when a priest agrees to the role of the king in the beliefs of this church. It is a pity that the action of this traitorous priest has opened the way for the damnation of this congregation. This service is over!" The captain watched as his men came down from the sides and escorted the people out of the church.

As he walked out of the empty church, he noticed a golden chalice. He smiled, picked it up, and walked to the doors.

"HOLD THIEF! RETURN THE CHURCH RELICS!" A voice boomed out from nowhere, making the captain stop with fear. Then there was the sound of the chalice hitting the floor as his fingers released their hold on their prize. He ran out of the church and slammed the doors shut.

I stepped from behind a force shield, laughing.

Bran was with me. "That wasn't nice, Lord John." He was also laughing at the reactions of the guardsman.

"I'm sorry, Bran, but I couldn't help it. Stealing from the church; how could he? I'm sorry I didn't have Twilight with me. It might have helped me." I was sobering now with the thoughts of what my son was doing.

Bran seemed to know what I was thinking. "You had no choice. Did you want to remain King forever? You told me several times that you were not interested in being a king. What did you once say about the crown?" He regarded me.

"It was a cold hat with nothing to protect a person against the rain," I said, thinking back to the days when he would visit me and somehow make the function of ruling a lot better. I picked up the chalice and placed it back from where it had come.

"So how is my god-daughter?" Bran asked, his concern for my daughter, Susan, showing on his face.

"She's getting much better. The toxicology people have found the poison used, and they are starting the antidotes, but they think it's going to be some time before she's completely well." I shook my head sadly.

"Hark, I hear footsteps approaching." Bran alerted me, and so we went back behind the shield.

Father George entered the church. "My Lord Bran, are you within?" he called out, looking around the church.

The small fae who entered with him looked straight at the shield. "He is hiding, priest, but should appear soon."

Bran looked at me. We could see each other behind the screen although any 'normal' person wouldn't see us, and a grin settled on his face, "I am here, Father George, although I do beg your pardon for being in such a holy place." He stepped into view.

Father George made a sign with his hands and then looked abashed. "I'm glad you are here, Lord Bran. I had hoped that you would grace us with your presence earlier, as you did with Father Pieter."

Bran shrugged his shoulders, "I'm sorry Father George, but since the death of Father Pieter, I do not seem to have the need anymore."

Father George nodded, "It is of no matter, and I do thank you for my rescue. I was fully willing to meet with Harold and have this out with him." He looked serious.

"That would not have worked, Father. Harold is smitten with the greed for power, and since he — thankfully — did not inherit any of his father's powers, he resorted to poisons from faraway lands gained during his travels through the portals. With use of these, he's gained the throne and would kill any who speaks against him. It is plain that he plans more than the control of Brenham town, I would consider that he has eyes on the nearer kingdoms," Bran cautioned.

Father George looked at him in shock. "But the other kings would stop him; they wouldn't let him invade their lands"

Bran shook his head. "Nay, good father. He does not design to invade by force, but rather by stealth, as he's sending his spies into the other lands to cause unrest in those places. It's called in-file-tration, or something like that."

"No, Bran. It's pronounced infiltration," I said, closing down the field. "Hello, Father. It's been a few years since I saw you. You're getting old, my friend." I approached the pair.

Father George frowned as he looked at me. "I'm sorry, but I don't recognise you, sir. Have we met before?" He studied my face, trying to remember me.

"I remember when you officiated at the funeral of Father Pieter; I shook your hand and thanked you for taking his place at such a time," I said, taking his hand and shaking it.

"But ... the only person who did that ... was ... Oh my Lord." He sank down onto his knee.

I pulled on his arm. "Get up, Father. I'm no longer the person you knew," I said, and laughed at his amazed look. "And no I'm not a deity either. I'm just a man," I added, hearing Bran snort as he tried to control his laughter. "Just a man, Father. That's all." I glared at Bran.

Father George was in a daze as I took him to a pew and sat him down. I squatted down in front of him.

"But, my Lord John, how is this miracle achieved?"

"Didn't you read Father Pieter's journals? His private ones?" I was puzzled, as I thought that he should have done this.

"Oh no, Lord John. They've been kept at the monastery in the secure vault," he explained. "Only the senior monks are allowed to read them. We priests do not have that right."

I sighed. Trust the clergy to hide things that needed to be known. "Let's just say that the portals can offer more than travel. On my first few journeys, I was offered virtual immortality. All I have to do is to step through a portal and my body returns to the age when I first travelled through them, when I was supposed to look 30 years old. That was why I never travelled whilst I was king. When I gave up the throne and entered the portal, I and my wife were regressed in age. I'd had enough of ordering people around and wanted just a simple life." I looked up at the ceiling of the church.

Father George shook his head. "Nothing in life is simple, my son — I mean, my liege," he corrected himself.

I smiled. "You were correct with 'my son.' I'm nobody now — just a traveller once again — but the news I received from Bran and others made me realise that things were going sour in Brenham. I'm sorry I was too late to save my sons."

Father George frowned. "I'm sorry my liege, I know King Charles died, but who is the other son you refer to?" he enquired.

"Harold, of course. If I'd been a better father to him, I suppose he would have turned out differently, but what else could I have done?" I got up and started pacing the aisle.

"You could have done nothing more, Lord John. You realised that by staying in Brenham you would outlive your own children. Both brothers were raised the same way; neither was treated differently. It was just that Charles was born before Harold, succession is always with the elder male child taking the crown. Would you have dissolved the Kingdom?" Bran pointed out.

I shook my head. "Of course not. The people needed a strong king to lead them. Charles was that king. I knew it, the lords knew it, and the people knew it. For some reason he had the knowledge needed. That's why he was the best one to leave in charge." I justified my actions but knew that I didn't need to.

"Exactly. And he should have seen his brother's envy. We have no control over what people think, but we can try to stop them before they go too far. Now, what do we do about your other son, Harold?" Bran enquired pointedly.

I sighed. "Well, he's too old to put over my knee for a spanking. So what else do you suggest I do?"

Bran shook his head. "You know exactly what is needed. Your son must be removed from the throne," He said quietly.

I shook my head slowly. "No, Bran. I'm not going to kill my own son; I don't care what you may say. I kill only when it's necessary."

"Fine sentiment, but remember he's already killed his brother and poisoned his sister. He won't hesitate to kill you. He is going to take over this world, and then what? The portal is still open to travel at this point." Bran pointed out.

"Just for the moment, Bran. Only for the moment." I looked to where Father George was watching us. "Father, is it right for a father to kill his son?"

Father George shook his head. He seemed horrified at the thought. "Nay, my liege. The taking of a life is never justified. There is always another way to deal with such."

I nodded. "Agreed. Harold may want to use stealth when approaching other kingdoms, so why not use stealth against him? Did you read any of the Christopher Stasheff books?"

Bran frowned, puzzlement showing on his face. "I ken not of such a person, is he a wise man?"

I laughed, "No, Lord Bran. He's just a writer, but his books do have a bearing on this matter. Now, take Father George to a safe place. I have some work to do here."

Bran bowed and then gestured to Father George, who followed him out of the church. I looked up to the ceiling. "I don't know if you can hear me. I'm sorry that my children have been such a bother. I have to hide this church, and I know where I need to send it. Do I have your permission to do this thing?" I asked the air.

I don't know if it was just my imagination, but the ceiling seemed to brighten slightly, and the air grew fresher as if the roof wasn't there, and then I felt ... something ... I can't describe it, and a sense of power flowing into me. I stepped outside the church and regarded it.

Breathing deeply, I pictured in my mind what I wanted to happen. "Temporia travelata!" I intoned, feeling the power flowing through me. Streamers of lights seemed to flow from my hands to wrap themselves over and around the church, covering it and enveloping it. The building before me faded — streamers, church, and all, leaving a bare area of ground with a few gravestones visible, and then they, too, wavered and then vanished from sight.

I staggered slightly and went down onto my knees. The effort of casting the spell had taken too much from me. I was in a dangerous position should any guards approach, but I felt small hands holding me.

"Come with me, magician. We'll keep you safe," I heard a young girl say, and allowed myself to be led away to a village near the town.

I woke up to find a wolf standing over me. Since this isn't a normal thing to happen, I stayed still before I recognised her. "Well it's not the best view I've ever had of you."

My voice made the wolf jump up and then turn to lick my face. "All right, all right, I'm glad to see you, too." I twisted my head trying to avoid her tongue.

"She showed up a few hours after we brought you here." It was the same young girl's voice. I looked around to find I was on a rude bed in what seemed to be a wigwam. Near the centre of the house was a woman who was cooking something on a fire, beside me, keeping away from the wolf was a girl, about 10 or just a bit older.

I started to get up, but then saw that my clothes were on a chair nearby, and so I just sat up, keeping the covers ... covering me. "Thank you, but how did you know I needed help?" I enquired of the girl.

She looked back at the woman. "Granny told me to be at the church. She said that someone would be there and I had to bring them back here," she said simply, and handed me a bowl of something. "She also said you had to eat this because you'd need it."

I took the bowl from her hands and thanked her, then I thanked the woman who got up and walked towards us.

She smiled. "That is a little thing in repayment for the good you have done the land, Lord John," she said, and she turned her blind eyes to focus on me. "I am Mellissa and this is my grand-daughter Thomasina." She put her hand on the girl's shoulder.