by Pamita Rao
A fireball appeared in Creed’s palm, and Elora closed her eyes. It was better this way. Finally, this would all end and her son would be safe. She knew her family would keep him safe from Creed. She trusted them with her life and had given them enough time to run away with her son. She waited in anticipation for the fire to engulf her, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes.
“Did you think I would kill you so easily? This fireball was not meant for you, my queen.” He raised the fireball in his hands, and before Elora realized what was happening, he threw it towards Biliyam. The fire blazed Biliyam’s body, and Elora screamed.
“No!” she got up to run towards Biliyam, but Creed pulled her back. She struggled against his arms that held her tight to watch her confidant and trusted slave burn in the pith of fire. Smoke from her burnt body rose above to the glass dome, and Elora cried for the loss of her friend. He released her then as her sobs died down and she turned her to him.
“Now, my queen, if you will not tell me where the boy is, then I will do this to each and every person you love and trust.”
“You can kill everyone I know, but you will never find what you look for. My son is in the capable hands of those who wish to protect him as much as I do, and they will all give up their lives before you lay your hands on him.”
“Take her away!” Creed shouted to the guards. “I will find the boy myself.”
Drahim stepped forward, his necklace twinkling with a mild glow.
“What do you intend to do with her, now that she is your prisoner?”
Creed’s eyes blazed red with anger. “She betrayed me, disobeyed me. I shall of course have her killed in prison.”
Drahim shook his head. “She is a beloved queen of the kingdom. Her death will cause chaos. Your soldiers and the aristocrats may turn against you. It is best to let her live and attack the ones who stole your son. You just tried to kill her child. I told you this before—a mother’s love for her child is far stronger than her loyalty to her husband,” he said, touching Creed’s shoulder. When Creed did not respond, Drahim continued.
“The full moon still shines upon us, and you have capable soldiers in your army who can find your son. Bring him back, Creed, and we shall continue this ritual as you intended.”
“But how are we to find him if Elora will not speak?”
“We do not need Elora for it, I can tell you that myself.”
Creed’s forehead wrinkled for a moment and then cleared. He remembered that Drahim was the eldest of the dark sages. He could see visions of the future. Drahim lifted some sand from the pit with his chalice and held it in front of Creed.
“I only need some of your blood.” Creed pinched his thumb with the tip of his sword and let the blood drip into a chalice. Bubbles rose from the sand and formed a sphere, which lifted itself into the air. Drahim held the sphere and spoke in an ancient tongue. The men in the court who prided themselves in knowing ancient scriptures and dialects could not decipher what he pronounced with such ease. His eyes turned white and the eyeballs slid to the back of his sockets as he continued to chant verses from ancient scriptures. He screamed and shook as the vision started forming within him. Drahim gasped for air as his eyes turned back to normal.
“I could not see the child. It felt as if someone was blocking my vision, but I did see something else.”
“What? What did you see?”
“I saw destruction,” he said, releasing the sphere. It fell back into the chalice and mixed with the sand. His expression turned grave, and he stayed silent for a while, staring at the sand scattered near his feet. “There is nothing left, except vultures who feed on rotting flesh. There is nothing left of the land. There are charred bodies of animals, plants; Myrthians being swept away by lava that emerges from the core. Our entire world will end. There are no survivors, not even you.”
Audible gasps filled the hall.
Creed could not believe what he was hearing. “What about the gates? Do I go through them? Do I see the worlds outside?”
Drahim’s eyes hardened. “Destiny can be wicked. It changes its mind based on our actions. Once the boy was taken away from the castle, your destiny changed.”
“What do you mean?” Thunder struck the dome and the skies above roared as Creed’s eyes glowered.
Drahim chose his words carefully. “I saw each of our deaths. No one will be spared.”
Creed could not believe his ears. He could not die. His mother’s boon had made him an immortal. He could not be harmed without destroying the land of Myrth. “Who dares to cause my death? Tell me now! Look into the future again.”
“I need more of your blood.”
Creed sliced the flesh on his finger again and let the blood drop into the chalice once more. The bubble rose, and Drahim repeated the same process as before. This time, the verses were different; it took longer. Creed knew what he was trying to see. He was trying to go back into the past, to see where this all started. He did not shake this time, nor did he scream. He only stayed with his vision and did not speak. He was living the vision, and he would take his time to get back to reality. After what felt like an eternity, his eyes came back to normal.
Creed, who paced with impatience, came to stop by Drahim. “What did you see?”
“You should fear him,” he said with a low voice.
Creed’s eyes burned with rage. “Whom did you see?”
“I saw your son. He is the one who kills you.”
Collective gasps resonated in the hall. Men and women clasped their hands in front of their chest, and murmurs broke out in the grand hall.
Creed shook his head. “But how is that possible? He is only a child.”
“I do not possess the powers to see everything in the future, but in my vision, he is grown in height and being led into the enchanted forests by a woman.”
““Who was it? Whom did you see in your vision?””
“Her face was shielded by a veil. I was concentrating on the child, but she wore the clothes of the aristocrats.”
All the aristocrats immediately turned to one another in suspicion.
“Shut the doors to the hall!” ordered Creed. “No one leaves the castle tonight until we know who is behind this.” Aristocrats screamed and shouted as they ran towards the door, but the guards surrounded them, stopping them from leaving. Terrified men and women shivered as Creed approached them.
“I gave you riches, powers. I kept you alive to lead the life you wanted, and the only thing I asked in return was loyalty. Tell me, who was it that took the boy from the castle? Tell me, or I will behead you all!”
“None of us would betray you,” said one of the aristocrats. “We have pledged our loyalty to you. We would not think of such a crime.”
Creed stared at the man and approached him slowly. “Are you saying that Drahim is a liar?”
“No, my lord!” the aristocrat stuttered.
“Are you saying that I am a fool for trusting him?”
“N-No, my lord. I only meant that we would never defy you. We worship you, my lord.”
Creed whispered into his ear. “You lie to me.” He opened his mouth, and a black smoke entered the aristocrat’s ear. The man screeched as it made its way up into his head like a snake crawling inside a being. He screamed and held his head as it ate at his flesh from within.
The other aristocrats cried and moved away from him, horrified, as they watched his body crumble and fall to the ground, nothing left of him but his skin. The black creature took the form of smoke and dissipated in air. Creed turned back to Drahim who looked uninterested in the events.
“Can you tell who it was, Drahim?” he asked with reverence.
Drahim nodded. He removed the necklace that hung around his neck and held it in his hand. “This will tell us who the culprit is.” Guards aligned the aristocrats, and Drahim approached them, necklace dangling in his hand, pendent swaying as he touched it to the heads of each aristocrat. The pendant remained dull until he reached the last w
oman in the row.
He shook his head. “It’s none of them, Creed. There is someone else out there who has betrayed you.”
Creed turned to his guards.
“Go to every village, every house and find these aristocrats who have taken the boy.”
“My lord,” said a guard, bowing in front of Creed. “We found four guards hidden behind pillars of the east tower. One had his throat sliced, another had a cut through his stomach, and two others were hit on their heads. They all bled to death, my lord.”
Creed bellowed with anger. “Did anyone in this kingdom see who did this?”
The guard, his head hung, stuttered with fear. “We do not know, my lord. Many carriages passed through the south and north gate, bringing in food and liquor, but they left soon after. There is no way of knowing who among them stole the prince.”
“I want my army of soldiers to go to each and every village and find where these aristocrats are hiding the boy. Find him, find him now!” he shouted.
This could not be happening to him again. He had waited far too long for this day to arrive, far too long for his dreams and wishes to come true. He would not let them be taken from him because of a boy’s life. He would find the boy, and when he did, he would finally get his dream.
CHAPTER SIX
Alaira - The Tavern
“Hurry!” shouted Alaira as the horses raced through the wet path of the forest. Klink, who was riding the horse, kept turning back to see if anyone was following them, and Alaira held onto the basket as if letting it go would end a dream and the prince would vanish in thin air.
“How is Freddic?” she asked Horace. Horace untied Freddic’s shoes and released his shirt collar, allowing him to breathe. Freddic slumped against the inside of the carriage, heaving, eyes closed, with his palms on his chest as if he was in pain.
Horace sat next to Alaira and spoke in amazement. “If watching a man die can do this to him, just imagine what will happen if he has to fight with a sword?”
Alaira shook her head. “Freddic only had a slight fainting spell because the guards cut the slave into smaller pieces and tossed him into a sack to throw him into the sea. You must be more sympathetic of him.”
She had ordered the other carriage drivers to leave the castle before them to avoid suspicion. They were loyal workers at Freddic’s farm, and Freddic had not wanted any harm to come to them or their families if they were caught.
The carriage jolted, and their heads hit the ceiling. Alaira shielded the basket, and Horace scowled. He wasn’t happy about Klink riding the carriage. Freddic moaned and covered his mouth with his hands, as if he would vomit again. Horace pushed Freddic away from him.
“You will not vomit on me!” Freddic seemed to calm himself down and laid back on the floor again. “I tell you, Alaira,” said Horace, looking at Freddic’s sprawled form, “he will be no good in battle.”
“If it were not for Freddic, we would never have been able to take Neelahaim with us,” she reminded Horace. “He brought us to the castle in his carriage, which we could have never achieved by ourselves.”
Alaira was shocked when Freddic had told her what happened. She had heard and seen the guards beat slaves, but she had never heard of such sinister things. Tireol was no place for a child to grow up, she thought, looking towards the basket that rocked from the movement of the carriage.
After a few moments of silence, it felt like both of them were thinking the same thing. “Can we see him?” asked Horace, pointing at the basket. Alaira was also tempted to open the basket and peek at the sleeping prince.
“What if he wakes up and starts crying? He could wake up the entire village. It is best if we wait until we reach Nimah. We can all see him then.”
Horace smiled towards her. “We did it. We saved our nephew. We are bringing him home!” His eyes sparkled with happiness. “We have one more man in the family!”
Alaira laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Yes, we saved him, but caring for a child this young can be hard work, so do not be too joyous, brother. I had to care for you as a child, so I should warn you that boys are more difficult than girls.”
“He will not be hard work for me,” he said, sticking his tongue out to Alaira. “We will play every day, and I will raise him to be just like me!”
Alaira shook her head. “Then I pray to God to save him from you.” She had never thought it would be possible to sneak the prince from under the king’s nose so easily, but everything had gone according to their plan. After taking the prince, she had gone back the same way, through the kitchen, followed by Horace and Klink. They had left before her and called for her help in front of everyone. Alaira had slipped out with the basket pretending to help them move a barrel. No one had suspected anything. Even the guard who had sneered at her seemed preoccupied with another slave maid.
When they made it outside, they found Freddic in the carriage, and he told them what happened while they were inside. The guards at the gate had left him after he vomited several times and let him rest in the carriage for a while before leaving.
Alaira looked towards Freddic now. He looked terrified. The poor farmer boy, she thought. Horace was right. Freddic would never survive a battle with swordsmanship. She should never have let him come with them, but he had insisted and she could not say no. She knew they would need a carriage driver.
Although Freddic did not receive training in swords and archery like they had from their own father, he knew how to use his wit to find a way out of difficult situations. She had overheard his conversation with the guards out at the southern gate while she hid in the barrel, and she felt nothing but pride at the way he handled himself. His loyal and trustworthy nature would keep the guards away from Nimah for a while.
“Maybe someday we can save Elora as well,” said Horace, breaking her thought.
Alaira watched the passing trees outside their carriage as memories of the past came flooding back to her. She and father had tried to save Elora many times and had arranged for her escape. They had earned the trust of slaves at Groigad who knew a way outside the palace, but Elora would not leave. Creed will never let me be free, she had said. He will not spare any of you if he knows that I have escaped. He is more powerful than you think, and I will not risk your lives for mine.
Alaira begged father to speak with Elora again, to change Elora’s mind and force her to leave the palace. It is Elora’s decision, he simply said. Alaira had cried for days for the loss of her older sister. She remembered the days she spent running, playing, and fighting with Elora. They were little children then, Horace a new-born baby, and Mother was still alive. They were content and happy in their own little world.
The carriage turned abruptly to the right, jolting Alaira from her memory as her arm hit the handle of the carriage door. Horace and Freddic slid towards the right, bumping into each other. Alaira shielded the basket from hitting the sides of the carriage and waking Neelahaim. After a few more sharp turns in different directions, and after a few bruised arms and knees, the carriage finally came to a stop.
“That was some good riding there, Klink,” shouted Horace as he jumped out of the carriage. His hair looked disheveled and his clothes were wrinkled.
“Thanks,” said Klink. “It was hard work, but I think I handled the horses quite well.” Horace stared at Klink as if he had grown horns on his head, and he reached to hold Alaira’s hand as she made her way out of the carriage. Freddic, now with color returning to his cheeks, held onto the basket while Alaira dusted her skirt and straightened her hair. It looked like they had been hit by a severe gust of wind.
“Dawn is upon us,” she said, looking at the skies above. The night sky was slowly turning a shade of purple, indicating they had only a few Myrth hours before the sun rose and the guards found them. They had to make their way to Nimah soon, but they also had to halt for the night. The tavern they had stayed at last night was nearby.
Freddic held out a man’s attire in front of her. �
�Wear this, and they will not suspect you are a woman.” Alaira nodded and took the clothes from Freddic’s outstretched hand. She climbed back into the carriage to change as the boys turned and moved away to give her some privacy.
After changing, they made their way to the tavern, talking about how they would rest only for a little while and then restart their journey towards Nimah. Alaira followed them, hoping that she would trick the tavern owner once more into believing that she was a man. The rules were very clear about women not being allowed in taverns, but they had no other place to hide for the night.
The tavern was noisy tonight; big, burly men sat around wooden tables and spilled their drinks as they spoke harshly to one another. Freddic and Horace walked over to the owner of the tavern and asked for bedchambers for the night. The tavern looked at the four of them suspiciously and laughed at the basket Alaira carried.
“You carry a basket like a woman,” he said while the others around him laughed. Alaira ignored them, walked over to a chair beside Horace, and sat down, holding the basket in her lap. A feeling of unease washed over her as the tavern owner continued to stare at her in confusion.
“Why is he still wearing his hat?” asked the owner.
Freddic bent close to the owner’s ear and whispered. “He has a bad burn on his face, a scar made by none other than the king.”
The tavern owner’s eyes went wide. “The king, ye say?”
“Yes, and it is cursed!”
“What do you mean cursed?” asked some men who had now surrounded their table. Alaira did not know whether to be happy that Freddic was using his wit to create another story or angry for talking so much that he had attracted half the tavern to their table.
“It was cursed by the king when he scarred his face. The same scar will appear on anyone who wishes to see it. That is why he hides his face. It is to protect everyone around him.”
The tavern owner nodded, and the others murmured in agreement. “Yes, better not to show your face if it has been burned.” He turned to pat Alaira on the back but retrieved his hand as if fearful the curse would affect him. As most of the men walked away in awe of a story that they would later relate to their wives and family, a man sat still on his chair and stared at Alaira.