Childheart was a bit shocked, but not altogether surprised. He had always wondered about Kahner, and even suspected from the first moments he met him in the Forest of Lament something less than entirely innocuous about him. But it wasn’t as if Kahner, at least while he was with the children, was hiding something. Yes, for sure, he was dissembling behind a front of lies in the castle library, and Childheart knew even then that what Kahner was telling him couldn’t add up without straining credulity, but not earlier in their time together; Childheart was certain there was nothing disingenuous in his words while he was with the others, and especially when Kahner was with Beatríz.
All in the mission party knew there was a hidden, forgotten story that belonged to Kahner. But it wasn’t as if Kahner knew what it was and was keeping it a secret; it was manifestly apparent at the time that Kahner himself knew no more about that hidden story than anyone else, as he freely confessed. In that regard, the Den of Liars had erased his memory just as it had erased his face. With the introduction of love, Kahner’s face returned, and rapidly so. But not his memory, and it was just occurring to Childheart why that would be the case, at least under the circumstances now disclosed.
Those accompanying Childheart halted before a large set of bronze doors being opened from the inside. Two of the guards unshackled the collar; the one in charge of the transport party, who had moments earlier spoken to Childheart, motioned with a shove for Childheart alone to enter.
As soon as Childheart crossed the threshold, the doors were shut, those closing the doors fleeing from the room. The space was vast, as one would expect of a throne room, which it appeared to Childheart to be. The floor was long and wide, the ceiling towering, and the walls made of grey granite and myriad clear, leaded windows on all four sides soaring from floor to ceiling. The hall was empty, except for a tall, triangular pyramid in the center of the room, surrounded by a dais, both constructed entirely of black stone and solid gold. On each of three sides—or what Childheart assumed to be three sides judging from the two he could see from the doorway—stood a throne made entirely of silver and gold and adorned with precious gems. In the sides of the pyramid located behind each of the thrones was a closed door made of steel. Childheart continued to glance all about, but otherwise did not move, for the unicorn stood facing Kahner, who was sitting on one of the thrones.
“You must be hungry, Childheart. May I offer you whatever your heart desires most? I can do this.”
“What my heart desires most is hardly food, Kahner,” said Childheart.
“Please, lay yourself down, and let us talk—as friends.”
Childheart, making no movement, said, “Friends don’t attack and capture friends.”
“But it was not as it appeared, Childheart, I can assure you. You were brought here for your safety and benefit; for had I not ‘captured’ you, you would most certainly have been killed by those surrounding you.”
“And what is my ‘benefit’ of being here, Kahner?”
“In due course—shortly—you shall see.”
“And where exactly is ‘here,’ Kahner?”
Kahner folded his hands on his lap. “You have no doubt heard of Sanctuary?”
“It is the last bastion of the Good’s beauty against the grotesque advance of Evil’s ugliness.”
“But surely you noticed, on entering this land, a beauty surpassing even that of Sanctuary?”
“You refer to the flowers and the trees?”
“Among many other elements of exquisite beauty, yes.”
“They are fashioned, Kahner! All here in this land seems to be fashioned, including the sun and any animals, I suspect.”
“That is correct, Childheart, and this land in all its fabrication has a beauty that far exceeds that of Sanctuary, for unlike the beauty of Sanctuary, this beauty cannot die!”
“What you call ‘this beauty’ cannot die, Kahner; but neither can it live, making it infinitely less beautiful than the beauty of Sanctuary. For what lives is infinitely higher in order than that which does not live.”
“But Childheart, consider the heavens—the endless and eternal universe of stars and galaxies. They do not live, but are they not of far greater beauty than what lives—and will die—in tiny Bairnmoor?”
“Kahner, without at least one living thing to consider it beautiful, nothing of beauty can exist, even if it be otherwise the most beautiful and enduring of all things. And, further, Kahner, I would consider even the most withered of a dead blade of grass to be infinitely more beautiful than all the (as you say, ‘exquisite’) fields of flowers and groves of trees you will ever fabricate.”
Kahner stood and circled the chair before sitting once again. “Childheart, let us not quarrel; but let us speak frankly with each other, for time is short. And let me begin by saying, quite obviously, that not all that I told you back in the library in Taralina’s castle was true.”
“I sensed something was amiss, even then, but since I did not know what, I gave you the benefit of any doubt, trusting you entirely, Kahner.”
“In that, then, oh otherwise rather wise one, you were wrong.”
“No. In that I was in error, but not wrong. It is never wrong to trust.”
Kahner chuckled. “But how can trusting ‘in error’ ever be right? I think they call that a contradiction, do they not?”
“Because trust is a virtue, Kahner; its value isn’t dependent on the thing or one trusted, or on any sort of accomplishment of trust. Rather, trust rewards you regardless, because it enables you to be truly who you are, and truly who you are in relation to another who is truly who that other is—whatever that is.”
“But you trusted one, Childheart, back in the library, who wasn’t who he truly was, but who was merely acting—the entire time acting—with you never once suspecting that I was doing so.”
“Quite to the contrary, Kahner. In the library, I was trusting the Kahner you truly are, and not one who was acting. For you are who you truly were when the girls loved you into personhood, when you shared the deepest of loves with Beatríz—and because with Beatríz, so with all of us who love her. No. That was no act. I do not know what has happened to you, but I do know that you are acting now, and that you are not yourself, not the true self I trusted.”
Kahner stood abruptly. “Impudent unicorn! Do you have any idea who I am?”
“I have already told you: you are the true Kahner all of us knew and loved, and who loved us, whatever sort of false Kahner you seem to be at present.”
“You fool!” Kahner turned toward the closed doors. “General Custagus!”
The doors opened, and in stepped the one summoned. “Yes, my lord?”
“Tell this horse’s ancestor—this horse’s ass—who I am!”
“Why, my lord, you are Santante, also called Kahner, the son of the most high, Sutante Bliss.”
Kahner turned and smiled at Childheart, looking for a face of surprise, if not of alarm, and perhaps even distress, while motioning the general to take his leave. The doors shut with a reverberating echo, as if punctuating the declaration, leaving Kahner and Childheart alone once more. Childheart remained motionless and without expression.
“Now that you know who I truly am, what do you have to say for yourself, Childheart? Think carefully,” he quickly added, “for perhaps your words will determine your fate, and perhaps even the fate of those whom you love.”
“I have spoken the truth. I will say no more.”
“Childheart! I am giving you an opportunity to save your life—and the lives of those