PART TEN (Cont'd):
Pride, pretense and prejudice:
The fourth, second and third magistrates gasped in horror, when the first magistrate placed the now stale blood stained and mallet shaped object on the large wooden table. Tufad the fourth magistrate buried his head in his hands, while shaking it from the left to the right. Dezen the sixth magistrate looked on with his right elbow on his chair's forearm and his chin resting on his fist. He looked as unflinching as he was unperturbed. It was like someone had merely pulled the drapes away from the window. "Was this repugnant action absolutely neccessary now? Must we sit around inhaling putrid stench from an almost month old blood spill?" He managed through clenched teeth, while lowering his arm and leaning towards the table. His expression still unimpressed as he spoke. "What action exactly, has indeed disturbed your 'goat' Dezen? And how might you know, how long ago the blood was spilled?" The first magistrate turned his head with a slant towards the sixth magistrate as he questioned him with a vaguely patronizing tone.
Of all the magistrates, the first was the only one who could openly and without deterration challenge the sixth magistrate Dezen. Although Dezen was known as the most manipulative and rambunctious of the lot, the first magistrate was technically the spokesperson for the ruling group. It was just as good also, that he was obviously not threatened by Dezen's always present cynical and sarcastic attitude. However, if at all he was. He had done a very good job of not showing it. And he did not plan on stopping now. "Is it the part that we are in the middle of a very haunting and disturbing murder investigation? Or that we may have found the weapon of assault. That shatters your charitable equilibrium." Continued the first magistrate with a subtle defiance. Dezen harrumphed, shifted his weight and shrugged dismissively. Now satisfactorily aware that the others were watching him, he plunged further. "How is it the murder weapon, if she was still alive days after she had been hit?" It looked like the angry magistrate's penchant for arguments, would submit to devour the session's limited timing.
"She was in a coma for three days, after she was viciously hit with a blunt object. And then came out of the coma apparently on the mend, before she mysteriously and abruptly died. I daresay between what hit her and what finished her, we still have a murder case on our hands." The second magistrate was mild mannered and soft spoken. Known to speak only when he deemed it absolutely necessary. The rest also appreciated his uncanny ability to avert an uproar by re-clarify the obvious in a thought provoking manner. "Oh well then, go right ahead with that." Responded Dezen with a careless and disparaging wave of his hand. "But I still feel that we have other more important and pressing state matters to tend to than this nonsense." Dezen continued adamantly with his revolting campaign. "The murder of a servant, should not take up all the session." He finished gruffly as he pushed back forcefully into his chair. "Well for your information," began the first magistrate. "The session just commenced. And we still have ample time for the next item of discussion, which will be the missing princess."
At that Dezen stood up. "Says who? That we should have a session to pacify a dead servant and ruminate over the footsteps of a wandering adopted slave girl?!" Dezen was now furious and banging on the wooden table. "Says his majesty the king!" Replied the first magistrate as he banged on the table too and then proceeded with the session already in motion.
Criss-crossed and crass movements:
Ethia's hostess fastened her teary eye on the queen mother as she spoke. The day had barely begun and she was already exhausted. It felt like this woman sucked the life out of anyone around her. It was not just her brash words and negative inclination, but the constant selfish mission to cover one leaking or porous scheme with a whole new one. It was as tiring as it was draining. When Ethia first brought the baby boy to them, she was not only surprised. She was immensely pleased also. Having never had her own children, Hanad (as she had named him) brought her husband and herself so much anticipated joy. So much so, that she never really asked Ethia how she had found their family. One of her reasons for not delving further into inquiries, could have also been the fact that everyone knew the queen mother for her vicious and audacious ways. Why kick the bees hornet, if you could just as easily tiptoe around it.
The first ten years that followed, had the queen mother faithfully and frequently dispatching a healthy allowance to their home. It was her provision for the child she had brought to them. A child whom she never really disclosed where he had come from. While the allowance rolled in, the reigning queen at the time never asked about the well being of the child. So it would not have been far-fetched to assume that Ethia's concern was more about keeping buried secrets just that way. The provisions stopped abruptly however. There were no explanations as to why. But Hanad's parents were fine with that too. He was theirs now and they would take good care of him. They did the best they could to bring him up, with little or no trouble. He was just a regular, calm and mild-mannered young man. It was a torturous ordeal for all concerned, when he was recruited for war. But an even greater jubilation, when he returned alive and subsequently went to work in the royal palace.
"Hanad did go to war your highness." The proud mother replied with a tentative smile, not sure if that expression of gladness would cause Ethia to flare up again. "And he returned with little harm. You don't know how grateful we are, since most of the other....." "And I am really not interested in knowing if you are grateful or 'grateless'. How you might think or feel is inconsequential to me whatsoever!" Interrupted Ethia with her signature snap and a raised voice. "Surely you know, your sentiments could not be the reason a queen ventures out of the confines of a grand palace to roam the woods." She was now holding the terrified hostess' eyes with hers. Though the differences in both stares were like night and day. "I had asked you a simple question. Of which you are yet to answer." The tartness in Ethia's voice was more as a result of dread that it was curtness. A dread of what the answers she so bumptiously demanded might turn out to be.
"Forgive me your highness." Started Ethia's hostess with head slightly bent and hands clasped in front of her lips. "I did not mean to waste your time with my musings. I was just surprised that you did not know that Hanad has been at the royal palace."
"Han..... Who?! Who is at what palace? My palace?!" The incredulous look on the queen mother's face was as sinister as it was unnerving.
"Hanad your highness. The boy you brought for us to raise is called Hanad. And he serves and lives in the royal palace."
A help that heralds hope and healing:
It was the third day that Bronid had brought home the comatose patient with the help of the brawling hunters. And now he believed that the correlation of the patient's entrance and the nearly completed exit of doom from his home, was definitely no accident. That unplanned entrance had undoubtedly spurred a series of hopeful and encouraging events so far. For one, the first and gruffy hunter had left the next day. He was gladly laden with a loaf of bread, offered to him by Bronid's wife. He however vowed as he left, to come back for his portion of the glittering and valuable gems. He still believed the young healer's attraction to the unconscious man had to be tied to the fact that he was bedecked in lavish and opulent ornaments. Despite the fact that Bronid's home showed he was quite comfortable, the offended hunter left his words of promise intact.
The young healer's son was also on the mend. He had started to eat solid food again, and the hollow and dying look in his eyes were slowly fading. His wife was also up and about. Strong enough to have made a small feast for the men, the day after their arrival. She was feeling great. She had discreetly whispered that to her husband, while they hosted their guests to dinner. Better than she had felt in a long time, she emphasized. She had actually expected to slip into unconsciousness herself, when Bronid stumbled in very exhaustedly trailed by three strange men. It did not help matters, that one of the strange men looked peacefully asleep. He slept while the other two exchanged unpleasantries, periodically coming close to a fist fight. Whoever the sleeping and embellished one was, she was just glad he had come to her house.
They had made the patient comfortable in a part of the house that somehow served as an extension of the infirmary. The second hunter had volunteered to stay a little longer before parting ways. He had been taken by Bronid's kind act and profession. And it seemed that the two had struck up some sort of friendship. The older healer himself was impressed that his son had taken such an initiative in helping the comatose stranger and easily told him just as much.
"Father, why do you think someone this obviously affluent and powerful even in his sleep would be buried in the thick of the woods for this long?" The younger healer's brows were creased in sincere inquisition. As they both looked down at the unconscious man lying in a temporarily built wooden cot. "He has no cuts, bruises nor broken bones. Even more amazing was the fact that he was not devoured by wild animals." The stunned look on Bronid's face as he shook his head, proved his amazement.
"I am not quite sure son." Answered the older man with a thoughtful tone and a more subdued sense of wonderment. "Not everything in life comes with the answers tagged to it. But I do know this much. Before very long, you will have the answers you crave." Finished the old man as he turned to his son with a kind smile. He then patted the young man on the shoulder and slowly walked away.
A tale of two kingdoms (cont'd). 'Who is the darkest of us all':
The witch grimaced at the rarely or never seen smile splayed across the high priestess' face. She then chuckled loudly, so the three young women could hear her. "The young woman is in a better and lighter mood I take it. Huh?"
"Well not exactly." Replied 'shiny shoes' rather churlishly. "We still have not gotten to the end of this tale and I still have not found the root of my problems and the impending disaster it seems to be promising." She shrugged her shoulders, looked at the other younger women with her and continued speaking. "The looming of doom, does not a good mood make at all." This she stated with sarcasm and an obviously plastered smile. At this statement, her two counterparts and escorts began to giggle. After a moment of the pretense of looking at them sternly, the high priestess also joined them in giggling.
They were startled and stopped abruptly, when they heard a loud clanging noise. The witch had gotten up from her sitting corner and was pulling out some large steel pots. "Wait, wait, wait....." Called out shinyshoes, now also standing to her feet. "What are you doing? You are not finished with the story yet." "Yes I believe I am not," replied the witch who had now stopped the clanging noise. She had her head slightly turned at an angle as she spoke to 'shiny shoes'. "And neither are you finished with your foolish jesting." "Oh no your high..... your gra...., how do you refer to her again?" Asked one of the escorting young woman exasperatedly. She was also imploring as she looked to 'shiny shoes' and her other partner. "Your witchness or your evilness." Supplied 'shiny shoes' as the young women burst into fits of laughter.
The first person to hit the floor was 'shiny shoes'. As she struggled to get back up, she felt a force attempting to pin her back to the ground. She looked around quickly to find the other young women seemingly knocked-out cold and lying very still on the floor. She again attempted to get up, but the force pushed her back towards the ground. So she started to wrestle with the invinsible menace. From her peripheral vision, she could see the witch standing and watching. A huge pot still held in her hands. Muttering angrily under her breath and gritting her teeth, 'shiny shoes' pushed one last time at the imposing force. An action that sent a violent gust of wind across the room, knocking the witch to her knees. 'Shiny shoes' then picked herself of the floor, straightened her priestly robes and walked over to the corner where the witch knelt.
"Are we on the same page yet?" Asked 'shiny shoes' with a smirk and a sneer as she looked down from towering over the older woman. "Not really young woman." Answered the witch, voice cold and unintimidated. "You see, where you happen to be starting off. Is a page in my history. But I must say, you have done quite well for yourself. However, I would advise that you don't bite of more than you can chew." The witches' eyes had turned to slits as she glared at the high priestess. 'Shiny shoes' laughed loudly and then began to speak. "I must tell you though, if I can bite it. Then I most certainly can....." She was instantly on the floor again. This time with the witch seating on her chest and holding down both her arms with her knees.
"Now let me see.... Where was I with the story again?" The witch was smiling smugly as 'shiny shoes' struggled underneath her lighter weight.
"Oh I see. So the rebellious brother went ahead to have two wives, a mistress and two daughters. While the aging king and his wife began to raise their other son's heir, who was born shortly after he was killed....." 'Shiny shoes' grunted. "Did you say something dear?" Asked the witch with feigned concern while still seated on the high priestess' chest. "Oh I guess not then," she continued as the high pristess writhed desperately underneath her.
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