by Jon Kiln
Qutaybah bowed his head in acknowledgment as they smiled at each other. There were other people he did not know well, but trusted. Chief Linz, from the Lakelands in Palara, a trusted and faithful advisor to Queen Myriam. He took comfort knowing that they were here to celebrate his first ten years of life, and would help guide him in the future.
Cronos turned to his father, and their own trusted advisor, Azmariddian, the druid. He felt ready now, to move on to the next stage of his life.
He lay on the altar, as instructed, wearing his ceremonial white gown. Azmariddian and his father chanted archaic words. At first nothing seemed to happen, other than he became a little drowsy. Unexpectedly, his surroundings changed and he found himself walking down a dusty pathway. Surely this was a dream? Had the chanting caused him to drift into a slumber?
He felt compelled to follow the pathway, as if some unseen force pushed him on. Encompassed in a grey mist, his visibility was restricted to just a few feet, so he could see little of his surroundings. In his attempts to peer into the gloom, a grey veil descended over his eyes. Steadying his feet, he continued to look downwards at the path, so he did not stray.
Something was close by. Was he sensing his spirit guide? A strange warm feeling came over him, whirling around his legs. When he looked down he saw a long thread of blue mist winding around him like a snake, but he felt no sense of danger; in fact he felt at ease. An overwhelming sense of love and warmth now encompassed him.
The atmosphere started to change, and a darkness covered him. He could still see the blue swirl as it tried to penetrate the gloom, but the brooding stillness was all enveloping. Cronos knew instinctively that the blue mist was a protective barrier, but the warmth and safety he felt early was fast disappearing, to be replaced by a prevailing sense of doom. Something was wrong. He was not sure what, but he felt an evil presence was with him.
A sudden crescendo of sound assaulted his senses, and he clasped his hands over his ears in an attempt to cut it out. Pitiful screams and wails that tore at his very soul.
It stopped, as abruptly as it had begun, but there was no relief for Cronos. As soon as the wailing ceased, a red glowing mist began to descend over him. As it touched his skin, it burned. A terrible stench reached his nostrils and made him retch, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. The blue swirl that had offered him comfort and protection was forced away, weakening under the assault of the red cloud. It disappeared altogether and all that remained was the burning red glow that scalded his skin. Cronos was surrounded in a never ending blackness.
The pathway was gone, and it was as if he floated in a stinking black pit. The smell was death itself, sour and sickly, permeating into every pore of his skin. He retched again, but this time nothing but bile was expelled.
“Help me!” he cried, hoping to waken himself from this nightmare.
The blackness dissipated and he was back in the ceremonial room, still lying on the altar. Surrounding him were the concerned faces of friends. His body throbbed with the sharpness of pain from the burning sensation. When he looked down, his ceremonial robe had been scorched and singed, and the exposed parts of his skin were covered in welts and burns.
Next to him lay the Emperor, who had collapsed in a heap.
All in the room watched on in horror as the scene unfolded. Rochmyr was the first to react, scooping the boy up in his arms. He carried Cronos into the palace, his attendants following. Others lifted the Emperor to take him to his chambers.
Something had gone most terribly wrong.
4
“You gave us quite a scare,” Ganry said as he visited Cronos, still in his bed. “Strangely, you were covered in burns, but now there is no sign of them. An odd conundrum.” Ganry truly was surprised to see the burns had disappeared overnight. “Though, you do look much better than you did when I last saw you. How do you feel?”
“Disappointed, if you must know.” Cronos could not hold back his feelings. “Yesterday was supposed to be such a big day for me. I was to move onto the next stage of my life. Instead, I lie here, feeling useless. I need to get out of this bed, Ganry,” he complained, pulling back the covers as he attempted to sit up.
Immediately his head began to swim, and he slumped straight back down again.
“Be patient, Cronos,” Ganry said, looking concerned at the boy’s plight.
“Leave me be!” Cronos practically shouted at him. “I am Cronos, future Emperor of Mirnee, and you are merely a mercenary. You do not tell me what to do.”
Ganry stood back, surprised by the boy’s words.
Queen Myriam and the Duchess D’Anjue entered the room, just in time to hear the end of Cronos’s outburst. The Duchess leaned forward and whispered in her granddaughter’s ear.
“What’s got into him?” she queried.
“I hear you, old woman,” Cronos shouted, pointing at the Duchess. “Get out. All of you. Get out of my room. I don’t need an audience in my bed chamber. Leave, now, before I have you all confined to your quarters.”
Ganry, unable to contain his anger at the boy’s rude behavior, spoke out.
“Enough, Master Cronos. Do I need to remind you who you are speaking to? We will gladly leave, and hopefully, when we see you next, you will be of better temperament.”
Ganry did not wait for the boy to answer. Instead he quickly turned and followed the Queen and Duchess out of the room.
They stood outside the door, puzzled and shocked by Cronos’s unusual behavior.
“I suggest we speak with Azmariddian, maybe he can make sense of this,” Myriam suggested.
It seemed the boy had changed literally overnight, and it all started with the failed attempt to endow him with his new skill.
“He’s in with the Emperor. He has not regained consciousness since the ceremony. Why don’t you go to your rooms, Myriam, and I will seek his advice?”
“Yes, yes,” Myriam agreed, nodding her head. “It’s best we don’t all turn up at the Emperor’s chamber. He needs to rest. Do let me know though, Ganry, as soon as you hear what is happening. I have a bad feeling about all of this.”
Me too, Ganry thought to himself, but he did not relay his worries to the Queen.
Myriam and her grandmother left in the direction of their shared chambers. Ganry watched them go, before searching out Azmariddian. He first called on Artas and Hendon, updating them with the situation. “I, like Myriam, do not have a good feeling about this. Prepare yourselves,” Ganry warned them. “We may be returning to our homes sooner than expected.”
“I have said nothing so far, Ganry,” Hendon spoke up, “for fear of alarming everyone, but it appears my concern was well founded. I sensed something in the ceremony, as the boy became distressed. It was a dark and forbidding feeling that swept over me. There was some evil entity that has attached itself to the boy. Surely he is not to be guided by an evil spirit?”
“No, Hendon, it is my belief that something went wrong. This was not supposed to happen,” Ganry replied.
“I don’t like leaving Cronos alone,” Artas said, afraid the boy may be injured again by whatever had attacked him. “How did all those injuries just vanish?”
“He isn’t alone, Artas, he has Torno and Rochmyr. They will not leave his side, no matter how much he shouts at them,” Ganry informed them.
At this they parted ways. Ganry headed for the Emperor’s chamber to see how he fared. He knocked gently on the door and a maid let him in. A terrible aroma permeated the room; not a smell of sickness, but of thick sulfur.
“I hope that whatever you burn is for the health of the Emperor, Azmariddian?” Ganry inquired.
“I burn nothing, sire,” he replied. “It is the very air itself. It’s choking me. I fear there is an evil presence around our Emperor, holding him prisoner in their world.”
“What?” This took Ganry by surprise. It was not the sort of foul play he had been expecting. “Will it kill him?”
“It could, sire. It is not a possessio
n. They have conjured away his soul, and his shell remains here. We must keep his body as healthy as we can, ready for his return.”
“Was the ceremony a lie? Merely a means to trap the Emperor and harm his son? Did you intend on this, druid?” Ganry gripped his sword hilt. “Are you in league with the witches?”
Azmariddian quickly held up his hands. “Nay. Nay, Lord. My Emperor has nothing to fear from me. We have been friends all of our lives.”
Ganry relaxed a little. He was still suspicious of Azmariddian, who had the skills to do this, but what would be his motive?
“We did everything right at the ceremony,” Azmariddian assured him. “I do believe that Cronos met with his spirit guide, who was then overrun by something more malevolent. I think that Cronos has been possessed. Have you not noticed his behavior, sire?”
“Yes, I have,” Ganry admitted. “What is to be done for them both?”
“I have yet to assess Cronos,” Azmariddian explained. “I fear that the beast within him will sense me, once I try to probe his mind. However, it is the only way to give us an idea of what is happening to him.”
“Then you must assess him,” Ganry said. “He was trying to rise from his bed earlier and whilst he was unsuccessful, I sense he was determined to be up and about. We need to act quickly and try to put a stop to this, before it escalates beyond our control.”
Ganry stepped closer to the bed, and took hold of the Emperor’s hand. It seemed so delicate and weak, the bones almost showing through a paper thin skin. Ganry felt much affection for this man, who had been like a father to him when he had lived in this kingdom. He was a good leader to his people, and the thought of his soul being trapped somewhere evil did not sit well with him.
“I will get you back, Nestor,” Ganry whispered. “And your son, too. Once we know what we’re up against.”
The door sprang open and Cronos entered the room.
“I wish to see my father,” he demanded. “Everyone, out of the room.”
Ganry stood between the Emperor and Cronos, barring the albino’s way.
“I think not, Cronos,” Ganry said to the boy, his steely tone making it clear he would not allow it. “Your father cannot be left alone.”
“He will not be alone,” Cronos said, standing only inches from Ganry and showing no fear of the seasoned warrior. “I will be with him.”
“You are not well enough to be with him,” Ganry insisted. “Let Azmariddian look you over so we can assess your own health, then you can talk to your father.”
“Do not assume to give me orders, mercenary,” Cronos said, a menacing tone in his voice. “I know of the things you have done to this kingdom. You may fool my father, in his dotage, but not me. I do not wish for such a traitor to be in my kingdom, or to ever set foot on it again. Consider yourself banished, forthwith. If you are still here by sundown, I will have you arrested.”
“Ahh, young Cronos,” Ganry mocked the boy, paying particular emphasis on the young. “I’m already banished. Yet here I am. Only the Emperor himself can order otherwise.”
Cronos’s face was red with fury, and he could barely contain his anger. He wanted to scream out for the imperial guards, and have him arrested, but he could not be certain they would follow his orders. Not while his father still lived. A strange voice in his head, one he had heard in his dark dreams, soothed him. It told him that now was not the time, but revenge would be his soon.
Calm, my little one, we will have our way soon enough. Follow their instructions for now, while you build your strength and your powers.
Cronos clutched at his head as the voice spoke. Sharp stabbing pains caused him to wince in agony. While the pain drove everything out of his mind, he felt the haze in his head lift, and for a moment his mind was his own. He looked curiously at Ganry, unsure why he was arguing with his good friend. But the fog soon returned, and the voice controlled his mind once again. He tried to fight it, but that only made his head swim and the room spin. Before he realized what was happening, he was lying in Ganry’s arms. Ganry had caught him before he collapsed on the floor.
“See, Cronos, you are not well. Please allow Azmariddian to take a look at you, and then we can see what ails you,” Ganry said.
Cronos was bitterly angry at this man who was ordering him around, but the voice in his head told him to bide his time.
Let him give the orders for now, the voice spoke. For soon, we will rule, and those who stand in our way will be cast into the darkness forever.
5
At last, she had ahold of him. Thalia felt relieved her plan had worked. The one who could free her from this stinking cesspit was in her control. She had fought hard to gain the advantage at the ceremony of the the albino boy’s tenth birthday.
Moving around in the underworld was easy enough. This was, after all, her domain. Access to the spirit world, though, had cost her much strength. Once informed of the exact dimensions where the change would take place by her informant in the Mirnee palace, she had taken her position early, and waited patiently. Sure enough, right on cue, the shadow of the boy appeared on the pathway.
Almost as soon as he did, she sensed the presence of the spirit that was to be his guide. Thalia had the element of surprise on her side. The spirit had no suspicions it was about to be attacked by an entity from the underworld. Using a strong incantation, one that drained most of her power yet again, Thalia managed to cast the spirit away, and into another dimension. Once it was banished, it had been easy to possess the boy.
Now, she was in his head, and could control him to do whatever she wanted. It would be amusing, causing havoc in this world, whilst she was in his body. The time would soon come when she could lead him to one of her covens, and they could kill him and start the ritual to return her to this world.
***
We need to build our power base here, Cronos, the voice in his head commanded him. Slowly, at first. We do not want to raise any suspicions too soon, before we reach our full strength. Let us start with the dumb giant, and that stinking wolf.
After leaving his father’s chambers, he headed straight for his own rooms. His protectors, Rochmyr the giant, and Torno the wolf man, were standing by his door.
“Quickly, inside,” he commanded them. “I fear there are some here who mean me harm,” he whispered as he stepped into his room, with both of them following.
“Who means you harm, my boy?” Torno asked, puzzled by the turn of events. “You are surrounded by those who are loyal to you. I truly do not believe that you need fear an attack upon your person in the palace.”
Cronos had his back to them, while the voice in his head instructed him in what to do.
Repeat this incantation, and soon your friends will be in our control.
Is é an cumhacht ag an underworld
i bhur gcroí
Máistreás Tahlia Orduithe dhuit anois
Cronos turned and mumbled the words. Neither Torno nor Rochmyr could understand what he said. As he finished talking, the temperature in the room dropped, and an overpowering smell of sulfur permeated the air. A swirling icy fog enclosed Rochmyr and Torno.
“What is this?!” Torno shouted, suddenly aware of the danger.
Too late. The ice fog overcame his two loyal companions, and they both collapsed on the floor.
Cronos was suddenly horror struck at the realization of his actions. For a moment he managed to clear the haze from his mind. What had he done? These were his friends. Had he just killed them? He ran across to them and knelt by their side. A large figure appeared in the doorway, and Cronos felt he had been caught in a murderous act.
“Cronos, what has happened?” Ganry asked from the doorway, smelling the sulfur and shivering from the coldness of the room.
“Ná cuir isteach!” Cronos shouted out. He had no idea what he was saying, only repeating the words swirling in his head. “You will not enter my room, none of you, unless I give my permission,” he finished.
Ganry pushed forward, but
an invisible barrier stopped him entering.
“What trickery is this?” Ganry was fast becoming impatient with the boy.
“I believe he is possessed,” a voice said from behind. “He speaks the language of the underworld.”
Ganry turned to face Azmariddian, the old druid.
“Possessed, but how?” Ganry queried.
“Something must have lain in wait for him, yesterday. When he went into the spirit world. He is most certainly possessed, and has no idea what he is doing. His own thoughts will be slowly driven into the recesses of his mind, if they haven’t already. The spirit is doing the trickery.”
Ganry turned to order Cronos to allow him entry, when the door slammed shut in his face.
“Do you know how to deal with this?” Ganry asked the druid.
“We have had no possessions for hundreds of years. I will need to study. My mind isn’t what it used to be,” he stuttered, worried he would not be able to save the Emperor, or his son.
Ganry could see the pain in Azmariddian’s eyes, and he knew this was not the work of the druid.
“Yes, Azmariddian, go and study. Try to find all you can about the spirit guide ceremony and possession. It clearly wasn’t as straight forward as we thought it would be. I will send Hendon in to help you.”
Azmariddian nodded his agreement and quickly left, keen to get to his scrolls and read through them as fast as possible. He was sure they had done everything right at the ceremony, but something was amiss. Cronos needed him more than ever now, and he would work tirelessly throughout the night and day, if need be. He must find a way to banish the evil spirit that possessed the Emperor’s son.
6
It was pointless attempting to break down the boy’s door to try and gain entry, because he would still have the problem of the invisible barrier. He did wait awhile outside, trying to listen into the room, but he heard nothing. Ganry placed guards on the door, leaving instructions for them to inform him as soon as Cronos left the room. He made his way to the Queen’s chambers. They needed to pool their ideas on how to proceed.
