The Tear of Gramal

by Phillip Jones

  With his feet still off the ground, George waved his hand in front of Sam’s face yet again. “What’s wrong with you? Stop zoning out on me like that, and let’s have a damn conversation.”

  Perplexed, Michael shifted his weight from one foot to the other as Sam returned to the conversation. The king lowered George to the floor. “Get on your knees. If you’re telling the truth, Kael will confirm it.”

  Expecting the sword to lie for him just as it did during the first series of moments when Sam laid the blade on his shoulder, the warlock lowered to his knees. The king unsheathed the weapon, lifted the handle in front of his face and commanded Kael to seek the truth.

  With the blade on his shoulder, George reiterated, “Shalee’s soul has been lost to the Eye. I had nothing to do with it.”

  Sam removed the weapon and held it up. “Kael, does he speak the truth?”

  A shallow light emanated from within the blade as Kael began to pulsate. “The prophet lies, Sam. His words are filled with deception.”

  Without waiting for George to respond, Sam grabbed the warlock with his left hand and placed the point of Kael against the center of George’s chest with his right. He was about to push the blade through when George reacted.

  With a flip of his wrist, the warlock forced Sam’s arm back. With a second motion, the hand holding his collar released while the hand that was holding Kael dropped to Sam’s side. With a third motion, the king was forced backward.

  From within her invisible veil, Celestria applauded as the six-foot-two-inch, 250 pound monarch floated across the room until his back was pinned against the wall. The king’s blade fell to the floor as a breeze entered through the open window and amplified her enjoyment of the moment as it carried the sweet smell of fresh bread from the kitchen below.

  Though shaken, Michael stepped forward to assist his king, but his attempt was halted.

  “Stay where you are, General!” George commanded. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  Realizing he was powerless, Michael nodded as George turned his attention back to the king. “Think, Sam. Does it make any sense for me to save your son’s life, save your life, and then turn around and end Shalee? Use that genius head of yours, and think this through for a moment. It doesn’t compute, does it? I don’t care what your sword says. I didn’t do anything to her.”

  Unable to move, Sam responded. “Do you think holding me with your magic is going to convince me of that?”

  George stormed across the room and stood on the tips of his toes to get into Sam’s face. “Are you for real, man? You were going to end me. Did you expect me to wait and use my power after you skewered me? Are you an idiot?”

  Sam did not back down. “I should’ve reacted quicker.”

  Michael stood in silence as George turned around, tossed his hands in the air and walked across the room. Whirling back around, the warlock argued, “I have the power to end you if I wanted to, and you know it.”

  The prophet released his hold on Sam and then pointed. “Just stay there, and let’s talk this through.”

  Celestria moved to Sam’s side and spoke to the king’s subconscious yet again. “How can you lead a kingdom if you cannot dispose of one man? Your life is worthless. You’re worthless.” Her whisper turned to a hiss. “Worthless. Worthless.”

  A moment later, the elderly servant that Sam had sent to retrieve his ale re-entered the room.

  Celestria took the opportunity to whisper a command. “You must send a message to the prophet, and show him that you’re strong. End the cupbearer. It’ll make you feel better.”

  With Michael’s attention focused on George, the general failed to stop the cupbearer as he strolled toward the angry monarch. “My King, your ale. Will there be—”

  Before the old man knew what was happening, Sam knocked the mug out of his hand. The king grabbed the cupbearer’s left wrist and then pulled him toward the window. With his right hand, Sam snatched the servant’s belt and used it for leverage to throw his weight.

  Before George could stop it, the 70 season old great-grandfather of two disappeared from sight and fell three stories to the ground below.

  George heard the impact as he sprinted toward the window. The servant had landed in an awkward position. His arms and neck were broken and his chest was lying against the stone walkway of the empty courtyard with his right leg twisted beneath him.

  The prophet turned away from the window. “What the hell did you do that for, psycho?”

  Sam just stared at the window, his chest heaving.

  George pointed at the corpse, but his eyes remained focused on Sam. “You just murdered him! What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  The General Absolute unsheathed his blade and pointed it at Sam. “My King, you must surrender.”

  As the demon in Sam’s mind returned to its cage, the realization of what he had done appeared on his face.

  Celestria laughed from within her invisible veil as she watched George move away from the window. The warlock looked down at Kael and then motioned to the general to retrieve the weapon from the floor, but before Michael could react, Sam dropped to one knee, grabbed Kael and then darted out of the room.

  Michael started to give chase, but George held up his hand. “Let him go, General! You don’t have the power to stop him. Too many lives would be ended before you could. Your king will cool off, and then he will return to face his punishment when he’s ready.”

  The general’s expression was stern. “Ready or not, he’s a criminal. I’ve been sworn to protect this kingdom. I must pursue him.”

  Michael continued toward the exit, but George extended his arms toward the doors on each end of the room and flipped his wrists. They slammed shut. “He’s not a killer, General. He made a stupid mistake. It could’ve happened to either of us.”

  The general’s eyes narrowed as he whirled around to face the prophet. “Brandor’s laws don’t allow men to make mistakes that result in the murder of others.” He lifted his blade and pointed it at George. “Allow me to go, or you’ll be charged as well.”

  The warlock used his power to bind the general in place and then forced Michael to lower his blade. George closed the gap between them, removed the weapon from Michael’s hand and then tossed it across the room. The handle of the sword thumped against the bottom step that led to the throne. “Don’t forget with whom you speak, General. I may be here to do the bidding of our lord, but I’m still a man. Don’t point your blade at me again, because if you do, you won’t breathe another Peak.”

  Michael bathed in his frustration for a long series of moments before a massive sigh escaped his lips. “My apologies, Prophet. What would you have me do? I cannot allow a killer to run free. It’s against our laws.”

  George nodded and then returned to the window. Other than the body, the courtyard was empty. After a quick flip of his wrist, the warlock turned to face the general. “It appears no one knows of the king’s transgression but us. Knowledge of this tragedy will not leave this room.”

  The invisible goddess smirked as Michael joined George at the window and looked down.

  “What about th…?” The General stopped speaking. “Where is—?”

  “The body is behind you, General,” George answered.

  Spinning around, Michael’s eyes widened. The body was laying against the far wall. “How?”

  “Does ‘how’ really matter? Just protect your king.”

  Michael walked away from the window and stopped above his sword. After picking the blade up off the floor, he sheathed it and then pushed his hands through his hair. “What of the old man’s family? What would you have me tell them?”

  George crossed the room and then placed his right hand on Michael’s left shoulder. “Tell them he fled the city. Tell them that he fell down a flight of steps. Tell them anything other than the truth.”

  The general moved away. “You would have me lie? To do so would be to dishonor the dead. How could I be expected to serve a god
whose own prophet spews deception?”

  The warlock sighed. “My service to Lasidious doesn’t make me a perfect being, General. Haven’t you ever done something you’ve regretted?”

  “Of course, I have. But this is murder. It’s not just some simple transgression.”

  George shrugged. “So what?”

  “‘So what?’” Michael snapped. “How could you speak that way? You’re the prophet of the one true god. You’re supposed to stand for all that’s good. How can any man be expected to live in service to Lasidious if his own prophet doesn’t hold dear to what is true and right?”

  George nodded. “Your point is valid, but in your haste to react, you’re not thinking clearly.”

  After a moment of watching Michael stand in silence, George commanded, “Come with me.” The prophet walked up the steps and took a seat on Sam’s throne. He then motioned for Michael to take a seat on the queen’s chair next to him. “Michael, I’m going to tell you a story.”

  Seeing the general nod, George continued. “Many, many seasons ago, there was a man named David. Now David was a great king on a world that no longer exists, and he was considered a man after his god’s own heart. Well … David screwed up, and he ended a man. And what’s worse, he did it for selfish reasons.”

  “And what were his reasons?” Michael questioned.

  George cleared his throat. “I hate to say it, but David’s reasons were awful. He ended the man so he could have the man’s wife. David was already having relations with her, but that wasn’t enough for the king. He wanted her as his own … as his wife.”

  George reached out and placed his hand on Michael’s forearm. “Now … if I am right … I think we both would consider that an awful wrongdoing, would we not?”

  “We would,” the general replied. “What happened to this David?”

  George smiled. “As it turns out, David’s god forgave him because he understood the kingdom needed its king, but not before he punished David in his own way.”

  “Explain,” Michael demanded. “How did his god punish him?”

  George’s smile widened. “David’s god told the king that he was going to take the life of his firstborn. Because of this, David pleaded with his god to spare the child and his wife the pain it would bring her. The king fasted for seven Peaks and lay upon the ground in a sackcloth that was covered with ash. But on the seventh Peak, the baby passed anyway, and David received the lesson that he needed to learn. After this, the king dusted himself off and became a much stronger, wiser leader.”

  Michael’s brow furrowed. “Why do you tell me this, Prophet?”

  The warlock stood from the throne and walked down the steps. “The reason I say this is because Sam’s punishment will not be delivered by you or this kingdom’s Senate. Lasidious will be the one to administer his punishment. I assure you ... our lord’s punishment will be far worse than what you or I could deliver.”

  George motioned for Michael to join him at the bottom of the steps. With the general in front of him, the prophet placed his right hand on the general’s left shoulder. “You should forgive your king and trust in your god to make things right.”

  Michael shook his head. “You ask a lot of me, Prophet.”

  “Of course, I do. I expect nothing short of greatness from a man of your stature.”

  Seeing the general nod and knowing that Michael’s ego and sense of law had been appeased, George redirected the conversation. “You and I are the only men who know the sins of the king.” George walked across the room and stopped above the old man’s body. “This tragedy shall stay between us.”

  Michael questioned, “What will Lasidious do to Sam? What punishment will he face?”

  George shook his head. “I don’t know. I cannot pretend to know our lord’s mind. But what I do know is this. This kingdom needs a great king, and Lasidious will do as he sees fit.”

  George motioned for Michael to follow him. “Walk with me.” As they made their way toward the door, George passed his hand across the old man’s body. They watched as the corpse shriveled, dried out and then crumbled to dust before they opened it. As they passed through the archway, George shouted, “Clean up, aisle seven!”

  Celestria chuckled and then vanished.

  When the goddess reappeared, she watched Sam burst through the door of his bedroom chamber with his arms loaded. The king’s boots thumped heavily against the stones of the floor as he headed for the large, wooden chest that sat at the end of his bed. Remaining unseen, the goddess moved across the room and took a seat on the mattress.

  Flipping the lid open, Sam dropped the supplies in his arms to the floor and then reached inside the chest. He retrieved a pile of clean clothes and tossed them onto the mattress.

  The clothes landed where Celestria was sitting. The goddess looked down. From her point of view, the pile looked as if they were part of her body with the hems of various garments protruding from either side of her hips. She smirked, looked up at Sam and then spoke to the king, though he was unable to hear her. “At least your garments will not catch a chill from passing through my being,” she jested.

  At the bottom of the chest was a small vial that Sam had used to hold the other half of Yaloom’s essence. The liquid contained what was left of the late God of Greed’s power, and many of his memories were still glowing inside it.

  The sight of the vial caused the king to pause. A moment later, Sam bent down, retrieved the bottle and then held it in front of his face. He turned toward the window and shook it. As the light-blue liquid sloshed inside, it shimmered in the sunlight that streamed through the cracks in the shutters.

  Once again, Celestria spoke to Sam’s subconscious. “Drink it, King of Brandor. No one is here to stop you. Everything you desire is in that liquid. The moments are right to begin your path toward ascension.”

  Sam removed the cork and sniffed its end. The smell was sweet and inviting. A long, quiet series of moments passed as the king stared at the contents of the vial. He placed the bottle to his lips and was about to drink when the memory of Shalee’s reaction to the first half of the potion entered his thoughts. It had taken Peaks for the queen to recover, and Sam knew there was no guarantee that this half—the half he had promised to save for Yaloom—would not cause him to pass out just as Shalee had done, and since he did not want to wake up in the dungeon, he chose to re-cork the vial.

  Tossing the potion next to the pile of clothes, Sam walked to the side of the bed and dropped to his knees. He pulled out a leather backpack, untied the strand that secured it shut and then pulled back the flap.

  As the king reached out to grab his clothes, his hand passed through Celestria more than once. On each occasion, the goddess enjoyed the way Sam’s body shivered as he fought through the sensation and continued to pack. At one point, Sam was forced to stop to wipe his nose. He used one of his clean shirts to wipe away the snot and then discarded it to the floor.

  After tying the leather strand, Sam tossed the bag over his shoulder. He stood, looked at the vial he had left on the bed and then turned to leave, but he stopped before crossing the threshold. A heavy sigh followed as the king thought to himself, What am I doing? Where would I go that they won’t find me? I need to face the consequences of what I’ve done.

  Celestria pulled her eyes away from the potion. The goddess stood from the bed and moved behind Sam. She reached out and placed her hand on the king’s shoulder. A soothing sensation filled Sam’s body as the goddess spoke to his subconscious. “You must retrieve the vial, Sam. You mustn’t leave it behind.”

  Though Sam could not hear the goddess’ voice, the king responded as if he did. “Why? Why should I take it? What good would it do me?”

  Taken aback by the king’s response, Celestria had to collect her thoughts. “The liquid will strengthen your soul. You must put a drop under your tongue, Sam.” She emphasized, “But only a drop.” A smile appeared on the goddess’ face as she removed her hand from the king’s shoulder.
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br />   Sam just stood in the archway of the door looking across the room at the potion. The glow of Yaloom’s memories illuminated the quilt around it as the goddess continued to speak. “A single drop will clear your mind. You will become more focused and have the strength to face the trials ahead.” Again, she emphasized, “But only a drop, King of Brandor. Do it now.”

  Sam returned to the bed and lifted the bottle off the mattress. He removed the cork, unsheathed his dagger and then tilted the vial to one side. He allowed the liquid to roll toward the lip of the bottle before he dipped the end of his blade into the potion. As soon as this had been done, he lifted the point of the weapon above his mouth and allowed the drop to fall under his tongue.

  Celestria’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction as Sam closed his. The hair on the king’s arms stood at attention above the goose bumps that covered his skin. She whispered again, “You’re a king. You answer to no one. You are above the laws of this united kingdom.” The goddess changed her tone. “But they won’t understand that. They’ll come for you. If you don’t flee this world, they’ll punish you … and your child. You must run, King of Brandor. Run!”

  As Sam’s eyes opened, a fiendish gleam appeared. The cage at the back of his mind was now open, and the demon within was free to roam. Never again would the beast allow itself to be locked up. A new Sam spoke aloud as if he had heard the goddess speak. “Where would I go that they wouldn’t find me?”

  Celestria hissed, “Dragonia! You must flee to Dragonia. It’s the only safe destination for you now. Go, Sam! Go!”

  “Dragonia. Yes. It’s the only safe place for me. No one would ever think to look for me there.”

  After rolling the potion into a sock, Sam put the remainder of Yaloom’s essence into his backpack and then threw it over his shoulder. He then darted out of the room.

  CHAPTER 7

  A God that Spits