The Mysterious Soldier - Part I

by Tina Silvens

  Chapter 7

  Inside the palace, Soris was talking to his father. The king had managed to calm down after the morning quarrel. He was looking, relaxed but focused, at some documents.

  They were in a modest-sized room with two desks, and wooden furniture adorned with decorative sculptures. There was a dark red carpet upon the floor that emphasized the sensation of warmth and commodity given by the sun rays, which streamed inside through big windows with golden frames.

  Soris, leaning against a desk with his face turned to a window, said, “And now, Daniel is gone. I know it’s not urgent, but I’ll have to choose another guard.”

  “We already know who’ll be your new guard. We won’t hold any contest this time,” said the king, putting some documents in a heap.

  Soris turned towards him, startled. “But why don’t you want us to follow the rules? Until now, we’ve been always strict about this.”

  The king stood calmly from his chair, made a few steps towards him, and replied, “For show, maybe we’ll do one—although I don’t think we should waste our time with such a thing. But practically, your bodyguard is already chosen. The Aripini family has sent us a man for this. It’s a sort of gift given by them because we finished the war, and their army could finally return home. They said they’d like to keep our good relations, even after the dire period.”

  Soris took his eyes away from his father back to the window, smiling, amused. He crossed his arms on his chest and said ironically, “They’ve given one only now, after the most difficult and dangerous part passed. During the war, they had fear...”

  The king grinned askew, not letting him out of his sight. “I see you’re displeased with something regarding the Aripinis?” he asked Soris, aiming for a certain reaction from him.

  Soris sat silent for a couple of seconds. He felt the pressure coming from his father. He carefully crafted his words before answering. “I wouldn’t say I’m displeased. It’s just a conclusion of mine after this long collaboration. They helped, I can’t deny, but with great cautiousness and restraint. They seemed to be some scared people, somewhat unsure.”

  The king lifted his chin, interested in his words, waiting for him to finish his sentence. Soris unfolded his arms and turned to him. “Their army was visibly less skilled than ours. Its only strong aspect was the much larger number of soldiers. We couldn’t ever send them in the first line.”

  “It’s normal for them to be weaker than us. They don’t belong to a warlike kingdom. Nevertheless, you’ve got to admit that thanks to them, we came out victorious.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Soris, looking to one side. “It’s just that I can’t believe those soldiers they’d sent were from their elite, as they were pretending.” He hesitated a little, then added in a low voice, “I don’t think they’ve ever sent a person of value here.”

  The king smiled slyly, crossing his arms on his chest. “Who would send their best to a neighbor with precarious destiny? But, son, what’s with you? Do you perhaps regret that you sold your freedom for such an army?”

  Soris immediately glanced at him, as if stricken by his words. The king watched him defiantly, satisfied by this reaction. Soris frowned a little, tightly clenching his right fist. He wanted to knock off that grin on his father’s face, to surprise him with a punch, just like those words did to him. I so hate him sometimes, he commented to himself, hardly relaxing.

  He closed his eyes and faked being amused by the king’s questions. When he opened them, he retorted with a sarcastic smile, “But, dad, when did I say I had sold my freedom? That’s something only you did when you marr... pardon me, in fact, when you had been forced to marry mom in order to make your army complete.”

  Noticing that the king’s scornful attitude had dwindled significantly, he added in a normal tone, “Keep in mind: I wasn’t forced; I accepted willingly!”

  “You only say that because you’re engaged,” hissed the king, a bit annoyed. “When you become like me, you’ll understand. Therefore, don’t be so proud now, you airhead... The more I look at you, the more I start to believe that rumor about you destroying this kingdom. It’s just that you won’t do it willingly, but out of silliness.”

  Soris wanted to defend himself, but a thought made him hesitate. Why am I always having these kinds of discussions with him? I’m fed up with all of his prickling replies.

  He gave up his pride and asked sincerely, “I don’t get why you always want to exchange these kinds of words with me. Why was it that when we were together on the battlefield, we were getting along so well, and now, when the big trouble’s finally come to an end, when we should be at peace in the palace, you only see the worst in me?”

  “Ugh, there you go with your sentimentality,” sighed the king, bored, passing a hand to his forehead in exasperation. “You remained so immature...”

  Soris sighed as well, realizing there was no use to carry on.

  The king reverted to his normal state and replied as an aside, “On the battlefield we both had the same objective; you were on my side. Here, you’ve immediately gone on your mother’s side, therefore you’ve chosen to go against me—willingly,” he ended with a short grin.

  Soris looked out the window to clear his mind. He was too tired to riposte. He turned to his father and said resignedly, “Oh well, let’s leave this now. Tell me what you know about the candidate sent by the Aripini Kingdom.”

  The king went to his desk and lazily searched through a pile of papers. Trying to remember something, he said, “It’s some guy... He’s Dual...”

  Soris turned, bewildered.

  “What do you mean, a dual guy?” he asked, unsure.

  The king laughed with a sigh. “Dual is his name; I wasn’t referring to his character.” He chuckled at the comical situation, then drew out a folder and gave it to Soris, saying, “Take a look at his files and see that I’m not lying. He seems to be quite a good boy, from the scores written in there.”

  Soris took the folder and read it attentively. Indeed, “Dual” was the first name of the candidate sent by the Aripinis.

  “He’ll arrive tomorrow afternoon. I hope you two will get along well.”

  The prince stared at the file with the name and photo of the new candidate. He raised an eyebrow. Can I put my trust into someone with such a dubious name?

  *

  The gates of the large yard of the Aridens’ Palace opened quickly before the big transportation car. Selunia got her face close to the window, touching it with hands covered by thick gloves. In the yard, scores of soldiers were moving from one side to another with different construction materials. They were helping with the restoration of a few depots that had been damaged during the aggressive bombardment from the war.

  The palace proudly soared in the middle of the vast yard, covered by a dust veil that came as a result of the soldiers’ activity. The big building, five floors with three grand towers—which touched the sky with their golden conical roofs—had been spared the attacks. The enemy seemed to have wanted to conquer the palace as a whole, not ruined by their own projectiles. The sandy-white castle was decorated simplistically with light brown, curvy elements. Around it, there spread in a radial manner modest gardens full of shrubs, tall trees, hedges, and bushes of variously colored roses, which gave the place a romantic nuance.

  Selunia gazed, gaping, at her new home. It seemed a lot bigger than the White Castle, but a bit less beautiful and less welcoming. It looked like a mere resting oasis for the army, not at all like an impressive palace to represent the royal family.

  The car suddenly stopped. Selunia snatched herself away from the window and turned to the general, waiting for instructions.

  “Wait for me here,” he calmly told her. “You may go outside, but please don’t go too far away from the car. As soon as I settle a little discussion within the palace, I’ll come and get you.”

  “All right,” she consented, hiding her nervousness.

>   The general left the car, took a view of the surroundings, then went determinedly to the palace. First I’ll talk to the prince, he told himself. It’s the easiest way to get an approval. I’ll think later of what to tell the king and the queen.

  Selunia got out a few seconds after him. She twirled once in place, paying attention to everything around her. It was nice weather, a mild sun in a clear sky, accompanied by a fine breeze that was slowly spreading the dust and smell of construction. Selunia sighed a little. I think I’ll miss the perfume of hyacinths and moonflowers from the White Castle. Do my parents have any idea of the present state of the palace? I wonder why they’ve insisted so much for me to get here.

  Chapter 8

  Soris got out of his father’s office. He closed the door behind him, then looked left and right, disoriented, down the spacious hall he had just entered. Everything looked just like it had five years before the burst of the great battles: the same long golden-yellow carpet with brown stripes and green-blue geometrical figures; the same plain cold stone walls, adorned here and there with pictures, illustrating either a landscape or the portrait of a notable ancestor of the royal family or the army; and the same arches of heavy, decorative marble, carrying the high ceiling. Only the people had changed.

  He took the hallway slowly to the right, unsure yet where to go, but eager to get away from his father as quickly as possible, and the place where his presence wasn’t wanted. No matter what, I can’t get used to his attitude. It troubles me, how he and mom can change so radically.

  I remember how dad patted me on my shoulder, encouraged and cheered me up after each battle, and when we’d return to the palace, mom would wait for me with open arms. She was so happy to see me alive, to see that I got out fine from the fights; that I was all right. Now, it seems I’m not important.

  An obtrusive, mean thought went through his mind: Now, c’mon, let’s be honest: it wasn’t only happiness coming from her maternal love. When you went to war, don’t you remember how she told you to come back alive because she didn’t feel like giving birth to another child? Ha, ha! You fool!

  Soris shuddered, disturbed by this memory. She was just joking, he consoled himself with grief, stopping at the first intersection of hallways.

  Resting his hands on his hips, he let out a sigh. He was dead inside. It was like his strength had gone out entirely with the war’s ending. He saw his life as an endless row of duties and responsibilities towards the palace and the entire kingdom. He knew that now wasn’t the time to show signs of weakness; in fact, it never had been. Still, now he saw himself crowded with fear and discouragement.

  According to tradition, he had already reached the state of a full grown-up and could have become king, but this didn’t make him too happy. To him, more power meant more hardships and worries. He couldn’t understand those who were so eager to get their hands on the throne.

  To be the ruler of the kingdom meant to be a man totally dedicated to the wellness of the people, deprived of every means of distraction, and restricted in thinking by the laws and traditions of the palace—at least, that was what he thought. He already felt overwhelmed by the issues that had started by the time of the war inside the kingdom: the poverty of some villages; the large number of local thefts; the weakening of the security system; the people’s dissatisfaction towards the ruling class; and the pressure of the Central Palace. As if these weren’t enough, deficiencies also occurred in the internal discipline and organization of the palace.

  Soris felt suffocated by all these, by the pressure of those around him, by their expectations of him, and the duties that he couldn’t forget about even now, when he was on sick leave.

  He lifted his eyes. He attentively studied the sharp marble rocks that he’d admired as a child. Now they weren’t fascinating him anymore. They were like an abstract representation of his worries, and they’d been placed up there only to make sure they would crush him hard when they fell.

  Soris shook his head, realizing that his mind had swerved into an exaggerated pessimistic vision. He laughed at himself, then thought, I think I’d better go and talk to General Waltario. Chances are, I’ll go crazy if I sit by myself in this corridor any longer.

  In just a few minutes, he arrived hurriedly at the general’s studio. He entered the dark and untidy room. The general had a passion for weapons, for studying and developing new ones, and for innovative security systems. That was why he owned a studio instead of an office. Here he had deposited all sorts of old and new weapons, either taken from the captured enemies or created by him, or by other craftsmen like him.

  In the middle of the room were two large tables on which big rolls of paper—plans and projects for weapons, or maps of the kingdom—were piled. This was also the place where the plans of attack were conceived.

  Near the left wall was a modest brown couch on which the general rested sometimes. Soris was fond of this couch. During his discussions with the general, he used to lie down and stare at the strange objects, made from different metals, which hung on the walls.

  Noticing Waltario wasn’t inside, the prince happily sprawled on his favorite couch, which, no matter how shabby it was, seemed more comfortable than the bed from his own room. In his careless jump, he hit his right shoulder, which wasn’t completely recovered from an injury he had gotten in the last battles. He moaned a little, scolded himself for being reckless, then carefully stretched himself, sinking his head into a cushion. Soon the silence in the room slipped into his soul. He looked at each object in the room one by one, searching for a new one, and little by little sleepiness made his eyelids heavier.

  He knew here he could sleep without a care because, to him, the general was a sort of second parent, with whom he got along better than with the king. That was why around the general, Soris indulged himself in behaving without restriction. Waltario was a man loyal to the royal family; he wouldn’t have ever disclosed anything to anyone.

  Just when he was about to fall asleep, the door suddenly opened. Determined steps, followed by a metallic noise, were heard getting inside. Soris laid his head back on the cushion, relaxed. It was Waltario.

  “I hope I don’t disturb you, General,” said the prince, getting his hands under his head. “No matter what I do, I always reach the conclusion that this is the most relaxing place.”

  “Not at all, Your Highness. You may come here whenever you like. I promise not to let anyone disturb you,” Waltario said respectfully.

  Soris stared at him, then burst into laughter along with Waltario. This formal way of talking was mostly a joke when no stranger was around. Soris wasn’t a stickler for formalities, and therefore he allowed any trustful person to speak to him without honorifics.

  “Ah, I’m so glad I can count on you, General,” said Soris, brightened up by his appearance. “Last night I had another nightmare, actually this morning—‘cause I got up late. Even after sleeping longer, I feel as fuzzy as if I didn’t sleep at all! Maybe I didn’t actually rest that much. I didn’t fall asleep until three or four this morning.”

  The general listened to him as he approached one of the tables and started to put the paper rolls in order. Soris had this habit of recounting all his daytime activities to Waltario whenever they met. Waltario didn’t mind that. He cared for the prince as if he were his own son. He had a lot of compassion for Soris, especially now, when he knew he was struggling with the past war traumas.

  “You see, I’ve been awake since a few hours ago, and already feel as drained as if an entire day has passed! Oh, where did I get so much energy when I was little?”

  “Did you see the doctor today?” asked Waltario, pulling on the handle of a drawer.

  “Ah, yeah, I did. He changed my bandages again. He said I was getting better, but I still have to be careful in the future. You know how he is, boring as usual,” said the prince, closing his eyes under the weight of their sleepy lids.

  He carried on with the storytelling, relaying th
e witnessed and shared events at the palace in a descending rhythm controlled by the power of his drowsiness. The general didn’t pay too much attention to his monotonous story, but concentrated on how to bring Selunia into the discussion. He didn’t like to lie, and even less to the royal family. To him, no matter how good the reason, to lie or hide something from them seemed an unforgivable, condemnable deed. That was why he was having difficulty speaking. In everything he did, if he wasn’t sure that it was right, he tended to stammer, to not find his words easily.

  Finally, he inhaled and said, struggling to look untroubled, “Now, please, Your Highness...umm, I mean, Soris. I know this isn’t quite the right time to ask for a favor... but it’s—it’s an old promise, umm, I mean...”

  “Say what is it, General. I don’t need explanations,” said the drowsy prince, turning on one side.

  The general grasped a bit of courage. “It’s about my little girl.”

  “You’ve got a daughter, General?” asked the prince, startled, still not forcing himself to open but a single eye. Eh, why am I wondering? It’s normal. He was married once too, he justified to himself, closing his eye again and slackening. He added as an aside, “I didn’t know that.”

  That one eye was enough to take the general’s breath away. He shuddered inside himself, where there was a great battle between what was moral to him and what he had to do.

  “Umm... Well, yes. Something like that... Anyway, what I wanted to ask you was, if possible, to let me bring her to live here with me, because...”

  “Of course, no problem,” said Soris in a staccato rhythm, during his last moments of resistance before dozing off. “How old is she?” he asked out of automatic politeness.

  The general shivered again. He didn’t know her exact age. He didn’t take care of such details about her—he, the man with so many worries in his head. Troubled, he went on calculating aside in a whisper, “Eight years ago, when I was...”