PART TWENTY-SEVEN:
A session-al strife:
Leaflets ruffled, as feet shuffled simultaneously to the rhythm of preparation in the magistrates’ chamber. The ruling council and aides alike, rushed to put finishing touches to the days agenda and program. The normal activities were being operated at an unusually heightened level this day, for a very good reason. The king and the prince were expected to be in attendance. The previous evening, a make shift throne had been moved into the chamber. It was a smaller but considerable replica of the original.
Tufad the fourth magistrate inched closer to where Dezen the sixth magistrate sat moping in obvious angst. Tufad’s move was anything but an attempt at a familiar camaraderie. In fact, the relationship between them these days was yet to be defined. If at all it had ever been comprehensible. Though both men were apparently at a constant rapport between themselves, than with the others. They were also both aware of an unmistakably growing strain between them. At least Tufad believed there was.
He had known Dezen, since their youth. When they were both studying at prestigious learning unit in the province. An institution that trained future leaders and rulers. Admission was attainable in two ways alone. At least two that were of general knowledge. By merits or nepotism. Tufad was fortunate to be of the former. The sixth magistrate’s father was also the sixth magistrate at the time. And it was an expected and known fact that his son would follow in his footsteps. And thus quite easily be admitted into the institute.
“I have a quick question for you.” Started Tufad, as soon as he was within an assumed earshot for Dezen. He was somewhat tentative, about breaking into his comrades perpetual moodiness and angry demeanor.
“How quick is it?” Responded the other magistrate. His question, released from a voice laden with irritation and something else Tufad could not really place. “As you can see,” he continued without turning to face his friend. “The session is about to begin. Or do you no longer revere and respect its process and significance?”
Tufad balked at his comrade’s sarcastic remark initially. But quickly recovered and resolved to continue with his intended speech.
“A quick question, hardly affords the luxury of time that a lengthy ‘emergency’ excuse demands. Nor does it garner as much moments as waiting in a swapped seat with no explanations offered. Not to mention other time consuming and session related requests, that I have had to endure from you ‘dear’ friend.”
Dezen chuckled in derision, careful that his voice was lowered and then spoke.
“The time it took to whine and list your differences and issues, would have been sufficient to put forth your question. And then maybe, just maybe. Leave enough seconds for an answer or reply from me. If at all that were even necessary. But no Tufad. You had to bare your complaints at a day that I have absolutely no patience for it. Now as you can see,” he made a sweeping motion with his hand towards the front panel. “The meeting is about to begin.”
The fourth magistrate did not respond immediately. The real fact was that the session could not begin, until the king was received and seated. And so far, no word of the monarch’s arrival or approach had been announced. Also he was temporarily distracted by the strange reddish black blotch marks than ran down the side of his angry comrades face. They appeared like burn marks. However, he was certain for sure that it could not have been a result of his friend cooking. And definitely not the result of a friendly camp bonfire.
On a different day and in another circumstance. With a different conversation and an appropriate location. He would have asked his so called friend what had happened to his face. But not today, he would not. And definitely not in the magistrate's chamber. Nevertheless, his original and intended question he would still deliver. Not because his inquisition was necessarily suitable in their present setting. But because it should not have to wait too long. And moreover, Dezen should have no problem preparing the right and definitely sufficient answer.
Bracing himself and refusing to be deterred by his comrade's bullying tactics. Tufad cleared his throat and went ahead to present his facts and ask his question.
"I got home yesterday to a sleeping, tired and unfed daughter. When I asked where her mother was, she said she had left her in the main palace garden talking with you. What if I may ask and I must ask. Were you discussing with my wife for two hours at the negligence of our child?"
A sour and burn identity:
The sorceress-in-training watched as the soothing oil she poured on the blistering burn wounds, trickled down slowly to the floor. There was still more to be poured. Then when she was completely done spilling, she would wipe the oily pool away. This had been her routine for the past three days and it appeared to be working. At least when her mistress and now patient sat still, for most of the slimy but healing douse. Even better was the fact that she was not complaining about the method of administration..
"Don't forget to check on the frozen item again." Instructed 'shiny-shoes' with a raspy voice and thankless attitude. As she moved the young woman's hands away from her legs. By the 'item', she meant the embalmed body of her dead friend. Burned to a crisp and loosely held together by some preservative leaves. This line of action was not in respect to the dead by 'shiny-shoes'. Nor was it in anyway, a need to contain and honor beautiful memories of a fatally lost friendship. Rather it was the need to conserve the internal organs. Body parts, that had somehow escaped being charred. Organs that she would use at a later time and date. Possibly after she was wholly recovered from her own non-fatal wounds.
As for the other loss of life she experienced. A warped sense of justice and entitlement did the trick for her, to be able to move on quickly. She would have to find other means of entrapment. Another devious stratagem, for that one that dared to defy her.
The blisters that spread across her body, concentrated densely in her rear region. It was how and where she had fallen, when she tripped into the raging fire. That made it even more difficult to sit, lie down or do anything else. That was also the reason she constantly and eagerly longed for the night. Though occupationally a creature of the night and darkness. Her mental and physical dependence on it now was anesthetic. She desperately waited, for the hour the sun began its transient departure.
Then in the following pitch-black hours. She would lay down physically, with great difficulty of course. Falling gradually, into a chant induced trance. As her spirit rose up, to roam with the likes of a hidden and forbidden world. Hovering over her physical restriction, which was a fleshly body. She replayed the frustrating feeling of being held back, by its proneness to ailments and destruction. Whenever possible, she would bask in the exhilarating feeling and temporary liberation of an outer-worldly trespass. Howbeit consequential and debilitating.
Lowering the feet she had been resting on a wooden stool, as her nurse had worked. She attempted to stand on its scorched surface and shaky disposition. The skin on her legs was seared and drawn at the same time. Threatening to spread upwards, towards the rest of her tired body. A body that was worn partly from an accidental inferno. And mostly from perambulating from a given world to a forbidden one.
After observing her legs and its state. She looked down at her stomach. Rubbing it roughly for a split moment, it almost seemed to have come alive. Now its hollow emptiness echoed in the recess of her twisted mind. Her emotion remained unscathed. As there had always been a disconnect to the life she had planned to bring forth. But the disappointment she experienced, felt more like a repeated slap to her abilities. How easily her plot and plan had gone up in flames, literally. Not to worry. She would prepare herself for a formidable comeback, she mused. She would first recuperate and then relaunch. She was ‘shiny-shoes’ after all. A fearless and undeterred sorceress.
The entrance of a few more of her workers into the room, broke into her wandering but defiant thoughts. She had summoned them, for the first time since her return. It was imperative, that she set certain things straight before it was too late. They needed to know that she was still in control and had in no way relinquished her reign. She scanned the room at the unreadable but submitted faces. They neither showed sympathy nor otherwise. And it made no difference to her anyhow.
“No one can know of this accident, or the current state that I am in.” Her voice was strong in its command. And her eyes flashed in daring coldness to any that might disobey her instructions. Her nurse and assistant nodded repeatedly. As if on behalf of the few representing the coven in the room at the moment.
“Absolutely no one!” The booming rage in her voice was unmistakable. As the following silence drove her point home. Not before however, one distraught and scared soul slipped out of the room unnoticed. His heart pounding profusely. Dreading a possibly deadly punishment.
.