He started toward the throne. He walked for the first few paces. Then, unable to control himself, he bolted forward, racing along the carpet and hurling himself up the steps.

He expected his father to rise from the throne, to fling his arms around him. But he didn’t, and Jan’s joy withered into fear when he stood next to the throne and saw why his father remained sitting.

Hand and foot, arm and leg, he was bound to the throne by golden vines that seemed to grow directly from the throne and into his flesh.

The boy stood in silence, uncertain at first of what to say. Finally it was his father who spoke. “Is that you, Jan?” he asked, in a voice little more than a whisper.

Jan nodded. Then, as if the gesture had broken the cord that tied his tongue, he cried, “What has happened to you?”

Jan’s father closed his eyes. “I have given my life to the crown and the throne.”

Jan, his knees suddenly weak, slid to the floor. He leaned against his father’s legs, which were clad in blue silk finer than any he had ever touched before. “I don’t understand.”

Straining against the vines, his father’s fingers stretched forward just enough to touch Jan’s hair. “When I went in search of the Golden Sail, I did not know I would be gone so long,” he murmured.

“Why did you go?” asked Jan, holding back his tears.

“Like you, my heart was restless. I longed for adventure.”

“My heart longed for you,” whispered his son.

His father drew in a sharp breath and didn’t speak for a moment. At last he said, “As you know, I went in search of the Golden Sail. When I found it, when I boarded the ship that carries it, the ship sped off on its own, bearing me to this land. Here I was greeted as hero, and king. Can you understand what that means, Jan? I was a fisherman, a sailor.”

“A father, too,” put in Samos.

Jan’s father groaned. “A father, too. But suddenly I was called ‘king.’ Little was it in me to resist, even though I understood what was being asked of me.” He sighed heavily, then shuddered. “I could have refused. They would not have forced me.”

“Who?” asked Jan. “Who would not have forced you?”

“The golden people,” said his father. “The people of this land. The golden land must have a king, Jan, or it withers and dies. But the land devours the king, as it has devoured me. Now I am withering, too; used up.”

“No!”

His father gave him a weary smile. “No sense in trying to hide from what is. I sent the ship to search for you, to bring you back, so that I could say farewell.”

“And who will be king when you are gone?” asked Samos, who had come slowly down the carpet to join them.

“Whoever will take the task,” replied Jan’s father.