Origins(Prequel) (Island Of Zarada)

by Michele Evans

  Melancholy came over her as she uttered the next words. “The law states: ‘The first girl born after the second new moons of the Corn Year will inherit the throne.’ “Today, we recognize the next Sultana. As you know, this girl is named Henrita, and she was born five years ago. When she comes of age, she will be crowned the new Sultana.”

  She nodded to the guard by the door and a girl was led in, holding her mother’s hand. She had delicate features and a lovely disposition, her blue eyes bright and her pale hair freshly brushed. She immediately won the approval and delight of the Elders. When the girl had been led out, Undua closed the meeting and retired to her quarters to rest.

  Henrita grew to be a charming young warrior, obedient and kind, responsible and smart. When she turned seventeen, she was coronated Sultana. During the coronation, she was married to the man chosen to be Sultan. Three years later, they had their first and only child, Selexi.

  Soon after, Henrita’s husband died while on a merchant expedition. She never remarried and did her best to raise Selexi on her own, but even at four years of age, Selexi was proving to be a most difficult child.

  Unlike other girls, who cooed and sang as they played, letting their imaginations run free, she whined and fretted and abused her playthings. Even at her tender age, a penchant for deranged experimentation was already rearing its ugly head, and it disturbed her mother when each toy was heartlessly mutilated.

  Selexi was left with a nanny much of the time. She understood that her mother was the Sultana – that meant she was ruler of the island, which was very important. She didn’t mind though, because she didn’t care about anyone, not even her own mother. So when the Sultana left early each day, preoccupied with the business of planning for the future of our people, Selexi was perfectly content to have rule of the household.

  She sat on the floor now, examining the myriad of toys spread out in front of her – brand new toys which had just been delivered that morning. Her nanny sat opposite, ready to play. This was the eleventh nanny in two years; and being her first morning with the child, she was eager to please and make friends. “Here’s a fluffy one,” she said cheerfully, picking up a stuffed blue bird, and holding it out to the child.

  Selexi turned away from the outstretched animal. The nanny tried to engage Selexi with other diversions, but the child would have none of it. Instead, she concentrated on what permutations could be fashioned with her new specimens and began what was for her a ritual of dark delight – systematically breaking each toy into pieces. She giggled, feeling the power of creation pulsing through her veins like a river of ice.

  The nanny gasped. “Selexi, what are you doing, my dear?” She tried to take the toys away in an attempt to stop the dismemberment.

  Selexi screamed and clutched at the pieces, yanking them back from the nanny. “Let go!!” she squealed. “These are mine!! Mine!” The nanny managed to pull some toys out of reach and scolded her young charge, “This is no way to treat your nice new things. I’m sure your mommy would not like to see them being broken apart this way.”

  Selexi’s face boiled red with rage; her nostrils flared and her eyes bulged. “You don’t know what my mommy likes! She does what I say, and so will you! I don’t like you!!! Go away!”

  The nanny kept her patience. “Why Selexi, you made a rhyme! Say and away! Very good!”

  Selexi, indignant and impetuous, was momentarily stunned by the word “rhymes,” and her mind was churning to understood what she had done that made this thing called a “rhyme.”

  Taking advantage of Selexi’s silence, the nanny continued. “You see,” she said, turning to the dollhouse, “This doll goes up the staircase – here we go ... and who is there for her to play with?” She walked the doll around the colorful house. “Now, don’t be upset. These toys can last a long time if we take care of them and I’ll show you the fun we can have.

  “Oh, here’s another doll for her to be friends with! What a pretty face on this one, don’t you think? What shall we call her?” The nanny held up the newfound doll and waited for a name to be suggested.

  Selexi’s eyes narrowed. Ripping the doll that needed a name from the nanny’s hand, she jumped to her feet, and with uncanny strength, tore off the clothes, twisted the head apart from the body, then did the same with the arms and legs.

  Her grip on what was left of the poor doll was so tight her knuckles blanched. The nanny’s smile faded. Selexi’s feet were planted victoriously, her body rigid, and she knew she had beaten this nanny, as she had all the others. Holding up the torso, gaping with tattered holes, she laughed an evil laugh, a cackle of sorts.

  During this interchange, some of the fairies who lived in the castle had entered the room to tidy up. One noticed the nanny’s catatonic state and flew over, placing a tiny hand to her mouth so Selexi wouldn’t hear. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “This is what she always does. Every time a new nanny arrives, they throw out the old toys and bring in a whole batch of new ones. And then ... well ... you’ve seen the rest....” The fairy shrugged apologetically, winked at the deflated girl, then flitted back to work.

  The day dragged on. Selexi directed the dejected nanny to a high cupboard filled with glue, scissors, paper, needles and thread, pins of all kinds, clamps and other supplies. The nanny obediently carried these boxes to the play area, and then sat quietly, watching as her charge mutilated each toy one by one, forcing various pieces together in perverse combinations.

  The nanny recoiled in repulsion. All the joy she had felt turned to dismay as she witnessed the twisted inner workings of this otherwise beautiful little girl.

  The Sultana returned that evening; and the nanny, a meek look on her wan face, muttered a few niceties, then slipped out with a perfunctory wave of her hand.

  The Sultana recognized the look – pity mixed with revulsion. It was only a matter of time before this nanny would leave them as all the others had done.

  When Selexi, bursting with pride, showed her mother her hideous new creations, the Sultana instinctively shrank back, not wanting to see. But she so desired to be a good mother, she forced herself to look at the hideousness.

  This is my daughter, she thought. I love her, I do. In her desperation to share a special moment with the child, she affected a smile of encouragement. “Very interesting, Selexi,” she said, patting her on the head. As they sat down to dinner, she asked, “So ... how do you like your new nanny?”

  Selexi didn’t meet her mother’s gaze, nor acknowledge she had spoken at all. She was sullen and introverted, as was her usual mood. Her only happiness stemmed from mutilating her playthings. As soon as that was over, she went back into a state of brooding.

  The Sultana didn’t know the exact source of Selexi’s neurosis. Perhaps it was that she was an only child or maybe it was that she lived a privileged life of opulence in the castle, wanting for nothing, therefore developing no grati-tude, no connection to others, not even to her own mother. But how can a small child like that know she’s living in luxury? she wondered.

  Or maybe it was because she had no father? No, that’s not it. There are other girls in the village who suffered the same fate, but are normal and well mannered. Perhaps I should spend more time with her.... But she had tried that many times in the past and it never worked out as planned. Selexi, inflexible as the moons, would end up in a raging tantrum, screaming and throwing things, compelling the Sultana, in exasperation, to pass her off to a nanny or attendant.

  The Sultana believed she had done everything in her power to reach the child, but nothing had made a difference. In quiet moments she admitted the truth – Selexi is demented, she was born that way. She was honest with herself; however she didn’t foresee that Selexi would grow up to be a formidable threat to the well being of the Zaradians.

  As the daughter of the Sultana, Selexi had access to everything necessary to develop her terrible and brilliant mind, time and resources to concoct evil schemes and create terrible mutants no one would know of, until it
was too late.

  If Henrita had known that she was raising a dangerous nemesis, she may not have given Selexi so many freedoms. She might have stopped her daughter before she tried to destroy the world she and her ancestors had worked so hard to build. She could never have guessed that Selexi would ultimately partner with the Vindans to attack Zarada with an army of mutant beings she invented expressly for that purpose.

  Intalla, on Vinda Minor, had grown very old and feeble and, seeing his imminent demise approaching, prepared his granddaughter, Idocra, to take over for him. She was of the new generation, not as lazy and apathetic, but meaner and more vengeful, driven by an insatiable lust for power.

  Idocra was shrewder than her grandfather and intensely resentful of being pushed off the island she had loved so acutely. Under his tutelage, Idocra had been named Dictator and went right to work devising a plan to invade Zarada to kill all Zaradians. And when Selexi grew old enough, she became the tool with which Idocra executed her plan to once again be the ruler of what she would always think of as Vinda Major, her true home, the place that had been stolen from her by the enemy Zaradians and which she intended to reclaim using any means necessary.

  About the Author

  Michele’s passion is to inspire young girls to reach for their dreams. To schedule a lecture or workshop please contact Michele at micheleevansauthor@gmail.com

  She currently resides in Los Angeles.