by Scott Taylor
‘No, Kardas. I said what would happen, and this council chose to ignore my warnings. This society which you plan to mould with your bare hands is still young, still newborn. What gave us the right to meddle in their affairs? Indeed’ he continued, now gazing ahead at all his fellow council members, ‘we are no better than all the invaders throughout our dark and bloody history who have interfered with the natural growth of lesser developed cultures. Are we not wise, you ask? Have we not learned from our mistakes? We were once flesh, bone and blood, but many of us chose our immortality based on nothing more than a fad, a wish fulfilment inaugurated by the rich and influential to gain more riches from a gullible mob. We who are no longer flesh now pay the ultimate price for our lack of intelligence and our vogue. We think of ourselves as ascended beings. We are now made up of light. Our form which you see has no capability of touch, or taste, or smell, no feeling at all. And here we have resided for years beyond measure. And we call ourselves wise?’
‘That is enough, Jacob’ spoke another council member.
‘You are right, Councillor Talon’ continued Jacob. ‘It is enough. But the time will reveal the truth. And the truth is we are not ready ourselves. How can we possibly dictate to these barbarians the right way of living, if we have no idea ourselves? All we are doing is digging a deeper hole into which we shall fall, imperceptibly, into the pit of our own making.’
Kardas kept his head raised to the towering ghost of Jacob.
‘This rant is beneath you, my friend councillor’ spoke the old man who was more flesh and blood than any of his contemporaries. ‘You speak of us as though we have done a serious wrong…a rape no less…A rape of this backward land and its people. You liken us to the Europeans, the larger nations that came to America to colonise and make a life in the untamed West, though nevertheless persisted to kill and maim, and rape the native peoples of that land, forcing them eventually into reservations. Our ancestors showed them a world of purgatory which only the civilised man could show them. But we are far more evolved than that, surely! We have literature, philosophy, music, and art, the culmination of a hundred great minds. That is our legacy. That is what we shall teach these native peoples. The combined knowledge of the men and women that gave us divine thought. We are not westerners looking to turn this untamed world into a quick cash cow. We do not come spouting feeble lies in order so that we may reap the benefits, for profit, for damnation! We are teachers. We are artists, philosophers, musicians, artisans all!’
‘And they have taken your son’ reminded Jacob, cutting the old man short.
‘They have done this out of retaliation or perhaps some barbaric need to rebel’ Jacob continued.
Kardas looked at the other council members as he listened.
Quickly there was a flash of energy. There was a crystal sitting atop a pedestal directly ahead of the great hall. It was emitting a light which seemed to glow brighter and brighter until…until the entire milieu of the council chamber was changed. More holograms were projected into the chamber flooding the room with what looked like a series of historical images. This was the archive. With it, the council members could illustrate their arguments with greater clarity and poignancy.
The images that were taking place all around him as Kardas watched was of another structure. In this other structure a meeting was being held between men of a much different time, between a president and his members of state.
‘Recall the war in Afghanistan?’ challenged Jacob. ‘It took part, oh, about eight or nine centuries ago. An agreement was settled between the ruling nations that they were going to thwart the criminal actions of one rogue leader in the Middle East. They ended up assassinating that man, the one man that governed and whom kept all the separatists in check.’
The spectacle changed as the narrative continued.
‘You see, all the United Nations succeeded in doing was creating a political vacuum. Then you saw all the resistances, trouble–makers, and separatists beginning to cause trouble, making it exceedingly difficult to create order, and consequently made it harder to promote change. Back then, humans relied heavily on wealth and currency, and much of their political decisions were based on that imperative. That was why their politics and indeed many of their solutions to problems were so flawed, because they relied on so many flawed necessities. Capitalism, my friend, is always the inadequate man’s springboard, and is a catalyst of the weak and cruel minded! It is true that teaching is a noble action. Though what do we teach? What would we do to educate the peoples of this land? Would we force Plato or Shakespeare down their throats until they succumb to our level of thinking? I said we should have let them alone.’
‘And do what?’ argued Kardas. ‘Let them destroy themselves as we almost did? We left the Earth in order so that we could find a new home and we abolished the need for money almost four centuries later! Yes, I remember the final days on our home world. Those days are etched into my memory like words are engraved in stone. I remember because I was there. Technology might have made us all immortal, but time did not dull my recollections. Our world’s ruin became as dark as the darkest ever day in the history of man. After the dollar was replaced by the Yen as the leading currency what came next? Many of the smaller nations fell into anarchy as gold and nationalism became even stronger. The world became a mess, ungovernable, untenable even! But many of us survived as the planet fell to ruin. We, that is, our faithful synod survived the wars that followed by adapting to the world’s crisis, not by giving into our human foibles! We survived. Our small, though not too modest enterprise was moved to Tokyo, and from our base there we not only thrived as a Mecha to teach art and philosophy, but to merge our minds and our endeavours with the technical and the modern. We invited the world’s greatest minds, people from all walks of life: mechanics, artists, scientists, and scholars. All these people came to our summit at Mythkey Star Industries, our base of operations, to talk about what needed to be done. By this time we had already come to realise that our combined knowhow was enough to propel our bodies deep into the stellar depths of space! We, and a handful of minds, managed the miraculous! We turned our fate into a brighter destiny. We are…the dazzling blaze, the lighthouse to shed our radiance on this world in its darkness. We can teach them not to make the same mistakes we made over eight thousand years ago. We must educate them.’
‘How…?’ asked Jacob. ‘By issuing threats? By showing them who is the more superior? You say you wish to teach them the right way of thinking, but you cannot do this by force! You undermine everything. And what are you teaching them? Simply that we are a power they are obliged to fear. But fear does not promote teaching, or wisdom. It has the opposite effect as King René has obviously proven by taking your own flesh and blood. Now what do you say to that? Since we landed here on this world we have taken it upon ourselves to systematically and peacefully conquer the kingdoms throughout the myriad realms. But, indeed, what have we conquered if we have not yet learned to conquer our own short sightedness?’
Kardas finally conceded as he lowered his eye to the floor.
‘I am sorry, my friend, but you are on your own in this matter and I believe I speak for every other council member here. I hope that you can find a peaceful solution to resolve this situation.’
With that the council members vanished.
Kardas was alone. Jacob was right. Kardas would have to be forthright, though use a certain level of diplomacy in order to win his son back. That was going to be difficult. He started to believe that René was gaining the moral high ground. And this disgusted him. It also made him reconsider his position. How could he possibly prove that he was wise as he had often believed when he felt disgust for the Mundorian ruler, for that was simply the ego playing tricks on him? Back on Earth there would have been a man wise enough to check his ego before contemplating the world around him. Such a man was called a spiritual guru. This individual was capable of taking the mask off to allow the cards to fall as they may, in order so that natur
e could strike a balance, and a concordance with other natural things. Kardas felt so ashamed that he had conspired to change the outcome of this world. Jacob had been right all along.
The old man sat down on the clean, pristine marble steps and began to fuss over the contradictions of what he believed, and knew to be true. The conflict rose in his gut as he sat there crying, the tears running down his old and lined face before falling to the floor. What had been the point in all his endeavours? What was the point in any human endeavour then? Did not everything that occurred have to be supervised from behind a human mask? Could this false veneer be removed or shaken loose to allow things to progress naturally? Oh, to see the problem with new eyes? Only the wise spiritual guru understood this concept. And yes, Jacob was right in saying that he, Kardas, had a responsibility to put all of this right.
Kardas understood that he would have to approach King René himself, and ask him to explain what he had done with his son, Tør. It would require much tact and diplomacy, but also it would involve strength, not weakness/audacity and cunning, not cowardice to achieve the goal he needed. He would approach king René in his holographic form. It would have to be done quickly as time was fleeting, and he had no idea what danger Tør was likely to be in, if any.
◆◆◆
Three hours later:
‘They are without principle!’
The king rose from his throne. After hearing about the tragedy that had taken place in his own market square, he called for his councillors to attend a meeting.
‘King Kardas Vallor himself appeared in my chambers just a short while ago’ he told them. ‘He presented himself as some kind of spirit! I tell you, I could see the room behind him visibly through his cloths. He was as clear in appearance as bloody gossamer! He projected himself into my room and had the devil to ask me about my son! He requested to see him. Well, I said to him that I was stunned that he wasn’t more interested in what had happened to his own son. What had my son to do with any of this? Trust me, what came out of his mouth next was actually quite implausible. He said that my son was responsible for the dragon taking his son! Now I didn’t believe that a dragon had attacked my market square in the first place. But two-hundred eye witnesses can’t be wrong. Though am I to believe that Fabian, my own flesh and blood-though I am loath to admit that he is mine-actually commanded a dragon to kidnap an ambassador of the Sinistrom? Sorry, but that sounds to me like an accusation, and a irrational one at that!’
The king sat down again as he endeavoured to think about the said accusation practically and logically.
‘Obviously, it was a ruse of King Kardas’s to kidnap his own son, and then pin the blame on me, but why? None of this makes the slightest bit of sense. Why the deception…?’
The counsellors gave it some thought. One spoke up, answering,
‘It is a subterfuge my lord. They obviously don’t wish to draw first blood. Instead, they goad you into doing so. They make it appear that we kidnapped the Sinistrom heir, and they will inevitably send an army to force us into telling them where we have hidden their ambassador, in which instance one side will make a rash move. I fear we will be forced to show our hand, by which time all out war will seem like the only recourse.’
‘These devils! This witchcraft of theirs knows no boundaries. Ready the troops. Man the battlements. When they come I want to be ready for them.’
‘My liege! We cannot survive a Sinistrom attack of that magnitude! We must surrender!’
‘Never!’ bellowed the king, reaching for his blade. In his anger he struck a wooden table, splitting it in half. ‘I will die before I give up my realm to those snakes!’
The counsellor backed steadily away. He had never seen the king this angered before. Indeed this whole Sinistrom affair was taking its toll on the great king.
‘If my counsellors and advisors had more backbone around here they would be telling me to defend our honour, not cautioning me against it! Snivelling cowards! Go! Get out of my sight! Leave me to think.’
The counsellor who had spoken began to back slowly out of the room, and once out of sight his mouth began to twist into a scaly smile. His eyes too ceased to be human, but had since become blood red, nictitating in the manner of a reptile. The councillor was none other than Tai Pan, Malecarjan’s shape shifting messenger.
News of the dragon’s kidnapping travelled fast. Some among the peasantry had heard gossip that Prince Fabian had summoned the dragon. Others cast the rumour off as just that—rumour. Though there was one individual who knew who the real culprit was. He knew who was really responsible! And Tweak understood what he had to do. He would follow Fabian, and find out where he had hidden the unfortunate ambassador of the Sinistrom Empire.
◆◆◆
In the town of Mundor, during the late hours of that morning, the Prince had overheard the people talk of the dragon.
‘It came into the market place breathing plumes of fire!’ one market dealer had commented.
Another said that the ambassador had been taken, carried aloft by a winged reptile that spat flames from its nostrils.
Of cause, the prince himself had not witnessed this brief attack, since he was busy saving a child from the hooves of a galloping horse. He had not seen a dragon. As far as he knew, a true dragon had not been witnessed in these parts for many moons. The simple people of Mundor were mad, believing in tales of mythic creatures and such. That was not to say that there hadn’t been a kidnapping, since the ambassador was indeed gone.
Fictions, stories of winged demons notwithstanding, the prince saw a trail of destruction leading toward the kingdom’s border, and the forest…that place where he was not permitted to go. There was still fire blazing across the wilderness like a trail, a trail that begged to be followed. If there was the slightest possibility that there had been an actual dragon or some such contraption that looked like a dragon then it was up to the prince to investigate it.
Fabian allowed that mad thought to settle in his mind, if only for a time or until some more credible evidence presented itself. Dwelling for a moment on the implausible, Fabian recalled what he had read about dragons or, more to the point, dragon fire. It was very tricky to extinguish and he remembered that it burned for days on end. The prince saw the trail of fire, cutting a swath through the forest trees and did not deviate. Yes, it was just like an enchanted trail, where its trajectory led he did not know. Though never had he a nobler reason than at that moment to traverse that unfamiliar road, north, through the woodlands, and beyond. He took whatever provisions he could carry, procuring the fastest steed from his father’s stables. He rode off to that place knowing not if he would run into more dangers, or if his father would send men after him to haul him back again like last time. If they came he would fight them off, he would rend them limb from limb to be again in the arms of the one he loved.
Tweak, who kept careful watch over the prince, cast a spell of speed which enabled him to keep up with the prince’s horse. His stubby little legs wobbled and vibrated like two stumpy harp strings. Then, with a mighty whoosh, his portly frame was propelled forwards at the rate of knots. To hear his sudden cry of surprise one might have thought that he had lost control of his legs entirely, but after a moment or two of finding them again, he began to shout with excitement as he picked up even more speed, kicking up a dust trail in his wake.
Finally, Prince Fabian reached the clearing on the opposite side of the forest. A road met a hill, beyond which lay the unknown. This was farther than the prince had ever journeyed. He looked over his shoulder. Home was far in the opposite direction.
‘Well, Courage’ he spoke to the horse, patting its mane, ‘we take the road ahead. No sense in turning back now.’
◆◆◆
Beyond the kingdom of Mundor there existed many alien wonders, mostly rural towns, kingdoms, castles where mostly simple people went about their daily lives oblivious to the highly advanced cultures that existed in the clouds above their heads. Urban Cloud, a ci
ty of secrecy that floated high above the arid tundra, shrouded by tall cumulonimbus, opened its doors to the covert delegation of hooded Head Hunters and their prisoner. A tall and feral looking specimen adorned with a long red cloak, bared his fangs at the prisoner as they goaded him into an empty cell. Tør, the Sinistrom ambassador fell to the floor and pondered momentarily the chains linking his arms together, and then looked steadily and defiantly up at his captors. A trickle of blood stained the corner of his mouth. There was no explanation as to why he had been sent here. The slam of the prison doors was the only answer he would likely receive.
The vast city of Urban Cloud had a central council chamber. The doors slid open to allow the red cloaked figure to enter. Seated at the head of a long conference table, Malecarjan waited for his host to walk in. There was a noise coming from the pipe metal that kept on reverberating round the chamber. Somewhere near by fists clenched in anger began to pound the walls. Yells of threats echoed throughout the small area known as the brig, though none of the guards seemed to take any notice. It was simply an annoyance that no one here could be bothered to prevent. The pipes that ran the entire length and breadth of Urban Cloud were clanging and vibrating with the beating of this prisoner of cell 4A, and aroused one rather bemused Head Hunter and his present employer.
‘If he keeps this up I’ll eject this Tør guy from Urban Cloud and make him fly home!’ spoke the Head Hunter known as Cougar Chuko. Chuko swung round suddenly, bending over the conference table and reminded his client of his expenses. Malecarjan, his employer, unfolded his arms and unlatched a small pouch from his belt. He slid it across the table. Chuko caught it with hands too human to be paws, though far too stubby to be hands.
‘You will do no such thing’ Malecarjan ordered, reacting to Chuko’s previous threat. ‘The ambassador is a guest here until this war is over. When the conflict is finally done and the king of Mundor’s head sits on a pike, I will turn to my Lord, Kardas, and I shall blackmail him for his son’s life.’