Prime, p.16
Prime, page 16
The young king put on his finest purple cape, swept out of the room, and watched each entourage enter the central atrium.
One face in the crowd caught his attention.
“Who is that?” he asked the Minister.
“That is the Queen of Lisanair, Highness.”
His eye never wavered. “When do I meet her?”
“Tonight, at the reception, unless you wish to change the plans.”
“No.” He cut his eyes toward his aging and nearly useless Prime Minister, “Make sure nothing goes wrong.”
“Yes, Highness.”
Later, at the reception, he stood in the receiving line. First in line, the pinched and sour old King of Dúnbarnaugh, whose limp was as debilitating as his accent.
How could this fool have thwarted my army for so long?
After too many meaningless faces from the Dúnbarnaugh contingent, the trumpets announced her arrival.
The young Queen floated across the ballroom, and her gaze locked on his.
He bowed. “Welcome, Majesty.”
She nodded, “Thank you, Majesty.”
Something in her eyes made him want to explore many possibilities. He was about to ask her to join him for a drink when something was wrong.
One member of the Dúnbarnaugh contingent was there, and then not there. Had his eyes played a trick?
“Did you see that?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
She stared across the room. “A man was standing there, and then–not.”
He’d heard rumors of magic but shrugged it off as propaganda.
The young king bowed to the young Queen. “Excuse me, but my Prime Minister needs something.”
The King grabbed the old minister by the sleeve. “Tell me you saw it.”
“The Old King wanted us to see it, but why?”
Why indeed? With such a weapon, the king could rule in a matter of days. He grew giddy: the enemy is even more stupid than expected.
Later that evening, the dinner conversation buzzed with the spectacle of the evening. The young king could not take it any longer. He stood and raised his glass, “A toast to his Royal Highness of the Southern Kingdom, and I salute your most excellent magician.”
The old King slowly stood up and raised his glass. “I salute you for this fine feast.” He looked like he was going to sit when, as an afterthought, “And I have no magician.”
“Please, good Sir. Enlighten us.” A smattering of polite applause encouraged the request.
“He - is my Messenger.” The old King took a long moment to put down his goblet, to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “We have held many secrets for too long. Secrets that lead to distrust and destruction.”
Many people nodded, including some on his side of the banquet hall.
More names for the list.
The old King continued. “We have an ancient Amulet used by the Messenger. He can aid in times of disaster and council in times of strife.”
“Where is this Messenger?”
“Here,” said a voice across the room.
“And here,” said the same voice, now standing next to his King.
“May I present,” said the old King, “Messenger Tobias.”
Murmurings spread across the gathering.
The old King raised his hands, “Before speculation runs rampant, legend says I discovered the Prime Amulet in an ancient tomb. That is not true. We know nothing of its making or makers. It is one of a kind and very fickle.” He looked around the room as if he were teasing the audience. “The Amulet chooses the Messenger and will only function for him until his death.”
The old King took a deep breath and looked tired but continued, “Such a valuable item invites thieves, but the lucky ones died quickly.”
The old King stopped for a moment, made eye contact with many from the Northern and Western Kingdoms, and continued, “We discovered its functions only after years of trial and painful error.
“We have an ancient text, though much is in a lost language.”
The old man stopped for a moment and winced from a painful hip. “Now, I am sure many are wondering why we would reveal this, and why now? There are some in my kingdom who question my wisdom,” he smiled, “and my sanity.”
A small ripple of laughter crossed the hall.
“We were once one people and are now powerful enough to destroy ourselves.” He again paused for a moment. “If we don’t learn to live together, we might not survive at all.”
“With you as the one true King?” said a Western Kingdom voice who did little to hide his disdain.
“Thank you, young man, but no. We have had three rulers and three systems for a long time.” The old man gazed off, deep in thought. “Every time we near some solution, something happens; someone retaliates for some old insult or attacks to prevent a perceived threat. I don’t know which hurts more, the first death - or the 100th.”
The room was silent as several people in all three contingents nodded.
The old man shifted his weight and winced again. As if trying to ignore the offending joint, his face brightened, “I suggest a Ruling Council-” he made eye contact with the Northern and Western regents- “with each kingdom leading for one year, not as a ruler, but first among equals. I hope we become like three families living in the same building. Each running their household, with no one wanting to burn down their neighbor’s bedroom.”
Most from the Western and Southern kingdoms applauded. His people watched him, so we he did not applaud, neither did they.
One Kingdom is the solution, but you can’t pilot the ship of state by committee.
First among equals? Ignorant rubbish.
But they outnumbered the young king. He could soon find himself under the heel of their collective armies, led by that demonic magician.
A plan took shape, but he needed more information.
After dinner, the young Queen invited him to her table, but he politely declined; he had other fish to fillet.
He invited the magician, that Messenger Tobias, to his table.
“How long have you been this Messenger?”
“Several years, Highness.”
As Tobias was speaking, the young king heard something, but there was no sound.
The sensation clouded his concentration. He fought to control his thoughts. “How were you chosen?”
“We have a series of tests.”
The closer the young king came to the Messenger, the stronger the feeling, like it was calling to him. “Tell me, what other tricks can you do?”
“With all due respect, Highness, please ask my King.”
The call grew stronger with each passing moment. The young king forced his mind to concentrate. “You refuse a simple question. In my home?”
“No, Highness. My King makes his own decisions.”
“He will keep secrets from me?”
“Not from allies on the Council.”
“And if I chose not to join?”
“That would be unfortunate.”
“Was that a threat?”
“Highness, please forgive me. I am not a politician. Please talk with my King.”
The young king changed tactics. “You have one Prime Amulet?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“You have this Prime Amulet with you?”
“Always, Highness.”
“May I see it?”
He opened his shirt to show the shining metal and sparkling jewels.
Several people gathered close to look.
The young king fought the overwhelming urge to rip the chain from that nothing’s neck.
“May I hold it?”
“Um, I’m sorry, Highness, but I must refuse.”
With barely controlled rage, “How dare you?”
The Messenger didn’t move, despite the threat.
The young king was seconds away from killing the fool.
The Old King limped over. “Majesty, the Messenger can’t take off the Amulet for any reason. If he takes it off, he can’t wear it again.”
“Who would stop you?”
“That is a complicated question. We only know it is true.”
The young king took a few steps back, and the call diminished.
“I imagine you bring a great military advantage.”
The Messenger looked at his King, who nodded. “Not as much as you think, Highness.”
“Can you make amulets that heal?”
“We have tried.”
“You are a politician, Mr. Messenger.”
“Sir?”
“You speak and say nothing.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Your Highness.”
“One last question: how many people in your kingdom have these powerful amulets?”
“Not as many as we’d like,” said the old King.
Even after the Messenger went home, the Call never ended.
Over the next many months, the young king gave superficial approval to the Council and attended the meetings, but the Call gave him no peace, least of all in the small hours of the night.
He would have the power denied him.
One morning, he needed to clear his mind, so he took his hawk on a hunt. His eyes watched for lizards while his mind stitched together the fabric of his logic.
The bird lifted off and started circling overhead.
Lisanair and the South joined forces.
The bird veered to the right and dove, wings folded behind.
Together, the Dúnbarnaugh and Lisanair not only had greater military power, but they could overrule anything the Young King wanted. They offered subjugation or destruction.
No choice at all.
The hawk’s talons extended; the lizard never saw it coming.
Which is precisely what the other kingdoms deserve.
That evening, he ordered a raid on the Southern Kingdom to liberate the Prime Amulet and the Book of Amulets. Even if he couldn’t use the magic, he’d preserve the peace.
The raiders attacked with fifty men and came home with five. The highest-ranking survivor said, “Here is the book, Majesty.”
“Report.”
“We were inside before they knew anything. That Messenger and a woman confronted us, and they fought like demons. She dodged arrows and fired her crossbow like a machine. That Messenger...” He fought to find the words.
“Go on.”
“Majesty, I swear, I saw something blue come from his eyes. We lost twenty men before we killed the woman.” He swallowed. “Then the Messenger flew into a rage. He fired some... Red - it burned through men like a hot poker.”
“Say again?”
The soldier looked like he was going to be ill. “Please believe me.” The young soldier looked at the floor.
“Is that all?”
“Sorry, Majesty. We shot arrows and quarrels. They were killing our men three and four at a time. I got behind the demon and plunged with my knife, but something -green- blocked my blade. Before he knew I was there, the blade sliced his back, and he vanished. We found the book and came here.”
The young king contained his rage long enough to say, “Go.”
“Yes, Highness.”
When the soldier left, the King leaned over to the Prime Minister. “Have them executed, as an example.”
The Minister gaped. “Highness?”
“Failure - is not - tolerated!”
The Minister seemed frozen, then found his wits and backed out.
The young king held the book in his lap. On the cover was a pale imitation of his prize.
He spent the next few days poring over the pages, but the young king had no stomach for ancient history: he wanted his property.
Over the next few weeks, reports came in of a joint army mustering between Dúnbarnaugh and Lisanair.
The young king did not care: if he were successful, he could destroy those puny armies with a thought.
He built a lab and brought in the best minds of his kingdom. He worked beside them day and night, stopping only to eat a bite or nap for a moment.
The Book gave several descriptions, and they created a few amulets, but nothing like the Prime.
The young king invented new processes, most resulting in failures, which led to experimentation.
After one spectacularly failed try, he decided on a bold, brilliant move: combine the successes into one.
Everything was ready, and he started construction.
He waited until the cover of darkness to avoid any sunlight contamination. The pieces came together, and he felt the increasing power with each new trait.
He felt the beginnings of a call.
In the dark hours, his eyes grew too heavy. He fell asleep stirring a beaker and nearly caused a fire.
He had to lie down, only for a moment.
He awoke to the smell of something burning.
What is that?
The new amulet was smoking.
He grabbed a sand bucket but stopped.
It wasn’t smoke.
A small cloud roiled and rotated over his new amulet.
He heard a call, but not like the Prime.
This was wild. Almost primal.
Giddy with excitement, he walked over and extended his hand toward the revolving cloud.
The cloud struck like a snake, engulfed him in a blink, and every inch of skin burned with the flames of a thousand suns for half a second.
The cloud became his blood. With a detached awareness, he noticed his legs painlessly dissolve. His hands and his arms disappeared.
He laughed to keep from screaming.
When the process finished, he saw in all directions at once.
The tiniest creature buzzed outside his far window.
Three different horses were in a stable on the other side of the castle: he smelled them.
He could float to the ceiling.
Could he still speak?
“Guard?”
The sound was like the wind.
The Guard walked in and screamed. The young king watched two tendril-like clouds grab the man and snap him like a twig.
He should have mourned the Sergeant’s death, but the ease of the kill dominated his thoughts.
And who ordered the strike?
As each moment passed, the difference between the young king and cloud diminished.
They joined.
Merged.
Became One.
He noticed a decision and flew out the window.
He floated above the castle wall, then just meters above a guard.
“Evening.”
The poor man nearly shot his crossbow.
The King traveled to the homes of those subjects who had clapped for that idiot Southern King and gave them a chance to explain.
They either screamed or could not speak, so he left them cooling in the night air.
He was flying west when some part of him thought of the Queen. He experimented for a moment and found greater speed if he assumed the shape of his favorite hawk.
He traveled above the treetops, floating, flying, with the freedom he never knew he always wanted.
Something tried to tear into his ‘neck.’
A black tendril swatted the nuisance, and feathers flew everywhere.
His new mind was thinking of other business...
Feathers?
He floated to the ground and found a broken bird.
A hawk.
No, his hawk.
The bird wasn’t dead.
The One reached out to scratch its neck, like he’d done dozens of times.
It snapped at him, and before the young king could tell it to relax, tendrils crushed the skull.
Part of him gasped.
Another asked, Why are we on the ground?
He flew over the countryside to Lisanair. He assumed human form and floated, a silent black cloud against a black cloudy sky.
Which was her room?
Servants were so predictable, and even better, her window was open to let in the night air.
“Good evening, Majesty.”
She sat upright. “Who is there?”
“We have much to discuss. I saw how you looked at me.”
“Show yourself!”
“All in good time. You are the only one worthy of what I can give.”
“Who are you?”
“How can you not know?”
She didn’t answer.
“Who else could you consider?”
“Guards!”
Tendrils ended them as they entered.
He oozed into the light.
She gasped, but she didn’t scream. “What have you done?”
He zipped to the other side of her bed in the blink of an eye.
“You and the old man must have had a great laugh.”
He zipped back toward the window and slowly floated over the end of her bed, extended a wisp of cloud, and caressed her face.
She flinched.
A tendril snapped her long, lovely neck.
He dropped her to the floor like an old towel. “You, of all people, should be more polite.” He leaned closer. “Let this be a lesson.”
He turned his thoughts to that idiot in the Southern Kingdom
The old fool is finally receptive to the inevitable?
He assumed the hawk-shape again and flew out the window as the first light of dawn warmed the horizon.
He flew higher to catch the sunrise.
The first ray of sunshine kissed a tip of his wing.
Blinding pain.
Falling.
His wingtip now a bubbling, oily mass.
He needed shelter.
Like an animal caught in a paw trap, he amputated the reeking, bubbling section.
Still in pain, but no longer in agony, he found an old farmhouse, slipped through the window, and the old woman’s gasp lasted only a second.
He waited out the day, and when night fell, he flew toward the Southern Kingdom.
He soared over the castle.
He heard every word.
There. The old King was talking about the young Queen.
He moved closer.
A blue beam cut through him. It stung, but had no lasting effect.
He searched for that piece of lint, that imbecile Tobias.
The One remembered something about red beams and decided not to take any unnecessary chances.
He changed to his cloud shape and collected several peasants.
