Page 9 of Long Live the King
I had forgotten becoming a king. Now, I remembered I had once been a medieval king.
Which came first?
I had acquired the throne, years ago, it had happened before I knew it had happened — a loop, an entanglement.
A long confusing time ago.
I had been a king.
Mag Mòr, crowned in the year 1290.
It had been the most difficult thing in the world tae be a king at two ends of time, tae be stretched by duty and honor well past my limits. With time shifting between.
But now I wasna Mag Mòr. I wasna a king of the past. The shift of time had sloughed me from the line. Or wheel. As my auld friend Cailean had argued.
I had known him back then. How had I forgotten him? What caused me tae remember?
My experience had proven Cailean right, twas a wheel, I felt sure. And I had been thrown from that circuitous rolling. That royal role.
I was a king in the future, no longer king in the past.
It was scarcely even a memory anymore.
More like an echo, though twas inside myself, an echo that got m’heart racing, and filled m’gut with a cold dread.
I had been the ruler of a kingdom. Twas a great demandin’ responsibility.
But it wasna real.
It had been real but now twas only an imagined past, echoing around inside m’being.
I had been dreaming. I was certain of it.
But this had seemed somehow new… it unsettled me and made it difficult tae return tae sleep.
I rolled over on m’side and placed a hand on Kaitlyn’s stomach, soft and pouchy from bearin’ my bairns.
I had forgotten that Jack had come tae sleep with us in the night. He looked over her shoulder at me and said, “Da!”
I chuckled, and pressed my finger tae m’lips. Then I held out my arms. He crawled across Kaitlyn’s chest and climbed into myarms. I lifted him, carried him from the room, and down the stairs. We went tae the refrigerator and stood in the light of the open door. I pulled out the carton of milk, took down a mug, poured some milk in and chugged it down, leaving a bit of milk on m’upper lip. Jack giggled and put out his hands. “Me!”
I gave him the mug and he chugged. He gave it back, a grin on his face.
I said, “This is what we do, Jack, we drink from a mug in the light of the refrigerator in the twenty-first century. Next, we hae a verra important task, dost ye ken what tis?”
His face grew serious as if he were thinking this was a consequential thing.
“In every century, if we are up in the night, we ought tae go guard the house. Are ye ready?”
He nodded and sat up straight on m’arm. We walked across the living room, slid open the door, and stepped out on the back deck.
There was a light breeze, rustling the hair on his head. He wrapped his arm around my bicep and shivered.
“Aye, wee bairn, this is the cold of duty. Ye hae tae go out intae it tae keep yer family safe. Dost ye see the guard on the roof?”
We looked up on the roof tae see Sam, who had been with us for years. He raised a hand. Jack and I both raised a hand in return. Then we stood there, takin’ in the beach, my eyes sweepin’ up and down the sand dunes. Jack tucked his head tae m’shoulder. I stood there for a long time, relishin’ the breeze on m’skin, the certainty of the ocean, even as it ebbed and flowed against our beach. Our house was a stronghold, even as the sand beneath it shifted under the foundation.
I breathed in the salt air and felt Jack grow heavy in m’arms, the weight bringing me comfort. A burden was a purpose and there was nae greater burden nor purpose than sons.
