“Do not cast at me the alms of your hypocritical formalities! Even when the Republic wants to appear respectful, it oozes arrogance! Let it be known, I am not here as a mere messenger to announce my father’s passing! I am king! And as a king, I came to treat with the Council.”
“Then treat with us, oh King of Lamech and Enoch. You have the pontiff’s ears, as well as all the Council’s! Say what you will, then!”
“Your ears are worthless to me, you who call yourself ‘pontiff,’ Bilidio the wicked! As for the Council’s ears, I shall gladly accept them!” And, from that moment onward, Skillotz pretended that Bilidio was nothing more than incorporeal air. Skillotz spoke directly to the councilors, who in the meantime had emerged from the cothon palace as well; he also addressed the onlookers, the citizens of Melchy-Zedek. “Hear ye, hear ye! I come to bring you freedom! Freedom from this knave’s yoke, for he has soiled his office, and therefore abdicated! He is no more a pontiff than the hippogriffs grazing inside your stables!”
“Who has told you we desired to be freed?” answered Ranskil, one of the councilors. “And by what authority do you come hither to proclaim who is the legitimate pontiff and who is not?”
“Excellent question!” Skillotz replied earnestly, and raised his arms as if embracing the whole city. “That authority comes from the indisputable fact that I am the true pontiff!”
As he spake, there was a much-contained laughter roaring through the plaza. And the more they tried to contain it, the more it roared. But Skillotz pretended not to hear, even as this roar shuddered inside of his entrails, and boiled his bile:
“Do you not yearn for the days of yore, when you were guided by a true pontiff, worthy of such a title? Do you not remember Faris-Romil, the Visionary, the Prophet, the Great? Do you really believe this pathetic specimen to be deserving of wearing the same linen he wore? Of wielding the same staff? Of sitting on the same chair? Indecisive, cowardly, weak he is! Remember our ancestor, the illustrious Bizimonz, the one who expelled the monsters from Thebel! Could this Bilidio have attained the same feat? As for me, I have gone into the Forbidden Lands, where the monsters dwell! I fear no monsters! But more! I do not fear monsters of other kinds, which you would not call by that name, but who are no less bloodthirsty! I mean the ophalin, the men, who are not yet born, yet already threaten us! From the womb itself they crave for our lands, and our lives! Did Bilidio come to your defense? Did he? Or did he ally himself with the ophalin, your foes?”
There was no more laughter anymore, not even of the contained kind. Skillotz thought he had, at long last, made the Council see reason. In truth, all were too much astonished to even know how to react.
“So heed my words!” the king resumed. “Here I stand! Defending you, whereas Bilidio does not! The League of Nephil has already set in march the campaign which will bring an end to the ophalin! I come to save you as well! In so doing, I carry on my father’s legacy! As a councilor in your most hallowed chamber, Talizima preferred the integrity of the logizkal-loiffol to blind obedience to a feeble fool as Bilidio! Bilidio betrayed his office, whilst Talizima brought upon himself the task proper to this very same office! Whereas Bilidio forfeited his office, Talizima has anointed himself through his own justice! And here I am: the only legitimate heir to Talizima, and therefore his pontiffdom!”
He raised his right hand above everyone’s heads, so as to silence the increasing whispers around him, and also to show he was about to make a solemn proclamation:
“Here I swear to you this oath, oh logizkal of the north and of the south! I shall be a pontiff as Faris-Romil has been! I shall bring back our golden age, the last day of which we saw when Faris went to sleep in Mathusal! Bilidio was a mere interlude in this golden age which has truly never ceased, but only remained dormant! A new Faris-Romil stands before your eyes! From now on, you may call me Faris-Romil the Second! I shall bear that name as a crown, and I shall make it live forever in my children and my children’s children! And my seed shall live onward, because we shall triumph over the malice of the ophalin and over the dark fates weaved by Aigonz! I proclaim you this, here and now, and let it be as an oracle for my own sake!”
Skillotz lowered his arm. Now, all that remained was for him to receive the acclamation he so deserved. But all he heard was the footsteps of the one whom he had ignored throughout his speech:
“It befalls a pontiff, as the name so says, to build bridges amongst the logizkal-loiffol,” said Bilidio, very calmly. “Talizima, your father, did not build bridges, but walls. Walls between the cities of the logizkal, parting the Republic in twain. Walls between the logizkal and Ophir, namely the crizia and the forthcoming ophalin. Walls between mortals and Aigonz himself. If betraying the office removes the legitimacy of a pontiff, then Talizima could have never been a legitimate pontiff, on account of all these separations. You already reign amongst the League you have formed, what do you have to do with us? Go in peace, and do what you will.”
“It was so predictable you would say that, oh Bilidio,” the king sneered. “You will stop at nothing to keep your post and privileges! You speak well enough, but why are you the one speaking? Why do you speak in the name of the Council and even of all of Melchy-Zedek? Let the Council judge between you and me, who is the rightful bearer of the pontifical staff!”
“Let it be so, then,” Bilidio replied. “For, unlike what you insinuated, I take no pleasure in posts or privileges. Since it came to my hand, this staff has weighed heavily on me, and wearied me to no end. I would gladly relinquish it to anyone, save you. But again, so be it!” He turned to all who listened. ”Hark, oh Council of the Peoples! Within your words and deeds is contained the will of giantkind! So be the judges between me and Skillotz, for you are judges indeed. Whoever wishes to strip me of the pontifical tunic, and place it upon Skillotz in my stead, let him yell the stronger cry his heart can engender. And let all of you be witnesses to this: I shall abide by your decision, whatever it may be! If it comes to pass that I shall be pontiff no longer, I will retire to Mathusal so as to not trouble you any further… For then I shall have exhausted my will to live, and no duty shall bind me to the land of the living…”
Skillotz awaited. This was the moment he was yearning for. Surely, Melchy-Zedek would resound with cries for freedom! Yet not a single “yea” was heard. Not a single one. And the silence hurt Skillotz’s ears so much, he wished to kill this painful silence with his own shouts.
“Are you not ashamed, oh Bilidio, the perfidious, to hold the Council in your hand so? Who knows what kind of threats retain them in your grip? Be not afraid, brethren! Freedom is but a yell away! However, if you are not strong enough to release yourselves from the shackles of bondage, I shall do so in your name! For I am Faris-Romil the Second, the one who sees beyond words and silences!”
At that point, a northern councilor with long beards came forward, and gave much hope to Skillotz. At last—he thought—someone would accept his proposal, and thus incite others to do the same! These hopes, though, shattered in less than a heartbeat:
“You would be wise to look closer, and not so far beyond; for it may be mirages which you are seeing, oh Skillotz! Pontiffs are elected by the Council, as Bilidio was. You, on the other hand, have not received any of the Council’s votes. Neither did Talizima, of whom you are heir. So, the best we can do is to vote once again. This is unheard of in all of our long history, but I suppose it could be done. Of course, since Talizima set himself apart from the Council, he forfeited his vote. And you, being an heir of his, cannot be made councilor as he was and vote in yourself. But if you held a vote in this assembly, you would be only one. Even if you brought your friends from Tubal-Kain, and Iubal, and Iabal, and all those new cities you have founded, it would still not be enough. You are not our pontiff. That was the real meaning of our silence. That was what we proclaimed loud and clear. If you believe me not, then let us acclaim Bilidio, our true pontiff, with loud shouts.”
Then, all the cries Skillotz so
longed for were finally heard. Alas, the propitious time had passed, and now he feared the shouts instead of desiring them. These “yeas” were not sweet anymore, but sour:
“Hail Bilidio! Hail our true pontiff! By Aigonz and the stars!”
Skillotz heard them no more. All his yearning had been drained by an imaginary hole, a hole that he wished might open in the ground at his feet and swallow him. Foaming between his teeth, the king made his way back to the iron cage, and he stung the gryphons with his iron rods, so that they would fly away—moved now more out of fear and pain than by the persuasion of raw meat. Skillotz flew away, and all his retinue followed him. But as he slowly rose through the air, he cried very loudly:
“So be it! Now, the pontiff is not alone in forfeiting his legitimacy! The whole Council has now allied itself with the enemies of the logizkal-loiffol! Break your chains, oh citizens of Melchy-Zedek! Break them, oh denizens of the north! Join us! Relay this message to your neighbours! Lo! Salvation is nigh! Freedom is on the balance of my sword’s edge, the invincible Lauz-Ispariz! I will annihilate the ophalin and save our kind! Break your shackles!”
But Skillotz heard some of the melchin yell back at him:
“We know where there are shackles in Thebel, and it is not here!” So they said, and they threw fruits and pebbles at him.
When he arrived at Lamech, his home and domain, Skillotz spoke of his humiliation to no one. He forbade all of his retinue to even mention it, on the pain of severe lashing. But that was not the only thing he forbade. From that point onwards, the name “Skillotz” would be proscribed. No one could address him by his name, but only as “Faris-Romil.”
As the years went by—and even the ages till today—the name “Faris-Romil” kept changing and abbreviating, to suit the pragmatism of everyday spoken language. So “Faris-Romil” became “Faris-oil,” then “Faroil,” and finally “Pharaoh,” which is how we say it nowadays.
But as the sages of today say: “When a king entereth, ploys follow. Where pharaohs dwell, betrayals wallow.”
Chapter
15
Betrayal
For years, Kolinzio lived under the shadows. A sword of disquiet hung over his head, ready to strike as soon as he left his cloak. With each passing day, the new Faris-Romil’s sceptre grew stronger and harder. Kolinzio’s fears grew stronger in the same measure, and hardened his brow. He almost never left his house. Rather, he found comfort at the sight of his only son, Korzinthio.
One night, Kolinzio was unsettled by a knock at the door. It was a dark night. He went out, lest the knocks would awaken his slumbering child. He did not fully open the door, but left it ajar to peer around it. He saw no face, only a hunchback. His eyes were drawn downward till he could see his visitor:
“Malvizio! What brings you here at this time of night?”
“Come with me, good Kolinzio!” the elder said quite abruptly. “There is a matter of great importance I must discuss with you.”
“But… what…” Kolinzio would not be allowed to inquire further; Malvizio was already gone. It was clear he did not wish to be seen. So Kolinzio hurriedly locked the door of his house, and prayed no ill would befall the sleeping Korzinthio during his absence.
Masked by the night’s gloom, they went about Lamech’s dormant streets, till they reached the priest’s abode, at the city’s periphery. Malvizio invited him in. He obliged. Kolinzio could not even tell the difference, for the air was pitch dark both inside and outside. The elder drove Kolinzio, step by step, down a short staircase leading up to the basement. Only then did Kolinzio catch a glimpse of a glimmer of light. At first, he thought the light came from a fireplace, or a lantern: Only upon entering the basement did he see that the light was not red or golden, as fires lit by mortals, but whitish and silvery.
“Nod!” he exclaimed. The sylphid nodded towards him. He could see her countenance was most troubled, just as his heart was. Malvizio’s restless hunchback, however, kept going, through mazes of books and bookshelves. There were thin parchments and thick tomes there, written in tongues so ancient that Kolinzio could not decipher them. Even the texts in logizkal language were written with such erudition that he could not understand them. Yet there was more… something Kolinzio was not expecting at all.
There lay Moab’s seven gifts, imprisoned in iron cages. At their sides, one could see flasks with many potions, or spilled crucibles, or boiling cauldrons fumigating towards the animals. It was clear: Malvizio was still studying the purpose of these creatures, and how best to apply them to warfare. He did not seem to be very successful at it, though. The seven beings were rattled inside their cages, their crimson eyes brimming with wrath, their snouts foaming with despair.
In the meantime, Malvizio only halted his march when he found himself near a small table. He bid Kolinzio to draw near and he obeyed. Kolinzio then noticed what lay on the table: a cocoon, roughly the size of a human fist, hardened by an outer shell, swathed and fixed in place by threads of silky mucus. Piercing through the pores of the cocoon were small strings of darkened vapours, similar to the furnaces’ chimneys when they cook iron.
“This cocoon,” said Malvizio, “belongs to the purple butterfly, the last of Moab’s seven gifts. It seems that nature inverted its course, for it was the butterfly that encased herself inside the cocoon, instead of being born of it. We cannot look to nature to predict the course of this creature’s life cycle, but I think we can safely assume it will be a metamorphosis of some kind. A prodigious, awesome transformation.”
“So it would seem, honourable Malvizio,” Kolinzio replied. “But what do I have to do with all this? Should you not be relaying this matter to my friend, since he is the one who now rules over Nephil?” He so spake as not to pronounce Skillotz’s now forbidden name, but also to avoid addressing him by the foul title of Faris-Romil the Second.
“You mean Skillotz?” said Malvizio, with a clear contempt for the laws Kolinzio so scrupulously followed. “A fool!” he exclaimed, spitting on the floor. “He has the strength to lead, but not the aptitude. All his orders are aimed at his personal glory, not the purpose we all share! Why, only if boastfulness killed would Skillotz vanquish the ophalin!”
Kolinzio stepped back. He was both amazed and repelled by these words. But Malvizio would not allow him to move further away. He grabbed him by the neck, and forcefully bent his spine towards the cocoon. And a fetid odour penetrated Kolinzio’s nostrils, and left him through his eyes, in the guise of acidic tears.
“Behold!” the old giant did continue. “This be the fruit of our prayers to the Colossus. Yet it remains incomplete! Surely, this gift was offered us so we could wage battle against the ophalin! Otherwise, why would Moab have given it to us? This must be the reason behind the metamorphosis, the reason behind the seven gifts! All of them are transforming: The purple butterfly is merely the one in a more advanced stage! Notwithstanding, your aid is required.”
Kolinzio twisted his nose. He felt disinclined to collaborate in the war efforts in any way. But this cocoon seemed absolutely loathsome:
“Mine?! What do you wish me to do?”
“Nod instructed me: From this cocoon, a terrible beast shall emerge! Invincible as the Lauz-Ispariz it will be! No army will stand in its way, not even the walls of the dearest Daughter of Aigonz! But, as you know, a seed can only sprout if it is properly watered. So it is with this cocoon. And here is how we water it, as Nod told me: This creature must drink blood!”
“Blood?!” This time, not even Malvizio’s hand was able to counter Kolinzio’s pull, as he straightened his back. The young giant’s breath trembled as a fledgling fallen from his nest. His heart quivered as well. However, Kolinzio forced himself to be quiet, bringing his hand over his chest. “Oh surely you mean the blood of an animal of sorts. Do you wish me to go and hunt a deer, or an auroch, so you can bleed it in sacrifice to Moab?”
“Do not be a fool as well! What kind of strength would a beast like this harness from the weak blood of
a deer or a grass-eating creature as such? Nay! We require a much stronger blood, a thicker blood.”
“You should call Moruzio, then! He is a more seasoned hunter than I am! He can hunt game with much more blood in its veins than a hooved animal! I can do no more than that!” Kolinzio kept babbling, for he really did not wish to know. “So what do you seek? The blood of a boar?”
“The blood of a lion!” said Malvizio, and he squinted both his eyes and mouth. “Only the blood of a king shall suffice!”
Kolinzio was too terrified to say a word. Only then did Malvizio become horrified as well, for he feared to have said too much:
“Do you not get it? Kolinzio! Skillotz is unfit for this task! The future of the logizkal-loiffol hangs in the balance! His strength is worthy of boasting, but boastfulness is his weakness as well! But you, Kolinzio! You have your wits about you! Always have! You are more of a king than he will ever be!”
Malvizio took a dagger from a fold in his tunic. The blade gleamed so much, it seemed it had been forged with celestial iron:
“You may snatch the crown from Skillotz’s severed head! And when you do, I will be there to draw blood out of his corpse, and feed it to Moab! Two birds, killed with one stone! Verily, you are the only one worthy to be the next Faris-Romil!” He tightened his lips once more under the secrets of his whispers. “Tomorrow, go and visit Skillotz… you know, as a friend. Then, it will all be over.”
Kolinzio did not reply. How could he? What response could be given? All he wanted was to find a way to leave without accepting that infamous dagger! How to escape? How?! He did not know. His limbs were like turned to stone, frozen like death. But suddenly, he felt a warmth on his cold hand. He looked down and saw Nod holding his hand between her gentle fingers:
“Good Malvizio… Can I have some moments alone with Kolinzio, my lord?”
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