by D. W. Rigsby
King Offing reached up with his hand and wiped his brow. His stare conveyed his deep thought on the choices proposed to him.
The Father knew the Old Oak might decide to take up residence in his dungeon, and be his prisoner with hopes the other kingdoms may rescue him, but there was something about the man that also said he would prefer death over the humiliation of imprisonment. Could the former king start over? He could, that was a given; but he would never have his family, his lands, or his title. He was a lost king.
King Offing closed his eyes, muttered a few words to himself, and then opened his eyes. He spoke in an undertone. “Petro, ward to King Amerstall. He has a role to play.”
The Father continued to listen.
“He is watched by the Numas. Be forewarned,” King Offing said. He spoke no more.
It was enough for the Father, and with a quick jerk, he ran the thin steel across the side of King Offing’s neck, and blood gushed out. Offing’s knees buckled, and he went to the floor, gurgling on his own blood. The red of life poured out of the wound, down his purple tunic, over his armor, covering up the great oak sigil, and then it ran down onto the stone ground, where it pooled bright red and reflected the flickering torchlights.
“Rest well.” The words trickled off the Father’s lips. He looked at the dead eyes of King Offing, at how the corners of his mouth turned down in slight cant, along with the edges of his eyes. He sighed and then straightened his posture, squared his shoulders, and twirled about to face his sons and his men. “Where is Fin?” His voice was raised a full octave.
A squire came to retrieve the Father’s bloody sword. The Father passed the sword over to the squire, and then he strolled to King Offing’s throne, sat down, and crossed his legs. He explored the room, watched the men both dead and alive, and pondered. The Great Eyes had captured every single word, every single movement—that could prove to be an issue. Certainly there would be questions about his handling of the matter in the end and about the information King Offing wanted to share in exchange for his and his son’s lives. He could easily deal with these questions, even the death of Prince Danard. There was still some concern, however, so he searched his mind, going over the recent events.
He looked up at the Great Eyes; the bronze orbs hovered high, nearly going unnoticed to those below. Half a century earlier, the Great Eyes were created and placed in the sky to hold all kingdoms accountable to the standards of war. The rules of engagement must be observed; and if they were not, penalties would ensue. This very thing irked him, knowing he had to bow to another. No king should bow to another king or the rules of many kings to suit their own needs. The strong survived, and the weak perished—Mother Nature had already established the rules. It would be better to observe Spearca’s ways for she was not easily manipulated into doing the things man wanted; she did what she pleased. He tapped his finger on his chin.
The Father waved for an orb to come to him. The bronze ball descended in a zigzag and then came to a stop. It floated low next to him, and a series of beeps and chirps emanated from its core. The device soaked in all movement, filling its sensors with images and words; short bursts of unseen radio waves passed over the electromagnetic spectrum to an external databank for further processing. Sets of algorithms or gates would compute, compare, and correlate the data, prepping to stream it over the BLUE (bilateral luminescent ultrafrequency ether) to the viewers in every castle throughout the kingdoms. No one in the room controlling the devices had heard one word or seen the events that had unfolded. Once all information was captured and processed, the Unified Kingship would review the data before dissemination.
“Kings and queens. You will see through the Great Eyes that I was just. No doubt you’ve seen the attacks on my border. I know you will come to a fair conclusion as to my behavior and my actions. I am sympathetic the deaths of King Offing, his queen, and his son. Diplomacy would not have settled this matter. King Offing’s crimes were too great to overlook. I took it upon myself to bring justice, and that is what I did. And so, today, I claim the lands of King Offing and divide it for my two sons, Dwuave and Odian. The first kingdom, ruled by Odian, will be called Ardinias; and the second kingdom will be ruled by Dwuave and called Rednex. They will make exceptional kings and will see to their people as a father does to his own children.” The Father said this with such precise serenity that he nearly believed it himself. He paused, rested his head in his hand, and then looked back up into the Great Eyes. “I only want peace.”
The Father clapped his hands together; suddenly he stopped, realizing his hand stung from the cut on the back.
“Come here, my sons.” He motioned to them.
The two approached. Both were dressed in battle-tested armor, worn down and scarred. The Father watched with his crimson eyes, which were known to send chills into those he looked upon. It was a natural defect, ocular albinism, where the pigmentation in the eye lacks melanin. This was caused by a genetic mutation of the GRP143 gene, a defective copy inherited from his mother’s X chromosome.
The Father reached into his pouch and pulled out a set of eyeglasses, thick around the edges and slightly tinted. He placed them onto the bridge of his nose, pulling the leather strap over his head to keep them in place. He glanced up to see the Great Eyes fly away.
Pain traveled up from his calves and then into his hamstrings and quads. He pulled himself straight and adjusted his eyewear. “Where is my advisor, my son Fin?”
A tall, thin figure wearing a red robe appeared from the hall and glided over the stone floor. Fin bowed his head. “I have found what King Offing mentioned.”
The Father leaned forward; his eyes were fixed on Fin. “Go on.” He motioned to his son to continue.
There are those who do not believe in the prophecy of the Coming. Some say it will be a sign for the end of times, and some say it does not constitute the end of times at all, and yet others still claim the Numas have made this entire prophecy up to attract followers who will serve their cause. Some ask, what is their cause? Some say the Numas are here to help us all, while others say they are a plague and should be done away with and never heard from again. What do you say?
—From The Free City Press, by Arth
Petro walked deeper into the gardens at the back of the castle. The dark-blue shade of sky hovered overhead. He was finally by himself, taking a stroll over cobblestone paths outlined by unlit torches. A chill in the air floated over his face, touching his skin with its cool, soft hands.
“It won’t be long now,” he muttered to himself. He took in a deep breath and let it out.
Here in the garden, he could think; he could get away from it all, if for only a little while. The garden was his friend. At night, when most others were nestled inside the castle, getting ready for bed, he would come out here, exploring his thoughts and feelings, surrounding himself with the beauty of Spearca, letting his mind relax, and letting go of all the things that seemed to cling to him. Tonight would be a very busy night, and getting away was that much more necessary for Petro. The castle would house many guests; lords and ladies came from all around to see Petro’s induction ceremony. He didn’t think it was anything special, really; the Numas had ceremonies almost every season, but this season the ceremony was early for Dugual due to the prospect of this area experiencing a large snowstorm, and so this change had brought more of Dugual’s neighbors and dignitaries to pay their respects to King Amerstall, for Petro was his ward.
He drifted along, kicking rocks off the stone path and back into the garden beds on the sides. Square-cut hedges marked both sides of the path; he came to a sitting area with two stone benches surrounded by walls of dry-stacked stone with two openings at each end. He sat down, picked up a rock, and tossed it up in the air.
“What if I didn’t go? The servants would call for me. Then surely Vetus Sepher would come to my door. ‘Boy, you need to get ready quick, or there’ll be consequences. The ceremony is about to start. You don’t want to be late, do you?’”
he said in a weak voice.
“I’d just sit and listen. He’d bang on the door, but I wouldn’t answer. The guards would be called and would break into my room. They’d stand there until I got dressed, but I’d take my time. ‘Come on, boy, hurry up.’” He mocked Vetus Sepher. “But I wouldn’t hurry. I’d go slower just to make them squirm. Then I’d ask, ‘Why should I go?’” He knew what they would say. “They’d say, ‘Because the king commanded it, and you were selected.’ Then I’d say, ‘So? I can make my own decision.’ But Vetus Sepher would tell me that only boys who’d proven themselves as young men could choose or some other silly nonsense.”
The rock went higher into the air, and he caught it just before it hit the bench. “Or he’d say that only young men who are needed at home get to decide to stay—if their mother is without a husband; or their father is lame; or both parents are getting too old to care for themselves with long, hard days out in the fields, bending their backs, their legs, and lifting heavy things. And…” He tossed the rock up in the air, watched, trying to think of something else to say, but he knew he couldn’t avoid the truth. “He would be right,” he finally said.
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Three people were coming toward him. He remained still, pretending not to notice, hoping they’d keep on walking past.
“Stand up, you!”
It was Sid. He had a scratchy voice that irked Petro each time he heard it. Sid’s nose was pointed up and looked awkward against his flat face, round eyes, and ears that swung out wide. It was like Sid was permanently stuck in that stage between a boy and man. The other two boys followed him like dogs would follow their leader, if their leader were a poodle and they were bulldogs.
“I said, stand up! Don’t you know the proper etiquette when a royal approaches?” Sid stormed over to stand in front of him.
Petro remained still, for what did it matter—it was his last day at Dugual. He and Sid never mixed well, and Sid seemed to like ordering Petro around just because he could. Petro stuck out his chin. “Sid, I never get up; you know that. Why would I do it now?”
“You address me as ‘Prince’ or ‘Your Majesty,’” Sid said, seething.
Petro gripped the rock, thinking it would be a great thing to find planted between those two gawking eyes in front of him.
“No, you are as common as I am, no different. I wonder how it feels to know you are just like me,” Petro said in an untroubled tone.
“I am no commoner.” Sid’s face turned red. “You will address me as a prince, or I’ll have you washing pans in the kitchen until day breaks.”
Petro kept his gaze on Sid, knowing it had already gone on long enough; putting the king and queen in unhappy moods was not what he wanted. “No, you are no commoner. You are a prince—that is certain.” Petro wondered if Sid caught on that he didn’t address him as prince, just acknowledged he was a prince.
“And you are not.” Sid mused at his words, looking over to his two cronies. Sid stood erect and formal. “Keal will be a baron one day, like his father, Baron Sirens of the north. Prince Shelk will be king of the Malics after his father, just like I’ll be king of Dugual after my father,” Sid said. “So, commoner, what will you be one day? Oh, I know…a Numa. A servant of both God and man. Sounds common to me.”
There was a flash of light, and Petro winced, for his head hurt suddenly.
“Sounds common to me,” Sid said. Petro was sure he’d just said that a moment ago.
Petro, agitated, dropped the rock onto the stone floor; his hand hurt from where he had gripped it too tight, and now his head hurt. The energy drained from his face. Slowly, in his own time, he got up and stood in front of Sid. He was one year older and taller than Sid. “You’ll never be king, remember? You came out second.” Oh, Petro wished he could take it back, but it was too late.
Sid’s face screwed up. He paced up and down the path, and squinted. Petro stood and could see the gears turning in his head, and he was sure to find out soon what Sid was thinking. It was a surprise to Petro when Sid’s scowl was replaced by a radiant smile. “Petro—tonight is your last night,” he said. “I think we should give you a gift, to say thank you for all the chores you did while I was away training, of all the days of washing dishes when one of the servants fell ill, of all the days of labor you gave to our kingdom.” He turned to his two friends. “What do you say? Let’s give him a hand.” Sid clapped his hands together, slow and hard, and he sped it up. The two boys joined in, and then Petro sidestepped just before Sid rushed him, sending his prince over the bench and onto the ground. Sid emerged quickly. Petro was surprised by how he had predicted Sid’s movement before it ever happened, and then he remembered—he had seen it in an instant, when the flash of light came and his head hurt.
“You’ll pay for that,” Sid said as he came at Petro again. This time he swung wild and nearly caught Petro on the chin. He missed just barely as Petro darted backward. His swing took him off-balance once more, and Sid found himself on the ground, this time in a bed of rocks.
The two other young royals chuckled.
Sid’s eyes narrowed. “Grab him,” he said. He took a rock off the ground as he got up.
Petro summed up the two bigger boys, who were near his size. There wasn’t much for him to do, so he waited for the inevitable. There was a voice inside him now, and it said this would only disappoint King Amerstall.
“I’m a prince, not your do boy,” Prince Shelk said and stood with his arms crossed. Keal didn’t say a word and grabbed Petro by the arm.
Sid held the rock in his hand, tossed it up into the air, and caught it. He closed his fingers around the edges, allowing one part to be exposed; then he brought it up and smashed it against Petro’s cheek, and a trickle of blood instantly fell to the ground. “You think you’re better than us, don’t you?”
Petro winced. He tried to keep focus, but his eyes wanted to shut from the pain that stabbed at them.
“Tomorrow you’re gone, and no one here will care, especially my father—he’ll be glad to have finally gotten rid of you.” Sid dropped the rock and attempted to spit into Petro’s face. He missed his target, being shorter, and got Petro mostly on his neck.
Petro wiped the spit off. “You’ve been saying that same thing for years. It’s gone cold. Think of something else to say; that one makes you sound too much like a commoner.”
Sid stewed. His lips turned inward, and his cheeks drew in, and then he punched Petro in the stomach—an easier target for him at his height.
Petro groaned but forced himself to straighten back up. He took another gut-wrenching punch from Sid, bent forward, and rolled Keal over, sending him to the ground. He darted through the boys, and off into a sprint he went as fast as he could. Sid was yelling, and he glanced over his shoulders to see that the young royals had stopped following.
Petro ventured out farther into the garden to a dense area where he would not be disturbed. He squeezed through the bushes and found a bare spot on the ground under the short canopy. The pain in his cheek increased when he touched it. He felt blood, and then he unconsciously ran his finger into the dirt, pulled some of it up, and then brought the dirt to his wound and rubbed it into the cut. He sighed and thought about what Sid had said—that King Amerstall was glad to be rid of him. His shoulders slumped forward, and his head hung low.
The Unified Kingship was created for all the kingdoms of the realm. We hold a great deal of responsibility to the kingdoms of Spearca, and may the Great Eyes forever be used impartially, and never allow one to gain favor over another.
—From Unified Kingship’s Governance Doctrine, by the Unified Kingship
The Father and his two other sons were near one another, around the throne, with Fin in his red cloak standing across from them. Guards stood at the ready; dead bodies littered the floor. The air was thick, a measure above normal temperatures, drawing heat from those who remained and holding the heat of those who had died in battle. The Father pulled at his nec
kline, letting air flow, but his armor kept him from making much progress. He took notice of Fin, eager to hear what King Offing had offered before he met his end.
“He had encrypted the information, but we were able to retrieve most of it. It speaks of one of power beyond our own understanding. This being is called Mittere Ergon and will turn fear into vengeance and bring forth death and destruction,” Fin said.
The Father was not impressed—his mouth wiggled, and he raised an eyebrow. “So, it is some sort of prophecy, is it? The one to come and destroy—say, me?” He tapped his finger against his chest.
Laughter erupted and then fell away.
“It is a prophecy—though more so of the coming of the end of Spearca,” Fin said.
The Father reached up with one hand and rubbed his left temple. “I wonder if this was one of the sacred scripts of the Numas. I recall one such script, only part of it, where the stars would reveal to all the presence of one with power. Something I learned while I served in a Numa city temple. It’s a story, nothing more,” he said.
His real thoughts he kept to himself until he was out of earshot of the soldiers around them. This was not the hidden technology he set out to uncover, but was there something to what King Offing said about Petro, ward to King Amerstall? The Father tapped his fingers against the armrest of the royal chair. He leaned forward, keeping his gaze upon his adviser.
Fin averted his eyes and said, “Father, this prophecy also speaks of a blue fire that will encompass Spearca.”
The Father ran his left hand through his thick, gray hair. “A blue fire? Hmm. I never heard that one mentioned in the halls of the Numa temple I once served. I do know of this special being, this Mittere Ergon. It’s an interesting tale, but it holds no factual information; and besides, prophecies are almost always interpreted after major events. Strange, don’t you agree?”
“Of course, sire. There is one more thing of note,” Fin said. “It says that upon the day when the ring of fire appears in the sky, he shall know his true nature.” Fin bowed his head and moved away.