Fractured Families (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga Book 2)

by Jason Paul Rice

  Lucille and Edword came down the same steps on which Mariah had caught her first glimpse of them. The happy couple came over and Lucille hugged Mariah. The young lady noticed moisture and red streaks in Lucille’s eyes.

  “I will send word to your father with news of your return,” Lucille promised. “No, don’t. I want to surprise him. I think it will mean more,” Mariah requested. “As you wish, my dear. We will miss you around here and none greater than I.” Lucille forced a grin. “We will come back soon and you are always welcome in Riverfront, of course,” Mariah offered. “Thank you, my dear, I have a feeling we will see each other very soon,” Lucille said as she rubbed Mariah’s upper arm. “I truly hope so,” Mariah returned.

  It was the last bit of Lucille’s warmth she would feel before leaving the most wonderful woman she had ever met. She couldn’t wait to get back to Riverfront but also couldn’t wait to return to start her life with Torvald and the Maliks. Mariah hoped to someday be half the perfect lady Lucille effortlessly was. Mariah and the rest of the crew assembled and before she knew it, they were heading down the mountainside, all seventeen of them. Lucille’s generous gift giving weighed down the other men and pack mules as they already lagged behind. Mariah Colbert looked back as the Golden Castle disappeared but she knew her return would be soon.

  EMILIA

  Princess sat on Emilia’s lap and the two poked and tickled each other. The girl looked so young and innocent against the backdrop of the cruel environment. Emilia thought about the fights that had broken out almost every other night and ended with someone being killed. Three men had challenged Cobra for leadership of the Histoman in the past week. All three men had died without putting a scratch on Cobra. Pariah told her the Histoman were one big family and Emilia fully understood how families could fight.

  The former Queen Emilia had seen four major areas of the landscape in northern Histomanji. The small-town setting for most of the westerners on the hillside near the coast looked the most advanced housing.

  Further inland and east of her dwelling, the green plains supported the Histoman in their portable animal skin tents and pavilions. The Histoman stretched southwest for many miles. Emilia had discovered there were hundreds of much smaller Histoman families similar in structure to this one of eighteen thousand. Most of the members of this family would be accompanying her back to Donegal.

  They used the adjacent forest area and flatlands for hunting. The northern hunting grounds caused border disputes with Gama Traka. Most of the Histoman got their battle tattoos from these deadly brawls.

  Emilia heard a great disturbance from the fourth area. The lake where she had first docked lay due south of her living quarters. Screams echoed off the rippling waters. She held Princess’ hand as they rushed down to hear the Histoman chanting again. Two men on a tiny raft tried to get out into the lake but the Histoman hooked the side of the beech wood and pulled the scared, frail men ashore. The raucous group lifted the foreign men over their heads and carried them to a flat, gray stone only feet away from Emilia and Princess. The wild bunch bounced back and forth from one foot to the other while grunting and chanting, “HI STO MAN.” They hopped around, occasionally dropping to their knees and pointing to the heavens.

  The Histoman took one of the gravely thin boys and laid him on his back on the stone slab. One of the natives emerged with a crude looking shank. The boys screamed in protest and the former Queen may have been the only one to understand the pleas for mercy in the common tongue. They were quickly drowned out by the savage cries of the locals. The language sounded like a series of grunts and moans to Emilia.

  The native man known as Straight Arrow held the blade in the air and the rabid crowd went wild. Six men held the captive’s arms and legs down as Straight Arrow cut his own tongue and spat blood on the young man’s chest. He buried the shank deep into the young man’s left breast and pulled down. A volcano erupted showering the killer in warm blood and prompting a big smile from Straight Arrow’s semi-toothless mouth. He dropped the blade and dug both hands inside the man’s chest. He pulled the rapidly pumping heart out until meeting resistance and grabbed the knife with one hand. He held the organ steady with the other as he cut it loose. The savages went wild at the sight of the still beating heart but Emilia thought she would be ill and she held Princess tight to shield her from this insanity.

  The killer took a bite, tore a piece away and passed it to the next person. Each Histoman eagerly took a taste and the organ came toward Emilia. A woman with blood around her mouth passed the heart to Princess. Emilia was positive the sweet girl would pass until a mad look came over her eyes and she grabbed it and dug in. Princess pulled off a piece bigger than anyone else and had no problem chewing it up and swallowing. The Histoman raised the girl in the air and cheered for her. They chanted, “EP PUH AH.” It meant Princess in Ahtomen, the language of the Histoman.

  The natives grabbed the other young man and stretched his unwilling body over the rock. The man had a dead eye, missing fingers and indications of severe beatings covering the rest of his ghostly thin body. Bruises ranging in color from fair amber to sky blue speckled his body like giant freckles. The killer of the first man raised the blade again and everyone shouted until a booming voice drowned out everything, “HI STO MAN TO JI PAH TUA.”

  All the natives dropped down with their heads buried between their knees. Ali-Steven emerged on the hill and cried, “EPP TA JAH DO KAN SO HAN TI.” The Histoman got up, lowered their heads and marched quietly back to their daily tasks.

  What have I gotten myself into? Not even the little girl? Innocence is dead in this ungodly area of the world.

  Ali-Steven rushed over to the saved man. “Do you speak the common tongue?” “Yes, my lord or king or whatever your title should be,” the frightened man answered. A war veteran like Ali-Steven seemed to notice this man had been tortured for a while. “I am not a king, yet. What is your name?” “Krys Colbert,” the young man said.

  Ali-Steven and Emilia’s eyes widened and the man became even more frightened. “My name is Ali-Steven Wamhoff.” Krys became mortified now. “Before you think I am going to kill you, I’m not. We are at war with the same family now, the Wamhoffs of Donegal. Who was he?” Ali-Steven asked pointing at the blood covered body with steam still hovering around the hole in his chest. “My younger brother, Ryno,” Krys stated, with visible tears running from his good eye and down his scarred face.

  They helped the battered Krys Colbert back to the housing area and got some clothes for the naked young man. Ali-Samuel and Pariah came into the communal room in their house to see the boy. They locked the door and Krys told them everything about the kidnapping. He told them Edburgh and King Ali-Stanley had made a deal to wipe out the Colbert family. In his drunkenness, Edburgh had told Krys most of the fine details regarding his discussions with King Ali-Stanley to eliminate the bull. They promised Krys a proper burial of his brother.

  Emilia was again reminded of the cruel side of her ex-husband. She kept trying to shine a positive light on the memory of her husband but the man blew it out every time. Krys showed them all the disgusting scars Edburgh had given him. Emilia sympathized with the tortured boy and somehow felt responsible in an odd way. They gave the boy some food, left him with the apothecary and went outside.

  Cobra was sitting on the ground under a small, bushy tree. Pariah joined him and Emilia sat down too. The former queen was still getting used to being dirty again. She had always been filthy growing up on the farm, but had quickly become accustomed to the clean castle life of a queen. “Why do they all wear doll heads around their necks?” Emilia asked Pariah.

  Emilia had noticed most of the men wore rope necklaces with pendants which resembled human heads and were the size of a fist. Emilia figured they were stitched from black and tan leather with horsehair sprouting from the tops.

  “Heads are real. Is head of enemy and cut skin from,” said Pariah, making a motion of a knife moving back and forth. Emilia marveled
at what a quick study Pariah had become. She constantly hounded Emilia to teach her the letters and words of the common language. Pariah had more work to do but quickly picked up on things Emilia had trouble learning. Pariah had tried to teach the former queen the language of the Histoman but Emilia had already given up. The language consisted of a series of capital letters grouped by two or three. Some words in Ahtomen could contain from one to five groups of letters and the same group had different meanings, depending on usage. Emilia knew she would be leaving soon and saw no need to learn Ahtomen.

  “They take boiling cauldron and skin of head and put in. Dry for seven day, then boil again and dry for seven day. Take and make inside for little head. Head have spirit of enemy for next battle,” Pariah said. “EPP LO AM PEE OHU,” Cobra smiled at Pariah. She turned to Emilia, “He say don’t scared, we not use you head.” For some strange reason, Emilia felt safe even after all the barbaric activities she had seen in her short stay.

  “How did Cobra become the leader?” Emilia wanted to know. “LOW AT TEO ATE MEY PAV DO?” Pariah asked Cobra. “TEO ELP DE HA MOH AP ELE LAN TOG,” he answered. “He say anyone can leader if stand up to fight leader. Cobra kill last leader in fight. Histoman want stronger of all to lead against others,” Pariah translated.

  Finally something that makes sense. If Donegal chose the strongest leader I would have never been Queen Emilia. Then again the kingdom might not be in shambles right now if it selected the most worthy.

  “Histoman always be attack by Trakans. We need strong leader to fight for all Histoman. You see Cobra tattoo?” Emilia nodded and Pariah continued slowly, “Tattoo for good in battle. On legs for fast in battle. On arms for strong in battle. On face for say no to death. On chest for big heart in battle. On belly for eat heart of enemy,” Pariah informed Emilia.

  The dark-skinned Histoman men wore loincloths and the women dressed in thin white sheets. She had seen tattoos on nearly everyone’s stomachs. The stronger men had the markings on their arms and the skinny ones who looked like they could run fast had them on their legs. Cobra had tattoos everywhere. They were red or black Xs with hooks at the top. Emilia had seen much more elaborate tattoos elsewhere but these were apparently symbols of valor to the Histoman.

  Emilia had seen a young man being tattooed a few days back and it looked like an extremely painful honor to receive. The tattooer took a piece of wood with metal pins shaped like the hooked Histoman X. He dipped it in black ink and held it over the man’s arm with the pins touching his skin. The tattooer tapped the arranged pins with a small flat hammer into the honored man’s soul. Pariah had told her that the Histoman believed the tattoos made the soul light and ready to rise up to heaven. It became a challenge for the Histoman to get the most tattoos before they died to have the best chance to make it to see Rolog. The young man had shaken and bled during the entire process while biting down on a balled-up rag. It looked like serious pain for a tattoo only the size of her thumbnail.

  Ali-Steven approached the lounging trio. “May I have some words please?” Emilia looked over to Pariah until she realized he was talking to her. “Of course.” She rose and walked with Ali-Steven to two random stools at the edge of the woods up the hill beyond the housing. They sat down and Ali-Steven started, “I wanted to speak with you about my brother and your life in the Capitol. I know what I’ve heard over the years but no one would truly know better than you.”

  “I’ve only known him for the past eighteen years. When Ali-Stanley came to Arigold, I snuck off against my father’s wishes to set eyes on our fearless King. Looking back on it now, I think I was most attracted to the crown on his head. At only fourteen, my father would have killed any normal man who asked for my hand in marriage, but he couldn’t refuse his King. My father pleaded with me not to do it but I think I loved Ali-Stanley in the beginning. Soon after that, he wept over Parys every night in our shared bed. It’s not very comforting for a wife to hear her husband only speak about his dead spouse. We quickly grew apart and after he cast away my second child for possible embarrassment to the Wamhoff name, it was all but over. That was twelve years ago. I suppose I had a nice six years in the Capitol.” She laughed and could see the similarity between Ali-Steven and Ali-Samuel’s faces.

  “Why did he cast away the child?” Ali-Steven asked. “Gross deformity he said even as I watched Ali-Varis piss in his pants, standing next to our King. They didn’t even let me lay eyes on my baby boy. His child and heir to the throne made folly of the Wamhoff name more than any child of mine could have ever done. My son was a fierce soldier who went to war for four years. What was Ali-Stanley like as a child?”

  “Have you heard anyone call him the Clumsy King?” Emilia answered quickly, “All the time.”

  “I’ve never seen anyone, before or since, who literally couldn’t swing a sword. He dropped it or cut himself every time he touched a weapon. Ryen and I practiced outside in the yard and Tersen and Ali-Stanley stayed inside to practice needlepoint,” he laughed. “They didn’t really do needlepoint?” Emilia asked, shaking her head.

  “No, I don’t think so but I can’t be sure. I do know they were never around for anything physical. Our father, the great King Ali-Baster,” he laughed and continued, “He ordered Ryen and me to toughen up our brothers. After they had both cried for the tenth time, it was no longer fun and we stopped. Our father claimed he would ship them off to their deaths at fourteen until our mother, Queen Tomeo had her say. She cultured them into the backstabbers they became by coddling the two boys. As you know, the prefix Ali for the Wamhoffs is the king’s prerogative and our father refused to give the albino the honor. Our mother begged him but King Ali-Baster told her Tersen was lucky to not be cast away. He wouldn’t honor the albino in order to keep him from ever reaching the throne and embarrassing the family. Ali-Ryen, as he was originally named, removed the prefix to make our fragile youngest brother feel better. Ryen even showed the albino too much love. Ali-Stanley and Tersen grew up without value for human life and how could they have any? A person that’s never killed cannot truly respect the impact of death, no offense. Ryen and I tried to help our brothers but they only resented us for the approval our father showered upon us. They think I don’t know but Tersen and Ali-Stanley conspired to alert our father of my bastard child and they quickly had my secret wife captured to get me out of the way,” he said with emotion.

  Emilia hadn’t seen this side of the man before and his scarred face became less frightening by the word. She spoke softly, “Who was she?”

  “Rilah Termenson. Her birth standards weren’t good enough for our family apparently. I came home from my war duty at sixteen and she threw the only set of flowers I caught during that long parade. She was an innocent girl. Our eyes locked and we were instantly smitten. The smartest thing she could have done was turn her back and never talk to me. They killed her because she birthed my child. She didn’t commit treason, I did. She wasn’t the one accused of being a traitor, I was. Why did they have to kill her? They could have just killed me, not an innocent woman.”

  Emilia asked, “What did she look like?” A quick smile came over the old man’s face as he closed his mismatched eyes, “In summertime, she had yellow sunflowers in her strawberry blond hair and stars in her brown eyes. In winter, she hid her smooth skin and supple body with heavy rags but they couldn’t quite disguise the beauty I saw. Her round, rosy cheeks welcomed the sun’s rays to an afternoon dance and her smile melted most men’s hearts. Unfortunately, she couldn’t melt the hearts of the men who took my father’s order to kill her after my loving brothers brought it to his attention. Even though those murderers were avenged by my son, the hole in my heart will never be filled. Life can be a humbling experience, even for those born as heirs to a throne. Ali-Stanley resented me and his backstabbing paid off as he received the kingdom by running off and telling father on his brother. Ali-Stanley got his line of thinking from our father. Those two simpletons accused everyone else but couldn’t see they were the
biggest embarrassment to that realm.”

  “What did you do after you left Donegal?” Emilia wondered. “Served in private companies, chased the Pearl of Wisdom, drank too much godale and blamed everyone for my problems. I visited more lands than I can even remember and wondered how I could fall so far. I landed here about thirty years ago and thought I would suffer the fate of the dead Colbert boy. The natives instantly worshipped me and said I was the son of their God, Rolog. I saw an opportunity with all the gold and silver resources. It’s taken thirty years but I have finally built these people into a viable war force to fight a western army. With their help, I will take back the crown I truly deserve. The difference is I will earn the crown, not be given it,” he proudly said.

  Later that night, Emilia had boring sex with Ali-Samuel again. Ever since they had arrived, he had become very routine. The spontaneity she had enjoyed back in Falconhurst had died. They lay in bed and Ali-Samuel spoke, “Soon we will share that throne and rule alone, you and I.” “Your father said he is going to take the throne?” Emilia asked in an inquiring tone. “Well yes, but he is near the end of his days and then we will take over,” he smiled. “How can you be so cold?” Emilia snapped. “The world is cold. I am being real. You’ve read too many stories where everyone acts with honor. I’ve been the person written about in those stories and I can tell you, very few men act with dignity anymore. We have to play the game by the established rules. My father was born to be king and look how far he is from his rightful throne. He was sent across the Sea of Green to live with barbarians. That was cold. They killed his dream to rule Donegal with honor because he followed his heart down the tragic path of love. They made me into the court jester growing up, you know. They had me dance while everyone threw coppers at me, trying to inflict the most pain on an eleven-year-old boy. That was cold, not a single comment about an old man who is near death. The faster you realize this world is freezing, the better. Not many people out there have experienced the life of a queen like you,” Ali-Samuel informed her.