The dining table fell mostly silent.
King Pallan paused from stuffing a piece of bread in his mouth and shrugged—and quickly went back to gorging himself.
Cassius, with dark, penetrating eyes, nodded several times, and commented under his breath, “As I thought.”
As the table was cleared for dessert, King Pallan took out the kannen berry he had purchased during the day and began carving it gingerly with a small knife. Cassius observed him, quietly, with a judging eye. Several guests got up to stretch and then went out; only a few remained at the table, discussing things in a quiet manner.
As King Pallan was about to place a juicy slice of the bright-red fruit in his mouth, a servant barged in, exclaiming, “Sire-sire—come quickly! There’s something a’matter with the sky.”
King Pallan shuddered, choking. Flinging his body around, he boomed, “Aye! What’s the matter, you dolt? I was about to eat my kannen berry, and you came crashing in, spouting rubbish! I should have—”
The youthful male servant was insistent. “No, sire; something’s terribly wrong. You must come!”
King Pallan turned slowly to Cassius, who had turned pale from alarm over the sudden intrusion.
“Maybe you should go, sire.” Cassius rose from his chair.
King Pallan rose from his seat slowly and nodded at Cassius.
The servant, in a great hurry, led them out of the castle; servants, guards, kitchen help, and various other members of the royal palace were in a seeming frenzy.
Coming out into the inner courtyard, the servant pointed to the sky and shouted, “Look.”
King Pallan, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, squinted in the direction the young man was pointing. Cassius came to his side and stared at the dusky sky with amazement.
The evening air was so comfortably warm, the wind so stilled, that one could easily have fallen peacefully asleep in a chair under the stars. High above, from out of nowhere, dark, massing clouds began to blot out sections of the sky. Thunder could be heard in the distance. Townspeople pointed at the sky in terror.
The clouds soon began to coalesce over the courtyard, at a slight offset to it. Ground-shaking peals of thunder ripped through the air, causing many people to duck or shudder from the explosive noise. A bolt of lightning, radiant blue-white, struck the ground close to King Pallan; a small, smoking and hissing indentation formed in the royal courtyard. The ground began to quake as the wind picked up.
The ominous, constantly morphing cloud shortly became luminous at its centre. It grew brighter, until suddenly it shot out a beam that formed a radiant dining table with twelve chairs, floating mysteriously in mid-air.
Several peasants said with horror-struck voices, “The Mysterious Ones.” Others cried out, “The Denaveive!” (Denaveive in the Paladian tongue could be loosely translated as “discorporate watchers”).
The thunder and lightning ceased. A profound silence fell over the grounds; many people hugged each other in fright.
Without warning, a voice seeming to come from the cloud said with resonating power, “You, King Pallan of Paladia, the Third in the line of The House of Pallan, have been weighed on the scales of justice and been found wanting …”
Hundreds of glances were sent King Pallan’s way. Cassius looked over at him by degrees; he had a subtle look of delight in his expression, which hinted at opportunity.
Now voices, apparently originating from dazzling figures seated at the floating table, said in unison, “The Twelve have spoken. We are what was and will be, forevermore. The Overlords. The Mysterious Ones …”
King Pallan, with a profound look of fear on his countenance, mouthed with trembling effort, ‘The Mysterious Ones?’
The twelve mysterious figures, whose features could not be made out, sitting in their radiant, high-backed chairs, revealed with marked finality, “Your kingdom is doomed.” There was a pause. “We are responsible for the signs that have been manifested around the land, signs you have chosen to ignore, King Pallan, the Third in the line of Pallan. For this, a penalty will be incurred.”
The Mysterious Ones fell silent for a period. The terrified and confused townspeople and castle members gathered in groups haphazardly in the front courtyard and whispered to each other about what all this could mean—what these beings really were and wanted from their king and their land.
The Denaveive spoke again. “King Pallan/people of Paladia, a message for you from your overlords, the silent watchers of this world.”
King Pallan’s eyes grew large.
The Denaveive thundered, their collective voices reverberating in perfect—and terrifying—unison. “The land is cursed until the king of this disobedient land can recover the Kaiper Stone of Ayren.”
Greatly confused, King Pallan turned to his attendants. “What the blazes is that?”
The king’s attendants, quickly discussing among themselves what it could be, replied in a few moments, “We have no idea.”
King Pallan faced the otherworldly intruders, vexed; he appeared to be at a loss.
The strange entities, suspended in mid-air, seated as though at a glowing banquet, concluded in a much softer tone, “King Pallan: seek the relic where the east winds meet the west, in the glade to the north. To all other things pay no heed, for they are entrapments.”
King Pallan, shouted, “How will I know what it is? Where to find it?”
Their voices growing ever fainter, the Mysterious Ones, repeated, “Seek the relic where the east winds meet the west, in the glade to the north. To all other things pay no heed, for they are entrapments.” They added, “Beware the Spirit of the Air.”
King Pallan was about to protest when the ethereal visitors vanished. The nighttime sky returned to full view; the stars twinkled overhead once again. The menacing cloud that brought the mysterious overseers had completely disappeared. A cool wind rustled the tops of the trees. The muted voices of those assembled collectively diminished to nothing.
For a time, King Pallan remarked the stars with a mixture of wonder and resentment. He eventually turned to his attendants and commanded gently, “Tell them to disperse, to go home, and that they have my blessing.”
Castle guards, along with some of the king’s attendants, urged those gathered to return to their homes and informed them that they had the king’s blessing.
Deeply concerned, King Pallan, with his hands clenched behind his back, paced slowly before Cassius and Jartnel, his lead strategist.
“Sire, we are all with you. We have all seen with our own eyes the incredible event that has taken place over the castle grounds.”
King Pallan ceased pacing for a moment. “Thank you, Jartnel.” He resumed pacing.
“What can it mean?”
Cassius, answered Jartnel, “The actuality of the visitation is manifest; there can be no denying that.”
King Pallan, vented hastily, “Yes—but what does it all mean? This stone.” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember the stone mentioned by the Denaveive.
Jartnel prompted, “The Kaiper Stone of Ayren.”
King Pallan snapped, “That’s it. The Kaiper Stone of Ayren …” He stopped and swung about. “What the devil is that?!”
Jartnel shrugged as he turned his hands up.
Cassius remained quiet.
King Pallan, snorting with apparent disgust, shortly declared, “There will be no further word about this stone, tonight. Tomorrow”—he gazed off at the hills with marked determination in his eyes—“we will search the scrolls for the meaning of all this.”
Jartnel bowed his head to him, as did Cassius. They both responded, along with others nearby, “Yes, sire.”
The morrow brought much consternation in the kingdom. The report of the strange event, witnessed by hundreds of people, including the king himself, began to spread rapidly through the kingdom, and before long Paladia was gripped with a collective fear. Scouts were sent throughout the countryside to ascertain facts that could lead to the
whereabouts of the uninvited nighttime intruders. Nothing could be gleaned about the Mysterious Ones. Rumours of invasion soon began to circulate through the kingdom, but nothing definite could be determined. There was much speculation as to the nature of the vision and the king’s involvement in it. King Pallan’s reputation was at stake, and although support for his kingship had been challenged in a few places, the great majority of the people of Paladia loved their king and were as determined as ever to get to the bottom of all this. Perhaps more frighteningly, the weather had changed, and what was typically a gently sunbathed, lush, garden-like land was now a moody and blustery region, where strange squalls arose and lashed the countryside and storms, carrying heavy snows or driving rains, would pummel the landscape for days. The strange lights in the sky were no longer seen, nor were the shadowy figures, but there was an undeniable sense of foreboding to the land that incited misery and worry in many.
King Pallan, rising rather lazily from his slumber and his grand bed with fine sheets, was implored by his attendants to take his breakfast to gather his strength.
“Sire-sire—please get up and take your breakfast. It has been days—”
“Yes.” He then yawned and fell slowly back into his bed.
“Sire, we insist you come and eat; a large breakfast has been prepared, with eggs, yellow ham, toast—”
King Pallan whispered, “Nay; go away.” In a moment, he shot up in his bed and inquired eagerly, “Did you say yellow ham?”
The attendants, with folded hands, bobbed their heads. The closest to him confirmed, “Yes, sire; yellow ham and warm karaka pudding—”
“Bloody well, then!” King Pallan jumped from his bed. Looking back at it, he muttered, “I was getting tired, anyway, of lying there.” He clapped his hands once and gestured for the servants to lead on.
King Pallan followed his servants to the royal refectory. As they were about to turn the corner to enter the Corridor of the Wise, a hallway dedicated to the visionaries and mystics of the kingdom’s history, a boy, perhaps thirteen years of age, came bustling their way carrying a folio (pamphlet), saying loudly, “Sire, sire—today’s news.”
King Pallan stopped abruptly. “Yes-yes, what is it, Keron?”
“Sire, sire.” The boy, catching his breath, finished, “Today’s news.”
King Pallan snatched the pamphlet and began mumbling, his eyes scanning its revelations crazily: “Unusual shifts in temperature noted in the highlands; killing frosts in the Velan Forests; flooding in the Ureah; price of bread and cheese fluctuating wildly; roaming beasts observed in the north; a blizzard in Kantaria.” He took his eyes from the pamphlet and scoffed, “Pfft. Yesterday’s news. Doom and gloom.” He shoved the folio back at the boy. “Oh, guess I ought to give you an aina,” he repented. He hummed as he searched his pockets for a coin. “Ah; here it is!” He handed Keron a small gold coin with the likeness of his grandfather, King Pallan I, engraved on it.
The winded messenger’s countenance brightened. “Right, sire!”
King Pallan patted him on the head. “Right. Be off.”
Giving King Pallan a slow bow, both his hands clenching the sides of his thighs, the lively courier sped off down the adjacent corridor.
King Pallan clapped his hands twice. “To the refectory we will go.”
The servants led their king down the Corridor of the Wise, through the Museum of Ancient History, around the tapestry and fitting rooms, through the Hallway of Artisans, and finally, down a short flight of stone stairs, which led into a very large room containing three massive dining tables with white table cloths and lit candles on five-armed silver candle holders, a balcony encircling the space with balustrades, and royal kitchen help coming and going through stone archways. A large fireplace at the far end of the dining chamber crackled away, its dull, orange light feebly illuminating the area in front of it.
“Quite!” King Pallan paused for a moment to take in the grandeur of the space. “Come. I have things to do.”
The servants took him to his seat at the end of the right table, closest to the fire.
A servant pulled out his chair and gestured for him to sit.
“Thank you, Janos.” King Pallan sat down and unfolded the napkin at his place.
Janos and the three other servants bowed and left.
Placing the cloth napkin on his lap, King Pallan silently observed the castle help bringing out the royal breakfast.
A maidservant came to his table, holding a tray of toast and mounds of butter. Bowing, she asked, “Sire, may I offer you some toast? The morning feast will soon be ready.”
“Quite, mum.” Taking several slices of the fire-toasted bread and a gob of butter from the silver platter, he smiled at her gently. “Thank you, mum. That will be all.”
Her face brightened a degree. “Thank you, sire.” Bowing, she returned to the galley.
King Pallan buttered his toast meticulously, seemingly oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the castle staff, who were bringing out trays of fruit, bread, pies, eggs, and meats of sundry kind. Two of the long dining tables were being set—the king’s and the one in front of his; the other table nearest the staircase remained unset, other than a white tablecloth and dormant candles.
A minute later, a man galloped down the stairs and headed straight for the king, who was just about to take the first bite of his buttered loaf.
“Sire-sire.”
King Pallan made a sour look as he held his toast close to his salivating mouth. “What is it, Barden?” Looking over at the wall, the toast still at his mouth, he muttered, “Another bloody interruption.”
The out-of-breath man, dressed rather shabbily, complained, “Sire, you’re wanted at the council.”
“What the blazes! Confound it; can’t a man enjoy a moment of solace? Some buttered bread?”
Barden, a part-time scribe, legal advisor, and marriage counsellor, said, after catching his next breath, “All very good, sire; but there are urgent matters requiring your attention. The counsel—”
“To blazes with the counsel!” King Pallan thundered. He took, as if it were the very last thing he was given the opportunity to do in his life, a greedy bite out of the fluffy, hard-crusted bread.
Barden, grinning and arching his back, with clasped hands and blinking eyes, pressed the king. “The sky watchers have observed signs in the sky that—”
King Pallan jested, “The sky watchers wouldn’t know if it was raining, even if they were standing in the middle of a field being drenched. Rubbish!”
“But sire, they have noted masses of rearranging lights by Udenadal. Mysterious cloud formations near Vendyn.”
King Pallan took another bite. Munching, he remarked, “Poof! The sky watchers couldn’t indicate to me the head on a donkey. Bloody brood, been eating me out of house and home as well. Bunch of lollygaggers, if you ask me.” He went back to his toast.
Barden watched him scarf down his toast. “Sire, may I suggest you finish your toast in your throne room? I can call the council there.”
King Pallan finished swallowing. Smacking his lips a few times while donning an expression of annoyance, he acquiesced. “Fine. Very well. I shall finish my breakfast there; was going to head there eventually, anyway.”
Barden answered with a faint smile, “Of course, sire.” He motioned gently for the king to come.
“Bah.” King Pallan threw his heavy cloth napkin onto the table, his fine silverware rattling from the impact.
The king followed Barden to the stairs. On their way, a maidservant, a young and beautiful one, passed in front of them, carrying a tray of fruit and sweet biscuits. Reaching out his left hand, King Pallan nabbed a slice of fluorescent-coloured green melon and began eating it.
The maidservant stopped for a second and looked over at them; she started to giggle.
King Pallan gave a slight shrug, as if to apologize. He took a sweet biscuit. Chewing the melon, he said, “Sorry, mum.”
The maidservant, holding
the heavy tray with both hands, began to blush.
Barden commanded gently, “You may be on your way.”
The maidservant dipped her head to both and sped toward the dining table at the front of the spacious royal eatery.
King Pallan and Barden went up the stone stairs and, after navigating several corridors and passing through two large rooms, headed down a long, exquisitely decorated hallway. One of the corridors had taken them past the front of the castle. King Pallan had stopped for a moment to peep outside. Snow covered the front lawn and was beginning to pile up at the window. He had murmured, “Blast; so much for gavan today …” Portraits of famous painters, truth seekers, scholars, royalty, and other men and women of rank and note lined the hallway on either side. A red carpet stretched the entire length of the hallway; it had intricate designs of winged horses, constellations, dragons, swords, mountains, elves, fairies, and a castle, all stitched in black and edged with gold, distributed randomly across the posh floor covering. Interspersed at even intervals were carved wooden pedestals of a dark, mahogany-like wood holding vases of unusual beauty; some had flowers and others did not. Candles in silver-gold holders bolted to the wall lit the magnificent passageway, the Corridor of Royalty, which led directly to the throne room, at the heart of the castle.
Finishing his melon, King Pallan, after Barden stepped to the side, holding out his hand for him to enter, walked briskly into the throne room, wiping his sticky hand on his clothes. He removed a slice of buttered toast from his coat pocket.
“All: King Pallan has entered,” a man shouted over to the left—an officer of the Royal Court named Hemmings.
King Pallan dismissed him with a wave of his hand and continued at a hurried pace toward the throne, the seat of power in the kingdom. He mounted the carpeted stairs to take his seat on the throne, which was elevated above the royal court by several feet. He sat off to the side and edge of the throne. He appeared pensive. The council was already present, awaiting him.
“Sire, the council seeks your decisions on several pressing matters in the kingdom. There have been—”
Overlords Page 5
