PART NINE:
The Monitors (Let the circus play):
"Is it not a little too much going on at the same time?" Heinus asked as he seemingly and absent-mindedly tapped on the mirror's surface. He was talking to Xitus, while Bivus the second monitor (whenever Heinus was away) looked on and nodded his agreement. "Well.....," started Xitus matter-of-factly. "As you well know, we are really not in control. But if HE must allow one exposure, then we must open as many 'cans of worms' as possible." "Hmm..... I do see your point." Heinus was speaking and looking up now. "After all we thrive better in an atmosphere of confusion. And besides, we have our prototype in the gene-pool already." This he said while baring rows of pearly spikes that served as teeth when he was in the coven. "Prototypes procreated by us, ever ready consciously or unconsciously." The three beings smirked in unison and in agreement.
A few hours later, the three monitors having been joined by the other three. Watched the huge mirror surface, as images darted about randomly. Suddenly, one particular scene eclipsed the rest and projected itself forward. As it spread out with vivid definition, the other scenes flickered momentarily as they shrunk and swirled like waves without a shore. The six pairs of eyes now trained their focus on the emboldened and demanding episode. It was simply a pair of shaky hands, holding a club stained with innocent blood.
A father's lingering legacy:
The sixth magistrate's name, was Dezen. His father before him was also the sixth magistrate. He never really foresaw himself following the paternal pattern. But when the opportunity presented itself tragically, he took it. The palace official lowered his eyes, as if listening attentively to what the messenger was relaying. His real truth at the moment, was that he was highly disgusted with the recurring excuse of a message. This was his third attempt to meet with the king. With each effort, he had been confronted with the same sappy story. The king was at the queen's quarters. Was he now handing his throne over to a woman? What a shameless display of weakness at such a summit grimaced the cynical man. He as a magistrate, often had easy access to the king. Moreover, he was also more like an unofficial spokesperson for the rest of the magistrates. He was deemed more vigilant and proactive than the rest. He was the one they all came to, when they had an idea to be mulled over. Then he would somehow decide which scenario eventually got to the king. Much like his father before him, he had a knack for manipulating every situation and environment in which he found himself.
Now it appeared that the queen was unnecessarily taking over his time and influence as a magistrate. He had absolutely no respect for her, her gender nor her role. Other than the duty of procreation, he saw no added value or worth to that specie. His own father had believed just as much. And his belief had been grossly excacerbated when his mother took off and left the family, or what was left of it. She had lost her mind, when three of her children ate a poisoned leaf she had accidentally cooked with. She could not fathom how she had been ever so careless. All three had dropped dead within hours of ingesting the toxic meal. He and his sister were the only surviving off-springs. They had gone to their learning hall at the time of the incident. Their mother had never really recovered and for some strange reason best known to her, wholly blamed their father for the family's breakdown. No one knew when and where she left to, but she was never seen or heard from again.
Dezen and his sister felt rejected and worthless. However, the magistrate would take that childhood feeling a step further. A deep seated hatred for everything female. Not very long after, his father developed a reproductive ailment that had never been seen before and could not be cured. His body was found in the forrest about two days after he hung himself. The hunters were just in time to retrieve his decomposing body before the wild beasts devoured it. The last conversation he had with his father left these words etched in his memory; "The sorrow I designed for another man, multiplied itself right back to me." The whole family unit shenanigan, was an irritant to Dezen's agenda.
Of companions and complications:
"First you have me hire your sister because she is a hard worker as you claim. Then you have me move her into your room, even though that was the wrong section of the servants quarters for her. And now having assigned her to her majesty the queen, you tell me she is too sick to work! Will you now reign as king also?!" Methus was livid and besides himself. The visibly outraged housekeeper was yelling at his assistant Rifra who had asked for yet another emergency 'leave of absence'. His sister Ashea was very sick he had claimed. Infact no one had seen her in two days. Methus had quickly scrambled to get two top notch maids to fill in for her with the queen. So far the housekeeper had not heard from her majesty. He dreaded and simultaneously braced himself for when the summons might eventually come. It could cost him all he had worked so hard for all these years.
Rifra felt torn and overwhelmed, as he stared at his master dejectedly. It appeared everything in his life was spinning completely out of control. He did not even know who he was anymore. Twice in the past week, he had woken up in the palace yard brandishing a snapped tree trunk. He never remembered when or how he got there. Then two weeks ago, his wife Ashea told him she thought she might be pregnant. A thought was nice, just as long as you had time to make plans for the future. But exactly eleven days after expressing that 'thought', she was shockingly as big as a whale. Her eyes had turned blood red and her neck suddenly developed the uncanny ability of swivelling at nearly 180 degrees on one side. Rifra was as dumbfounded as he was scared stiff.
He had immediately smuggled her to see the kind old healer. The healer was always open to help and was also known to keep all matters as confidential as possible. He staggered when he saw the supposedly six weeks pregnant woman. And he got even more shaken and distressed when he heard the story of her real relationship with Rifra. The older healer thought they should never had carried out such a deceptive plot in the first place, and said as much. He did not think this was a normal pregnancy and could not proceed further with any more observation, until everyone concerned in the palace knew what was going on. He then gave Rifra the time to go and inform his employers of what was really going on, for his sake and also for the sake of the young woman's life. Rifra did not think or feel like he was ready to jeopardize such a wonderful opportunity to work in the palace. He would take Ashea back to their hometown. She would get all the help she needed and the support of family. But first he needed Methus' permission to leave.
An idle mind becomes.... (the conniving chronicles cont'd):
Ethia found her reign as queen quite boring. She absolutely did not care for the subjects and thought most of the king's policies were too lenient and annoying. It did not please her either, that she had ample leeway and authority to practice her craft. Hers was a reign that favored every soothsayer, sorcerer, magician and witch in the land. With the queens natural ability to create friction and then be slighted all the same, there were no shortages of contracts for devilish devices. However, she did invent a little game to pass her languid time. It was simply the art of tormenting the servants and spreading ill will between anyone who would fall prey. She enjoyed it when people were at loggerheads with each other. it helped her stay in control.
Unfortunately and unbeknownst to the king, the queen's lust for everything that was not him would jeopardize his life and throne forever. It all happened while the king was at a furious and long running war. Ethia had spent four nights attending to one of her many rituals. The king had been gone for about two weeks, and she entertained the notion that it might be better if he never came back. The prince was about ten years old, too young and unfit to reign. Her greatest hindrance and opposition who was also a former lover, was now embroiled in family tragedy. She saw no one who would stand up to oppose her taking over, should the king die in battle. It was a tall order she knew, since the king also had his people and personal form of protection. But it was a risk her manipulative soul and power hungry spirit was willing to take.
This particular seance and ritual, would have her ensconced in a tomb-like case for two days. When she was eventually let out as expected, she would wreak of power and dominion that no man and/or woman could withstand. She would also have to drink blood the whole duration as the ritual entailed. The source of the blood was a mystery to even the ritualists. It was two nights of hyper-activity, much unlike what Ethia expected. She never slept a wink in her tomb, as one shadow after the other had their way with her. She was escorted home by two sorcerers, while she was still in a state of sedation. Any palace servant that might have noticed anything amiss dared not speak out. The king may have been the king, but the queen's influence was thorough and deadly.
Six days after the ritual, the queens bulge was undeniably visible to her. She hid herself, as she contemplated what to do. Four days after her discovery, the king sent word of a delay at the war zone. As the baby grew at a triply accelerated gestation period and rate, the king was further delayed by an injury strangely incurred during a cease-fire negotiation. He was still at war, when Ethia delivered herself of a normal looking baby boy. Try as she did to tie the cord around his neck and have him be done with, he just would not die. Two days without feeding and he just stared at her unflinchingly. So she knew that whomever his father was, he indeed had a plan of keeping this baby alive. But that child rearing would definitely not be on her royal tuff. Aside from the housekeeper who arranged for the mess in her tub to be cleaned out, no living soul even remotely had an idea of what might have transpired in her quarters. Even the housekeeper assumed the king's offspring had unfortunately been miscarried.
Today almost thirty years later, she had to make sure this feeling of premonition was just that. A mere feeling. "....Know what?! What don't I know?!" Snapped the queen mother, as another wave of unfamiliar panic washed over her. She then flashed angry eyes at her hostess, as if daring her to say anything that would jeopardize or uncover decades of buried secrets and schemes. "Answer me! Did he or did he not make it back from the war?! Every young man at that age was supposed to have gone to war, no?!" Ethia was shaking with what could have been a combination of rage and fear. But the tired hostess just looked at her, as tears streamed down her own eyes and realization instantly dawned on her.
A 'will' to live or to die (part one):
The king and queen looked at each other and then back at the folded and parched sheet lying on the floor. Then the king snapped his fingers, signalling for his bodyguard to re-enter the room. He then gestured for him to pick up the sheet, open it and lay it face up on the same stool where he had lifted it from. "Go and get the first magistrate here, right away". The king commanded his bodyguard. "Ermm.... For what my dear?" Interjected the queen almost immediately with a sweet smile. "Well to read the sheet and find out what this is all about. And also to see what necessary action need be taken." "Oh sure indeed..... Well I think, you know, I think......" The queen was blinking rather rapidly. Fearful she might loose her entire eyelids before her husband eventually caught on to her discreet and silent message. "Oh.... Right. Yes of course." Said the king, waving the bodyguard out of the room. "That won't be necessary for now," he finished. As the servant swiftly bowed out of the room. Then his majesty reached back for the sheet still lying on the stool. "It may be something we need to know first, before involving anyone else." Said the queen with a significantly lowered and serious tone. "You do have a point my dear," agreed the king as he lifted the sheet and began to read what was scrawled on it.
A tale of two kingdoms cont'd (The gift of grafting):
"..... The king decreed that her generations after her would always be protected and provided for by the royal family. Any harm or attack against them, would be as if it were against the royals. They would always find refuge in his kingdom he supplied. Nice huh? Asked the witch to no one in particular, as she nodded her head and looked around. Just as well, no one responded. The women just stared at her, as they awaited her continuation. Even 'Shiny shoes' was attentive. "Well...." She continued anyhow. "There was one person of course, who had a completely different take on that reward and decree. That very night, after the king had passed his decree and it had been declared a law. The rebellious son went on an unprecedented rampage and killed everyone in his father's kingdom. Everyone except the King and his queen who were quickly removed to a secret location. He killed his own brother. But unbeknownst to him in his constant state of rebellion, his brother had recently gotten married and was expecting his first child. The princess had gone to see her mother, with her maid who was also the queen's maid's daughter. When word got back to them that there was a massacre in the palace, they too were immediately hidden away."
"So wait...." 'Shiny shoes' appeared to be suddenly awake. "You mean the good prince was killed, and the queen's maid along with him? The two recipients of the king's blessings?" "Exactly," answered the witch grinning from ear to ear. It was a rare moment that she and 'Shiny shoes' were on the same page. "But their next generation escaped." The high priestess was emphatic. "The unborn child of the prince and the maid's daughter." That was the most sense the witch had ever made, since she laid eyes on her thought 'Shiny shoes' with a smile.
The right place at the right time:
"I think we should just take the precious stones and leave right now. We would be very rich and not have to hunt again." The first hunter was half pleading and half making a suggestion. "We have done all we could for him. It is now two days and there is still no sign of him waking up." This he concluded as he slumped tired and vexed on a piece of stone slab, partially buried in the soil. "That is no reason to rob him. He is not dead and even if he were dead, how noble is that cause huh?" Replied the second hunter as he watched the still but breathing man propped up against a large tree trunk. "I really wish there was something else we could do," he sighed regretfully. "There has to be a reason we found him, after all these while he has been buried here." He continued speaking, still thoughtful. "That is my point exactly." Retorted the first hunter. "Maybe we should have just left him buried! I am going home now. And I will be taking the rotted game-meat with me also." He finished with a disappointed shake of his head.
They both turned at the same time, to the sound of Bronid's approaching footsteps crunching on dried leaves. Each instantly and simultaneously lifting their hunting guns.
"I come in peace!" Proclaimed the healer as he pushed protruding branches aside to show his face and lifted his hands up in the air.
The two hunters looked at each other and then at the very large man that was now standing about ten feet away from them. Then they lowered their guns. Suddenly, the unconscious man grunted slightly. The three men turned immediately to look at him, but only two of them registered shock at the long anticipated reaction.
"Is your friend taken ill?" Bronid asked looking at the man sitting on the ground. "He is not our friend," supplied the first hunter irritably. "We found him buried in the ground two days ago and we cannot seem to be able to help him." He stood with his hands folded across his chest, confirming the finality of his statement and the situation. "We think he may have been buried for years," the second hunter informed Bronid with a shake of his head. Meanwhile, the young healer was already kneeling besides the subject of discussion and dispute as he observed him. A few minutes later, Bronid strengthened himself and stood up. "Can you help me bring him to my home?" He asked looking from one man to the other. "Oh good!" Said the first hunter. "You want him and his precious stones too!" "What?" Bronid looked surprised and on the verge of provocation. But he controlled himself and replied instead; "Oh no, I am a healer and I think I can help him."
.