by Joanne Durda
GOLDEST AND THE KINGDOM
OF THORNS
The Sequel to
The Domain of the Billowy Masses
GOLDEST AND THE
KINGDOM OF THORNS
The Sequel to
The Domain of the Billowy Masses
Joanne Durda
GOLDEST AND THE KINGDOM OF THORNS
Copyright © Joanne Durda
eBook edition first published in the UK in 2012
© G2 Rights Limited 2012
www.G2rights.co.uk
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
Print Edition ISBN : 978-1-932077-95-7
The views in this book are those of the author but they are general views only and readers are urged to consult the relevant and qualified specialist for individual advice in particular situations. G2 Rights Limited hereby exclude all liability to the extent permitted by law of any errors or omissions in this book and for any loss, damage or expense (whether direct or indirect) suffered by a third party relying on any information contained in this book. All our best endeavours have been made to secure copyright clearance but in the event of any copyright owner being overlooked please go to www.G2rights.co.uk where you will find all relevant contact information.
Dedicated in loving memory to my dearest grandmother,
Mary Clara Marzi Befacchia,
born December 10, 1900, in Rome, Italy – died December 11, 1993.
My most wondrous grandmother, who filled my life and
mesmerized me with colorful stories about my ancestors and ancestry.
How proud she would be of me today and of my books –
forever in my thoughts and heart.
If only…
Contents
Copyright
The Ancient Monks and Shamans
The Scheming Agitator – The Keeper of the Special Heart
The Seedlings
Commitment to a Cause
The Adventurers
The Unspoken Secrets Revealed
The Request
The Ladybug Castle
The Thorn Warriors’ March
The Cries for Help – The Warnings
The Assault Continues
The Aftermath
The Brides
Happily Ever After
The Ancient Monks and Shamans
The pounding of the horses’ hooves was harsh against the ears of the riders as they galloped towards the Kingdom of Thorns. The ferocious wind, along with the blinding platinum lightning and monstrous thunder, made for a most harsh, eerie, frightening night for the fearless horsemen. The ancient Monks and Shamans rode with aggression, fear not being an emotion within their well-being. Trained in the ancient, sophisticated arts of alchemists, ceremonial magic and superior rituals, having developed their own methods of malicious necromancy and Olympian magicry, having created their own ancient recipes for potions, oils, medicines, and cultivating their own esoteric wisdom within their own kingdom, made them feel that all evildoers who wished them harm hid from their very presence, so great was their fear of them. All feared the Monks and Shamans, knowing full well their powers. No one wanted the Monks’ wrath to come down on them, or any of the kingdoms within the Domain.
Many Kings and Queens, along with other prestigious Court members, called on the Monks from time to time for their medicines, oils and potions. The village townspeople, who dwelled in many of the different, colorful kingdoms, also called upon them from time to time for their wares and superior attainments. The Monks were self-sufficient and depended on no other kingdom. The kingdoms came to them for their special wants and needs, not minding if it was good or evil – any noble attainment could be reached. The Monks were also artistically talented in jewelry making. Carefully drawn and painted amulets worn around the neck were most favored among the Royalty.
The Monks’ innermost interests lay in celestial astrology, divination, sorcery and magic, so fierce were their imagination and innermost talents. Ceremonial magicry was a way of life for themselves. Concocting their own oils and medicines was an art that was born from within them. Planting, growing and cultivating the Tooth Warrior Army for the Tooth Fairy Princess within the Kingdom of the Calcified Structures was by far more than what the imagination could hold for anyone.
The Monks rode their horses with their heads held close to their horses’ necks to keep their hoods from their black-hooded robes from blowing off their heads. Their black-hooded robes were tied with grayish woolen cord. White woolen socks worn on their feet were stuffed inside rugged brown sandals made from dark bark – no boots ever being worn by any Monk, not even for riding. Boots were the apparel of the warriors belonging to the many different kingdoms within the Domain of the Billowy Masses. The ancient Monks and Shamans never considered themselves warriors. Their sandals fitted their needs, with all their planting, growing and cultivating the seeds from their many gardens, which consisted not only of fruits and vegetables. There were herbs too, and other various hallucinatory growth for their potions, oils, medicines, practices, offerings and ceremonies. They were not in the habit of growing the eerie, colorful, and sometimes deadly mushrooms. That art work was left for the Kingdom of the Sacred Mushrooms.
Spinach, which was the staple of their diet, was one of their special herbs which they grew with abundance in fields, which were well-cared for by the lesser Monks. Many soups were made from the spinach, their favorites being cream of spinach and spinach with potatoes added in their cream of carrot soup. Spinach casserole was made with creamed potatoes and was served regularly with veal or lamb. Their herbal spinach was also used in their concoctions – their potions and medicines. Spinach had a special healing role for various illnesses and was highly regarded for its healing properties by the Monks.
The seven Monks rode into the grounds of the Thorn Castle within the Kingdom of Thorns. Other anxious Monks stood in the courtyard waiting for their safe return, it being far beyond the hour for their appointed homecoming.
Octagon, their designated leader of this mission, was the first to dismount. He looked at the harshness of his familiar surroundings in between the platinum lightning. The dark, damp stone of their castle was covered with thorn vines which climbed to the tops of the walls and the towers. The grounds were covered with numerous thorn trees and thorn bushes – all with dark olive leaves. No flowers grew or ever bloomed on any of the thorn climbers, creepers, bushes, trees or plants. Only dark thorns grew in and graced their kingdom. If any seed of a flower, which was carried in the wind, fell upon their grounds or kingdom, the thorn bushes and plants would extend their roots to the flower’s root and strangle the life out of the plant. The whole kingdom was covered and smeared with these ugly thorn vines, bushes, trees and plants filled with briers, prickles or spines. This weedy vegetation presented a picture of a brutal and unfriendly environment to anyone who came to call upon the Monks. Even the dirt of the kingdom was dark olive in color. Suspicious shadows crept and lurked everywhere, especially during the night.
“What an ugly, dreary kingdom we have come home to,” Octagon whispered to himself as the thunder blocked his words to his ears.
The Monks consisted of various sizes and shapes, with Octagon being one of the tallest amongst them. His large frame of six foot one was well-toned and muscular, not rounded like most of the ancient Monks who resided within the Thorn Castle. His head was shaved except for a thick cluster of hair worn in a long braid at the back of his head and neck. Most of the Monks had s
haved heads except for a large, dark cluster worn in a long braid or ponytail. A few of the younger Monks who did not shave their heads wore all their long, dark hair in a braid or ponytail. All Monks had inherited the dark hair and dark eyes from their ancestors, with their skin being of a darker olive color. Very few were light-skinned in the color of their flesh.
Only a few of the Monks were clean-shaven, with most having a short or long beard with mustache. The decision of growing a tuft, long or short, was left to each individual’s taste. The majority of the Monks kept their beards short because they did not want the beard to cover or disturb the thick cluster of thorns worn around their necks and chests, or the medallions which hung from these wreaths of thorns. The older Monks preferred the medallions hanging from around their necks instead of from the wreaths of thorns. The decision to wear the medallions from clusters of thorns, a rope or cloth was left to each individual’s taste. The medallions which hung from these wreaths of thorns, rope or cloths touched their broad, hairy chests, since most Monks wore their robes open and bared their chest arrogantly.
Octagon wore his medallion from a brown leather strip wrapped around his neck. His chest, which was always exposed with pride, was more muscular and hairier than the rest of the Monks. He wore his beard and mustache chopped close to his handsome face. He was one of the fewer Monks who had eyes of an almond shape. His eyes were hazel, not like the dark brown of the other Monks. Word had it that he had gypsy blood flowing in his veins, but none would speak of it.
All their robes and gowns were worn open at the chest to display their medallions, which were of gold, silver or platinum. These medallions were specially made and ceremonially protected, and used as amulets against any form of bewitchment against them. Through the centuries, wizards and warlocks have always tried to capture these ancient Monks, in order to mold them into their slaves and make use their knowledge, talents, powers and intelligence. The Monks had always been uncapturable due to their own malicious sorcery. The Kingdom of Thorns was not hospitable land. The climbing thorn vines protected the outside castle walls. No warrior or army would ever last more than a day or two in such an inhospitable land.
Octagon was also wise, and thought with not only his innermost soul, but also with the beating of his folds within his heart. Most of the ancient Monks were heartless and followed their psychic being, no matter what the ordeal held for themselves or others. That was the reasoning behind Octagon keeping mostly to himself, not caring for the sometimes selfish wisdom which held the other Monks together as Brothers. Octagon placed his well-being first, then came the other inhabitants from the many other kingdoms within the Domain.
The rest of the Monks dismounted: Onion, Imbecile, Alme, Xnug, Pentangle, and Ebrix. Onion was as tall and firmly muscular as Octagon, and was just as handsome as he was. Alme was a more rounded figure. Xnug’s features were brutal looking with his black eyes and coarse hairy eyebrows, his long, coarse grayish beard and mustache. Pentangle, the tallest of all, was hefty and muscular, and Ebrix was tall, rounded and stocky. Imbecile was a halfwit who was oversized, plump and unbalanced.
Alme, Xnug, Onion and Ebrix went to collect the several mysterious, coarse brown bags from their rather large, stocky packhorse.
Remembering that Imbecile was with them, Octagon turned around and went to help steady the short, fat, very well-rounded Imbecile as he dismounted from his horse. Imbecile lacked courage and self-confidence, which made him stutter all the time. His lack of courage also made his rather fat frame imbalanced, which made him trip over his hefty chest and stocky feet all the time. Onion made it a point to try to be around Imbecile most of the time, because one of his duties was to pick him up every time he stumbled and fell. Octagon held sympathy for the pathetic Monk, who was always ridiculed and scorned by their ruler and some of the other Monks. Octagon’s belief was that no one was molded to perfection, not even a Monk.
Octagon held the deepest respect for himself and his stout wisdom, something that he felt their ruler and other Monks lacked, due to their extreme egotism.
With other Monks tending to their tired, hungry mounts, the seven made their way into the Thorn Castle carrying over their shoulders the coarse brown cloth bags. Steam rose from these bags with an unbearable stench.
Onion’s nose curled up as he cried out, “Ugh! I do believe we are reminded that we carry the evil inside these bags with us.” A clap of thunder with several bolts of platinum lightning filled the starless black sky with anger at those spoken words.
Octagon looked up at the blackened night sky. “I believe that was a warning to take back the evil which does not belong to us.”
“M-m-maybe we s-s-should take b-b-back what is n-n-not ours,” Imbecile managed to choke out of his throat as he shivered in fear.
Alme put a reassuring hand on Imbecile as he told him, “Oh, stop now, Imbecile! No one dares defy us Monks. You should know that by now.”
“I tell you, my Brothers, that whatever becomes of this, Theo will be the one to answer – not us,” Onion reminded them all.
“It was by Theo’s orders that we ride into the Kingdom of the Sacred Mushrooms and take what was required by him to bring back with us; but, my Brothers, we are all in this together,” Xnug reminded them all.
“I fear nothing!” the monstrous, burly Pentangle coldly exclaimed to all.
Ebrix noticed that even though Alme shaved his entire head bald, he had one of the most hairiest chest of all Monks – with each hair on his chest standing on end from the stench coming from the two coarse brown bags that he carried. “I myself am most anxious to hear what Theo’s words are tonight after he sees that we have accomplished what he wanted us to do,” Ebrix remarked.
“You may not like what our Brother has to say tonight to all of us,” Alme remarked to Ebrix.
Octagon walked in silence through the castle as he listened to the spoken words of his Brothers. My heart’s core belonging to my innermost soul knows that Theo has something evil cultivating, Octagon thought calmly to himself. The question that I ask myself is, do I want to be a part of it with my Brothers? I have grown in knowledge, intelligence and wisdom throughout my many years of being an ancient Monk and serving under Theo. Do I owe him my entire life, or should I branch out on my own and suffer the consequences? Octagon’s thoughts troubled him. He shrugged them off as they walked into the castle’s main dining hall.
A nervous Imbecile tripped over his feet and fell. Octagon turned around and saw the stocky, heavyset Imbecile with his black caped cloak wrapped around himself as he tried to pick himself up off the floor. Seeing that Onion had two coarse brown bags to carry on his shoulder, he looked at the monstrous Pentangle and told him bluntly, “Pick him up!” Pentangle reached downward and picked up Imbecile by the back of his hooded cape and white gown and stood him upright with one mighty sweep.
Pentangle was endowed not only with a lot of coarse hair, but also with strength. The Monks were powerful, but mostly with their minds. Only a few were physically gifted with strength. Octagon was one of them, but he thought it was best to keep his body quiet about it – out of fear that Theo would make him one of his private guards, like he had done with the powerful Oxon.
Octagon wanted to be free to roam when he wanted to and not to be tied down to Theo constantly, like some of the other Monks were. He did not care to be in constant attendance with the favored ones. Octagon knew Theo’s favorite consultants were the ingenious Alme, the intangible Uhl, the clever and crafty Meek and the thinker Emm, with the incorrigible Alme being the most favored by Theo for his intelligence and craftiness. Theo’s physical strength laid in with not only Oxon, but included the giant Pentangle, whose brain was lacking the creativeness and intelligence of other matured Monks: the monstrous Ebrix, with extraordinary large hands and feet, and large arms and legs to match; the strong and firm Xnug, whose body was like stone with a greenish-brown moss growing from it; and following last, but not least, was the powerful Onion.
I will always be hiding in the shadows behind Theo, so that he will never control my mind or my strength, along with my freedom, Octagon sternly thought to himself. A puppet I shall never be! I am my own!
The riders walked into the main dining and meeting hall of all the Brothers. The steaming, coarse brown bags carrying the evil within was thrown on the long, main table in the hall.
The coarse Theo rose slowly from the table as the brown bags were thrown on the tabletop. Theo, with some of the other Monks, were busy crushing dried herbs, with mortars and pestles made out of marble, to concoct into medicines, oils and potions for their magical rites. Octagon’s eyes panned the table and spotted frankincense, myrrh, benzoin, sweet alyssum, sage and copal, spinach, lavender, peony, peppermint and many other various herbs and resins lying about the table. The dining hall was filled with skittish shadows from the hundreds of violet candles burning their bluish-rose flames. The enchanting smell of violets filled the room as the Monks’ shadows danced fearlessly on the castle walls of the enormous dining room. The strange candlelight gave the coarse, dark men a spooky, frightful appearance within the eeriness of the smoke-filled hall.
Theo, a most handsome Monk, did not shave his head like most of the others, but had let his thick bluish-black hair grow long. He always braided the back into one long, thick braid. His short, bluish-black beard with mustache made him an even more handsome man and went well with his muscular body. His chest did not bear all the coarse hair that most Monks had, but instead had wisps of bluish curlicues, which made him look refined. His gold medallion did not hang from thorn wreaths, but was secured tightly around his thick neck with a purple cloth which hung short, not down into the chest like most of the Monks. He stood like an emotionless stone statue, which gave him an air of coldness.
The handsomeness of Theo, with his bluish dark eyes and long bluish lashes, made his heartless character unbelievable and unreal. He stood strong and firm against the riders. His cold, stern looks took in the clumsy Imbecile as he fell. He is more than a disgrace to us Monks here, nothing but a piece of clutter on the floor to pick up all the time, Theo thought cruelly to himself. One day I shall rid our kingdom of this oaf!
