Goldest and the Kingdom of Thorns

by Joanne Durda

  “…And new people, which will make it easier to strike out at, seize the kingdom and make it ours,” Ebrix remarked.

  “And full of bounty for our vengeful herbs,” Xnug reminded them all, repeating Ebrix. “Think of what the layers of soil could do to them. They will love it!”

  Theo’s eyes looked for the responses from the rest of the Monks at the table and they nodded their heads one by one in agreement, some with reluctance.

  Pentangle had sat silently through all this, and it was unusual for him to be this quiet for so long. He always wanted in on something, or made some crude remark. He finally spoke out. “All is spoken and agreed upon. Our thorns are getting stronger every day. Let them rid us of Savagio forever!”

  Here we go with Savagio again, Octagon thought irately to himself. Maddened, he stepped forward, always prepared to defend Savagio. “I promised Savagio a safe return and my word be kept! He shall leave without any discord. We shall see no more of him,” Octagon sternly informed the Monks. “I will stand firm on this subject. If any Monk should so challenge me, then I will meet that challenge and challenge him back,” Octagon muttered to himself, not caring if the other Monks heard his remark.

  Theo raised an eyebrow at Octagon, who normally kept his defiance quietly to himself, not wanting his Brothers to really know his innermost secret thoughts. Theo had taken note how Octagon had become more removed and clandestine these past few months.

  “Bah! What of words! Savagio could easily turn our thorns against us if he wanted to! To be rid of that pestilence forever is in our best interest!” Pentangle stated heatedly.

  Imbecile, who had also taken a liking to Savagio, whom he looked up to, admired and respected, started to hyperventilate. “B-b-but, but I-I-I like S-S-Savagio. H-h-he, he is a p-p-proud warrior and h-h-honest.” Imbecile, who usually hid in the shadows, now boldly defended Savagio. He did not want any harm to come to this great, supreme warrior, and was most concerned for his safety.

  Onion noticed that Imbecile was having trouble breathing. He put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Calm down, Imbecile, or you’ll start falling all over again,” Onion told him gently. He then stared hard at Theo as he stated, “Let Theo make his decision without any influence from amongst us.”

  No wiser words could have been spoken, thought Theo to himself. Onion has given me the chance to take the blame myself regarding what is to be done with Savagio, and none other. I shall have to outsmart him and the other Monks with wisdom. “Very well, Octagon, your word shall be kept – otherwise, we would not be known as Monks,” Theo stated cleverly, bringing Octagon in on the decision by saying that it was Octagon who had granted Savagio a safe return by his very own word.

  Pentangle snickered at Theo’s words so cunningly put. The other Monks found no humor in this situation. All were torn by what decision to make.

  Theo was silent for several seconds and then raised a finger to Octagon as he informed him, “But Octagon, heed my words: if Savagio turns on us in any way, you shall be the one to draw your sword and take his life. He may be a powerful warrior and one of the best swordsman in the Domain, but you have trained yourself to be a strong, skilled swordsman yourself.”

  Understanding Theo’s spoken words, Octagon bowed his head to Theo in respect. “I did not realize you saw me as being a strong swordsman.”

  “We have watched you practice enough on your own time with swordsmen like Oog and Algee, and we have watched you grow with this art to an exceptional and masterful degree,” Meek informed Octagon.

  “Thank you for honoring me with this compliment,” Octagon dryly replied to Meek.

  Octagon bowed his head to his Brothers and took his leave. One of his most innermost secrets was now revealed – without his permission. He did not wish anyone – not even the Monks – to know that he had mastered the art of swordsmanship.

  “I see many turbulent thoughts running through Octagon’s mind right now,” Meek remarked.

  “As long as those thoughts are for us, and not against us,” Theo, deep in thought himself, remarked out loud.

  “I believe Octagon may be a bit confused right now as to the true meaning of our heritage and ancestry as Monks,” Alme stated. “We should truly be of the utmost purest, superior and restrictive quality and character.”

  These final words stated by Alme left many a Monk meditating that night. Numerous purple candles were lit with muted bluish flames burning. Sweet clover was also burned in many castle rooms that night to aid in the meditation. The contemplation continued throughout the night, leaving most of the Monks feeling a lack of peace and tranquility.

  The Thorn Warriors’ March

  After enjoying the past six months of the gay parties and entertainment within the Ladybug Castle, Goldest found herself in a melancholy mood. She watched for months as her castle and lands took on a new form and new growth: the old cleaned up and the new sprouting. She enjoyed the company of the Queen of the Willows and Augean, and watching her people craft, plant and turn her kingdom into something that was even better than before. Her people and everyone that helped in the restoration of her castle and lands were rewarded with fine parties and entertainment. But all this did not take away her desolation.

  She watched as Ushi put his all into making her kingdom something. But within the deep recesses of her heart, she knew Ushi longed to be with his own princess. He could not hide the fact from her that he missed her; and she knew that, too.

  “Humph! If it wasn’t for that Savagio, Ushi and his princess would have been together by now. But then, I guess we would not be here at all restoring my castle. One person’s gain is usually someone else’s loss.” She sighed heavily. She was in a peevish state today – nervous in the extreme.

  Goldest jumped on to the sill of her tower window. She sat there for a while looking out at her vast homeland. Loneliness overcame her. A tear dropped from her golden eye as she remembered the past.

  Augean, looking for Goldest, went to her room to find her. Deep within the folds of her little pink heart, Augean knew Goldest was falling deeper into a depression. She was concerned for her friend. Augean peered inside Goldest’s room from the hall and spotted her on the sill. Augean could feel her low spirits. She approached Goldest.

  “What is wrong, Goldest? You look so gloomy lately. You should be happy with the beauty of your kingdom. Why, I could stay here forever myself! I love it here!”

  “This kingdom will never be complete unless the beauties which have once flown away fly back,” a downcast Goldest informed Augean.

  “And what beauties do you speak of, Goldest?”

  “The ladybugs,” Goldest croaked.

  Augean sighed with a heavy heart as Goldest’s misery enveloped her. Augean’s heart felt mournful for the tiny golden frog as she said to her softly, “I know, Goldest. I just wanted you to say it.”

  Goldest looked up at Augean as a golden tear dropped from her gilded eyes.

  Augean felt like her big sister, and so she also felt her pain. “Sometimes, it is well to speak of it. You will see, Goldest, they will come back. Trust me.”

  The animated Queen, all laughter and full of fun these days, came bouncing into the room waving a letter. “So there you are, my little ones!”

  “What is it, Grandmother?”

  “The King misses us, Augean. He orders me to command Ushi to take us back to our own kingdom.”

  “Tell Grandfather to come and get us. Then maybe he will stay awhile and enjoy our own effort expressed in this colorful, flavorful kingdom!” Augean exclaimed.

  The Queen looked down at Goldest and noticed how still and quiet she was. Even her coat of gold seemed to be lacking in brilliance and luster, and not as vivid in color as it once was.

  “What is wrong with Goldest?” the Queen, toning down her excitement, asked Augean.

  “She’s waiting for the ladybugs to return back to her kingdom,” Augean replied.

  The Queen was animated all over again
as she exclaimed, “Just like a Queen, thinking of her kingdom!” She then laughed. “I bet the ladybugs are out there right now spying on you and your kingdom! They will be back! You shall see!”

  Augean took on a happy tone. “You see, Goldest, even my grandmother knows!”

  As Goldest sat in her pensive mood on the sill of her window, Savagio was standing in front of the Thorn Army with the Monks off to one side. Many of the lesser Monks were also present for this great day of theirs. Pentangle and Xnug stood by Savagio’s side, always ready to assist him at any given time, waiting for his commands. Savagio stared at the rows of proud, strong thorns. They stood upright with rigidity – so strong and so sharp. They displayed nothing but the utmost prestige, and each and every Thorn Warrior thought that they were the cream of the crop, being as sharp as they were – with their now mature appearance as well as with their toothsome, flawless, protruding thorns. They were definitely the picture of health.

  If they had tongues, I wonder what they would be saying right now? Savagio thought to himself humorously.

  Theo and some of his favorites had taken notice that the thorns had developed a trait called conceit – they appreciated their own worth. They took on an attitude that regarded themselves with favor, and made themselves stand up and out before the Monks. Their attitude made the Monks uncomfortable and also made them feel that the thorns were superior to them. Theo, Alme, Meek, Onion, Xnug, Ebrix, Sectangle, Sicar, Radish and Sooth, with Decadence in attendance, had many walks together and talked about the thorns’ amour propre.

  Theo had gathered late one night with the Monks of greater worth only, and had informed them all that they would have to keep a watchful eye on their thorns and make sure that they didn’t try to overrun or overtake their own kingdom – the Kingdom of Thorns. Any sign of misconduct on their part, no matter how small the sign may be, would be a cause for alarm. They would have no other choice but to immediately put them to the flame. There would be no second thoughts or hesitation. Theo knew deep within his amber heart that even they would have trouble overcoming the sharpness of their thick, prominent thorns.

  There had been talk about a sorcerous black rite to make the earth grab hold of their feet and ankles and replant them, but there would be no time to perform such necromancy under an eclipse of the sun or moon, whichever came first.

  Theo thought about Meek’s words to him quite some time ago: “Their swellheadedness could cause their own destruction. Best be careful.”

  Theo’s thoughts turned from his dark meetings at night with his Brothers to the present. Savagio now caught his attention.

  “You are now known as warriors. You have been drilled to attack, fight and defend yourselves,” Savagio went on with his speech to them.

  “And to do battle!” Pentangle added to Savagio’s words. Pentangle showed no fear of Savagio or the thorns. As far as he was concerned, if the thorns gave their kingdom any trouble, he would deal with them himself. Because he was always in their company or at their side in training, Pentangle felt that the thorns looked up to him and no other, except maybe Savagio. But, Savagio was not always at their side or helping them with their steaming baths of vitalism, or putting them down for the night. Only Pentangle was always there, making them feel comfortable, removing any fears or doubts that they might be developing, and making them feel that they were a part of the kingdom.

  “Battle? What battle do you speak of?” a surprised Savagio asked. He spoke calmly, even though a distrustful feeling was taking root inside him.

  “Why, to do battle with the enemy,” Xnug replied smartly. He had beat Pentangle to the question, for fear Pentangle’s answer would greatly displease Savagio and cause more concern and trouble.

  Savagio looked unfavorably at the Monks off to one side. He decided to add the next spoken words that were in his thoughts. “I command you, Thorn Warriors, to be a peaceful army – only to attack when there is a need to defend yourselves!”

  “Do not speak words like that to our warriors!” Pentangle, enraged, shouted out to Savagio.

  The Monks whispered amongst themselves at the confrontation between Savagio and Pentangle. Theo was growing very displeased with Pentangle and remarked, “So, I see we should consider cutting out his tongue too!”

  Savagio smirked at Pentangle and took on a triumphant look. “I am finished here. I take my leave and go back whence I came.” Savagio looked at the Monks and found the eyes of Octagon. He bowed his head in farewell to him, as Octagon bowed his head in respect and farewell to Savagio. Savagio turned and walked away. Pentangle made to go after him, but Xnug stopped him and gave him a look to stay. “Enough is enough,” Xnug wisely said to him. “Let him go.”

  Savagio mounted Xzen, took the rope from his supply horse, and rode off without another word spoken. All were quiet as they watched him leave.

  Pentangle was in a very dangerous mood, a mood of jealousy towards Savagio’s airs of dignity and honor. Pentangle looked at Theo for some type of command to go after Savagio and annihilate him. Theo knew what thoughts were in Pentangle’s mind, and he also remembered his spoken promise to Octagon. Theo gave Pentangle a dark look and shook his head negatively, which meant he should let Savagio go. Pentangle, exasperated, walked up to Theo with his teeth grinding in hateful frustration.

  “Let him go,” Theo told Pentangle in a cold tone with clenched teeth, which meant trouble for him if he did not obey.

  Theo then looked at Octagon and said to him, “May your word be kept, Octagon. I hope we did not make a mistake.”

  Octagon bowed his head to Theo, saying, “Thank you, Brother. I respect you in keeping your promise made to me. I take honor within my spoken words to Savagio.” Then he raised his head and said boldly to him, “After all, I am a Monk.”

  Mistrust and a state of mental uneasiness crept over Theo as he warned Octagon, “You are only one ancient Monk amongst the rest of us here, Octagon. You do not speak within your innermost being like the rest of us Monks, but within your heart. That is why I rule here, and not you.”

  Octagon bowed his head again to his Brother, saying, “I will remember that, Brother.”

  Theo had kept his binding word to Octagon with the hope that Octagon would respect him even more. But now, Theo was not so sure. Skepticism and shadows of doubt concerning Octagon were filtering throughout his mind. He would now have to treat Octagon as a fragile statuette.

  An irritated Pentangle and an anxious Xnug faced Theo. Theo brushed all thoughts of Octagon aside right now. He had to take over the command.

  “Prepare our Thorn Warriors immediately to undertake the march to the Kingdom of the Ladybugs. Seconds must not be wasted,” Theo told them coldly.

  Forgetting his irritation, a smile crept over Pentangle’s face as he went to prepare the Thorn Warriors. The Monks walked back down to the castle in silence to make their own preparations.

  This great march began while the Sun was still asleep. In vengeance, the Moon did not shine brightly that night. It did not wish to help them find their way to bring destruction and death. The Moon realized too late what a mistake it had made taking part in the Monk’s terrifying ritual that one night, with the unearthing of the fleshless thorns. The Moon had shamed itself and hid its face for no one to see.

  The wrathful wind blew in disapproval of the march, making sordid dirt swirl about the thorns, which made them incensed with rage. The wind, too, regretted taking part in that frightening ritual that night, which it now knew was done to endanger others. The wind felt shamed, also. The thunder tried to make the shamed feel better by roaring with malice at the creatures below, while the lightning flashed wickedly, hoping to blind their way.

  The Thorn Warriors marched with unfelt passion. Sensations of pain or pleasure were unknown to these creatures of the fleshless shadows and darkened, disembodied souls – that is what these stick figurines with thorns looked like to the Moon, as it watched from high up above them.

  Such ugly beings, such powerful
illusions these creatures must be, thought the Moon.

  The Monks were clothed in their heavy, thick black-hooded capes with grayish woolen socks to keep themselves warm against the bleak coldness that had set in as they were preparing themselves for the march. They made sure to attire themselves with their grayish woolen gowns beneath their cloaks. As they rode onwards, the Moon hid itself behind the irate, petulant clouds. The inky blackness seemed to be tinged with icy blue. Even the bad-tempered shadows of the night were shivering.

  The pure essence of the dramatic forces of nature seem to be in defiance of us and against us, thought Octagon to himself.

  The Sun awoke and rose late that morning, not wanting to bring warmth to these spiny entities. The disembodied shadows created from these creatures by the sun look like shadows of the dead, thought Octagon to himself, as he rode behind them and their frightening shadows, reluctantly cast from the sun.

  Later that day, the Sun decided to shine menacingly, hoping to blister their prominent thorns. That will teach them, thought the heartless Sun.

  The thorns marched onwards throughout the day with very little rest. The Monks were accustomed to harsh treatment of themselves and could withstand anything. They expected the same from their thorns.

  “They must be able to withstand any test of survival, just like we have taught and trained ourselves to do,” Theo remarked to other Monks riding close to him.

  Meek decided to speak out. “It grows late, Theo. Should we not make fire and rest?”

  “Soon,” Theo responded coldly.

  They rode and marched on for another few hours until Theo decided it was time to make warmth and sleep for the night. “But not for long,” he informed the other Monks.

  Refuge was found, with a hectic fire burning with golden leaves and with the sage and cedar incense the Monks had brought with them. They sat around the fire drinking their own darkened maroon wine, which they had made from their own grapes, and they drank it, taking in the aroma of the incense. Wheat and oats mixed with barley and corn was their soup, with special herbs added for strength and endurance. They feasted on loaves of their homemade wheat, rye and spinach breads which included their homemade varieties of aged white and deep yellow cheeses, with some being of an orange tart color. The Monks were greatly content. They had always taken care of themselves in the best of ways. The thorns were laid to rest in a cotton field.