One particular summery evening, after he had finished with his daily imperial tasks, he headed to his bedroom in order to feed Brishava her dinner—she was now sixty-three years old and he sixty-seven.
A servant followed behind, delivering a golden bowl that contained chicken noodle soup with a small piece of white bread—that and porridge were the only two types of food her stomach could tolerate. Everything else, she threw up.
Baltor was halfway through feeding her this soup, when she weakly asked, “My husband, I have a question for you.”
“Yes, my love?”
“Actually,” Brishava said, “I’ve been wanting to know the answer to this question for a very long time now, but until now, I haven’t had the courage to ask it.”
“You’ve never been afraid to ask me anything before—don’t you know you can ask me anything?” he asked as he set the bowl upon the table next to the bed.
“Well, upon this one subject, I was afraid because of the ‘strange rumors’ I’ve heard about you over the years,” she said.
With a curious look now upon his face, he asked, “What is your question?”
After a lengthy pause, she extended her skeletal hand up until it began to caress his face. Finally, she asked, “Why is it that you still look exactly the same as the very day I met you? You are, after all, a sixty-seven-year-old man.”
It was Baltor’s turn to pause … finally, nearly a minute later, he confessed, “The truth of it all is that I am an immortal…I will never grow old, nor will I ever die. What other ‘strange rumors’ have you heard about me that you haven’t ever revealed?”
Instead of answering his question, she asked, “How did your immortality come to be?”
“It has been this way since before we met,” he answered evenly. “As for how it all happened, I cannot tell you, as I was sworn to secrecy by the one who made me into what I am…”
“I see,” she sighed. “Perhaps this is the reason I was never able to get pregnant, yes?”
“Correct,” he answered. As a guilty look suddenly crossed his face, he added, “I’m really sorry about that fact that you never got pregnant, despite the millions of times we tried. I know you wanted not only a child of your own, yet an heir to the throne.”
“That’s okay, my love,” Brishava said with a small smile. “I’ve had a very happy and full life spent with you—you’ve taken such good care of me, especially these last eight years! And you’ve done such a wonderful job with our empire.”
“I’m glad to know that, my beloved wife,” Baltor said with a smile.
A few moments later, she sighed, “Soon, my love, I will be dying… I can feel the last of my strength waning.”
“No,” he argued. “Don’t say that!”
“But it’s true,” she countered.
“I don’t want you to go!” he yelled as a couple bloody tears squirted out his eyes and splashed onto the blanket. Once he had regained control of himself a second later, he finally asked, “Would—would you like to become an immortal too?”
“If you had asked me that question right before my sickness,” she answered truthfully, “I would have immediately said ‘yes,’ so that we could literally spend eternity together. But look at me now—I cannot live forever the way that I look!”
“How do you know that you won’t become young, healthy and beautiful again?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he added, “After all, I once had a bad scar on my forearm from an arrow until I ‘became…’”
“Except for the medical fact that most scars fade away in time, but not all, I don’t know the answer to your question. But I cannot afford to take that chance because I look like an ugly skeleton, so the answer is no,” Brishava answered. “But promise me something, will you?”
“Anything, my love,” Baltor sighed.
“After I die,” she said, “and you find someone else, which I’m sure you will sooner or later, don’t forget about me, okay?”
“I promise you that I’ll never forget about my soul mate of soul mates—you!” he exclaimed. “And that ever since I’ve met you, forty-six years, seven months, and five days ago, I’ve never wanted or loved anyone else.”
“Good to hear that, my love,” said Brishava with a loving smile. “Good to hear that!”
“By the way, my wife, you didn’t answer my earlier question.”
“What question?”
“What ‘strange rumors’ have you heard about me?” he asked.
She said while looking away toward the wall, “Bah! Don’t worry about them—I’m sure that they’re not true…”
Realizing that he wasn’t going to extract the answer to that question from her, as he had learned over the years that she had quite a few stubborn traits, he finally sighed, “As you wish.”
After looking at the bowl of soup that was still sitting on the table, he asked a few seconds later, “Do you want any more soup?”
“No, thank you,” Brishava answered. “For now, I need to get some sleep—I’m very tired. Oh…I love you very much, my Baltor. Give me a kiss before you go.”
“Well, honey, I’m done with everything that’s got to get done today, so I’m staying with you for the rest of the night.”
“Okay…kiss me.”
After the two shared an endearing kiss, she closed her eyes and fell right asleep.
Baltor kissed her on the forehead, before he replied, “I love you too, my Breeze…”
Instead of calling for his assistants, he dressed out of his daily attire and into his pajamas, and fell asleep right next to his wife in bed with his arm lightly wrapped around her.
The following morning, he awoke from sleep, now facing the other way in bed—but as he turned to look over at his wife, he saw with ever-growing shock and horror that she was no longer moving nor breathing … she had died sometime during the night!
Looking beyond the ceiling and up into the heavens, he sat up in bed, and a few minutes later, he finally broke down, quietly sobbing out with a hell of a lot of pain, anger, and grief, “Trendon—Trendon Harrn! Where are you? It is I, Baltor, and I have but one question for you. Why couldn’t we have made Brishava an immortal long ago, like you and me? Where are you, damn it?”
No response is given from Trendon.
A few minutes later, Baltor screamed out, “Damn you to hell, Trendon Harrn!!!”
Even though Trendon didn’t respond, the guards outside heard their Sultan screaming with outrage, and immediately they did respond, kicking open the doors and running into the bedroom with weapons drawn!
After looking around the room for immanent threats, but seeing none, the guard-in-charge then looked over at Baltor, saw the blood all over his Sultan’s face and pajamas, and asked, “What the—are you okay, my Sultan?”
While covering his face with both hands, Baltor sobbed, “No, I’m not…your Sultaness has died…”
“Wh—why is there bloo—blood all—all over you, sire?” the guard dared to ask, though his words obviously came out all stammered because his heart was distressed and hurting over this new piece of news.
Not looking up, Baltor hysterically replied, “Don’t—don’t worry about it—just leave us be for now. I’ll let you know when to bring in the Sultaness’ handmaidens, okay?”
The guard asked, “Are you sure you’re okay, my Sultan?”
Baltor’s voice cracked a bit, as he snapped, “Yes, I’m sure! Say nothing of what you saw to anyone, ever. Now leave…”
Without another word, the guards exited the bedroom, closing the doors behind them.
Once Baltor had regained a control over himself, an unknown amount of time later, he looked back down at his wife’s body.
Gently he crossed her hands over her chest, and ever so softly he said, “Brishava, I am going to miss you so terribly much. Only now do I realize what I’ve lost now that you’re gone—after all, you are everything to me…”
A few moments later, Baltor cleared his throat, before addin
g, “I’ve heard the proverb that ‘time heals all wounds,’ yet will the emptiness in my heart ever be filled again? Will I ever know joy and happiness as I’ve known with you, my beloved soul mate, since the day we met in this very palace nearly a half of a century ago? If this saying proves untrue, will the eternity of life I’ve been supposedly blessed with be spent damned?”
Angrily now, Baltor swore, “Damn it—why did I not think to make you an immortal when you were young and vibrant? Because Trendon Harrn warned me that he would destroy us both into oblivion the very second I made you into a vompareus? Now that I think about it, I should have ignored his warning, so that I could have spent oblivion with you. It would have been a far better existence for the both of us!”
After taking a deep breath through his nose, he said, “But then again, I didn’t know you, when that once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity was given to me! When I made the choice, I did not consider for one single second the fact that I would meet you or all my wonderful friends that are dying one by one. Perhaps I hoped and believed that they would live forever like me?”
Perhaps a minute later, Baltor answered his own question, “Throughout the course of my sixty-seven years of life, even when I did see the signs of aging in my friends, I ignored them, thinking them like the common cold or flu… You know—something that would pass…and then, magically, they would become once again young and vibrant! I was wrong—so very wrong to think these types of thoughts… I’m sorry, my love of loves!”
Baltor began caressing both sides of Brishava’s cheeks with his hands.
Consolingly, he said, “You know, my Breeze, it’s too late to bring you back from the dead, but I will never forget the love that you and I shared…that will never ever die! I promise you that I will love only you forever, my beautiful wife…most likely, my only wife forever! I…I love you…”
Baltor slowly rose to his feet, walked into the pool in the center of the room, took off his robes, washed himself with soap and water, rinsed, retrieved a nearby towel, dried off, put on a set of clean robes, walked back over to his wife, and gave her one final kiss on the lips…
Once done, he loudly commanded, “Handmaidens! Prepare the Sultaness for the funeral tomorrow morning.”
Brishava’s personal handmaidens entered the room, all of who had been crying and sobbing outside the hallway upon having heard the news from the guards (also crying). Two of those six girls held a stretcher.
The other four girls delicately lifted Brishava’s body off the bed, and put her onto the stretcher. They bowed to their Sultan and then departed the room with sniffling tears of their own.
Baltor walked to the curtains, pulled them to the side, walked out onto the balcony, leaned onto the railing, and stared out across the palace courtyard from sunrise to sunrise, thinking very deep and hard…
The following morning, besides the entire city that had showed up to attend Brishava’s funeral, as well all the governors and nobles of the empire, Cheo, Thar, Humonus Jr., and his half-sister Rhea had also arrived … thanks to the messengers dispatched all across the empire.
Once everyone was assembled around Brishava’s gravesite outside the city, Baltor proclaimed, “Brishava will forever be my love, my wife, and my soul mate—our Sultaness. I know that you will all miss her, as will I—let us never forget all that she has done to make the Sharia Empire glorious. Right now, I have a song that I wrote last night, which I’d like to sing to you all now…”
After clearing his throat, Baltor began to sing with a baritone voice … every syllable he purposefully stretched out.
“The time is here,
For us to hear,
Her love so shines,
Let’s drink the wine…
She teased us best,
We laughed our jests,
Yet she taught us this,
Let’s enjoy our bliss…
These truths she’s shown,
We’re not a-lone,
Love binds us all,
Within our halls…
Now that she’s gone,
‘Cept in this song,
Only now we see,
We must be free…”
Everyone that had attended became utterly surprised and amazed to hear Baltor’s incredibly beautiful singing voice, as he had never before sung in public … every last woman, and quite a few men, cried.
As Baltor finished singing the last word in the final stanza, however, even his voice slightly cracked … it took him several more minutes before he finally regained his composure, while ever so forcibly fighting the urge to cry.
Cheo, now a venerable old man, gently placed his arm around Baltor’s shoulder comfortingly for only a second … suddenly tears began to spring from Cheo’s face.
While the unabashed crying took place, Cheo signed out, and Humonus Jr. verbally interpreted in Pavelian, “I, King Cheo, readily cry because my brother, our Sultan, cannot. All who knew Brishava not only loved her, yet easily thought of her as a precious sister—never shall any of us forget just how warm and gracious she was to all of us, from our first encounter with her, to our last. Surely she is in heaven now in the ‘colorful skies’ smiling down on us!”
Once Humonus Jr. had taken a short pause to catch his breath, he concluded, “Finally, I would like to say that we of the Sharia Empire will continue to loyal serve you—our truly great and powerful leader. Hail, Sultan Baltor Elysian XVth!”
The crowds went into an uproar crying out, “Hail Sultan Baltor Elysian the XVth!!!”
Looking back into the crowds, Baltor declared, “Thank you all…”
After taking a deep breath, he said, “I have a little confession I’d like to reveal to you now. You all may be wondering why I look so young for my age, even though I am sixty-seven years old. I will tell you the simple truth—as I told Sultaness Brishava prior to her death. I am an immortal!
“I will never get sick nor will I ever die. As you all know, I have built magical teleportation devices, and I have many other magical powers none of you know about, including the ability to read minds and to teleport entire armies. So if I was you, only think positive things from here on out.”
Most people gasp upon hearing that proclamation, though it didn’t surprise Cheo at all to hear that news—after all, he was all-too-aware that Baltor had never aged a day since they met, but never voiced his suspicions out of respect.
Baltor concluded, “One final thing that I’d like to add is that I will always be a just leader for you all—if you have a problem that cannot be reconciled with your neighbor, you can still talk to me about it on any Moonday. Thank you all for coming to my wife’s funeral. Goodbye for now.”
Following his words, Baltor, his friends, and his soldiers reentered the palace. As for the rest of the city of Pavelus, they spent the day in quiet reflection … most of the women and children cried. Even many of the men shed tears, as everyone loved, respected, and now missed, Brishava.
Over the course of the next fifteen years, Baltor learned, one by one, about many more friends that died—mostly of old age.
King Cheo was the next to go—nearly a decade later—at the age of eighty-one … he had died in his sleep in the middle of the night, yet on his “face of death” strangely remained a smile from ear to ear. Only hours earlier, during the twilight hours, he had commented to his son about just how colorful the skies had been at sunset.
Eight months later, Stormea died at the age of seventy, after having acquired pneumonia, which could not be cured.
Replacing him as the ruling-general was Mena, of whom had been commissioned to officer right after the “Dark Gnome Wars,” and steadily promoted through the ranks until she had attained commanding-general only four years earlier…
Three years after Stormea’s death, Humonus Jr. was the next to go at the age of sixty-eight, due to choking on a piece of meat while eating by himself one evening—surviving him were his two children, five grandchildren, and one great grandchild.
Foll
owing him in death six months later was Rhea, who died at the age of sixty in her sleep—surviving her were five children, eight grandchildren, and three great grandchildren.
The next to go was Thar, five months later at the age of fifty-seven, who died just like his father before him, of a violent heart attack that took his life later that same day—surviving him were one child, and three grandchildren.
Of course, hundreds more deaths occurred daily in Baltor’s empire for all types of reasons, mostly peaceful. Yet each and every single death of a loved one or cherished friend became harder and harder for this “immortal Sultan” to deal with over the course of the next century….
CHAPTER XXV
The day finally came when the last nation on the planet joined the Sharia Empire, still under the reign of Sultan Baltor Elysian the XVth.
Overall, it had taken this single man a grand total of one hundred fifty-eight years to make his “one world nation,” most of which had been “very peaceful and prosperous years.”
Baltor was now one hundred eighty-two years old, but strikingly looked no older than he was when he was twenty—whenever asked about his “fountain of youth,” he always replied, “I am an immortal. I will never grow old nor will I ever die.”
Three million elite soldiers of all ranks, as well a little more than forty-five thousand giant hawks, now served under his imperial command, many of whom he frequently trained with in his expert martial arts on a military fort that engulfed an entire small continent—complete with fortified walls, training grounds, barracks, mess halls, and command buildings. Every city in the world, of course, had its own military base.
He had personally designed this continent-sized fort seventy years ago, just in case of another massive dark-gnome army who teleported from another dimension with the goal to conquer his world. Thankfully, this event had not ever happened again, yet.
An equally impressive accomplishment for Baltor was the fact that thanks to his imperial laws of “peace, duty, honor, and glory for all,” poverty, hunger, and slavery had been eradicated!
BOOK II OF III: The Reign of the Sultan Page 42
