by J. Naomi Ay
I went in and I sat upon the couch, waiting for what surely would come to pass. As I suspected, the needle and thread were never taken from the kit.
“You are a servant,” he cried, when he had done what he wished to do. “You are a Karut woman of no-account, yet you draw my eyes whenever you are near. I have watched you walk about the courtyard. I grow jealous when that old man goes inside your door. My cousin used you, and so shall I do the same.
“How come you, foolish woman? What is it about that you that you have captured the heart of two kings? Your smile is beautiful and it slays me as if I was a senseless boy.”
I had no answer, no explanation, for I was just as confused myself. However, in my heart, a seedling of a thought began to grow.
There was another man for whom this throne was destined, another who deserved it by virtue of his birth. He was a man who would love me above all others, and it was for him, I would endure all that Marko Korelesk wanted.
Each moment in this room, in this building, was part of a grand plan. I was here to ensure the doors flung open when his army knocked upon the gates. For my son, I would do all that was necessary to save his throne.
I parted from Kenan though it broke the old man’s heart.
“I understand,” he muttered. “It is something you must do.”
“I have no choice.”
“We all have choices. Sometimes, they do not appear to be so, but always, there is an option to turn another way.”
Kenan walked away and did not return to his posting at the front door. In fact, I was the last to see him, the last to watch him disappear amongst the roses in the garden.
My grief was short-lived for the King kept me distracted. When I was not with him, I was selecting clothes, purchasing jewelry, and setting my hair.
Although, I was not to be Queen, I was giving free reign and an allowance to do as I pleased.
“You are the queen of my heart,” Marko declared, pulling me close to his rotund chest. “But, I have chosen not to wed again after the death of both my son and wife.”
That was fine with me, for I did not love Marko even a little. Pleasing him was a dreadful chore, in which I would always close my eyes and dream of someone else.
Who? Certainly, not Pellen, nor Kenan, and there were no other lovers, save one. Only Mikal came to mind, and even then, it was hardly an act of love, but a duty of a young woman to her king.
Afterwards, as Marko lay in bed, he would recite a never ending litany of complaints.
“The people are fools! They do not respect me as they should. Why do they act as if I feed them all? Do they not have hands and feet with which they may work? If they want coins from me, they must join my army. Yet, the Generals tell me there is few men willing to fight and fewer still who are healthy or able to shoot a gun. And, if that wasn’t enough, they are refusing to pay the tithes I have imposed. Fortunately, I have camps where my work is done by Karut slaves.”
I would cluck and murmur false sounds of comfort, while my heart burned, for I had known those camps well. Did he forget that is where he found me only a few years ago? Did he forget that the blood of the motherland filled my veins, that I was one of those whom he scorned?
One day, the King came to me in a rage and no amount of comfort would calm his angry heart, as he stormed back and forth across the room.
“The Karuts! I wish every one of them dead. They have the gall to strike at our shoreline cities, burning them, creating chaos, killing those who dare to fight. Terrorists, they are! Do they think they can turn my country into ash? I will capture those foolish young men and all within my reign who dare to aide them. I will hang them by their necks outside these palace walls.”
Now, I grew fearful, and I wondered if and when he tired of me, would I also hang with them?
“I will kill that young one myself,” Marko declared.
“What young one?” I gasped, before immediately lowering my voice.
Disguising my alarm, I reached for my hairbrush and briskly, pulled it through my hair. Marko loved when my hair shone like polished gold. He would wrap his fingers around it, tugging it only a little too hard.
“A young fool,” the King waved his hand through the air, “not even fully grown. The Karuts call him their prince, their new MaKennah, even though King Rekah has no true born son.”
“A boy,” I scoffed, my voice choked and far too high, when finally I was able to utter a word. “Do not worry after a boy. You have an army with guns and trucks and ships, while the Karuts have nothing but swords and horses.”
Marko made a snorting noise and spittle flew from his thick lips. “I shall have him brought here to my palace and I shall see his body hanging from the flagpole in the courtyard. Like a flag he will be, and a warning to all. Let them see how I treat traitors who conspire against my reign.”
The autumn arrived again and with it fierce winter-like storms. The ocean pounded against the rocks and the seawall, as if it’s only desire was to break it down. Rain fell from the sky for days, intermingled with enormous rocks of hail. Within weeks of the end of summer, it began to snow, far earlier than ever before.
Then, the winds came, terrible gales that howled day and night. Unceasingly, they pounded the windows as if demanding to either come in, or blow the building down.
“The angels are angry still,” the maids of the palace whispered in the shadows. “Something terrible will happen soon. The winds foretell it. They always do.”
I agreed, but did not breathe a word. A dark foreboding washed over me, accompanied by a malaise that made me weak. Every morning, my stomach churned and rejected all food, leaving me to do nothing, but lay exhausted in my bed, until the hours before dusk when I managed to rise.
“Be ready,” Grandmother called from the back of my brain when I dawdled, unable to convince my feet to touch the floor. “The times will quickly change. The pendulum swings again, back and forth. Do not lay about like a weakling when you must be strong.”
“Hush Grandmother!” I snapped, just as a branch scratched against the window of my room. My outburst startled the maid who was straightening the fine silken sheets around me.
“Sorry, Ma'am.” She lowered her eyes, a blush creeping up her face. Surely, she thought me insane, addressing a wayward branch as if it was my grandmother.
With a half curtsy, suitable for a woman who wasn't quite the Queen, the maid disappeared into the closet to fetch a robe for me to wear.
There were little, save a robe that fit me well these days. Although in the mornings, my stomach rebelled, by the afternoon, I was famished and ate most anything.
I had added weight and my belly had grown round with fat. My skin and hair shone, such that everyone remarked how beautiful this new plump figure looked upon me.
Marko heard this and at first, he glowed with pride, but later, his mouth grew tight with jealousy for the compliments I received. In fact, it seemed as if daily his mood worsened, along with the weather. Each report of a Karut strike upon our cities filled him with rage.
He was sleeping little, I knew, for the storms were forever roaring just outside. If that were not enough, the perimeter of the palace was surrounded by people day and night. They begged for food and called for help, gathering about fires made in old tin drums, some demanding Marko's ouster, as if this was all his doing.
Coming upon me now while the maid was still in the closet, Marko stood before my bed and raised his hand.
“Why are you still lying about?” he roared. “Get up, you lazy Karut!” He struck me across the cheek, before turning away to pace across the room.
“Marko!” I gasped, tears quickly filling my eyes. My head swam as I made to sit upright, my jaw aching.
“Don't call me that, you Karut witch! Address me as your king and lord.”
“Why are you so angry at me, m’lord?” I begged. “What I have done to so displease you that you strike me, I, your loving and humble servant?”
“The Karut Pri
nce!” he declared, turning on heel to rush at me again. He came to my bedside and glared at me, as if he knew the truth inside my heart.
Although my blood pounded in my ears, I held my tongue and lowered my eyes.
“What of him?”
“I had a dream of him.” Marko's smile turned into an ugly sneer. “He came to me in my bed and with a knife he held to my throat, he told me he would return to claim his throne. Never!” Marko spun around. “I will kill him with my bare hands before he takes my crown.” Then, Marko hit me upon my head with such a force that I was thrown to the floor. He kicked me and spat upon me, cursing me, and all my brethren. “Soon, you shall see him and all his warriors swinging by their necks, for we have captured them, and will hang them from these gates.”
“No!” I wept, as Marko stormed away.
“Can I help you, Mistress?” the maid whispered, kneeling by my side.
“No.”
I refused to move. I refused to leave the safety of the floor. I had to think. I had to decide what my next course of action was to be. Surely Marko would kill me too if he knew who had birthed his enemy prince. I had to do something before the both of us ended up dead.
I needed to flee, but to where and how would I go in this condition when I could barely rise from my bed or walk ten steps. Was there anyone in the palace who would protect me, who would rescue me and my son?
“Grandmother, help me!” I called to the air.
“You are safe,” Grandmother replied. “Your protector is in your womb waiting for his birth. As to the other, send for the old man. Bid him bring the boy to your nephew who lives amongst the stars. Let him wait until it is time for him, for once again, the pendulum will swing back and forth.”
Chapter 23
Dov
We arrived on the shores of the Mishnese continent in nearly the same place from which Amyr and I had originally departed. It was a bittersweet reunion for me, returning to the country of my birth, the land of my fathers, but also the land I had fled.
We arrived in the night, swimming ashore from the boat, which immediately departed on sails as silent as the wind. Afterward, we hid beneath the docks, drying our clothes, resting, and praying that we would accomplish what we had been sent to do.
No prayers would come to my lips though. Instead, all I could think on was Amyr and his words to me. I was the phoenix, not him. I was the one would save my people and restore this planet. I wore this on my arm and carried this vision in my heart. This time, I was the master and he, my loyal servant. This time, I would be the king, not him.
We began by lighting a fire at the wharf, igniting empty buildings, abandoned fisherman’s shacks and piles of rubbish. Like a long fuse twisting and turning, our path of fires crawled across the city, the final point of detonation, still unknown.
From there, we spread outward setting blazes at every stop, so that by the time the winter came, Farku’s skies were permanently darkened by thick clouds. An acrid haze hung like fog across the entire region, despite how the winds might try to blow it away.
The King’s forces couldn’t stop us, for we worked quickly and disappeared long before the morning light. We were shadows in the dark, silent fireflies instantly stinging and flying away.
Each morning, we would rendezvous in the woodlands, recounting our adventures and planning the next, eating whatever we found and sleeping wherever we could manage to shelter.
Never did we lack for fire, even if the rain had soaked all our tinder through. Amyr could make fire in his hands, enough to light even the most recalcitrant torch.
“How does he do that?” the other boys asked me. “From nothing, he creates fire in the air.”
“It is said the Great Emperor had that skill as well,” Bear whispered. “Amyr is the MaKennah reborn.”
“He is not,” I declared. “He has said as much himself. I am the one who has returned to be the savior.”
Of course, they all laughed at this. Little Dov was no bigger than a child, while Amyr could have been the Great Emperor’s twin.
I showed them, though. I became the best firesetter of anyone. Amyr would give me a torch and like a bolt of lightning, I would race to my target and set it blazing.
I came to love the scent of smoke and relish the warmth of the white hot flames. Sparks drifting into the sky at night became more beautiful to me than a galaxy of stars.
Each time I set the first match, backing away to the shadows as the inferno rose, a thrill would race down my spine, filling me with a euphoric joy. The fire became my addiction, the flames an intoxicating drug that possessed my soul. I forgot about Lorinda. I forgot about everything except the compulsion to set the flames alight again, and each day became a trial while I waited for the night.
In the autumn when the storms raged as angry as if it was the height of winter, instead of returning to our hideout in the woods, Amyr took me into a town.
“Where are we going?” I demanded, watching my latest blaze recede from view. “Where are the others? Is this our new meeting place?”
At first, Amyr didn’t respond, although I saw a thin smile cross his lips.
“It is time you learned to love something other than fire,” he said, leading me into the house.
There, he left me in the care of a woman much older than myself and with a skill that made my fire-setting pale in comparison.
“We must leave. Hurry, Dov.” Amyr pulled me from a dream.
I had been asleep in a bed beneath silken sheets and blanket filled with warm soft down. It had been years since I slept in a bed as fine as this, one worthy of my grandfather’s ducal manor house, but with the added benefit of a beautiful naked woman by my side.
“Join us, Amyr,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Or, better yet, let me leave your little friend to another girl, while you and I go off to somewhere else.”
Amyr smiled and his odd eyes glowed.
“Next time,” he murmured, placing a cigarette upon his lip.
“My girls treated you well?”
“I am satiated.”
“You are never satiated,” she protested, sitting upright so he could see her magnificent breasts.
“Why have you come, Amyr?” I snapped, noting his hesitation. “Didn’t you just say that you and I have to leave?”
“I did.”
He nodded to me, before somewhat reluctantly, turning on heel. The door closed behind him, followed by his footsteps hurrying down the hall.
“Go on, child,” the woman called me, even though Amyr and I were nearly of the same age. She pushed me from the bed and so, quickly, I found my clothing and hurried from the room.
I felt taller. I felt older. I felt like I needed to light a dozen fires, after which, I would return to purchase another girl.
A few minutes later, I met Amyr in the doorway where he was finishing his cigarette. An old man stood in the street stroking the mane of an equally old mule. Behind them, waited a cart covered by a ragged canopy and filled with all sorts of goods, including skins, buckets of wheat and bottles of ale.
“Get in.” Amyr motioned in the direction of the cart. Then, he tossed his spent cigarette into the air, and immediately, produced another.
“What of the others?” I asked, climbing into the cart, lying flat upon the wooden slats, as the canopy wasn’t tall enough for even me to sit upright.
Amyr joined me, laying side by side, and we began to bounce to the slow, but steady rhythm of the mule’s gait.
“Last night, they were captured by the Korelesk army. They have been taken to the Capitol City where they will hang.”
I started to say we must do something, but caught my tongue before uttering such useless words. What could we do, set fire to the palace? Undoubtedly, by the time we arrived in this mule cart, our friends would be dead. It was only because Amyr took me to the whorehouse that I was still alive.
“You are the savior, Dov,” Amyr whispered, although I thought I heard a smirk in his voice. “
If you wish to do something, then, do it.”
I was. I was the firesetter. I was also the only grandson of the Duke of Kildoo. If I killed Marko Korelesk, whose claim to the throne was no better than mine, I could be King of Mishnah and King of Karupatani. I could be the new Emperor.
“We will burn down the Imperial Palace,” I decided.
Amyr laughed. “It is made of stone.”
“Then, we will sneak in and kill Marko Korelesk in his bed.”
Amyr shrugged and blew a cloud of thick gray smoke into the air. After which, he flicked away his cigarette and yawned heavily, rolling to his side.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” he said, almost instantly starting to snore.
I stayed awake plotting and planning what I would do. In my mind, I killed the King a thousand times. I imagined myself upon his throne, the Great Emperor’s crown of gold upon my head. I would declare Lorinda, the farmer’s daughter, as my queen, and Amry would stand behind me, always ready to repel any attack.
I wouldn’t need an army. Amyr, with the fire in his fingers and his foresight, would protect me better than a hundred men. I would reward him for this. I would make everyone treat him almost as if he was the king, but no one would forget that the savior, the new MaKennah was really me.
My bravado was short-lived when we arrived in the Capitol City the following week. Amyr and I left the carter at the river’s edge and walked the remaining distance to the palace. Snow had fallen the night before leaving the air so frigid it chilled my bones despite the heavy cloak and fur boots upon my feet.
Amyr was unfazed by either the cold, or the crowds of people in the streets.
“A coin to spare?” a boy asked me, holding out his hand as we walked by. I had none, but Amyr had a purse-full, although he didn’t share.
“Sorry,” I told the boy and every other one who asked the same, while thinking not long ago, I was just like him.
“Get over it, Dov,” Amyr snapped, replying to my silent thoughts, as we entered a crowd of people gathered around the palace gates. They were whispering amongst themselves, pointing and shoving each other closer so all might see.
