PART ONE: Cont'd The Chosen One
Child's Play
"Why is that child slumped in the corner by herself?" asked Methus contemplatively. He had his left arm folded across his chest and right index finger in his mouth. Methus was the palace butler and he was asking his personal steward Rifra. "Which child?" Asked Rifra, who was always in a perpetual state of distraction or so it seemed. Though his servant was never one for paying attention to details or being observant, Methus liked him because he never argued, challenged or questioned an order. Infact, Methus was begining to think Rifra never had an opinion about anything. Maybe he was a dullard or just naturally subservient. Either way, Methus trusted his loyalty and was glad to have him.
"There is only one child sitting at the corner Rifra, or do you see twelve?" Methus continued with a slight irritation and noticeable sarcasm in his voice as he pointed at the girl slumped against the wall. Her knees were folded and she had her head in her hands. "My lord," started Rifra hesistantly as he glanced at the opposite direction from where his master was pointing. "They almost all take turns to sit at that corner. Especially before their meal is served." He finished with a satisfactory smile. Methus briefly pondered this answer in slight confusion and amazement at Rifras ability to make everyone else question their lucidity. He had never really seen any of the children quiet and alone, howbeit in a corner. They were always talking and ribbing each other, except during their lessons. This was one of those episodes, when Methus wondered how he put up with such denseness from Rifra for so long. Maybe because a vapid steward was one less thing to worry about. Or just maybe he was too tired to care. With a baffled look on his face and a shake of his head, he began to walk back to his chambers. Rifra watched his master walk away and then intentionally with rapt attention turned to watch the girl.
Things lost in the fire:
The two women pulled flaky ashes from the large festive gown lying between them, as they spoke in hushed tones. The dress was all they cared to salvage in the fire that ravaged and leveled their town. The gown had been passed down for four generations of noble women. It was said to accentuate the purity of the bride and bestow her with years of fertility. Ashea the older one was to have been married days before their town was invaded by the kings army. A horse and the rider trotted by glancing briefly their way. The two women bent their heads and quickened their restorative pace. "Do you think we will ever see Kedem again?" asked the younger woman dolefully.
Kedem was their little brother now living in the king's palace. "I don't believe so" replied her sister. "Grandfather said when the assailant comes, they choose the best for themselves." Ashea continued. "They route the young men, capture the women and children, steal crops and livestocks and then burn the town. Then they select the stronger men and most beautiful women to work in the palace." "Kedem is but a child!" countered the younger sister with a sob. "Yes Kedem is among the children chosen by the king's wise men. He is extraordinarily brilliant and amazingly gifted. He will be raised in the king's culture and language. In the palace, they are trained in the ways of royalty with the finest teachers. They are groomed to rule under the king. They will be magistrates, governors, counsellors and rulers and the women that will marry them." Ashea shook her head in sadness. "But why does not the king use his own people?" the younger woman sobbed again. "Ssshhhh....." Cautioned her older sister. "We must be wise to know 'our enemies lurk in every corner'. The king's people are found not to be as Industrious, brilliant or as beautiful as our own. So he must capture and enslave us. For now, they are more in numbers and stronger than us. So it must be until our Help comes" Ashea finished with a sense of dignity and regret.
The king and her:
Debeh's hair brushing strokes were slower and longer than usual in between intervals. If the queen noticed, she did not comment or seem to mind a bit. She was pre-occupied with the obvious tormentous episodes ravaging the king/her husband's mind and making her life more miserable than it already was. Episodes, which in turn put a strain on her own troubles and cultural shame. It had been twelve years since she produced an heir. Though her son brought such joy and gladness to her heart, she had yearned and hoped for another one. Oh how she had hoped. Another son or even a daughter that she could braid her hair and teach her all that she knew as a woman. A princess in the palace. That thought made her smile. Maybe a daughter would have brightened her husband's ceaseless quest to track down a perhaps non-existent rival. He was turning into an insatiable mad man and dragging her along the insanity lane too! She subconsciously heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Would my lady like to see Amil now?" Debeh asked, interrupting the queens thoughts and brooding.
Debeh was the queens personal maid and also supervised the care taking of the prince. Though her people had been captured and were under severe oppression, the best of them had been seperated from their families and brought in to serve in the palace. The queen had grown to be fond of Debeh, she took good care of Amil the prince and heir to the throne and was quite resourceful. "Yes I would like that very much, before he goes for his siesta," answered the queen with a distant smile. Debeh turned to go fetch the prince, but stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the queen.... "Do you think it is too late for me to have another child, a daughter maybe?" Debeh paused, heart pounding so loud the rhythm might have reveberated across the room. "It is not for me to decide such my lady. Only ONE has that power," answered Debeh respectfully with head bowed. Seeing the pained look on the queen's face, she continued. "Does my lady's heart desire a little girl, a princess?" Debeh asked with a compassion tinged tone. "Of course I would like a little girl to call my own, an heiress to raise in beauty, grace and splendor!" Proclaimed the queen with such applomb and a grand gesture of spreading her hands wide in front of her chest, donning a smile that Debeh had never seen before. "Then indeed my queen, may your heart's desire be granted you..." finished Debeh as she bowed and scurried out as if being chased by a pack of wolves.
In the Crypt, Seeing is believing:
The atmosphere buzzed with indignation, as if a thousand flies were running rampage. As always the only source of light was at the entrance. The silence was dense and eerie as five pairs of eyes stared at 'the mirror' in veritable disbelief. It appeared that something of the enemy had infiltrated their plans. They could not tell what, how or where. But the glint that corruscated their emblem of darkness was inescapable. The sixth pair of eyes paced around the tomb-like space chanting in agitation. How was this missed he surmised. The formula for precaution has been around for centuries. Why would they be the ones to drop the ball? Was the 'game' coming to a close?
He knew what the end meant for himself and the likes of him and he would never willingly surrender to an ingress. With a surveillance and regulation as formiddable and vicious as it was airtight, a breach still occurred howbeit slight. As the high priest of this crypt, he did not have the luxury to be nonplussed or bereft. He had to tighten the reins. A whole lot was at stake. "How is our main man doing?" He turned to ask the other five. "Well, he has enough dosage of paranoia to root out and annihilate any perceived threats." Answered monitor #2 who handled mind control and regulation. "Turn up that dosage then!" Commanded the high priest loudly. "He may be able to root out this speck of a threat sooner." "Xitus," monitor #2 continued, calling the high priest by his name. "If he got any crazier, he would self-destruct." "Then use someone close to him....!" finished the high priest.
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