PART SEVENTEEN (cont'd):
A Tale of two kingdoms: Covens, candlelights and conquests:
The witch swiped the top of the stony slab with her hand one last time, before spreading a cup full of sand on it. She then chanted to herself for a few seconds, while observing the scattered and random spread. She proceeded to wipe her soiled hands on her waist cloth and then sit down in her usual spot on the floor of the coven. Turning to the eagerly waiting high priestess, who had just come running in a few minutes earlier. She looked her over slowly as if to make a curt or disparaging comment. But then thought the better of it and cleared her throat instead. An obvious indication to both women that she was now ready to tell the tales.
"You are here later than usual today. My, my, must dusk threaten to fall before you make your entrance. And the moon might fall asleep while I talk."
"Tell me," inquired 'shiny-shoes' almost immediately. It appeared she had decided to ignore the snide remark. "You said that for three generations, no original royal blood had reigned in the rebellious side of the divided kingdom. What happened? And how did the kingdom continue? Surely the people needed a monarch to reign over them." She held the sorceress' eyes with a daring but highly anticipating gaze.
"Yes indeed. The last official blood of the great king to reign in the second kingdom was his disruptive and wicked son. And as you will recall, he too was murdered. His squabbling household, gradually lost their power and provinces by conquest. They had been vanquished by a new order and kingdom of royals unrelated to them. Sadly, even their own people wanted it so. Yet though ousted in their chaos, of which they were wholly responsible. They still controlled a province of disgruntled trouble makers who were loyal to the memory of the rebellious king. Thus they focused their lives and existence on destroying the other brother's thriving kingdom."
"But how did they loose the kingdom? And to whom did they loose it?" 'Shiny-shoes' wanted to know. The witch shut her lids over rolling eyeballs, inhaled sharply and lowered her head. Then she began to mumble, as if replaying a scene in her head.
"Long live the king!" Shouted the weary and disillusioned subjects. All of them, old, young, rich and poor longed for stability and a functioning monarch. The older ones among them, had lived to see the gradual decay of a once envied and fluorishing dynasty. Prosperous under a great, good and much loved king. A dynasty that thrived, until greed, pride and envy devoured it. They could only now gawk at the devastation, as they simultaneously experienced its painful effect. That one bad and rebellious seed, with all the corrupt help it got. Had destroyed what was once a budding kingdom. Now ever since the killing death of the disruptive, troublesome and unscrupulous royal son. Every person around him, had lusted, lied and longed to take the throne. Some got what they craved, howbeit in misery and mayhem and for a very short while. His wives, daughters, mistresses and their lovers all struggled for their part in disgraced and decayed history.
The most shocking part, was that the dishevelled and deteriorating family along with their add-ons. Were also always at war with each other, the rival kingdom, the succeeding kingdom and other foreign kingdoms. Their mixture and unruly integration, became a source of constant friction within the provinces and every neighbour far and wide. Now it seemed their latest encounter and foolish provocation, had plunged the decrepit kingdom and its people at the foot of a valiant and noble warrior. He had defeated their army and captured their brawling interim sovereign. Now the very people who would have scorned the outsider for defeating them. Cried desperately for his rule over them. Thus a new king was crowned, a new kingdom created and unfortunately, an ancient royal lineage severed.
'Shiny-shoes' sat dour-faced and unflinching. Even as the witch stopped to catch her breath and then turned to observe her.
"Haha!" She began with a laugh. "Do not tell me you are empathizing with the lost and rebellious kingdom. Are you?" Her question, though sarcastic. Bellied genuine curiosity also.
"No, I do not empathize with them or with anyone else for that matter. I empathize with myself, for also letting power slip right through my fingers."
"Hmm.... Quite interesting. Power slipped through your fingers? I find that very hard to believe, considering the iron grip you usually have on a subject or an object." The older woman subtly poked and fished for more information. 'Shiny-shoes' stood up abruptly. Almost knocking over the stool on which she had been sitting.
"You are right on that one. I have to get back my captive and my control." This she declared a little loudly, with a poignant and distant look in her eyes.
"Poor thing, that must be." Chided the witch gently and with false playfullness. She wanted to know what had the high priestess distracted from the present mission at hand. "For to be a captive of yours is instant doom indeed. And your wiles, like tentacles may refuse to cease their stolen claims."
"Look who's talking," the high priestess harrumphed. "I daresay any would fare better in your clutches either. Would they?" Continued the younger woman as she swung around to leave. Not bothering or caring to wait for an answer.
"No they won't," agreed the witch scornfully. "But my goals are less sleazy and lust gratifying." She finished as her eyes began to glaze over, contemplating what her visitor might do next. And her reaction to an unforseen and unfavourable action.
"Lust indeed," chuckled 'Shiny-shoes'. "I cannot afford to loose control of that for sure." She declared, as she began to walk out of the coven. An image of Bronid indelible in her mind.
What's done in the bathroom....:
The housekeeper half kicked and shoved the wooden crates away from the table and towards the corner. As he attempted to make room for his own bags. The said corner, was now over stocked and brimming with professional and personal effects that belonged to his predecessor. He was trying to make a relatable space for his own effects. Though he had worked very closely with Methus, and served him faithfully. At least he believed he had served him well. They both had different styles of working and execution of that work. His now deceased master, had obsessed over every little detail. Until he ran himself right into a fever. And then he would become compulsive in his bid to follow through and acomplish his goals.
Not him at all, reminisced Rifra. He just knew what he had to do. Did what he had to do, then left what he did not have to do to work itself out. There was no need he often thought and Methus disproved, to complicate what was already simple. For example, at that moment he needed to write down what the produce man had delivered. It was to be a form of acknowledgement and receipt approving his payment. But the man was not due in two days. So he still had time to get to it. He was now in charge of his own time and pace. Also the counsellor of domestic affairs would have his workers pick up the records that Methus had kept. Archives that were now sealed off from unauthorized eyes.
The housekeeper walked over to the bulging stack. Methus had been a very private man. Even he as his assistant had, had restricted access to who the real man was or his personal information. Not that there was that much to know. Neither did anyone expect much either. Afterall technically, he had grown up and spent most of his lifetime in the palace. There could not have been much that happened to him. Nor could there have been that many changes. Which was just as well Rifra thought to himself. As the new housekeeper continued to poke and move things around in a bid to create space for himself. He noticed what looked like a very old and small parchment, stuck in the crevice of a wooden shelve standing at the corner of the room. The shelve was leaning on the wall, and some of the boxes were leaning on it. Though the far end of the dusty parchment was poking out, it still could have been easy to miss. Now that Rifra had spotted it, it was easy to see that it had been stuck in there for years.
The now curious man walked over and tugged gently at the stretched and dry parchment. Careful not to tear its already worn and pressed pages. As he carefully and systematically extracted the parchment from the fissure. Loosening it from its narrow and deep confinement. Dense and dust particles pervaded the still and quiet air. With labor crusted and blistered hands, the curious man opened the folded parchment. The now old and run ink, made the already illegible handwriting almost impossible to read. So Rifra strained his eyes closer as he placed the page right underneath his nose. The first part must have been torn off or just missing. But he began to read what he had;
'..... Ever since your father cleaned out all that blood pool from her room, he has not been the same. He could not sleep at night, without dreaming of three infant boys screaming at the top of their lungs. Then as always, one of the boys fierce and determined would knock out the other two. The day he finally told me about this torment, was the day his heart seized. He died two days later as you children know. I myself do not know how long I will live after I write you this letter and all that it entails. But my son I beg you. Take this advice from your possibly dying mother. Grant me this last wish even on my death bed. Stay away as much as possible from the queen mother's business. Your father suspected that what may have transpired in that room that day......'
There was a knock on the door suddenly. "Who is it?!" The housekeeper shouted. Obviously irritated at the interruption, but careful not to project too much of what he was feeling. "My master the counsellor has asked me to prepare the crates of boxes, for moving." Came the answer from the other side of the door. "Sure. But hold on a moment, while I unlock for you." Said Rifra, as he headed towards the door. Walking, he scrunched the page he had been reading and then slid it into his pocket.
Saved by the maid:
The young woman hurriedly hid the sleeping baby behind the bulrushes and sped back to the palace. She knew she had a very short time before the mid-wife came back for the child with the men. After the gruesome massacre, they had been unable to locate the child. So they went to pick-up their informant and accomplice to finish what they had expected her to do a long time ago. The young woman had heard her when she conspired with the hired killers. And had instinctively grabbed the princess from her infant's room. She had then gone to look for her mistress the queen, only to find her in a pool of her own blood. She tried to drag the dying woman out too, before the killers returned to finish off what they unknowingly left unfinished. But the royal beauty had insisted she run with the child.
"NO!" She protested, as the young maid struggled to lift her wounded and nearly limp body. The fatal wound from a knife stab, gaped as blood rushed unbounded.
"Take the child and run." She managed, as her breath slowly and systematically ebbed out of her dying soul. "And take the bag also." She whispered, slowly pointing at a chair standing right next to where she lay on the floor. "It is for her," she finished. As her eyes rolled back in death and lids closed to a world of vileness and treachery. The maid heard the returning, menacing and advancing footsteps from afar. She laid back on the floor, the dying head that she had been cradling. Grabbed the bag that the queen had indicated and ran back towards the wood, where she had hidden the infant princess.
The wealthy merchant and warrior stumbled over dead palace guards as he frantically and woefully searched for his wife the queen. He had heard rumors of an invasion, as he and his army had headed to war. He was a valiant statesman and lived by conquest. Their destination had required a four day journey, and they were already two days into it. After the fatal news got to him. He dejectedly, along with a few trusted comrades sped back to the kingdom. They had covered two days of travelling in a few hours short of a day. Chariots were broken down, horses exhausted and men wearied to the bone. But on they sped anyhow. Yet fate would have it, that with all their desperate efforts. They were still too late.
Now he held his already dead wife in his hands as he wept bitterly. Her blood clamped hair brushing against his jewel studded breastplate. An earned regalia of valiance, armour of opulence and distinguished rank. As he sat there weeping, life for him had stopped also. He would sit right there holding her he thought, until death claimed him as inconsolable grief. Maybe, those that stole the beautiful light in his life. Might come to take him also. Why not? They had taken everything that mattered from him. Surely his baby daughter was dead also, if her mother suffered such a feat. "Into the woods, my lord...." The slur though faint, was still audible and clear. The grieving merchant turned instantly towards the source of the voice. It was one of the queen's guards, also fatally wounded during the invasion. He too lay on the floor, clinging to his last breath.
"The maid," he heaved with difficulty as blood spurted from his mouth. "She took the princess into the woods...." The great merchant dropped his wife's dead body and moved to grab the slumped and dying guard. "Where did you say?" He pleaded, as he slightly shook the guard whose eyes were closing as he was slipping away. The desperate father felt guilty for not letting the dying man have his final moments quietly. "The woods...." He said finally as his eyes flickered and shut in rhythm with his last breath. The merchant turned the dead mans neck to read and note the name on the tag hanging there. Then he tore out of the palace, racing with the wind to the woods.