Pacing the Greeting Room, irritation was getting the better of Brandor. Talking with Manon, Hanor’s father a short time ago, just mentioning Hanor’s potential had sent the man into a spin. Stumbling over lame excuses as if avoiding a sensitive issue, he had insisted Lizan - his beloved, should be present and left. Undignified, the reaction was quite worrying, leaving Brandor to speculate why.
Peering out of one of numerous slender, arched windows, the door to their private chamber remained closed. Visiting Manson previously to rouse them against the growing evil in the north, viewing the results on his way here, but that issue was now secondary to this new development. Since receiving that insightful dream about a Point of Light in the heart of a High-House Heir, he had known instinctively its importance. Ignorance however, had cost him a great deal of time and trouble, and present frustrations were a reflection of that mistake. If he had not left Hanor until last, by-passing Manson in his original search, progress would have already been made.
Calming down, considering what he had experienced with the young man earlier, that was one scenario he had not foreseen. Triggering Hanor’s awakening to the dormant powers locked inside him, it was as mystifying as it was exciting. Relieved, his arduous travels at last producing fruit, he still had no idea what it all meant.
Two ornate doors opened, a sombre looking Manon entering followed by a hesitant Lizan. United in both love and war, Brandor knew they were close. Any words exchanged outside were now hidden behind shielded expressions.
Walking to where he waited, Lizan managed a thin smile, agitation flickering across her pretty face like someone anticipating the worst possible news. “How… are you Brandor?” she asked, stopping a few paces short of the old man.
“I am well,” he answered, desiring to push aside any formalities. Regal looking, the darkness of her hair enhanced the depth in her eyes.
“I hope Manon has reported about our hard work, assembling a force to combat the evil you spoke of?” she said, glancing at her beloved. Gripping the side of her dappled brown dress, the wide creamy band down the front looked off-colour, reflecting her mood.
Playing along with this delaying tactic, the Dai-laman was after their trust not obedience. What he was about to ask would be difficult for any parent. “I have seen the changes, a credit to you both.”
“Thank you.”
“But there is still much to do,” Manon said, trying to inject an air of confidence into the room. Standing beside Lizan, he held her hand.
“Yes, activities in the Northern Realms are increasing as we speak,” Brandor said, deciding they still needed to know what else was happening in The Freelands. “Whatever is being prepared…, we are sure to find out soon.”
“Our numbers grow with each turn of the day,” Lizan reported, focusing on other issues to avoid the hurt to come.
“They should number a few thousand,” Manon added, wiping his brow. Sweeping back silvery black hair, sweat ran down his back, the matt green tunic not helping.
“Would you like to see what we have done?” Lizan posed, indicating the door.
A meek attempt to distract them from the sensitive subject of Hanor, the old man considered the benefits. Would he glean more if the atmosphere were calmer? ‘Perhaps not’ he concluded. “Maybe later,” he said, peering across at the patterned trinkets of gold on the sideboard by the jade wall. Tempted to ask for a drink, but when looking back at the two, they stood like doomed animals awaiting slaughter. Determined to protect their son until the end, it was a sorry sight.
“I saw Hanor today,” he said, getting to the point. “We talked, he has a good heart.”
“Yes…, he does,” Manon stuttered, the older man’s direction not changing.
“A wonderful… loving one,” Lizan said.
“There is more to him than you know,” Brandor said, surprised when the statement did not perturb them. “There is great potential in him.”
“There is potential in all of us,” Lizan deflected.
Not wishing to draw this out longer than necessary, the Dai-laman knew they would not let Hanor go easily no matter how tender his reasons. “The potential in Hanor needs to be encouraged, and Manson does not have the right people to stimulate that potential.” Crunching, the words stunned both as if finally confronted by the inevitable.
Surprised there was no immediate reply, Brandor continued. “He should be tutored by people who can help draw out those innate powers.”
“People like you… you mean?” Manon’s tone was defensive.
“That should not surprise you,” the Dai-laman replied. “We face a great darkness, and the battle will not be won by weapons alone. People like Hanor are increasingly rare in the latter parts of this Age, so we must seize the opportunity whilst we can.”
“What do you intend to do with him?” Manon demanded to know.
“Teach him about the Mysteries to begin with, if that is what he wishes.”
“What if he does not want to?” Lizan asked, hoping her son might reject the idea.
“We all have the freedom to choose,” Brandor returned, startled at the prospect of the boy actually saying no. After what happened earlier, the glazed expression on the boy’s face suggested the affect had been profound enough to make a difference. “I will respect his decision.”
“But… he is the Heir to the High-house of Manson,” Manon said, suspecting it would be a one-way journey for their son. “He has duties and responsibilities.”
“There will be no Manson if this evil is not repelled.”
“You cannot expect us to let him go when he is needed here?”
“That is a choice for Hanor to make.”
“He is too young to make such a decision,” Manon said. “I will not let him go.”
“He will not stay here if he does not wish to,” the man of power boomed, fearing they might resort to extremities. Such an act would be despicable.
“You are not in a position to order us,” the High-man fired, surprised to see his beloved High-lady step over to the ornate seating to sit down. Troubled by her lack of passion to keep Hanor, he stalled, questioning why she was staring out the window. Sensing the deep-seated sadness, he felt sickened to see her so distraught. “See…!” he said, turning back towards the older man. “Is this what you want? Can you not see how upset she is?” Feeling her pain as his own, every tear in the past had been shed over their sons, Hanor especially. Her grief he could not endure. “I am tempted to ask you to leave, Brandor.”
“I will not leave until I have seen Hanor,” the Dai-laman said, desiring to speak to the boy before nightfall. Leaving him after that awakening earlier so he could digest the life-changing experience, with the after-turns fading, he could not afford to be delayed here.
“Your lack of respect is shocking,” Manon shot, his words were blades.
“Manon…!” the plea was barely above a whimper.
“I am not sure if I can forgive you for this,” the High-man continued, too incensed to hear his lady’s call.
“Manon…, it is no good,” Lizan said, a little louder this time.
Turning away from the seething High-man to look at her, Brandor could tell there was a possible light emerging through the turmoil.
“What is it… my love?” Manon asked upon hearing her call, going to her. Bending to one knee, taking hold of her hand, “Why… are you not arguing our case?”
“It is… over.”
“What… do you mean?” Manon asked, touching her cheek tenderly.
Sighing as though the air might help relieve the hurt, a tear streaked down Lizan’s dampened cheek. “It is time… to let him… go,” she stammered, shocked that she could actually say those fateful words.
Convinced earlier that they could send Brandor on his way without Hanor, but the moment she had entered she had felt their defensive strategy crumble beneath his powerful gaze. For so long they had lived a lie and tried acting just like any other family. Denying the intensity of those early turns of the seasons as a mother, her behaviour towards Hanor had bordered on obsession. Nole had been born a full cycle of the seasons later, but the devotion to her firstborn had not been affected by his arrival. Not neglecting Nole, but her heart had remained centred on his older brother all the same. Carrying the guilt for nearly eighteen full seasons, she was tired from the burden and she knew it. A hint of freedom was at last beginning to seep in.
“It was so long ago,” she said, staring at the cold fireplace. “But I remember it so clearly.”
This was more than Brandor expected. To persuade them to let Hanor go was one thing, to discover they had a story of their own saddened him.
“You do not have to do this,” Manon urged, fearing she was about to reveal all.
“I had been so ill,” she continued, bypassing his natural concerns. Wrought by her turmoil, the memories returned as harshly as the day they happened. “For many turns of the day, carrying my little baby had filled me with the utmost dread.” Running her hands around her waist, the clarity of her thoughts echoed across time. “Suffering fevers and fits of delirium, I did not know who or where I was.” Turning, she faced Manon, her pain intense. “Oh my love, how I burned you, for I blamed you did I not?” Tears streamed from her sorry eyes.
“It is over now,” Manon said, sorrow rising. “That was a long time ago.”
“No my love,” she rejected. “For all of these seasons, the tears I have shed in the silence of night at what I put you through.” Manon started protesting but a caring finger to his lips stopped him. “We knew Hanor was different, but like fools, we tried to hide it. How many times have my tears flowed and stopped you from raising him honourably? Refusing to let both our boys grow up, many times I have humiliated you in front of others just because I was feeble. Shrinking away from your duties as a father and ruler for my sake, I have failed them both.” Her tears increased to a downpour.
“No…, Lizan,” he said, pulling her to him. “It is I… who has failed you. I should have been stronger.”
“You do not see it,” she protested. “What preparations have I given him, for he knows nothing about survival? I have pressed you into letting him roam free, twisting what you knew to be right so that my petty longings as a mother could be satisfied.”
Manon did not answer. Deep down, he knew she was right.
Cuddling each other, reacting as though their world had fallen apart, Brandor stood to one side, uncomfortable. Without ever having a love of his own, his choice appeared well-founded by the display before him. Blessed with longevity, such encounters always carried too much emotional weight.
Unexpected, the two stood, imploring eyes asking for forgiveness at their failure. Excusing themselves, they made for an early exit, embarrassed by the intense disclosure. No apology was given to the respectful Dai-laman, just a nod of acceptance. Their grieving was as if their son was already lost. No details of Brandor’s plans for Hanor’s future were asked for. Imparting the boy into his care, he was now the boy’s guide, his teacher.
Despite this unsettling encounter, he still had to face Hanor on the issue. The young man would be confused by what he had experienced. “What does all this mean?” he muttered, making his way from the room. The original dream indicated what he was to look for, but now the boy had been found, what was expected of him apart from developing his knowledge of the Hidden Mysteries?