“Oh, my darling, what have you done?” Len-Wei asked.
Mark could just see her as she held on to the door opening to keep from sinking to her knees.
“I have started to take what is mine.” He poked a finger to the ball that floated above its stand. With each of his touches, it moved a few inches and then, as if held by a rubber string, it returned to its original position. “First the king had to die.”
“I saw everything when I was in the Kiv. I saw my father sleeping and I saw him dead and you were not there,” Mark said in a steady, measured tone. He had thought over every instant in the Kiv as Man-Den was talking and was sure of what he had seen.
“Is that so? Then tell me, One Who Knows, what else did you see or not see. Think carefully and show me why I should drop to my knees.”
Of course, at that moment, Mark knew what he not seen.
“You.” He recalled it all at once. The history of the city, his family, Man-Den’s family, all the citizens, and it was clear there was also no killer. “You,” he repeated.
“Bravo! That was not so hard now, was it?” His face was contorted with a half smile and half sneer. He stretched upward and rose to his full height. “You did not see me, because I did not want you to see me. So I stopped the Dome from transferring any part of my existence to you. You did not see anything I did not want you to see. Oh, I was there in your father’s bedroom and not just when the queen summoned me.” Man-Den seemed to be watching some invisible play being acted out in front of him. He spoke softly now like he was afraid his players would hear him and stop their mime. “He lay there so close to her I could feel the warmth of her body myself. Every breath of hers washed my face instead of his. It should have been my skin she felt under her arm and leg. My hair her fingers were holding.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It would be so easy. There are so many ways to stop a life.”
As if a curtain had come down, the minister remained motionless where he sat at the table. He looked over at Mark before continuing.
“I went back many times. I almost felt like I was truly invisible, and it would not have mattered if they had wakened…for they could not have seen me. I could even touch them, you know. He would move a little and I could rest my hand on her. I knew it comforted her even in her sleep.” Man-Den stopped moving except for touching the tips of his fingers together over and over very softly. “So many times at night, in her chamber, I would caress her as she slept. I could drop my garment and lay quietly next to her without them being aware. Somewhere…somewhere deep in her heart, when she would reach out in her sleep, she knew it was me that she touched. She knew.”
Mark used every power in himself not to kill this man. Revulsion surged from his stomach and through his body as he thought of the disgusting betrayal of his family.
“You see, Ja-Lil, I should have been the one she chose instead of your father. He knew I loved Myo-O, from the time I was four or five years old. He knew it!” Man-Den leapt from the table and covered the distance between himself and Mark in two strides. Mark braced his legs and was about to raise his hand to defend himself, but the older man stopped quickly. His eyes narrowed and he hissed the words.
“But he had the blood.”
Mark could hear the soft crying of his aunt and wanted to find a way to stop her from hearing any more of Man-Den’s painful story. He remained quiet though, afraid to disrupt the flow of Man-Den’s mad confession.
“So he courted her. He did and said the things I would have said and done and she became his queen. The nearest I could get was to marry this,” Man-Den tossed a disdainful hand gesture to Len-Wei, “pale imitation!”
Everything but her life was torn from her and, with no strength in her body, Len-Wei slid down the doorway to the floor. She sat there with one leg trapped under her and the other bent out in an awkward position, her arms limp at her sides. The crying was silent now and from her eyes, that never left her ranting husband, ran an unending flow of tears.
Completely ignoring his effect on her, Man-Den continued.
“It was the simplest plan, really. I chose my night and entered their chamber. From the knowledge I have of the sea and its powers, I placed a small drop of poison in his open mouth, deep in the back of his throat. It was almost instant. No pain. No panic. His breathing stopped and he was dead.”
Mark was somewhere else now, looking down at this scene. He could see Man-Den as he walked around the room playing with the treasures like they were toys in a playground. He could see his mother’s sister melting father down into the floor as if she were trying to will her own life to end and thereby stop the pain. He could even see himself standing without moving. He was screaming at that self: “Do something!” “Stop him!” “Kill him.” But nothing changed. The tinny sounds of Man-Den’s voice rose to where he was perched and he continued to observe.
“That kiss she speaks of? That last one from the king that touched her heart, even in her sleep? Mine! That was the moment I knew. When time had passed and we had all mourned, then she would be my queen. And I know she would have. This one,” he didn’t look at his wife this time, merely nodded his head in her direction, “would, unfortunately, die before her time, too. Then two grieving souls, who were meant to be together, would be. Everything was perfect! Except for you!”
When the minister turned to him with his last words, Mark returned to the scene and to his body. Now he looked into the eyes of a man who must be stopped. He couldn’t act until he knew he could save his father if it was at all possible. Then he had to stop this mad man. If the only way was to kill him, he would.
“You sent the two men?”
“Perfection means nothing happening that you do not expect, Ja-Lil. You were gone and most, except your father of course, thought you were dead. I was merely verifying that fact. But you seem to have the most annoying habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time…for me.”
“Everything you have done is useless, Man-Den. No matter if you succeed in killing me and ruling the city, the line will have ended. Your line, you and your son…my friend, can never be the royal line. You will become like Those Who Walk on the Land. You will have only the ceremony, and the true knowledge will be lost forever.”
Man-Den reacted as if he had been slapped across the face with an insult.
“Nothing is lost! I can lose nothing!”
Mark could see that this was his chance. If there was a way to find his father…if transference was still possible, Man-Den’s ego was the key.
“No matter how brilliant your plan or how much more suited you think you are to rule than me or my father, you do not have the bloodline, and you are not a king!”
“I am every bit a king!” The growl was evenly mixed with his rage and increased another decibel. “Because I have the king! And I have his blood!”
This was not at all what Mark had expected. He was ready to take Man-Den the moment he exposed the whereabouts of the king, but the confession of having his father’s blood turned him to stone. He stood granite-like staring in disbelief at the murderer before him
“Oh! Please do not worry, Ja-Lil; I am not of your blood. I am only your uncle by the unfortunate relationship I have with her.” Again, no more compassion for Len-Wei than a nod of his head. “I mean I have some of his blood.”
Man-Den almost danced with arrogance to a bench-like outcropping on the far wall. Placing his hand on the top, a seam appeared just down from the flat surface of its three extended sides. The top receded into the wall. Inside was flowing water, obviously diverted from the channel that ran along the outside of the building. It entered one end, gurgled along the five-foot length of the bench, and exited the other. Mark welcomed the sound of the stream, which placed a calming hand of reality to the macabre situation.
“You see, boy. It is all possible without being related.” He ceremoniously rolled the left sleeve of his gown up and slowly submerged hi
s hand into the water. Finding what he was after, he straightened saying, “Behold, the power.”
Resting in his dripping palm was a pear-shaped glass vial. The water heightened the swirling colors of the glass and it gave the appearance of having a light inside.
“Here is what is left of your father. He gave it to me just as he died and before the poison could taint it.”
The spot on the robe! It was, as Mark suspected, a drop of blood. What he could not understand before was how it had stained the garment. His father’s body would have closed any wound before blood could have escaped. That one small drop fell from the vial after being extracted from his father.
“It is wonderful, I must admit, to see how quickly the Dome reacts to the smallest amount of this on the palm of my hand. Doors open. Secrets are revealed. Weapons activate. And now I am going to show you how these little toys are about to respond to their new king.”
“Father! Ja-Lil.”
The echo of Roi-Den’s call from somewhere in the house stopped everything in the room. For a moment, Man-Den lost all the swaggering confidence he had been building up since Mark had come in. His eyes darted around at everything from the treasure chamber, and Mark thought, for a moment, he would drop the vial and run. That moment passed and Man-Den once again steadied his glare on Mark and called out.
“I am in my rooms, son.”
Mark could tell by the clamor that his friend was not alone. That Roi-Den was here in the city meant he had won the battle with the killer. It was strange how two opposite emotions could manifest together as they did now in Mark’s mind. He was happy to hear Roi-Den’s voice and know he was victorious. While at the same moment his heart ached to think how his friend would react when he learned everything his father had done. Mark had no idea what would happen next.
“My lady, are you all right?”
The Elder, Nign-Ta was the first one Mark saw as she rushed to Len-Wei, knelt beside her, and placed her hand on her wrist. Immediately behind her, came three others and Roi-Den who held one of the bound arms of the man who had been sent to kill Mark.
“She is not hurt.” Nign-Ta turned her kind face to Roi-Den before he could ask the question.
“He was not one to give up easily, Ja-Lil. He has not said anything except to tell me this,” in his hand, Roi-Den held the sheathed knife, “belonged to the king.”
“Ja-Lil, why have these been removed from the royal chamber?” The Elder standing behind Roi-Den and his captive was the first to notice the treasures arranged on the table. Not sure of why they were there, but knowing something was wrong, she stepped around Man-Den’s son and up to the table. When Mark failed to speak and everyone else was silent, the newly arrived became aware of the tension that flooded the room. They looked back and forth between Mark and Man-Den while the two men never took their eyes off each other. Confusion and fear began to congeal in everyone. Danger had a substance. It was pulling against its restraints. No one wanted to be the first to trigger it into action. Time expanded in all directions and the moment kept on and on.
The sudden clatter sent a current to every nerve in Mark’s body. Everyone in the room gave a start at the noise, but Mark’s instinct was not to look at the source. Had Man-Den not held the vial, Mark would have reached him before the echo of the falling knife faded, but he held himself in check. Only when he knew the minister was not going to be the first to attack, did Mark look to the noise. Roi-Den’s face was turned to no one, and his eyes shook as they randomly swept the ceiling. He glanced at Mark briefly and, with a look of confusion, he dropped his focus to where the knife lay on the floor.
Mark followed his gaze and also saw the knife by the hem of his friend’s robe. It was then that he was aware of the dark moving shadow as it crept out from under the garment. As the light from the ceiling touched the blackness, it lost its darkness and began to brighten to a deep crimson color. It was then that he saw all the ruby-like marks that led from where his friend stood, out the door and down the hall. Roi-Den looked with wonder as the pool got larger and, with a drunk-like rolling of his head, he whispered, “I have never seen my blood before.” The strength in his legs vanished and, had he not held onto the arm of the man he had fought, he would have collapsed. One Elder held onto the captive as the other took Roi-Den under the arm and helped him to the floor.
The perfect world Mark woke up to this morning had changed now to the tragic picture before him. The life of his best friend was draining from his body as he sat next to his devastated mother, and still no one moved.
“Now!” Man-Den’s roar called everyone’s attention except his son’s, who was too close to death to be aware of much, and his wife, whose sole focus was her only son.
“Now, another sign that the time has arrived for a new king!” His madness was frightening. The tension that gripped his body had flushed his face bright pink and caused the veins of his neck to stand out from his skin like bluish strings.
“Only I! Only one who truly should be king can save my son.” Leaving the lid open on the sea bench, Man-Den lurched to the far side of the table and pulled the top from the glass vial. The stopper for the vial had a finely tapered glass tube underneath. From the three-inch long needle, several drops of blood fell to the tabletop and struck many of the treasures where they lay. One bead struck the hovering round ball like a crimson teardrop. The instant it was touched by the brownish red drop, the pulsing color glow intensified. It began to revolve in small concentric circles above its base. All this went unnoticed by the minister.
“The blood of the king shall now dwell with the mind and body of the new king and my son will be reborn!” Snapping the small glass bead from the top of the stopper, he fit it snugly back into the vial, upside down. Not hesitating, he looked down at his exposed left arm. Clenching a fist until his entire arm was shaking, he placed the point of the needle against the bulging vein at the bend of his elbow and slid the glass into his skin.
“This city and my people will change the entire world!” Pacing like a tiger in a small enclosure, he held the vial to his arm and opened and closed his hand, pulling the liquid into his body.
“We will no longer observe and hide and be afraid to be known. I have been to the surface. Many times, I have walked with them and they want us to lead them. We can be like go…” His voice broke off and he looked around the room as if he had never seen it before.
“We must not let…”Another broken sentence. He lost his grip on the vial, the needle slipped from his vein, and the entire thing splintered to pieces on the floor. The opening in his arm sealed immediately, and Man-Den’s body convulsed and his mouth moved, but there was no sound. Reaching out to try and regain a sure balance, his hands missed the edge of the table and he fell backwards into a small podium, which also crashed to the ground. Thrusting himself forward once again, he came to the table and, using it to help him walk, he staggered around to the front.
The Elders and Mark could do no more than stand between Man-Den and the door and watch.
“My son.” The sound of a small child or young man had replaced his bellow. “I will heal you. I will take your pain. Please d…”
They all saw it. Later they would agree that it should remain a secret between the king and Elders; Roi-Den and his mother were not watching the transformation.
The wail accompanied the change in his features. It was not a sound made by vibrating vocal chords, but centered in the minister’s chest and resonating up through his torso. He tried to continue to form the words he had started to say to his son, but his mouth widened and his lips became thicker. His eyes, which had always been a steel-colored gray and darker when he was excited or angry, started to reflect greenish overtones. Even the man’s hair, which like Roi-Den’s was a golden-straw color, darkened in front of them and became streaked with blackish lines. As soon as one change happened, another one would begin, and the first would revert to its o
riginal state.
Mark stood there staring as the minister’s body pressed against his skin as if trying to escape. Man-Den pushed his head toward his son and worked his mouth, but then suddenly spun around and locked eyes with Mark.
“Ja-Lil.” It was quick. It was so small and weak that he was not sure he even heard his name, but then he was sure he had. It had only been said once, and then the large head flopped back to look at his son and the blood on the floor. It was all Mark needed to uproot him from his place. His name being spoken yanked him to the side of the minister, and he wrapped his arms around him.
“Man-Den, stop! We will help you!” The moment he gripped his hands together around the raging man, he knew the strength in his bruised left arm had not fully returned.
Man-Den turned his head. There was no trace of green in those eyes now. Only a deep dark-gray, which turned even blacker
“Do not touch me.” The sound was not a voice but merely air shooting forward by the force of hate. The large man’s body went completely slack for a second, and then, with incredible power, he felt surging from some deep reservoir, he shrugged his arms and shoulders and threw Mark to the other side of the room.
“Do not touch me!” The action focused him once again and, straightening himself to his full height, Man-Den, operating like a man who was trying to hide the fact he was drunk with precise steps, rounded the table. Standing behind it now, he reached for the pair of bracelets at the very end.
“I can heal you, my son. You can come back to me.” His words had an inebriated slur. The silver bracelet with the reddish stone clipped around his wrist with ease. Grabbing the other produced a completely different result. The object seemed most uncomfortable to touch and, with a confused expression and groaning with the extra effort needed, the minister forced the second golden bracelet with the white stone onto his right wrist.
The moment the metal touched his skin, Man-Den stopped moving and looked with bewilderment at both hands.
“I now…I…” His eyes closed slowly until they were clenched into thin lines, and his brow was ceased with pain. He tried one more time.
Man from Atlantis Page 19