The Branches of Time
Page 15
“I work together with the master. He tells me what to do and I do it.”
“And how come the wizard Obolil entrusted such a delicate task to a lowly apprentice?”
Ilis lowered his eyes to the ground, embarrassed. His intervention to defend his master had instead backfired, leading to yet another humiliation for Obolil.
The wizard's face was beet red.
Tuirl tried to salvage the situation: “Your Majesty, these complex magical operations require a harmonious team, that only -”
“Yes, yes, I understand. Obolil, Tuirl, if all you intend to do here is talk, you can leave now.”
Obolil stood up, trembling and infuriated. Instead of bowing, he merely nodded at the king, then left the room, followed by Tuirl, who walked with his usual composure.
“From now on, you report your progress personally, to me, every day. Do you understand, boy?” the king ordered.
The apprentice, incredibly embarrassed, had no idea how to act. This was his first time ever alone with the king and, even worse, he knew that he had angered his master. “As you wish, your Majesty.”
“Listen to me good. Old Obolil never succeeded in getting any kind of results for years. He's so worthless he deserves nothing more than to be tortured in prison. I expect more from you. Only one bastard, the girl he was fucking and a batty virgin live on that island. You need to get rid of them all as soon as possible! Got it? I won't tolerate any more delays. Otherwise, that useless old fart will be the first to pay for it. And I think you can imagine who the second person to suffer will be.”
Ilis was petrified. He wanted to tell the king that he and his master worked in symbiosis, that neither of the two would be able to continue on alone.
Beanor, looking at those earnest eyes yearning to express the thoughts behind them, burst out laughing: “Get out of here! But come back tomorrow with your report. If you can take down that cursed barrier, you have the king's word that you can take your pick of the prettiest whores in the southern lands we'll conquer.”
Ilis bowed politely and respectfully left the throne room.
He thought about Milia's murderous desires yet again, wondering how badly she wanted the king to die. Absorbed in his own doubts, the apprentice Ilis didn't notice the shadow following him.
45
Bashinoir heard the women laughing in the kitchen. He slowed down, uncertain whether to enter or to stop and eavesdrop. He sensed a strange change in their mood: the two should have been acting more anxious, but instead, they chatted cheerfully.
Outside of the kitchen, he tried to make out what they were talking about. He feared the closeness and intimacy of their relationship. It hurt him to feel so excluded. Patience. Something's got to give. Soon enough my wife will be all mine again, as she used to be.
Letting out a sigh, he walked into the kitchen. Miril and Lil stifled their laughter, trying to compose themselves as they greeted him politely. Bashinoir responded coldly. Lil immediately knew something was wrong.
After eating, Miril explained – for the hundredth time – how the rite would be performed.
She sounds like such a prissy little schoolteacher, he thought, disgusted, as he listened to her.
Once she had finished explaining, they headed towards the large room in the Temple, where the women had drawn a wide spiral on the marble floor leading to the sacred fire, which burned in the center. The light of the flames reflected off the mirrors and illuminated the high stretch of columns and frescoes that narrated the history of their people. The pleasant scent of incense hung in the air.
Miril walked along the spiral, singing the words of an ancient mantra of their people. A breeze started to blow through the folds of her green ritual dress. The air became thicker, hard to breath. Out of nowhere, rays of light started to illuminate the room.
Once she reached the fire, she drew the sacred signs, moving her fingers through the air, offering a few ritual elements to the flames, then closed her eyes and waited. The color of the flames changed to a violet hue. She opened her eyes and nodded towards Lil, who began to slowly walk along the spiral. Her hair and dress seemed to be blown by the same wind, which now grew stronger. Lil joined in song with Miril. The intensity of the light inside of the room grew.
Bashinoir held his breath, fascinated by what he saw in front of him, and was tempted to look for a column behind which he could dump the weapon he had hidden in his pants. Maybe he should just forget about the past and let the magic of what was happening around him carry him away.
Lil reached the center of the spiral. She drew other magic signs and offered more elements to the fire.
Miril closed her eyes. Her body became so light she appeared to be floating in the air.
Lil was now in charge of the ritual as the priestess's vital frequencies created a bridge between the past and the present.
Lil looked at Bashinoir and made a sign. He began walking along the spiral. He felt lighter with every step. Fears, anxieties, tensions, and resentment gradually disappeared. His limbs felt less heavy as his flesh, blood and bone seemed to give way to a light blue vapor.
When he reached the spot where the two women stood, the walls of the room began to turn transparent. The priestess's body lost its consistency and solidity.
Bashinoir looked around, mesmerized. For a second, he thought he could see the sea. It was as if he were on top of a hill that gently sloped towards the water.
The cold blade in his pocket, however, felt even heavier. He wanted to get rid of it, but now it was too late. Where could he throw it without being seen?
The priestess's body rose a few inches from the ground. Her face, turned upwards, was illuminated by a ray of sunlight coming from the ceiling. Bashinoir admired her, thunderstruck. He wanted to entrust his spirit to her, as he used to.
He saw Lil's face out of the corner of his eye. She was looking at Miril with a gaze full of awe, devotion, surprise, and something else he didn't want to admit he saw.
Love! She's in love with the priestess! She loves her, she wants to stay with her. The thought pierced through his heart. And now I'll lose her forever!
He thought about how the two exchanged smiles, how they chattered on in low voices, how they traded intense gazes. How did I not see this before?
He couldn't accept it. No, it can't be true! If it were just us two on this island, we could leave this cursed Temple forever. I'd finish building our house. We'd have children. She'd be happy with me!
He sighed. I have to do it! He took out the weapon. When they had gone over the details of the ritual beforehand, he had guessed that Miril wouldn't be able to defend herself. He leapt towards her. She didn't withdraw an inch. He lifted the knife to her chest, then hesitated. Suspended in the air, illuminated by the sunlight, she was so beautiful, luminous, divine.
“Bashinoir!” Lil's terrified scream echoed through the air. “Please, don't do it. Please, I'm begging you!” she pleaded, coming towards him slowly.
“Lil, you don't understand. She's the reason why. It's her fault they all died. She didn't protect us. She's selfish. And she stole you away from me.”
“No, that's not true, and you know that. She has always done everything she could to protect us. You're the one who's grown distant from me over these past months. We could have grown closer together to one another, been friends, we could have helped each other through our everyday burdens, but you were too proud to accept the path I had to take. But now...now we can learn from our mistakes. Please, Bashinoir, put down that knife.”
The ritual song intoned by Miril, suspended in the air, grew in intensity. Sunlight now flooded the entire room. He could smell the sea and hear the sound of the waves.
Bashinoir had tears in his eyes. “I'm sorry, Lil, but we need to go home. We can have beautiful children, live a beautiful life.” He lifted his hand in the air, ready to deal the fatal blow, and brought it down violently. Lil jumped in front of the woman's body, shielding it. Bashinoir saw the knife plunge i
nto the flesh above his wife's breast. Horrified, he pulled out the bloody blade. “Lil!” he screamed. “I didn't-” but an arrow pierced through his heart and his body disappeared.
The two women fell on the wet grass of a meadow. Miril, noticing Lil's wound, immediately came to her aid. Watching the red lake devour the young woman's snow white dress, she couldn't hold back her tears, which mixed with the blood as they fell. She pulled the dress away to get a better look at the wound. When she lifted her head to scream, she saw four archers who, their bows tense, had surrounded them.
46
Beanor thrusted savagely.
“Oh yes, your Majesty. Nobody makes me feel as good as you do.”
Satisfied, Beanor groaned, continuing to push wildly, his face a mask of sweat. He pounced upon the girl's neck, biting her in a rage.
“Oh, your Majesty, you drive me crazy! Oh, oh, I can't hold it back anymore. AAAAAH!”
Milia lifted her feet above the king's waist, squeezing him in between her thighs as her body shivered wildly.
“Ah, your Majesty! Bite me again! You know how much I love it when you hurt me!”
Beanor sought her neck again. Simply touching it with his lips made Milia scream with pleasure. Beanor, unable to resist, came inside of her. His orgasm was accompanied by gasps, grunts, and bellows.
“Your Majesty! How did you become such a passionate lover?” Milia congratulated him.
He rolled over next to her. She came closer, caressing his chest. The king turned to the other side, closing his eyes. A few moments later, he fell into a deep sleep.
Milia poured out some of the water from the glass placed on her bedside table. She took out a slender purple ampoule and emptied the contents into the glass. Then she grabbed an elegantly decorated box and turned towards Beanor, opening it underneath his nostrils. She waited a few seconds, then hid it under her table. She rested her head against the pillow and closed her eyes.
Beanor thrashed in his sleep. He turned to his right side, but a coughing fit suddenly tormented him. He woke up and tried to lift his head from the pillow, succeeding only on the second attempt.
“El-Milia...I don't feel well.”
Milia pretended to wake up all of a sudden.
“Oh, your Majesty! What's wrong? Your face is covered in sweat!”
“Water. Give me some water, now. I'm dying of thirst!”
“But of course. Here you are,” she responded, handing him the glass.
He lifted his head to drink. Beanor downed it all in one gulp, immediately feeling better. He sat up. Milia caressed his face as Beanor stared at her breasts.
He wanted to lift his hand and touch them, but once again he was consumed in a sudden coughing fit. He started to spit blood out onto the sheets. Horrified, he looked in front of him, then turned towards Milia. Suspicious and confused, his eyes flitted between the young woman's face to the glass of water.
He coughed again, hurling the blood towards Milia's face, who screamed in horror. He brought his hand to her neck, trying to choke her, and she screamed more from fear than the weak pressure.
The men guarding the king's bedroom, who had been sleeping up until that moment, stirred as soon as the girl started screaming. One sat up and smiled, envying the king's good fortune. He imagined what it would be like to rape one of those splendid wives, and the sweet fantasy lulled him back to sleep.
The apprentice Ilis slipped right by him and, walking swiftly and silently, reached the royal bedroom, closing the door behind him. He helped the girl who, trembling and covered in blood, had managed to wriggle free. They watched the king squirm and gasp on the bed.
“Try to calm down, now. We're leaving,” he told her, caressing her.
Beanor brought his hands to his throat, twisting and turning, until falling at the feet of the two who were on their way out. The door opened and the wizard Obolil appeared in the entrance.
“Ainta sume ardà mal...” Ilis started to pronounce.
But the wizard was quicker: “Zapat!” he yelled, accompanying the spell with a sweeping gesture of his hand.
Ilis and Milia were thrown against the wall. Milia hit it so hard she lost consciousness. Ilis got tangled up with a candelabra and fell to the ground, dazed.
The king started gurgling. A yellow foam spilled from his mouth.
Obolil looked around him and saw the glass on the bedside table. He hastened towards the bed, stepping over the king, and took the glass in his hand, balancing against the bed so he wouldn't lose his footing. Then he turned towards Ilis, furious. “Zermis ibà coras mitas ornì del!”
King Beanor stopped gurgling: the air once again began flowing through his lungs.
Ilis got up and ran towards Milia to see if she was still alive. Holding the girl in his arms, he pronounced a powerful spell right as the wizard tried to attack him. Falling to the ground, Obolil yelled: “Guards!”
The two men outside of the door finally understood their presence was necessary. They ran into the room, where they saw, terrified, the king and the wizard on the ground as the apprentice, holding the young wife in his arms, looked at them with a menacing gaze. The eldest guard ordered the other: “Run for help.” The other guard flew out of the room before Ilis could convince him otherwise.
Tuirl was woken by the guard running through the corridors, asking for help to save the king's life. He came out of his room and headed towards the royal apartments. When he entered, he saw Obolil near the entrance, looking at him with glassy eyes, unable to move. Beanor, covered in blood and writhing with seizures, managed to beg: “Help me.” In the back of the room, the apprentice Ilis was bent over the king's beautiful wife. It looked like he was trying to resuscitate her.
Tuirl ran and knelt down next to the king. Staring him in the eye, he took a dagger from his pocket, raised it in the air and lowered it violently towards his heart, right as another person walked into the room.
“Kill him,” Aleia ordered the archer standing next to her. The soldiers standing behind them held their breath. The arrow pierced the advisor's heart, who froze for a second with the dagger in mid-air. Then his hand, still gripping the weapon, fell over the king's body, piercing his chest. Surrendering, Tuirl fell over his own arm, pushing the blade downwards. Beanor let out his last breath.
Ilis got up: “Arbiah mazrel tofà...”
The queen pointed at Milia: “Stop, apprentice. Or she dies.”
There are too many of them, the young man thought, looking at the archers standing with their bows drawn.
“The king is dead. Long live the queen,” the wizard Obolil croaked from the ground. The guards knelt in front of Aleia.
“Tie them up,” she ordered. “And prepare the pyre for the execution.”
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The Branches of Time – Volume II
Don't miss the second volume of The Branches of Time
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The Author
Research, science, science fiction and high technology: this is the world of Luca Rossi, and the main themes that run through his literary work.
He believes the internet provides a tool to bring people together and make the world a more open, fair and democratic place.
In 2013 he published Galactic Energies, a collection of short stories set in a universe where not just the laws of physics, but also the laws of eros, passion, desire and the spirit are a little different than our own.
He was born in Turin on April 15th, 1977. He likes to ride his bike, take walks through nature and spend most of his free time with his family.
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