by Lucas Hault
“I understand,” he replied. “Life is never easy for a head of state, as with great powers come great responsibilities. Everything that exists has a dual aspect. All we need is to find it out”.
“You sound like your father”, she commented.
“He was actually the one to teach me”. He had received a lot of values from his father. But the only problem was in following them.
“Life is full of struggle, and with every struggle comes great reward”, he said, catching a glimpse of the high priestess staring at him. His beady eyes gleamed and were deep-set like those of a bird.
He noticed her hazel eyes looking into his, and it felt like a crackling in the air. He emitted a tiny gasp on observing the familiar glaze over her eyes. He felt as if he had enchanted her, ensnaring her with his gaze. He found her highly attractive, though not as much as Barbara, but beautiful and appealing. “I think that I am about to receive mine.”
He once looked at Barbara, who was involved with the bride and the bridegroom, and then turned his lecherous gaze back to Olivia Starkweather. His eyes reflected his carnality as he admired the voluptuous figure looking him back. Her shiny hair, alluring face and everything about the tall buxom woman captivated him.
His parents, dressed in similar fancy garments, were quite busy, involved in attending their royal guests. They invited everyone to the refectory, and the congregation, including the newly-weds began to proceed.
Olivia peeked into his eyes and nodded, before hitting the way out of the rectory. This excited him, accelerating his urges within.
“I will be right back”, he said to Lara, and followed the same way out. He followed her through the corridor and the passages, and finally out of the rectory.
There was a huge parking lot next to the big gate, fully occupied with vintage cars, standing in rows that seemed endless. Squared bushes bordered the lawn and disappeared far into the grove. There were saplings planted in regular patterns by the corners, and were bathed in bright yellow light coming from the lamp posts fixed by the wide concrete roads.
“You are the son of Balben Maddox,” she said, stopping by the iron gate. He nodded, walking closer by her side.
“I am Chris Maddox, the son of Balben Maddox, and the soon-to-be warden of Jewelsberg,” he mentioned. He felt proud and honoured to introduce himself in that way, especially to the lady before him.
“And I am Olivia Starkweather, the granddaughter of Lord Gavin Starkweather, the daughter of Lord Galvin Starkweather and the sister of Lord Austin Starkweather. The high priestess of Spion, and the pride of our house”. She appeared prouder and reputable.
“Why did you want to see me alone?” he asked, staring at the clasped dress opposing those flaunting curves. The eagerness within him continued. She was taller than him, and much healthier and attractive than the skinny figure before her, who looked grody in the pressed coat hanging over him.
“Did I say so?” Her response was so lame and it felt so unpleasant that his face flushed red with exasperation. It was true that she never asked him for anything, but that indication was no deceit either.
“Can you then kindly explain that nod?” he asked. He would have never followed her, despite being strongly attracted, if it wouldn’t have been for that nod, which she denied at once.
This made her laugh out loud. She laughed until her ears turned red, and then, holding her laughter continued, “There is a wise saying, never assume anything on your own unless you dive deep into the truth”.
This annoyed him further, but he found it better to keep his lips stitched rather than to keep complaining like a child. An expression of utmost chagrin and disappointment covered his face. He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon the bars of the iron gate and showed every other symptom of acute impatience.
“Why would a royal Starkweather want to meet a dormant Maddox blood? But as for you are here, I warn you about the lady whom you desire”.
“You mean Babs?” He didn’t wanted to speak to her any further, but couldn’t avoid himself as soon as she was mentioned.
“Babs?” she asked abruptly.
“I mean the lady that you just mentioned. Barbara Maddox. What exactly do you have to warn about her?”
“She is not meant for you and never she was. Your fates are the opposite, and no matter how hard you try, you both shall never be one. And if you ever try to go against it, you shall achieve nothing but meet your end”. She sounded bold and explicit.
The high priestess Olivia Starkweather was known for her prophecy throughout the three continents of the world. They had always stood true, and this was the reason for her being worshipped in some parts of the Northern Continent.
“I don’t believe in fate. The only thing which I believe in is fortitude and determination”.
Her prophecy had failed to leave any impact on him, and he remained the same—stubborn and uninfluenced.
“Your denial will have no influence on the existence, but it will cost yours”.
“Do you really know my fate?” he asked discourteously. She nodded.
“Excellent!” he began. “You will be the first one to be invited to this very same rectory to witness me taking her as my wife”.
Her words slipped off his head the other time, and he looked the same, the arrogant and cantankerous Chris Maddox.
“That is still some time away,” he said, getting closer and gently brushing her back, as if he could resist her no longer. The fragrance of her body and the scent of her silky hair simply magnetized him, just like insects towards nectar. “What does your foretelling says about the instance?” he inquired, running his hands all over her back. There was a touch of impatience in his rapid breathing and a lascivious behaviour that had dominated him. He felt her toned body all over himself, and touching those curves hardened him. He gently grabbed her waist and moved his hands down her belly and over her thighs. He believed that his fleeting touch would do its part, as he wrapped her in his arms and reached for her bosom, but she opposed it at once.
“Hold your flames or they would be responsible for turning you into ashes”, she said, removing his hands off her and pushing him away.
“Forgive me!” he expressed. He was aware of her disliking it, and immediately apologized for his act. “I never meant that”, he explained.
“It will be a pleasure watching my prophecy stand true”, she said annoyingly, in a sharp voice as of one whose anger has just been provoked. She stared at him bitterly for a while, before making her way back into the rectory.
“It still feels like our first time”, expressed Cynthia Hocaine, wrapping her naked self in the blanket on their bed. She just loved his impact below her, the little ache that follows after the act of love making. She had his seeds within, which she would soon mutate into their son.
“All this while I have been thinking the same”, replied her husband.
Cynthia Hocaine, the daughter of Joshua Hocaine, was a dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty of twenty, average in complexion but slim and tall, taller than her husband. Her husband, Barak Solomon Rayne, was an average height lad who was just the same in age as his wife. But unlike the lady, he had an olive skin, and the hue of his hair was lighter than that of his wife. The height, the complexion and the eyes between the two differed, as the husband was grey-eyed, with a long hawk-like nose, and was fairer than the wife.
He kissed her and jumped off their bed to open the window, allowing some fresh air into their room. He stood naked and moved towards the table to fetch them some drink, while she stretched herself towards the shelves beside their bed, pulling out one among the small collection of books.
“The Veiled Nation” said the book, written by the famous historian Ron Smith. The dark cover of that book had always attracted her, just like its content.
“Don’t indulge yourself in reading. I thought we aren’t done”, he said pouring the fruit syrup into the glasses.
The followers of the Ancient Religion were not habituated in con
sumption of wine. Fruit Syrup was the beverage that they loved the most, and it was widely consumed. It was liked by Owen Green as well, who despite being a Rasphor was habituated in its consumption.
“I may sometimes resist reading, but I simply cannot resist this book”. History had always drawn her attention, and it was something that she loved the most. She just loved to recall and relive the past.
“And what about me?” he asked, returning to bed with glasses in his hand.
“I wouldn’t have been lying here if I could”, she replied and they chuckled. She pulled herself beside him with the book in her hand, and they kissed.
They were in the same room which was once used by Barak’s parents, situated on the top of the fifth tower. The chamber was big and high, well-furnished, with decorative plaster, and a couple of packed windows, besides the small casements that displayed the scene of the city appearing small far beneath.
She took a sip from her drink and read, “The conquest of Alfen Andrew Maddox was a marking point in the history of the world. He was a capable and an invincible warrior, who was responsible for the downfall of the Hawking Empire. A dynasty was destroyed and the slaves were freed, but never were the three continents conquered. There were various other small rulers all over the Northern and Central territory who were neither known nor dethroned. Alfen was the ruler of the Southern Continent, and it was an ingenious gimmick by his followers to invent a lie about the conquest of the world”.
“Is the story of Alfen Maddox indeed an invented one?” she asked closing the book.
“No one properly knows about it,” he replied. “Father says that Ron Smith was a well-known historian and his words cannot be denied. He had never mentioned anything without proper knowledge, and his words resonate the truth. However, mother and my brother Borkan believe in the story of Alfen Maddox”.
It wasn’t just his family, but everyone had dissimilar opinions about the Subduer, though none could ensure anything with utmost credence.
“So are my parents. My father holds the same opinion, while my mother believes in it”.
She reopened the book, turning some other pages to begin, “Holfism is indeed one of the ancient religions of the world, which existed with the three continents. Millions and millions of years ago the world was totally different from the one at present. There were no three continents but a large landscape known as ‘Meinam’, an ancient Holferian word which means habitat. There were numerous lives breathing in it, which were always at war with each other. Hence, there had been certain messengers sent down by the Almighty to preach them the real meaning of life, guiding them to live with love and peace. But nothing changed. Thus followed a massive earthquake as the torment, which destroyed various lives, dividing the landscape into the three continents of the world. And this is the present world where we dwell.” She finished the last sentence to close the book and placed it on the table beside their bed.
“Do you believe in the Holves?” she asked turning to him.
“We always have”, he replied. “The Holves were the religious people who had influenced the world to a large extent. They strongly believed in their God and the Prophets, and lived their lives accordingly”.
“Are they gone?” she asked ambiguously.
“I do not know about the other two territories, but they were the largest population found in the Southern Continent once. But that was a long time ago. The whole complexion of the world has changed over race of time and they appear to be extinct. A majority of Synerians have believed in them, despite their existence remaining contingent.”
“I believe they continue to dwell in some other place”, she said. She remembered their numerous tales told by her parents, which had always drawn her attention. The followers of the Ancient Religion had always remembered them to be kind and generous.
“They were courteous people who only thrived for peace in the world”, she added.
He sighed. “Peace comes at a price”. He sounded very factual and genuine.
“What do you mean?” she asked emptying her glass.
“This is the universal truth. Peace comes at a price. It is never free of cost. The Holves wanted peace and had it for the cost of their lives. Jewelsberg wanted peace and had it for the cost of those bloodsheds following the riots. North-Eastern Syneria wanted peace and had it at the cost of destruction following a bloody war. It is the truth my dear! Peace comes at a price!”
She remained bolted but well aware of the dilemma deep within herself. It might seem bitter, but it was the truth and the real equation of life.
“How can someone be so heartless to harm the innocents,” she exclaimed. There was about her this quality that added to her gentleness, and it was her strong hatred towards violence.
“Not someone, but him. Petrus Sanclave!” he replied in a voice filled with rage as much as with disgust, and his wife could not but look him in the eyes. “Borkan has told me about him. He was the one responsible for countless killings. He had his hands painted with innocent blood and was equally responsible for turning friends into foes”.
“Was he captured?” she asked in a similar tone of detestation which his narrative had brought upon her. She had never heard of Petrus Sanclave, who appeared just as strange as his name.
“The President had ordered a death hunt against him. But the son of a bitch died before it”.
“That is what I call fortune,” she said commiseratingly, after she had listened to the misfortune. She was disheartened to learn that the culprit wasn’t actually crucified.
“Everyone believes the same”, he replied.
“And what do you believe about our marriage?” she teased him. It was something that she loved the most, which often turned him snappy, and she loved him more and more for every single time he did.
“I believe it was fate. And I should thank my brother for refusing the proposal”, he replied, putting a very knowing expression. He always had the thought that mentioning his brother’s refusal to the proposal chaffed her, but he wasn’t aware that it never really bothered her. And it was always she who ended up winning the game. She just loved it.
“I believe my parents and I should have re-proposed”, she said smiling. The smile was intentional and was to nudge him to feel jealous. She stood successful in the regard, as he did seem wary, something that she adored. His long face grew so gloomy over the remark that she laughed aloud.
“Then I believe that I would have killed him”, he replied, as he grabbed her by her neck, locking his lips with hers. He pushed her down on her back, and himself laid by her side, holding her neck and biting and pulling her soft-slim lips. She, on the other hand, loved his rough way, each and every moment of it.
The couple was known throughout the Palace for their obsession for one another. Elias and Rebecca had come to discover this following an incident, when Barak had to attend a momentous assembly on his father’s behalf. But to everyone’s consternation, he made the appearance with his wife, which made no sense. It was something that none had ever done. Borkan and Meshach had often made fun of him a couple of times, but it least bothered him or his wife.
They hardly got down their chamber or meet anyone.
“I don’t mind killing anyone or everyone standing between you and me”, he whispered, pulling off her blanket. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, as they kissed and cuddled, and the act continued.
“What exactly is my son up to?” asked Rebecca. She was in their garden, along with her husband, who had returned from the Capital a couple of days ago. She was a little annoyed learning about Borkan’s departure and wanted him back in Townslane.
“He is on a visit to to the North of the Capital. The President was impressed by his determination and says that he has inherited it from you.”
She smiled. “Why had he to travel there in the first place?”
“He is there to look for someone. The President really appreciated his concern over Harot, and wants it to resolve as quick as possi
ble”.
The couple was in the garden of their Palace. The beautiful gardens were their winsome place and they used to spend every bright morning admiring the surrounding.
Elias Rayne and his wife Rebecca were involved in their conversation, when they were interrupted by a resolute voice.
“Lord Rayne!” he called and the couple turned around to witness Sir Thomas Wright, the private detective approaching them. They rose from the stone carved pew, which lay by the side of the beautiful stretch of lawn, located within their large garden. They stood tall, welcoming the presence of the man within.
“Lord Rayne and Lady Rebecca!” he hailed, slightly nodding his head. “I have looked over the case and have come up with certain things”.
Sir Thomas Wright, a brilliant and remarkable man of forty-six, was known for his heedfulness and perception. A golden-haired man, white in complexion, blue-eyed, smooth-skinned, he was refined-looking, and legendary to the whole nation for his ability in resolving every possible case handed. His chin had the prominence and squareness which marked the man of determination. A man with an average height, he used to dress in a slim double-breasted overcoat that appeared brownish, and a dark round hat which had seen better days. His lofty hair swept his shoulders, while his appearance suited his profession to the very best.
“Go on Sir Thomas”, he said and along with his wife listened.
The detective explained, “The man who was discovered dead in the forests of Townslane was Gary Feck. He originally belonged to the nation of Aries, but had settled in Syneria for the past three years. He was an exporter and had a good trade relation with Spion. He was also the one accused of smuggling along with Arwin Donatelle”.
“Arwin Donatelle?” confirmed Lord Elias. “The one involved in the illegal weapons trade between Spion and Aries”.
The detective nodded. “He had secretly entered our nation through the Southern Ocean.”
“And how did he escape our army there?” he asked shockingly.