Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 1. Renaissance Faire

Chapter 1: Renaissance Faire

Visitors in costume and in mufti wandered the grounds of the Sedona Renaissance Faire, eating turkey legs, hot dogs, and other anachronistic fare. A gaggle of teen-aged boys, identical in black Wellington boots, blue jeans, white T-shirts, and slicked-back hair, pushed their way through the crowd.

“Hey, look at the guy in the pantyhose,” one of the boys said, pointing.

“His hair’s longer than a girl,” said another.

“His sword,” a third said. “It’s not in a sheath. It’s got a blood-gutter, see? It’s real.”

“Aw, Rocky, you’re such a pussy,” the first boy said.

The boy they mocked was aware of their attention, but ignored them. I wonder if I can afford a soda, he thought. I wonder if this money is still good.

Arthur did not stand out among the costumed fairgoers. He appeared to be about 18 years old. His collar-length hair was unusual, but not as odd as the iridescent spikes or the shaved designs sported by some of the boys. He wore boots, tights, and a tunic that reached to mid-thigh. His belt held a sword, a poniard, and a leather pouch. The costume wasn’t unusual. Many of the costumes were far more elaborate.

I don’t know what brought me here, he thought. It’s not the first gate I’ve passed since I was last on this world, but it’s the first one that seemed to compel me. Arthur stood beside a tree, out of the flow of people, and looked over the crowd. I was brought here for a reason…there is something that I am meant to see, perhaps—

His thoughts were broken when a costumed boy-child bounced off Arthur and fell to the ground. Arthur reached down to help the boy to his feet. When the boy saw Arthur’s face he ducked his head and said, “Please forgive me, my Lord, I…I’m sorry.”

“Hey, fag,” a voice from several yards away taunted, “Why don’t you look where you’re going!” The group of booted, blue-jeaned, slicked-hair, and T-shirted boys had seen the collision. They turned and walked away; their laughter faded.

“Please stand up,” Arthur said, again offering his hand.

This time the boy took Arthur’s hand and scrambled to his feet. He brushed dirt and leaves from his costume. “Thank you, my Lord,” the boy said, “Please, my Lord, forgive my clumsiness.”

“Why do you call me my Lord?” Arthur asked.

“Because you’re wearing a coronel and an escutcheon—” the boy began. He hesitated. His eyes narrowed for a moment as if in thought, and then widened. “You…you’re real!”

The boy tried to kneel, but Arthur took his elbow and pulled him to his feet. “Please stand up and do not draw attention to us. Tell me what you see—the cornel.”

“There’s a gold band across your forehead. It disappears under your hair. It’s hard to see…the sunlight—”

“And the escutcheon?” Arthur demanded.

The boy squinted before speaking. “The escutcheon on your tunic is quartered. Quartered per cross, that is. The upper right corner—that’s your right—is light green, and there’s an oak tree proper with a gold crown in the leaves. The lower left corner is also light green. There’s a golden spear with red flames bend dexter…pointing up and to your right. The other corners are red…gules, that is. The crown means you’re a member of the royal family, but it’s quartered. So you’re a prince,” he asserted. The boy’s confidence had returned, and he spoke with conviction. “But you don’t belong here. You aren’t somebody like me—pretending, in a costume. You’re real!”

“What is your name?” Arthur asked. His voice was even and firm.

“George, my Lord.”

“George, I am not a prince. I was once a prince-consort, a companion to a prince. What’s more important, however, is that you can see my coronel and escutcheon. Who are you—”

The gaggle of boys appeared once more, carrying paper cups of soft drinks.

“Hey Georgie, who’s your fag friend?” one called.

“Yeah, you gonna fag with him like you did with Kevin?” another asked.

The boys moved away. Arthur looked at George. The boy’s face wrinkled as he tried unsuccessfully to hold back tears.

“What’s wrong, George? Please don’t let their name-calling hurt you,” Arthur said.

“It’s not that—” George said. The boy paused, composed his face, and continued. “It’s Kevin. He just died…in a car crash…they know that we were…um…best friends.” He tilted his head and looked at Arthur.

“I’m sorry you lost your best friend,” Arthur said. “Would you please tell me about him?”

*****

Arthur faced George across a picnic table. Arthur was drinking the first soda he’d had in more than 60 years and wondering why he’d ever liked the stuff. George picked at a salad. At the other end of the table, a family with three already overweight children gobbled pizza, and corn chips covered with something that resembled melted linoleum.

George spoke slowly, pausing often to gather his thoughts or to gauge Arthur’s reaction. “Kevin and I were best friends. We were best friends in school. We kind of discovered each other … and started, um, having sex.”

George looked at Arthur. Something he saw in Arthur’s expression encouraged the boy, so he continued. “I thought I loved him, and I think he loved me. We were probably too young to know, really. We got caught having sex in the locker room at the pool. His older brother is lifeguard, and Kevin got the key. We thought everyone had gone home. Those guys—the ones who were teasing me—they sneaked back in and caught us. That was two weeks ago. I don’t know what I’m going to do when school starts. They’re going to make my life miserable…” The boy paused to gather his thoughts. Arthur waited, wanting not to interrupt.

“I didn’t think they would come here, or I wouldn’t have. Kevin died, like I said. Car crash. His funeral is today, but I can’t go. If I go, he’ll be dead and I’ll never see him again.” The boy’s voice broke as he fought off tears. “We were going to come here together … I guess I thought that if I came … I would see him. I know it’s a stupid dream, but I don’t have much but dreams … ” The boy’s voice faded into silence.

“Have you talked to your parents about this, George?” Arthur asked.

“Don’t have parents,” George answered. “They died when their plane crashed, ten years ago. I was eight. I’ve lived with aunts and uncles since then. Most of them won’t keep me for more than a year or two. The ones I’m with now are trying to figure out who to give me to next. I wish some of them lived in another town, so I could go to another school.”

“If you’re 18, haven’t you finished school?” Arthur asked. “But you don’t look 18. Did I misunderstand?”

“No, I’m 18. My birthday was in March. I look like I’m younger. Something wrong with my hormones the public health doctor said. I went by myself. None of the relatives would take me to a real doctor. They don’t care. I have two years of school left…I had to repeat two grades. My records got lost between one set of relatives and another. I wanted to take the GED, but that means I wouldn’t be in school, and the current uncle and aunt wouldn’t know what to do with me. I can’t get a decent job because nobody believes I’m 18.

“Now, you know about me,” the boy said. “Please, tell me about you. Where are you from? Why are you here? You’re not from here; I can tell. You’re—” the boy hesitated for an instant, and then continued confidently. “You’re not from history … you’re from a different world, aren’t you?”

“Actually,” Arthur said. “Actually, I am. Sometimes, some people can travel from my world to others through what we call gates. Pretty imaginative name, huh? They’re probably more like modified quantum wormholes. Anyway, that’s how I came here.”

“Your sword … it’s real,” George said.

“Where I live, a lot of people—boys and older—wear real swords. And ride horses. We don’t have cars—no internal combustion engines. We don’t even have steam engines. We don’t have electricity, either. No television, radio. Imagine this world before the industrial revolution. Well, we do have wind and water mills.”

“That means no anesthetics, antiseptics; no X-rays or CAT scans …” George began. “… no vaccines for polio or smallpox … the Black Death … pretty scary.”

“Well, actually we have anesthetics and antiseptics … and we don’t have polio or smallpox … or rather, we rarely see them and we can usually cure them,” Arthur said. “In my world, healers use a skill …” Arthur paused before continuing. “Skill, as well as knowledge of chemistry, anatomy, physiology, bacteriology, and so forth, to heal.”

George digested this for a moment. “The crown on your escutcheon…that means there’s a king,” George said.

“Several kings and several kingdoms. And two very big principalities. Along with kings and princes, we have dukes, barons, knights, and all that goes along with that. The oak tree and crown are the symbol of the elven kingdom.”

George’s eyes widened. “Your king is an elf? Was the prince—your companion—an elf?” George asked. “Are you an elf? You don’t look like—”

“No, I’m human.” Arthur evaded the rest of the boy’s questions. “What was that fanfare for?”

“It’s announcing the King of the Faire,” George said. “He must have finally gotten here.”

*****

“Um…” George started to speak, then bent his head and stared silently at the empty, plastic salad bowl.

“What is it, George?” Arthur asked.

“Um…nothing,” the boy replied, softly.

“Something, I think,” Arthur said.

“Well,” George began, “when the boys were teasing me, and when I told you about Kevin and me … about … about being gay. Most people … around here, anyway … they’d turn up their noses; they’d be disgusted … walk away. You didn’t.”

Arthur’s stomach lurched; his diaphragm tightened; blood rushed from his face. I have forgotten what it was like, he thought. It has been too many years since I was a gay teenager in a homophobic world. He found his voice. “George,” Arthur said, “I told you I was a prince-consort, a companion to a prince. We weren’t just playmates or good friends. We were lovers.”

George sat in stunned silence for a moment. “Did people know it?” he asked.

Arthur nodded.

“And they were okay with it?” George asked.

“Yes, George,” Arthur said. “Everyone who knew the prince knew it. Probably everyone in the kingdom knew it. And, they were more than okay with it. They were very happy with it.”

George took his salad bowl and Arthur’s cup to a trash can and returned to the table. “You’re going to go back soon, aren’t you?” he asked. He looked at his feet. He didn’t dare look up. He didn’t dare let this boy see the fear in his face or the yearning in his eyes.

Arthur squinted, and seemed to check the angle of the sun before replying. “Yes, the gate…wormhole… whatever…will be open for about two more hours, and I have to leave before then.”

It took all of George’s courage to ask the next question. “Please take me with you. I can’t live here anymore. Please—?”

Arthur’s voice was brittle. “I don’t think that would be possible. In my world, you would face dangers and hardships that you would never see in this world. People in my world don’t call you names; they attack you on a charging horse with a sword in their hand…and they try to kill you. If you think that your friend’s death in a car crash is hard, think about how hard it would be to kill someone your own age. Think how it would feel to stick a real sword in a boy’s stomach and shove it up into his heart, and twist it, and watch his life fade from his eyes while his blood pours onto your hand—and then kill another boy and another because if you don’t kill them they will kill you and your companions. Did you know that blood smells like copper, and when it dries on your skin you smell like death?”

Arthur paused, and then continued. “If you came to my world, you’d have to support yourself. But you don’t know enough to support yourself. You’d have to defend yourself with a sword and a dagger.

“If I were to take you to my world, I would become responsible for you. You would have to live with me at least until you learned to take care of yourself, and until you learned a trade—or until you found another sponsor. That might take years. And, I don’t stay in one place for long. If you think moving from one house to another every couple of years is hard, think about having to move every few days…and not always finding a house, but having to sleep in the forest, in a snow bank or a rainstorm.

“That would not be the worst part. The strongest force in my world is destiny. We’re supposed to have free will, to be able to make choices and decisions. However, sometimes my freedom to make choices or decisions is taken away from me. I am forced onto a single path or, at best, a choice between two equally dangerous and unpleasant paths. And, there’s not a thing I can do about it. The power that directs me in those choices is destiny. It is not my destiny to have an easy, comfortable life. If you came with me, you would have to—and I mean have to—share the dangers and discomfort.

“Do you understand what I am saying? The world where I live is not a fairy tale; most people do not live happily ever after. There are kings and princes and knights, but there are also monsters and ogres and wicked witches.”

George felt like he was taking a final exam, and was failing. He didn’t know why. In a flash, the answer came. He nodded. “I understand. Yeah, there’s danger and evil in your world, but there’s also balance … there’s balance that this world doesn’t have. At least not for me. Please? I want to come with you.”

Arthur continued, “You said that you didn’t have much but dreams. My world is not a dream world. It is certainly not a dream-come-true world, but it can be very much a nightmare.”

George nodded, again. “I still want to come with you.” The boy’s voice was firm and level.

“You belong in this world,” Arthur said. “Except for one thing: you can see magical things … something that people in this world cannot do … something people in my world cannot do unless they’re gifted or specially trained. The coronel and escutcheon that you see? They’re real enough, but I’m not wearing them. They’re in my saddlebags. I haven’t worn them in years. Even so, you saw them—or, rather, you saw their aura.”

George’s eyes widened again. Magical things? Aura? And wicked witches? He sounds like he means it.

From a distance came the voices of George’s tormentors: “Georgie Porgie, puddin’ and pie; kissed the boys and went and cried.” Hoots, whistles, and laughter faded as the boys walked away.

Arthur looked at the boys. He took a deep breath, let it out, and turned toward George. “George, you are 18. You know yourself. In both this world and in my world you are of age to make your own decisions.

“If you want, I will take you to my world. You must not decide easily or quickly. It is almost a certainty that you would never, ever be able to change your mind. The wormholes go not only from place to place, but also from time to time. If you did find a wormhole to this world, it might lead a hundred years from now…or ten thousand years ago. And, there is no guarantee that you would ever encounter a wormhole. If you went to my world, you would have to work to support yourself. In the beginning, I would take you to be my squire and provide for you; you would have to accept me as your liege and obey me absolutely in all things.

“Knowing these things,” Arthur asked, “Do you still want to leave this world and come with me to mine?”

“Yes,” George said. His eyes glistened. “I know this isn’t a dream, and it isn’t a dream come true. I know it will be hard. But, on your world, I might have a chance that I won’t have on this world. Is it all right if I think that?”

“Of course it is, George,” Arthur replied. Damn destiny, anyway. So this is why I was pulled through the wormhole—to bring this boy back to a world where he may be killed before he even knows where he is. I can’t let him see that I’m angry. He has enough to worry about.

*****

Arthur put the final words on the square of parchment he had taken from his belt pouch. “Now,” he said, “we need a cleric or a noble…how about that fellow? He looks like a king.” He pointed to a costumed character who was strolling about with a retinue, also in costume.

George giggled. “He’s not a king. He’s the assistant football coach at the high school. They picked him to play King Henry the Eighth because he’s so fat.”

“I see,” Arthur said, “but in this place, by custom and courtesy and consent, he is the king. History holds many kings who ruled with less. Come on.”

As the court approached, Arthur bowed. “Your Majesty, a knight craves a boon!”

The court halted when the king stopped. “Rise, sir knight,” he said. “What would you have of us?”

“My Lord, in honor and in service to that which is good, I would take this boy to be my squire; the boy, being of age, would accept this service. We ask that you administer and witness our oath.” Arthur offered the parchment to the king.

“Well, this is unusual. But, we have a mind to do it. Gather round, folks. Um…do we need a sword or something?”

Arthur unclipped his sword from his belt and knelt, holding the hilt toward the king. “George, kneel, and put your hand over mine,” he said. “Your Majesty, if you would take the hilt, and read the oath?”

“Uh, yes,” the king said. He cleared his throat and read from the parchment.

“Do you, George, being of age and mind, swear to accept Arthur as your liege lord, to obey him in all things, to learn from him, to serve him as squire, and to honor him until such time that you lawfully shall be released from this oath?”

“I swear,” answered the boy. George’s heart pounded. Remember, he thought, he is real. This is real. He almost missed Arthur’s oath.

“Do you, Arthur, a true knight, swear to accept George as squire, to teach him, to protect and provide for him, and to cherish him until such time that you lawfully shall be released from this oath?”

“I swear,” answered Arthur.

“Then so be it!” the king ordered. He handed the parchment to a teen-aged boy who was playing the role of the king’s chancellor. The boy folded the parchment and put it in his belt pouch. What was that? he wondered. Was that a gust of wind? Couldn’t be…the trees aren’t moving…there’s no dust. But something happened. What?

*****

Arthur whistled. A horse trotted from behind the trees. The crowd that had gathered during the ceremony parted to make way for it.

“Time to leave,” Arthur said for George’s ears only. “Can you ride a horse?”

“No,” whispered George.

“Ever been on a horse?”

“No!”

“Put your left foot in the stirrup, grab the front of the saddle … there’s no saddle horn … swing your right foot over the horse’s back. Take your left foot out of the stirrup. Scoot to the front of the saddle. I’ll get on behind you. Got it?”

“I think so,” George replied.

To his great relief, George mounted flawlessly. “By your leave, Your Majesty,” Arthur said, and then mounted behind the boy. The king nodded and waved his scepter in a wide, sweeping gesture. This gets better every year, he thought. Wonder where they found him!

Arthur took the reins in his right hand and put his left arm around George’s waist. He pulled the boy tightly to him. The elven spurs—strips of mithral inlayed into the heels of his boots and made invisible by magic—signaled the horse, which instantly broke into a gallop. They jumped the low wall into the arena where mock jousts would be held, and disappeared.

Beside the arena, unseen by his companions, one of the boys who had been among those teasing George earlier wiped a tear from his eye.

*****

“No, they rode through the barn…and probably left that way, but we don’t know which horse trailer was his. No, they didn’t; they just disappeared. No, we didn’t hire him…not on the payroll for the event. Yeah, the boy was George Rogers. He’ll be a junior this year. No, they didn’t ride through the barn; they went across the fence, there. He jumped the fence and rode through the parking lot. The horse was brown. The horse was a palomino. The horse was a gray. No, he’s not in the local club…we’ve never seen him.”

The witnesses were unable to provide a coherent story. The boy who received the parchment from the festival’s king had hidden it. This is more than it seems, he thought.