by Scott Taylor
‘When is my grandson coming to visit?’ he asked the woman, the carer who was at that precise moment folding the linen from the washing basket.
She shrugged.
‘When was it he came last?’ he asked.
‘How should I know?’ she answered, oblivious to the old man’s sudden state of mind. ‘I don’t live here.’
The old man was silent. Maybe it was too insignificant to tell, but Tør was certain he could see a tear trickle down the old man’s face.
‘There’s an old human saying’ the ambassador stated sombrely: ‘never put off today what you can do tomorrow.’
Fabian was taking in every word, every expression, and every emotion. He began to fathom in his own mind at least what was going on here. It was obvious really. The old man was lonely. He was getting on and the fact that he was surrounded by strangers, the professional type that retained no family ties and no emotional ties did not help matters either.
Tør shook his head regretfully.
‘We, that is, my father and I maybe only visited 3 perhaps 4, or 5 times a year, and then only during holidays. Business always kept my father from visiting more often.’
‘I suppose you lament that…now’ Fabian offered.
‘I regret a lot of things, most of which were situations out of my control. But, you know…If I had been a little older I might have come here on my own. It would have made this old goat’s day.’
Fabian folded his arms as he stepped nearer to Tør.
‘I don’t wish to sound insensitive, my friend’ the prince spoke, resting his hand gently on Tør’s shoulder, ‘but he’s a facsimile, the past, you have told me this yourself. You and I, we are the now. We’re alive. We are real and we are part of the present. If anything, we should try to leave old regrets where they belong: in the past. Don’t you think?’
The emissary smiled broadly. Maybe this medieval boy, this young man of limited learning was beginning to understand.
‘You’re right…You are so right. I cry for ghosts. I lament for holograms that are no longer the living. It is true. And I talk about things that are really not important any more.
Fabian noticed the timer on the top of the cube as it started to turn counter clockwise, and quickly remembered to close his eyes.
When he opened them again he quickly realised he was outside. Only this time it was day. And the world still appeared strange and alien to him. He was sitting on some sort of chair at some form of table. The frame was made of metal, and the flat surface was composed of a polished glass. In the distant backdrop rose a Gothic cathedral which stood in contrast to the structures surrounding it.
‘Where have you brought us now?’ Fabian queried.
‘This, my friend, is the city of Paris.’
The happy laughter of some children playing mingled with the sound of people talking, recounting the day they had enjoyed with friends or loved ones. Fabian saw an old man reading a news paper at another table, and then began to observe a couple kissing. But it was the two young men who walked by, hand in hand, and very much in love that turned Fabian’s head. That was probably the first shock, the first revelation, an epiphany that hit him more than this alien environment, more than the technology or magic that Tør had conjured from his so called holographic cube.
Open mouthed, Fabian looked at the ambassador with a huge question written all over his face.
‘I see that that image has moved you’ the ambassador noticed. ‘I see that this has been a secret longing you have grappled with, for how long I cannot say. It is understandable that you would be pleasantly shocked considering the sheltered life you have led.’
The two men sat down and ordered drinks from a table waiter. As the attendant walked casually away with their orders, the two young men began to drink in the sites. This city was full of amazing locations, filled with fervour and infatuation. Fabian watched intensely as the two male lovers held hands, looking deep into each other’s eyes, and drew nearer, moreover they began to kiss. Strange that no one else seemed to batter an eyelid. Fabian was captivated by their apparent brazenness.
‘No one thinks this is strange, two men walking openly hand in hand? No one is giving it a second thought!’
‘And why should they?’ Tør asked.
‘I don’t know—because it isn’t normal?’
‘I'd spare you the cliché of having to ask you the question: what is normal? Normal is whatever feelings you have. There is nothing more natural than love. These two men love each other. Only a fool would question otherwise.’
Fabian was silent as he glanced at the two guys.
Tør was sombre as he read the changing expressions on his host’s face. Finally he could see. He began to speak thus,
‘It must have been so restricting for you: knowing you had these feelings, but not knowing how to express them, or not knowing if you should dare. You must have believed these feelings were nothing more than an irregular fancy. Especially when no one around you seemed to harbour the same feelings, but it’s true, there are indeed places, people, things that you could not even imagine, and, yes, anything is possible. Close your eyes.’
As he heard these words, Fabian did what he was told, feeling the ambassador’s breath, in close proximity, upon his skin. Present sounds seemed to disappear and were quickly replaced by a strange rhythm, a loud beat, performed by a number of musical instruments he could not identify. Even the aroma in the air had changed dramatically. He coughed. The air was thick with smoke and was dry. When Fabian finally opened his eyes he was standing in a room full of people. The only lights that were available seemed to rock and gyrate from secret compartments in the ceiling above them.
People’s bodies were moving to the music, and even more disconcerting was the fact that Tør had his arms looped over Fabian’s shoulders in the most romantic pose. He felt a sudden rush of conflicting emotions.
‘Don’t be frightened’ Tør told him. ‘Let me be your guide. Look at my eyes.’
The moment Fabian looked directly at the object of his desires he immediately tensed.
‘Loosen up. Come on. Look, if you are half as curious about life as I know you are you’re going to have to loosen up a bit. Watch me. Watch my feet.’
‘If…if this is just an illusion’ Fabian stammered. ‘Then we are still in my father’s arboretum. What if someone sees us like this? What if my father sees us?’
‘No one is going to see us. Don’t worry. No one will come into the arboretum, and no one is going to find us. Everyone is at the celebration.’
Overwhelmed with conflicting feelings, Fabian decided to do as he was told. He stared down at Tør’s feet and followed his steps.
‘You see. Now you’re getting it! Now look at me.’
That final requisite turned out to be fatal. At that very second, as their eyes locked on each other, Fabian felt stirrings that suddenly begged those barriers to fall. Their lips met and the requisite climax culminated with a passionate kiss. The sudden adrenaline rush caused the most unexpected thing to happen. It was terrifying only to Fabian because he had noticed it. The object of his desire had his eyes shut and therefore was unaware. But Fabian's eyes began to turn blood red. He felt it, almost similar to the sensation he had discovered earlier that day in the woods when he came upon the child and the carnivorous plant.
Yes, the dragon within was feeling the Adrenaline too. He had to hold the monster back somehow. He closed his eyes tighter than before and Tør suddenly felt the tension in Fabian's muscles. Their lips parted and Tør could see that Fabian was struggling, though against what he could not say.
With a voice barely audible, Fabian said,
‘Y-You never told me what happened to your world.’
This was random. But what seemed arbitrary in this case was only a disguised, if a slightly agitated attempt to hold the demons back, to stop the dragon from surfacing.
Panic ensued, though Fabian did his best to conceal it.
‘Does it
matter?’ the ambassador said, looking at him oddly. ‘I just didn’t wish to spoil this moment.’
His skin perspiring, Fabian merely regarded the ambassador with a look that demanded an answer. Tør confessed that he was confused by the response of his host.
‘Tell me what happened’ the prince demanded, as he backed away.
‘Tell me!’
Confused by this unwarranted outburst, Tør finally realised that this whole experience must have been overwhelming to say the least, especially to one who was uninitiated.
‘My world died’ he said, finally. ‘It died because even in a world of promised beauty and an abundance of liberty there are monsters. Monsters consume fire until their very nature consumes all within their path.’
Suddenly the holographic world around them began to melt away. It took a small while for Fabian to remember that it was just an illusion anyway, and that they were still in the arboretum under the stars.
The two stood there for a minute before Fabian could sum up the courage to tell him,
‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘For showing me that world. For showing me that there is much more to life than the confines of this place. Do you know what? My father never once let me travel out beyond those woods. If I tried he’d always send his guards in after me to drag me back in disgrace. Life here isn’t exactly perfect’ Fabian added.
The prince thought hard about what he was going to say next.
‘I don’t feel as though I fit in here. I don’t quite know how to say this, but I feel alone here. My father is always abrasive towards me. He has been ever since my mother died. Yesterday I…I decided to escape and found myself being escorted back without even a thought for my personal needs or motivations.’
It was at this point where Fabian felt he had said too much and should shut his mouth. This certainly wasn’t very professional, and these were indeed complaints unworthy of a prince. He looked down at the ground, finding it difficult at that precise point to make eye contact with Tør. Despite his misgivings however he continued,
‘I…I feel like I don’t belong anymore. I feel like I am a bird that has somehow outgrown the cage, but is not permitted to leave. I’m sorry. I’m not making much sense. I admit I’m not as eloquent with words as you are.’
Tør showed no sign at all that he was going to snub the prince for his honesty, or his inhibitions.
‘The world I came from’ he said finally, ‘was not shy of these desires and needs, not by any means.’
The Ambassador drew nearer to his host, making the prince feel a sudden rush of uneasiness.
‘I have seen the way you looked at me’ he observed, lifting his hand gently to touch a whorl of the prince’s hair, lightly brushing it to one side like a lover would. Fabian might have felt a sudden pang of shame were it not for the warmth he felt rising up from his loins. It was irresistible and felt forbidden, and for one overpowering moment he discovered that he was no longer just a solitary soul bitterly denigrated to loneliness, he was in love. It was a totally new experience, one which defined him in a different way than he had known.
‘Eloquence isn’t needed’ Tør spoke tenderly. ‘I recognised that you were not entirely happy the moment I saw you in the great hall. Sometimes our eyes betray a story our mouths dare not impart. You don’t have to explain.’
Fabian felt his heart elevate as they kissed.
◆◆◆
The king who had decided to take his momentary leave to enjoy the gardens surrounding his castle spied the two fraternising forms standing at a distance in the moonlight. René could barely believe his eyes. His son was in the arms of the ambassador! Though he did not act, could not act, for fear of raising the ambassador’s disapproval, and, consequently, harming any relations with the mighty and terrible Sinistrom. He backed stealthily away, choosing not to believe the evidence before his eyes.
Chapter 4
Night’s obsidian veil had already descended upon the southern hemisphere in which the dark citadel stood. Its stark black towers reached outwards toward the vile smelling ether, clogged by the curtain of methane and mist.
The red eyed enigma, emissary and adviser to King Kardas Vallor, unable to breathe the atmosphere, made his presence felt to all his reptilian warriors. He appeared before them as a projection, a mere hologram. Unlike his cold-blooded soldiers the enigma looked human, a contrasted specimen in a serpent’s nest.
‘I need to speak to Malecarjan. Where is he?’ the hologram inquired.
Tai Pan, a large snake-like warrior, garbed in a type of armour that looked curiously similar to a samurai’s Lamellar plating, rolled his tongue over his left eye, then snapped his lids shut, wiping any saliva that might have been left there. The vile henchman spoke thus,
‘My mas-s-s-ster is in recess-s-s and will not be available until the ris-s-s-sing of the sun, your Lordship’.
The enigma was not altogether satisfied with this answer, though he guessed it was to be expected.
Ophidia, Malecarjan’s callous warrior maiden, interjected before the displeased enigma/hologram could speak.
‘He is in recess-s-s and does not wish to be dis-s-sturbed. However, if it is urgent I will be more than prepared to pas-s-s-s the message on to his Lordship.’
Her show of daring was lost on the holographic man who stood before her. The enigma was master and his authority was not about to be challenged by any snake. Suddenly his eyes appeared to roll up into his head leaving only the whites visible. It was as if he was entering a possessed state of reverie or trance. The other serpents began to back away with fear as they had seen the enigma do this before, and recognised fully the consequences. As they watched, a red hollow fissure, almost like an immense vulva, began to open wide in the centre of the enigma’s forehead. From the hollow of the gash there was emitted the steady emergence of what could only be described as a parasitic being, a long, sinewy stem or stalk, which manoeuvred outwards into the light. Slowly, like an earthworm, or perhaps more like an antennae, covered in veins and pitted with red-tinctured flesh, lurched lazily and dripped mucous with each steady movement. A single bud at the end of the crimson stalk flowered into the shape of an eye, peering round, discerning the entourage of snakes standing cowering before it.
This single third eye, this protrusion, began to speak, using telepathy to convey its intentions:
‘I shall return for your leader, Malecarjan. I am power personified and I will not tolerate disobedience! Understood? We are on the cusp of a great victory and though this fact pleases me greatly, I find myself at odds with your lack of reverence. See to it this does not happen again.’
The servants clutched at their heads in a useless bid to ward off the discomfort forced upon them by this parasite.
The holographic image of the enigma spun round. As it did so it vanished rather like a ghost. Ophidia blinked and continued to stare at the spot where the enigma and the parasitic eye stood. Was this magic that allowed this man to simply come and go as he pleased? Or was it something else, something beyond her understanding?
◆◆◆
Malecarjan knew that his lord was unhappy with him. He too was unhappy and disdainful of his master’s rather egalitarian tactics. After all, what use was an army that had been bred for war if all they did was sit idly by as their masters signed treaties of peace? What good was a weapon if all it did was sit gathering dust? Malecarjan was just such a weapon, and he did not like the thought of being someone’s play thing. Though, instead of opposing the orders appointed by his betters, he resolved to meet with his sorcerer and adviser, the ancient witch known to many as Lady Creepsake.
The witch dwelled deep in the caverns beneath the dark tower. Malecarjan would request from her a suggested plan of action.
In her customary manner Lady Creepsake appeared in her monster form, first casting a shadow of her outline against the cavern wall. She herself could not be seen amidst the clutter, the mountains of gems, and statu
es, and flaming braziers that gave off a dim, orange flicker. The dark shape that was cast in the ginger glow appeared long, bulbous, an undulating silhouette with many insect-like appendages. This was Lady Creepsake’s true form. The giant centipede with her hundred gangly legs began to rear up on its haunches. Malecarjan could not see her physical shape, though could discern that she was putting on her robes from the shadow she cast, looming larger as she approached. At last, Malecarjan got the first glimpse of her. She was no longer a centipede. She was at that precise moment bipedal, or at least offering the appearance she was thus. She had six arms, a female torso and pelvis; a far cry from the multi segmented form of her counter appearance. This suggested that the hundred or so legs were either hidden by her robes or were otherwise concealed by magic.
‘Speak not, my Lord’ she told him respectfully. ‘I look within your soul and already I can see your determination. Thou harbour designs against our present master, though fear his wrath.’
The woman wore a veil which hid the mandibles beneath with startling ease. Only her seductive eyes peered through, glinting like two finely polished, emerald pearls.
‘I see now what you must do.’
Malecarjan’s appearance, much like hers, was concealed by both veil and magic.
‘Tell me, my lady. I need guidance’ he uttered.
‘No, all you need is stealth…Stealth and cunning.’
With a single gesture of her hand she cast a wicked spell of vision against the cavern wall. Betwixt the light that surrounded the vision a picture of Prince Fabian appeared. It was a depiction of mortal terror, framed by the many grasping vines which had entangled themselves round his arms and legs. Malecarjan watched as the vision unfolded.
‘This’ spoke the witch, ‘is a replay of the recent past. Now watch…’
The carnivorous plant in the vision was close to devouring the two would-be victims, only something truly astonishing happened. The prince began to go through a remarkable and shocking metamorphosis. In a matter of moments human flesh and pigmentation had given way to a fiery red tincture, and a tough shield of scales had at once replaced soft skin.
