EPILOGUE
Happiness

"There are no happy endings in history, only crisis points that are passed."

Isaac Asimov, "The Gods Themselves"

"There are two tragedies in life.
One is to lose your heart's desire.
The other is to gain it."

George Bernard Shaw

"And that, my young friend, is the story," Professor Henrik Spenson said. "He hasn't forgiven me for marrying Viola, or for taking every opportunity to criticize those aspects of his 'benevolent' rule that I disagree with, or for helping my late father with details of his anti-monarchist novels. But to give him his due, he hasn't harassed us or sought a petty vengeance, though he has generally looked at Davenport with a jaundiced eye."

"Still," Karl Weseluc replied, "what about the mutiny? It was only natural that the men of Ismar and Victoria, many of whom were conscripts of Zion birth, should rebel after a while – especially after the marriage of Siegbert and Hildegarde. And it was only natural that my father, Colonel Huntington, should try to negotiate rather than shoot down his brothers in arms. Why did Eramond crush them all so ruthlessly – including Dad, who meant no treachery?"

"Because, young Karl, he swore to protect Carranya – and those rebels were threatening her sovereignity. It is true that he went too far, but that is the role he chose for himself, and he has played it with brutal efficiency. A threat to her rule was a personal insult to him. He even went so far as to invoke an old Church law to have Thomssen, Lady Anton's henchman, burned at the stake."

"Talk about an obsessive love," Karl said darkly, remembering a novel he had studied in high school – a novel, he now recalled, which had been written by Professor Spenson's father, Alphonse.

"Oh, no, let us be fair to him," Spenson replied. "With her, he was a different man. I believe that the only times he was truly happy is when he was with his beloved Carranya, and with their eight children. When the Queen was dangerously ill after the birth of their second child, it was he who single-handedly cared for her, ruled in her stead, and ensured that she recovered. No mother, my source said, was as gentle as he was. When she died – God rest her soul – no one in the Kingdom mourned her more than he did, though he did not wail or lament. The old fire, the drive, was gone."

"What a strange person," Karl said, confused. "You sound as if you admire him."

"There are many gifts that the Infinity gives us, Karl," Professor Spenson said. "Perhaps the gift of strong rule is not one that I wish for, but I can admire it in others. And with Derren as his heir, the future of Galvenia is assured. He will rule wisely and firmly – though not as harshly as his father. The prophecy of Saint Geraud will be fulfilled."

"Still, the Queen could have ruled very well without him," Karl replied. "She was a woman of peace. He was a warmonger – and when there were no more wars, he fought his own people."

"That is one way of looking at it," the Professor replied, "and yet, it is not that simple. It was he who added the Chiasmus, a traditional symbol of Lord Geraud, to the shields and flags of the Galvenian army. Perhaps he believed that sometimes war was necessary to safeguard a greater peace."

"Are you boys still discussing politics?" Viola Spenson said with a laugh, entering the room bearing a cake on a tray. She was followed by her youngest child, Grace – a spirited child of fourteen whose carrot-coloured hair was clearly her father's legacy – carrying several cups of tea. "Leave him alone, Henrik. You're not going to convert him to being a Welfare Centrist in a few afternoons."

"Oh, I already vote Centrist, Mrs. Spenson," Karl said gratefully, as he accepted a teacup. "What's the occasion?"

"It's the anniversary of Henrik's appointment at Socius College," Viola explained. "He doesn't mention it, but Gracie and I need no excuse to bake him a cake."

The door swung open, and Frank Spenson – Henrik and Viola's son – entered, accompanied by his wife and young son. "Father!" he called out. "Are we on time yet?"

"Late as usual, my boy," Henrik replied, feigning disapproval. "I wonder how Lynn and your son put up with you already."

"Don't mind Father," Frank explained to a mystified Karl. "He's just imitating his own dad – my grandfather."

"Curses! Exposed again!" Henrik said lightly, as he sipped his tea. "How's your sister, Frank?"

"Hard work at the hospital, as usual, but she enjoys it," Frank replied. "Sylvia's just like Mother, you know."

"Is your daughter a nurse too, Mrs. Spenson?" Karl asked.

"Oh, dear, she's a cut above that," Viola said pleasantly. "I did work as a nurse and research assistant for a while after college, until I had Frank, but Sylvia's studying to be a child specialist at Alton. The Erasmus Fund pays for her education."

"Now, it's time to blow out the candles!" Grace said portentously. "Mum, do the honours!"

"Very funny, Gracie," Viola replied. Standing in front of the cake with its many candles, she raised her hand, and a gust of wind blew every candle out unerringly. Loud applause greeted this display, not least from Karl himself.

"Thank you all," he said, when it was time for him to leave, shaking hands with his new friends. "I'm afraid I had begun to look at life in a rather jaded fashion myself, but you've convinced me that no king or ruler can keep us from being happy. Thank you, with all my heart."

"There is more, young Karl," Viola said gently. "If you have the time, visit us next week, and we'll take you somewhere that can make even the most weary heart sing. Bring your parents, if you want."

"You know, Mrs. Spenson," Karl said brightly, "I think I shall take you up on that."

xxx

It was a large and noisy party – Henrik's family, Karl, and his parents – who boarded the ferry to Mann Island a week later. The journey passed pleasantly, though Grace did give them all some anxious moments with a series of pranks.

"Gracie, if you do that again, I'll ask Ryan Eramond to have you locked up," Sylvia threatened her, after finding a plastic spider in her cup of orange juice.

Grace laughed. "If he couldn't lock up Mum or Dad, how can he lock me up? Besides, minors don't go to prison. We learned that in school last month."

"Then we'll put you in one of those convents in Lorean," Viola said teasingly. "You'd find the uniform quite becoming."

"Ugh!" Grace protested. "I like the nuns at school, but I'm not going to dress that way, Mum!"

"Then behave yourself, my dear," Henrik said kindly. "You know your sister hates spiders. Try a lizard or something next time."

"Dad!" Sylvia protested, though she was laughing as well. "Why do you encourage her in that way?"

"Well, you did start it by saying that her hat looked like a land-mine, Sylvia dear," Viola said kindly. "Young girls are sensitive about fashion."

"Hang in there, Gracie," Karl's mother Cathy added. "I used to get no end of ribbing about my bonnet!"

"You still do, Mum," Karl pointed out.

"Mann Island," the ticket collector announced, ringing a small bell. "Come on now, folks, I'm not going to stop here forever!"

"Goody!" Frank's son Luke said. "I'm getting down first!"

"Race you to it," Grace challenged him, as they both set off down the plank as fast as their legs could carry them.

xxx

Even Karl, not given to songs of praise, was forced to acknowledge that it was a breathtaking sight. A large area of overgrown woodland had been cleared, and in its place were fields of every kind – wheat, corn, flowers of various colours. Patches of almost every known vegetable were interspersed with them, creating a patchwork quilt on the rich soil of Mann Island.

"Wow," Cathy said. "I really should have come here earlier. I guess I was just feeling awkward to face anyone after what happened to your father, though Lavie did ask me to come along several times."

Running towards them, a basket in her hand, was a young woman, not more than thirty – a woman who was a nearly identical copy of her mother Lavie. She stopped before the assembled group rather breathlessly, curtseyed, and smiled.

"Professor Spenson," she said, "it's great to have you all here! Mom and Daddy have been waiting for you, and even Marianne has dropped by!"

"Ah, it's a joy to see you too, Anne," Henrik replied. "How are the rest of you?"

"Dad's fine, though his lungs are still giving him some bother," Anne replied, "and Gerald, Emily and Dave are all at the old homestead, getting things ready. Come along!"

Still feeling as if he was in a pleasant dream that would end too soon, Karl followed them through the fields, and up to the path that led to the house.

It was little more than a large cottage, though it had been expanded on both wings, and two scarecrows with benevolent expressions guarded the gates. Standing at the door, hand in hand, were John Reckland and Lavie – the former still youthful despite his near-octogenarian status.

"Hurrah, you're all here!" Lavie said, running forward and embracing Cathy. "Cath, you silly girl, you never warned me you were coming!"

"I'm sorry I never did until now, Lavie," her old friend replied. "This is a beautiful place."

"And this must be your husband," Lavie said, shaking hands firmly with Peter, who looked a little awkward, but pleased. "I've always loved men in uniform, as John will tell you, even when they're out of it!" She laughed.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Reckland," Peter said. "And I must thank you for the generous offer you've made me, though I'm not sure if I want to relocate to Fulton."

"Then try Mann Island," Reckland said warmly, shaking hands with his old Army friend. "I'm getting on in years, Peter, and I need someone to help me run things here. This is as close to Davenport as you'll get."

Touched, Peter shook his head. "That's very good of you, John," he replied, "but won't you get into trouble with the authorities?"

Marianne, carrying a long oak stick, suddenly appeared at the door. "As far as such things go, Peter Huntington, I am the authority," she said, "and if I allow you to hold a job on this estate, even King Derren won't oppose me." She laughed. "Even Juno knew better than to oppose me."

"Your husband's Military History of the Terran War was a remarkable book," Karl said, shaking hands with Marianne. "My condolences on your loss."

"Oh, don't sweat it," Marianne replied gaily. "Juno wasn't the kind to mourn, at least not after I was finished with him! We made a pact, actually – that whatever happened to either of us, we wouldn't pull a long face about it! And even if it pleased Ryan Eramond to burn his books from time to time" – she made a dismissive gesture – "that never stopped him."

"Mother," Emily and Gerald – Lavie's eldest children, who were twins – called out in chorus, "are you still keeping them out in the sun? Come on in, everybody, lunch is ready!"

"Ah, Lavie, I see your children share your love of good food," Viola said, with a laugh, as she shepherded the large party inside the cottage's annexe.

"Of course we do, Aunt Viola," Anne replied. "It runs in the Lancaster family. Now come on in, I need the Professor's comments on my new book!"

"Only after lunch," Henrik said, with a smile.

It was later, after they had all eaten to their heart's content, and Marianne was handing out glasses of her home-made wine, that they proposed a toast – to each other, to their friendship, and to the future.

"And to Galvenia," Henrik said, at last. "To King Derren, and to all of his loyal subjects here, including the not-so-loyal ones."

Everyone laughed at this addition, though Marianne shook her head as she did so.

"Who are you to question my integrity, Henrik Spenson?" she retorted.

"He's affirming it, Madam Mayor," Viola replied with a grin.

"This has been a perfect day, hasn't it, son?" Cathy said to Karl.

"Indeed, Mum," he replied. "I wonder what His High Eminence, Ryan Eramond, is doing right now."

"Oh, don't worry about him," Lavie said. "He's made his choices, and we've made ours. So let's be glad we have this time with each other, and hope that he's happy with the life he's chosen."

"I'll drink to that, Lavie," John Reckland said. "As much as I cannot approve of his conduct, he was one of the men who made Galvenia what it is today."

A solemn note had fallen over the proceedings, and it was left to Gracie, that enfant terrible, to remove it.

"Uncle John," she said innocently, "if you were King, what would you like to do?"

"That's simple, child," Reckland replied. "Abdicate my throne, come back here and stay with all of you, and give it to whoever wanted it!"

"Goody," she said. "Can I have it now? I promise I won't put spiders in the Prime Minister's glass."

"What do you mean?" Reckland said, mystified, then looked down at his glass, in which a facsimile of a beetle was grinning back at him. His eyes widened, and then he began to laugh loudly.

"You've got me there, young lady," he said. "Fool me once, shame on me."

"If she can get past me, Uncle John," Sylvia consoled him, "you don't have a chance!"

"To plastic bugs, then," Karl said, raising his glass, and everyone joined him in the toast that followed.

xxx

The graveyard in Davenport was a quiet place at the best of times, even during funerals. Today, it was even quieter than usual, and the gatekeeper – a solemn young man, saving up for his priestly studies – paid little attention to the man dressed entirely in black, his head hooded, who had just entered. He was used to mourners and kept them in his prayers, but they did not bother him, no matter how grotesque they looked. He only caught a faint glimpse of the man's obscured face – his determined cast of features, his grey hair – and then returned to his prayer-book, which he was determined to memorize as all good seminarians must.

The old man knelt down before a particular grave, his head bowed, and placed a bouquet of flowers near the stone. Other graves, some bearing familiar names, surrounded him, but he ignored them.

Grandpa, he thought, I just had to see you one last time. Can you see me now?

He shook his head.

What would you say about me if you could see me know, Grandpa? Have I made you proud? I know I have done enough to be counted either a great hero, or a worthless villain – and yet, I believe I am something more than that.

Carranya. I've been a shadow of myself ever since I lost her – though no one knows that, not even my sons and daughters, or my grandchildren. To them, I'm still the grand old man – the family patriarch. To Parliament, I'm still the cantankerous old Consort, a reminder of a long-gone age where men spoke and ruled more forcefully. To the nobles, I am someone who commands respect – not affection. To Galvenia, I was the Queen's evil genius – or, at best, her ruthless advisor. Quite a range of roles for one boy from Davenport, isn't it, Grandpa?

It was only to her that I could truly be myself. To her – and to you. The only two people who truly understood me are no more. I have no regrets, Carrie. I would do it all again if I had the chance, all for your sake and for the sake of our children. I know that you died loving me – and I shall die loving you, Carrie. I wonder what Grandpa would have thought of us, or the children – his great-grandsons and daughters.

Why did I come here, Grandpa? Because I know what no one else, except Derren, knows. I do not have long to live. Few will truly mourn me apart from my children, even though all the ceremonies will be observed. But it was Carranya's part to be loved, just as it was mine to be feared. I accept that. And I hope that, when my time comes, the Infinity will allow me to see you again.

Goodbye, Grandpa.

He stood up, and turned – then stepped back in amazement. Surrounding him were familiar faces – his father and mother, Anne Lancaster, Lavie, Henrik, Armin, and all the other boys and girls he had known during his youth in Davenport. He stretched out his hand, but they disappeared even before he could touch any of them.

Ryan swore inwardly. Is this another of your torments, demon? You have not tormented me since Charlemagne's death. Are you trying to make me regret what I have done?

A light, pleasant laugh, heard only by him, echoed in his ears.

Lord Geraud! You again, he thought, exasperatedly. What are you trying to tell me?

I am merely showing you the path which your life diverged from, boy. Today, those men and women you see are dead, or living happily. To all intents and purposes, they have forgotten you. Perhaps some of them have not forgiven you. Do you regret this, Ryan Eramond?

Ryan's expression softened. No. It was all worth it. All for Carranya, for our children, and for the Kingdom. If you are trying to show me the price I paid, rest assured that I have lived with that knowledge every day since she left me. Everything in life has a price.

Then I congratulate you, Eramond, Lord Geraud replied. It is often said that to accept greatness, the price one pays is not in money or even in blood – it is in leaving behind the old, familiar, comforting world that one belongs to. I learned that lesson myself when I left the cocoon of Zion to father the Commonwealth. It was a lonely life, Ryan Eramond – almost as lonely as yours. You may not be a very good man – few of us are – but you have achieved greatness. Someday, your friends will understand.

Why do you tell me this? Ryan retorted. Are you not going to read me one of your interminable sermons?

The time for that is past, Ryan. Look above you.

Ryan felt the pain strike him like a sword-thrust, running through the left side of his chest. He felt himself falling, then rising – rising into the sky. As he looked up, he saw her.

Carranya! he cried out, exultantly.

I have waited for you a long time, she replied. And I will wait a little longer, until the Infinity returns you to me. Welcome home, Ryan, my husband, my love.

Welcome home, boy, a second, familiar voice said.

Grandpa!

He tried to respond, but his lips were sealed. He found his ascent blocked, and realized that he was in a grey, quiet place. Looking down, he saw his prone figure lying on the ground – saw the attendant's shock and dismay as the hood fell from his face – saw him raise the alarm, inform the city police that a man had fallen dead in the graveyard, and that the man was Ryan Eramond, Prince Consort of Galvenia.

After a while, he stopped looking down, and waited.

This is necessary, Ryan, Lord Geraud said. Only a few men do not have to wait. But be patient. I have given you a foretaste of what awaits you there.

Thank you, Geraud, Ryan replied, and composed himself, knowing that he would wait for a long time – far longer than his mind could conceive of. But he also knew that the wait would end someday. And on that day, he would be with his grandfather – and, most important of all, with her.

Wait for me, Carranya, my love, he thought. I will be with you.

Then his last thought faded, and the waiting began.

The End