by Kira Bacal
Zev's Destiny
Kira Bacal
Copyright 2012 Kira Bacal
License Notes
When he was nine years old, Zev was cursed by a seer. No one realized it at the time, nor did the seer herself wish the boy ill, but she was inexperienced and had not yet realized the wisdom behind Eldred’s Caution: “Never tell a mortal anything he does not need – or pay – to know.”
Zev’s future was ruined, as are a good many promising lives, by a good deed. He saw a tired young woman, clad in a seer’s orange robes, trudging down the road before his father’s modest farm, and his heart went out to the dusty form. Like the well brought up child that he was, he promptly fetched her refreshment, and she, touched by his generosity, sought to return the favor.
After she had quenched her thirst and hunger, she leaned back on her heels and turned a warm smile on the freckled face before her. “And what is your name, young sir?”
“Zev, my lady. Please, are you truly a seer?” he blurted.
“I am,” she averred. “Why do you ask?”
“Can you then see the future?” Zev replied in tones of awe. “Of anyone?”
The seer was still young enough to be touched by his admiration. In truth, she was but an apprentice, traveling to meet her master Feeg in the capital city where he was sleeping off one of his not-infrequent debauches. It was only because of her master’s inattention that she was unsupervised; had Feeg been present, Zev’s life would likely have been far different.
But Feeg was deep in a drunkard’s slumber, locked in a harlot’s arms while her partner happily picked through his belongings in search of valuables, and several leagues away, his apprentice proceeded without a single premonition of disaster…which shows how little she had yet learned.
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “Would you like a reading?”
Zev could only nod, speechless with delight.
She smiled and, leaning forward, brushed the tousled hair from his forehead. Looking deep into his eyes, she slipped into a brief trance, then spoke in a ringing voice quite different from her own. “I see a crown upon your brow, a sword upon your hip. You will grow to be a brave warrior – the savior of a princess. Your Destiny is to rule by her side.”
Then she blinked twice, shook her head, and beamed at the astonished boy before her. “Well!” she said brightly. “That was good news, wasn’t it?” And with that, she patted him on the head and continued on her way, never to realize that she had doomed her benefactor and blighted the lives of an entire kingdom.
Those innocent words were like a thunderclap to the boy’s ears. Like most children of that age, he dreamed of far off adventures and of an adulthood far removed from the mundane reality of his parents’ lives. Unfortunately for him, he now had irrefutable proof that his dreams could come true.
Naturally, he at once ran and told his parents of the seer’s words. At first, they were stunned, then thrilled. Before long, every neighbor in the vale knew of Zev’s Destiny, and the boy was, for a time, treated with a touching deference. But as time wore on, the novelty wore off, and Zev continued to be the same unremarkable freckle faced child, except that he never forgot – nor allowed others to forget – his foretold Destiny.
When his mother asked him to gather the eggs from the henhouse, he politely reminded her that he was destined for a throne and that kings do not gather eggs. When his father ordered him to help plow the fields, he gently pointed out that his Destiny was not to be a farmer. It was not that he was lazy; he rose before dawn and worked hard until well after sunset. But he spent his time teaching himself swordplay and horsemanship, skills he felt more appropriate to someone with his Destiny. When his parents remonstrated, he quoted the seer’s words and asked reproachfully if they wished him to fail to rescue his princess. Put like that, his parents could hardly argue that barnyard chores were more important than his swordcraft, but they and his siblings came to loathe the day Zev met the seer.
When Zev turned 18, local tradition declared him to be a grown man, free of his parents’ authority, and his parents offered to pay the bride-price on the local innkeeper’s pretty young daughter. She was a bit plump but had a good heart, a clever brain, and she was her father’s only heir. But Zev merely shook his head and said, “My Destiny is to marry a princess. What would I do with an innkeeper’s daughter?”
At that, his father’s long patience finally reached its end. “What would you do with her?” he shouted, his face reddening with frustration. “You’d marry her! You’d bed her! You’d make babies with her! You’d have a good life with her! What is wrong with being content with what you have?”
Zev did not grown angry in his turn. He knew his parents were simple peasants, trying to do what they thought best for him. He kissed his mother, quietly weeping in the corner, and turned loving eyes upon his father. “It is not my Destiny,” he said simply.
“Destiny, shmestiny!” his father roared, nearly driven mad by his son’s foolish intransigence. “Why won’t you snatch happiness where you find it?”
“Would you have me settle for a barmaid when I might have a queen?” Zev asked.
“I was a barmaid when I met your father!” His mother reminded him with a fresh flood of tears. “He made me his queen – the queen of his heart!”
Zev smiled at her with both love and pity. “But your Destiny was no greater than this farm. Mine is to rule a kingdom.”
“And what’s so great about that?” his father wanted to know. “A lot of headaches is what you’ll get! Kings are always thin and dyspeptic. Innkeepers are fat and jolly. Why be a king?”
“And the nobility! They’re mad, demanding, peculiar folk – why would you want to live among them?” his mother demanded, dashing the tears from her eyes. “Best to stay here among the simple people who love you. Why are you rushing off to be with those crazy nobles with all their nonsense? They aren’t like us!”
Zev looked around the small, cluttered farmyard, at his gathered brothers and sisters clad in homespun and garlanded for his birthday with simple flowers, at the chickens clucking around their bare feet and the spotted cow chewing her cud in the nearby meadow. His nostrils twitched as a breeze wafted past, carrying the odors of the pigsty and compost heap. He shook his head kindly but firmly, kissed everyone goodbye, climbed aboard his horse, and left his family forever.
He rode east, the direction balladeers traditionally associated with adventure, and traveled for many months. He had numerous adventures along the way, and his skills grew polished. He had many offers – from women and generals alike – but to all he made polite refusals and kept traveling east, always seeking his princess in distress.
Finally his dedication was rewarded. Far from the land of his birth, he heard the rumor of an enchanted princess, locked in a death-like slumber. He knew immediately, by the tingle in his bones, that this was his Destiny calling to him. He was tireless in his efforts to track down information about the unfortunate damsel, and he soon learned that the tale concerned the lovely Princess Lyrella who, having been cruelly ensorcelled by her own father, now languished behind the high walls of a secret fortress, awaiting only her hero’s kiss to arise and assume control of her kingdom.
Zev was by now a doughty and experienced warrior, but even he found it challenging to discover the location of the hidden castle walls behind which Lyrella lay. It then took him weeks to battle his way through dark swamps, high mountains, and treacherous canyons, but at last he and his trusty steed collapsed, exhausted, against the massive wooden gates of Castle Darkness. Each was bleeding from dozens of scratches, souvenirs of their struggle through the enormous thorn-filled thickets which surrounded the fortress and shielded it from view. It had been days since they had slept indoors and nearly as long sin
ce their last good meal.
Zev summoned the last of his strength and pounded on the door with the pommel of his sword. “Open! Open in the name of Destiny!”
“Go away!” A thin elderly voice could barely be heard coming from inside the castle.
“What?” Zev had been expecting a dragon to emerge, gouting flame, or at least a squad of elite guards, armed to the teeth. He had never imagined that the door would remain stubbornly closed.
“Go away!” the reedy voice piped again.
“Let me in!” Zev ordered.
“Shoo!”
Baffled, Zev looked up at the huge doors in impotent fury. There was no way he could force them. A low nicker caught his ear, and he turned to see his clever horse pawing at the ground. Stepping closer, he realized there was a hidden path through the brambles at the base of the walls. This must be how the castle’s denizens got in and out. He breathed a word of praise in his horse’s ear, then led