Beneath Ceaseless Skies #25

by Cahsier, Erin; Tissell, Chris

  I was somewhat disappointed. I had imagined the Magus’s chambers to be full of herbs, and potions, and jars of unknown animal parts. There was a little of this, to be sure, but only on a small table in the corner. The rest was dusty books on shelves, on the fire mantle, in piles under the windows, and covering every surface.

  “How may I serve you, my prince?”

  “I . . . are these letters? Can you read them?” I handed him the box, wondering why he was helping me.

  The Magus took a lamp from the mantle, and brought it to the table in the center of the room.

  “They are indeed. I read them for your father once. But I do not think you will like what they say.” The Magus lowered himself delicately into a cushioned chair and opened an enormous tome to a page marked with gold ribbon. “Ah, here it is. It is a very old language, from when Arq and the Gold Isles and the entire desert were still one glittering kingdom. Some have said it was a perfect kingdom. It is no wonder they created the puzzle box.”

  “What does it say?” I was growing impatient. It occurred to me that he might be trying to delay me until the Royal Guard arrived.

  “It says this: The price of true happiness is great sacrifice.”

  I was silent for a time. Sacrifice. The Magus was right, I did not like what the box said.

  “Did my father ever open it?”

  “Open it? Your Father knew the secret of happiness long before he ever obtained the box. I think that he tried to pass that secret on to you. But I wonder, have you learned it?”

  “Speak plainly! What sacrifice must I make, Magus?”

  “Why, my Prince, you must make the greatest one.”

  Had I not sacrificed enough? What greater sacrifice could I make to satisfy the box’s riddle? I slammed my fist to the table and stormed out of the Magus’s chambers.

  * * *

  What follows now is that part of my story that is most shameful to me. Even as I write it I am reminded of the dark mirror in every man’s heart. A man may look into it forever, if he chooses. And as he reflects on his own self-pity, and fear, and even his hopes and dreams, it will grow to fill his vision until there is nothing left but himself.

  For a long time after leaving the Magus I crept the halls of the palace. It was now the third watch; even the slaves were asleep. I thought about the Magus’s words.

  I had seen many sacrifices in the temples. They were fire and blood, usually that of a choice bull, or lamb, or—on special days—the blood of traitors like me. If that was sacrifice, I could think of only one that would be greatest to me. The poets say there is no greater sacrifice than that of one’s own blood. Orech and I had the same blood. And after all, had Orech not tried to kill me on Tariq’s pleasure boat?

  I sat down in a corner shadow and looked again at my precious puzzle box. There was a small trough around the outside edge that led to a depression in the middle. I had not looked closely at it before because it seemed only decorative, but now I wondered if it was meant to be poured into, like the troughs in the temple floor.

  Father had given me the box. He had told me to discover its secret. And though it was some great mystery, that secret would be found in Orech’s death. Perhaps father had even intended that I should be king instead, knowing that my rule would be more just. I held on to this thought for strength. For within me part of my heart still advocated for love of my brother, but whenever it spoke I silenced it with long lists of the wrongs I had suffered at his hand. I do not think the final thought to kill Orech ever formed in my conscious mind, but nonetheless, that is what I intended to do.

  I did not find Orech in his chambers. Nor did I find him on the palace roof, where we used to watch the stars when we could not sleep. I wondered if he was still in the city, seeking me out, until at last I heard his voice speaking to someone as I passed the Pillar Hall balcony. I drew my dagger once again and crept onto the very same balcony from which I had fled only hours before. It felt to me like days had passed since then.

  Orech was alone in the Pillar Hall. He knelt on the other side, in front of father’s statue. He was not on one knee, as one does out of respect, but on both knees with his head bowed so low it touched the ground. He muttered something to the stone that I could not (or would not) hear.

  My feet made hardly a sound as they slid down grandfather’s sword, but Orech heard them anyway and straightened himself as I landed on the tiled floor. His face shone a little in the brazier-red light as though with tears, and his aspect had softened to a look more like sadness than anger. Something had changed, I knew, but I put that out of my mind. My decision was made.

  Orech’s voice was a painful croak.

  “So you have come, brother, to the meeting we have both planned for many years.”

  I stood mutely watching as he limped towards me. He drew a dagger.

  “I understand now the box’s secret,” he said. “You must give it up.” He held out his hand to me. His eyes begged me.

  Still I said nothing, did nothing.

  “Will you not? Very well. Then I will play my part. I realize now that I deserve it. I am sorry, Jarech. May Arq survive in better hands.”

  I had no time to wonder at these words. No sooner had he spoken them than Orech lunged with more litheness than I thought possible. But he was still injured and I was always the better dancer. I slid behind his thrust.

  “Credit me with no part of this, Orech. You alone have brought us here,” I said and made my own strike. Orech dodged it, but stumbled on his leg with a grunt.

  “Perhaps. So the gods will decide.”

  Then we danced. For many minutes in silence we circled and spun and cut the air. Each of my strokes grew closer to their mark, and each of my brother’s grew further away. Father’s empty eyes watched us, and my blood burned hotter each moment until only the core of my self-pity remained.

  But Orech was calm.

  Finally he made a foolish feint, obvious in its intent. I ducked it easily and my blade found a path across the back of his shoulder. He cried out and stumbled against the nearest pillar, gasping.

  “And so it is, Jarech. I ask you to forgive me.”

  “Do not ask me that!” I cried. His request made me furious. “How can you dare to ask me that?”

  “Because of what I must do.”

  In my anger I did not know my circumstances. I failed to see that Orech had set his foot against the pillar and now used it to spring headlong towards me. One dagger flew from his hand, piercing my shoulder before I could flinch. His other carved a line down my side and waist. The weight of the puzzle box at my hip suddenly disappeared.

  Orech sprawled along the floor, sliding in blood with the puzzle box skittering behind. I stepped towards him and a found that my legs too would not support me. I fell to the floor. We lay on either side of the brazier under Father’s statue. In between and in front of us the puzzle box sat and watched us.

  I crawled as best I could towards it with one arm, my other pressed against my leaking side. But Orech was reaching for it too. Panic rose in my throat; I could not reach the box first.

  But I could reach my brother’s hand.

  With the last of my strength I found my dagger and swung down, through Orech’s hand and between the floor’s tiles.

  Imagine my surprise a moment later when I looked to find Orech had done the same to me.

  There we both lay for some time, unable to move, caught together in a net of our own making. There was no sound except our wracked breath echoing among the kings.

  Then Orech laughed, a wet, gurgling laugh.

  “Look at us. Come see the fools!” he yelled into the dark. I failed to see the humor.

  “Why . . .?” I didn’t know how to ask all the things I wished to know.

  “I was trying to save you. Save you from becoming like me.”

  Orech coughed and groaned. Someone had at last heard us and called the guard. I could hear them tramping towards the Pillar Hall. “Ashi was right, Jarech. You we
re right. If not for her I would have slain you this night. I did not know my own heart until Ashi spoke its thoughts. I am a kinslayer. And for what? A child’s stupid toy. All because I am jealous of you, Jarech.”

  “No. You’ve have always had everything over me. How could you be jealous?”

  “Because I once overheard a conversation never meant for my ears. Late one night. In Father’s chambers. Father and the Magus.” Orech coughed again. “They spoke of our lessons. The Magus sang your praises, brother. ‘Jarech excels in everything he puts his hand to’, he said. ‘A wonderful prince.’ And then Father said something that I will never forget.”

  Orech trailed off, unwilling or unable to say Father’s words. My curiosity outweighed my pain.

  “What did he say?”

  “That you should have been born first. That you should be king.”

  Orech had never said these words aloud before. And now, looking back, I see that speaking them began the healing of an old wound. But for me, they were the beginning of breaking. Now I saw Orech clearly, terribly, for the first time. And worse, I saw myself. The dim mirror in my heart became a little brighter, and I could say nothing.

  “Every day since, those words have echoed in my ears,” said Orech. “But I did not realize how much they had unfounded me until tonight. Ashi said ‘kinslayer’ and I knew that it was true. I knew that I was not fit for kingship. You truly should be king, brother. I resolved then to make it so.”

  Orech gasped at some sudden pain. His life was shortening to mere minutes. “But I knew that could not happen until that cursed box was removed. It could do to you what has been done to me. I had to separate you from it. You came upon me as I was confessing all this to Father, and asking for strength to do what must be done. He granted my request. So here we are, my brother, pinned to the floor by our failings. But soon you will be king, and then all will be well.”

  Orech sighed and his head fell to one side. I called his name, but the sound was lost as the guard came crashing over the threshold, arraying themselves at ready. The Magus came sweeping in behind them.

  “The King is injured!” cried the captain, clearly unsure which prone figure he was talking about. The Magus silenced him with a gesture and came quickly to kneel over my brother and I. Orech eyes were fluttering, and he did not respond to the Magus’s gentle prodding. I looked at the growing stain on his clothes and heart cracked still further. What had I done?

  The Magus turned his red gaze to me. I knew from his eyes that he knew who was king and who the treasonous prince. I averted my own eyes and found that they too wanted to close of their own accord. I fought to keep them open.

  “I must save the king,” the Magus said. “Tell me. Who shall I save?”

  I opened my dry lips to answer, but the Magus spoke again placing his hand gently on Orech’s forehead.

  “But know this: You both have lost much blood. I must take from one to save the other. It may be that the one from whom I take will die.”

  Then finally my heart was in two pieces. The mirror there was broken and out of it spilled an age’s worth of pity and jealousy. Though I was deeply afraid to look into it, I did, and saw that I had only one choice.

  “I am the treasonous prince Jarech. My brother is King. May he live forever.”

  The Magus smiled in my now murky vision. “Then perhaps you truly have learned the secret of the puzzle box, my prince.”

  I closed my eyes, and remembered nothing else for a long time.

  * * *

  And so my story should end, except for the question I’m sure nags at your mind. What became of the box itself?

  I am glad to say that I do not know. I guess that it lies in some treasury in the bowels of the palace, but neither I nor Orech placed it there. It may be that I will desire to find it someday, to give it to my own son—along with this tale—so that he might find its secret himself. But for now, I must say that I still have fear of it.

  As for Orech and me, we spent many long days bedridden after that night. I stayed longer than Orech because, true to his word, the Magus borrowed my blood in vials and gave it to my brother through a contraption of needles and hoses. It made me very weak and my hair turned strangely white so that no one will ever again confuse my brother and me.

  The Magus placed us in the same room to convalesce and I am glad he did; we had much missed time to recover, and many words to atone for. In the end Orech gave me the pardon I did not deserve, and I gave him my forgiveness because he would have no less. I cannot say that all was well between us henceforth. But I can say that there was always a love and it became too strong to be broken by anything as paltry as jealousy.

  Soon it also became clear that Father was wrong. Orech was a far better king than I would ever have been. His reign was unmatched in mercy in peacetime and fearsomeness at war.

  When war did grow imminent, Orech set me on the path to become commander of the Arqan armies, just as I had once feared he would. But now I embraced it. I came to realize that this was what I was made to do.

  That same year Solstice Feast was held in the palace court. Ashi and Tariq came from the Gold Isles. The Magus and my master of the Water Dance too were there. We talked and laughed and remembered, as people do at these things.

  Afterwards my mind felt unready for sleep, so I wandered the palace grounds. I looked around at the food, the wine, and the abundance of my house. I remembered the songs of the singers and the laughter of my family. I felt the pain, but good pain, the kind that comes from hard work, in my body from my last Water Dance. I wondered nervously whether I would fall in the gathering war.

  In truth, they were all the very same thoughts and fears I had before the puzzle box, when I still thought of my life as one to be pitied. But that night as I considered them alone in the royal gardens where I had once fled, I found—to my great surprise—that I was happy.

  Copyright © 2009 Chris Tissell

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  “The Puzzle Box” is Chris Tissell’s first published story.

  http://beneath-ceaseless-skies.com/

  COVER ART

  “Endless Skies,” by Rick Sardinha

  Rick Sardinha is a professional illustrator/fine artist living and working on the outskirts of Providence, Rhode Island. His passion is to create in traditional oil media, however, he is just as comfortable in front of a computer and often uses multiple disciplines in the image creation process. More of his work can be seen at http://www.battleduck.com.

  This file is distributed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 3.0 U.S. license. You may copy and share the file so long as you retain the attribution to the authors, but you may not sell it and you may not alter it or partition it or transcribe it.

  Table of Contents

  “The Alchemist’s Feather,” by Erin Cashier

  “The Puzzle Box,” by Chris Tissell