Scroll of Eden

by Judah LaBrie

  Malik desired long ago to overthrow the kingdom. He now had a small following, and a great opportunity. Pieces were falling into place, almost as precise as the embittered Malik could hope for; he would then take the throne for himself.

  Damp air was breathed in, out. A quiet cough rang through the small room. Above them the prisoners daily routines echoed down through the holes left from cracked mortar. Whips snapped and cries of mistreatment bellowed down in random intervals. A darkness of the soul settled in Malik’s heart, he smiled as he listened to the voices of the unheard, screaming for rescue.

  Evil had been birthed in these bowels long ago in Malik, and matured through each day that passed. It was less juvenile now, compared to its small root he once knew. He had formed and pruned his disdain for the king, leaving only the worst and loathsome offenses to grow the leaves of hate.

  Malik felt the intimate venom of his indignation bloom within him.

  “Tomorrow, my brothers...” Malik found each of their eyes as he scanned his group of conspirators, “Tomorrow we kill the king.”

  Silence.

  Again the noises from above seeped into their chamber, each man sat without word, dialoging within themselves for agreement. Scrutinizing their own souls for confirmation. What a heavy weight laid upon them.

  Four still remained unsure while one locked eyes with Malik, his head slowly lifting, then nodding it down again.

  “Elikor, Are you with me in this challenge?” Malik addressing Elikor, the king’s commander of the army.

  Sighing deeply, aware of what his heart was about to release, Elikor spoke softly, with all the encumbrance of betrayal in his voice, “yes.”

  “I’m in too.” A younger man spoke, Beytar of the west lands, a boy when he joined Malik, his mother had been killed by the kings men after refusing to be in the harem of King Altair.

  “Are we mad to end the life of our lord?” Dov shaking his head, conceding, yet still holding himself to some sort of demented morality.

  “Sagi? Vacel?” Malik watched their every wrinkle, squints in the flickering candle light telling the unfolding story of loyalty to Malik, they nodded in approval. Six men now endorsed the death of the king.

  “How are we going to pull this off?” Vacel spoke to Elikor, looking to him for the strategy.

  “He is riding to the Tubal Hills tomorrow night, I am to personally escort him to the mouth of the hills, there he will ride alone. Vacel, and Dov will be waiting for him there.” Elikor’s throat felt as though he lacked air as each word he spoke increased treachery.

  Malik smiled, his spirit could be no more blackened.

  “Then what? A dead king will bring chaos.” Sagi spoke up, he served on the counsel of advisors to the king with Malik.

  “Then Elikor pledges his army to me, and we name you as our priest, and you anoint me as the new king.” Malik saw Sagi’s countenance change in his favor, he had carefully thought to give each man in this room powerful positions in his dynasty.

  “And what shall I be to you Malik?” Vacel asked.

  “You will be in charge of the treasury, your salary will give you great wealth and power. You will have your own castle if you so desire.” Malik had observed on more than one occasion the greed in Vacel’s heart. Vacel shared a smile with Malik.

  Silence.

  They all seemed to be analytical yet ambitious, realizing their small room was the birthplace of something new, something unthinkable. Such an undertaking of deceit would be the wings of a creature they hoped they would be able to control. They had to trust each other, in ways they knew they did not trust themselves. Reliable only to their greed for power and the shared contempt for the king. This group of six sly devils would have to be a family to the immorality they set out to end, knowing intrenched in their souls their justification for such sinning was not warranted.

  Malik felt the depth of contemplation his men were pondering, their faces could not hide the fear and second guessing of themselves. He spoke while finding his feet, standing to leave, still keeping his shoulders low, not letting them think or question any longer, “Put your conscience to death tonight.”

  Five men remained in the bitter trench, how many unholy meetings like this had taken place here, in the dim hollowed out carcass of the dungeons. Above them the pleas for release again echoed down, or was it their souls this time, within them, pleading the case to remain on this side of innocents.

  The absence of Malik could have led the men to talk themselves out of the whole matter, but they wanted to kill the king as adamantly as Malik. They just needed a night to grasp it all, taking it, in smaller bites.

  “Are we mad?” Dov spoke first.

  “Of course we are mad, we just plotted the murder of our king.” Vacel rose to exit, he took a step towards the door, put his hand on Dov, “I will see you on tomorrow’s eve brother.”

  Four sat looking at the candlelight alone against the darkness, their command to follow, kill your conscience, kill the king.

  The king’s commanding officer stood, he had no words to say to the three he had lingered behind with, his exit was quick, no mention of the next days plan.

  Three.

  Two.

  “It is my advice, let us distance ourselves from this plot, and if they succeed, we share in it, if it fails, we were no more wiser than the next man.”

  The two men stood, then locked arms, patting the other’s back in a gesture of parting. The candle was blown out, the echoes above served as guide to find the way out of the darkness.

  Is there a way out of the darkness?

  Chapter Nine

  The queen had not been in the king’s throne room for many months now. She was told of Shamal’s return from one of the guards, one that had been loyal more to her, than to the king. “He demands the Scroll of Eden.” He sprang into her chamber forgetting to knock from the excitement. She was in her morning gown, lounging in her bed. After hearing the news, she dismissed his mistake, this was a worthy enough message for her; she would spare him a punishment. Maybe.

  “Thank you my Queen, I assure you it will not happen again.”

  “You are most faithful Ahud.” She smiled at him, but her soul was burning from the lack of respect. Another time would arise for this guard’s demise, but right now, she needed all the allies she had accumulated, no matter how imbecilic. “Tend to the king, report back his words, let me know his plans, does he still fear the great Shamal?”

  “Yes my goddess, as you command.” He was out of the chamber quickly, leaving her alone.

  The Queen stood, her arms held out horizontally, she arched her back, and let out a soft mischievous laugh, then brought her elbows into her side and resumed a normal stance, but her mind was ticking. She liked being called goddess, if only they knew how close she was to being a god, they will know soon enough. She stood for at least five minutes, unmoving in her position, dwelling and scheming in the deepest darkest places of her mind.

  Shamal was here in the castle? Looking for the great scroll? The map to Eden, the salvation of man… and the threat to God. There would not be a better time to act upon a plan she had been conceiving for many years.

  One man, if he was a man, was center to her evil planning. He was in the dungeon, a criminal for life. His crime had deserved death, but because he was the queen’s cousin the king allowed him to remain alive, but assured him he would beg to be dead. And so the dungeon was host to the murderous Souhold, for his attempt at taking the kings life.

  The Queen knew she would one day free him, but it had to be the right timing, the proper release, even approved by the king possibly, would guarantee him not to be thrown right back in, or hung. But now was the time, this would be her delivery of goods to all who she had allied with. Her oaths would be fulfilled. A queen this filled with evil, needed friends just as evil, and cousins just as evil. And creatures and gods that enjoyed killing could gather to her, to share in the splendid advance she wanted to accomplish. But t
here was always a price, unreturned favors could not be tolerated, she would have to be careful, people with blackened souls kill easily those who betray them. She owed more now, and would indeed be needing to exceed all she had ever asked for.

  “I am coming for you Souhold, like I promised.” She walked to her vanity, a large desk and mirror only a few steps from her bed, she would put a fresh coat of oil on her skin, put her hair up, and dress for a visit to the underworld.

  “Take him to the king, announce his freedom, then gather the faithful, take him to the king, announce his freedom…” She found herself repeating three steps out loud, she was nervous, excited and rushing through the halls with a purpose.

  “Queen, you should not be here, there is a mad man killing people with his sword!” A guard called out to her, he was approaching her, to possibly protect her.

  “If your speaking of Shamal, then it is you who should be careful, he likes to kill guards from what I’ve heard.” She raced through him, he jumped out of her way, a dumbfounded look on his face.

  “Yes your majesty.” He called out to her as she turned a corner in the castle halls.

  The afternoon was warm, and she could see glimmering rays reach through the windows that were high above the halls, they gave the area enough light to see the whole span of the king’s bay, and warmth enough to not feel the chill that usually fills the greater halls of the castle.

  She was aware of the magnificent powers Shamal had, but not afraid in the least, Shamal had never killed a woman. He would never, and even after years of his absence, she knew he would not still to this day. Shamal was a man any woman could easily fall for, his bravery and loyalty stood above other men like cedars against the low level vegetation in the forest. Shamal had taken an interest in her long ago, before she even knew the king, before the great slaughter. He had tried his hardest as a young warrior to win her affection. She was all too familiar with her own heart to be able to give it to such a noble man, her wicked soul was evil, intent on her own gain. Shamal would have been a hindrance to the accomplishment of becoming queen. Romance was an inferior desire to the ones she had, power, and hatred for mankind.

  Though she interacted with Shamal in conversation during her courtship with King Altair, the love Shamal had for her dwindled. She could have cared for him in another life, a less distracted world. But not in this one, where too thin of a line distinguished peasant from princess. A thousand women would vie for her position, and though she got it, still more would emerge to dethrone her. She loved every bit of it, the competition and the power. You would have to be of the vilest nature to withstand all the hell that she brought to any woman who tried to seduce the king.

  She entered another hallway, paintings of kings and battles lined this hallway, mankind she thought, shaking her head.

  Shamal, back to Shamal, her thoughts injected his face, his younger face, what did he look like now? How would she look to him? it was herself only that mattered, so her thinking weather on Shamal or Altair, or war, or the sunshine, it always brought her to her. So with Shamal’s return it ignited a passionate association with all he had done for her. But as a devoted man, she knew he would not harm her.

  She approached the last hall before a deep ascension into the dungeon, she saw Malik exit the door that only leads that way, he was almost running from there. His face, though she saw it for a moment, looked as evil as hers. She did not like Malik, so she was suspicious naturally, but what business would he have in the dungeon? She stopped and hid behind a colonnade as the door swung open again, she watched as one by one five other men emerged. There was a lot of activity in the castle on the eve of Shamal’s return. She waited, then took her turn, she opened the door, and entered the stairwell.

  Chapter Ten

  “Have you doubted our god long?” Burhan stopped, turning his body to face Halim head on. Blood from the elephant meat over his shoulder was running down Burhan’s leg.

  “Ever since I threw my child into the great fire.” Halim answered, he had stopped walking when Burhan’s maneuver blocked him. He could feel blood from the meat soaking his clothes, it was as uncomfortable as the conversation he has having with his elder.

  “These are the days you will look back on, when pain grew in you, and built in you the desire to hate.” Burhan was all in with his gods.

  “Why must hate be so great in me?”

  “Hate is our god’s fuel, he loves when we kill things.” Burhan staggered himself around, taking steps again.

  “People, not things, to kill people.” Halim said what most in his tribe refused too. These sacrifices were people. He followed his elder closely.

  “Animals and plants are given to our god as well, and they have life too, so yes we kill all things!” Burhan emphasized things.

  “That Should be enough! Animals and plants, why our children? Why my children?”

  “Your children are not like us, your wife cannot give you giants.” Burhan reminding him of his below standard pedigree.

  “Even as a slave, can my son not be loved by anyone other than my wife and I?”

  “He is a good worker, but to show love to slaves is forbidden.” Burhan’s voice was completely devoted to his tribe, his conviction, his gods.

  “Without you I will lose my family.” Halim knew his only hope was Burhan, but he was sensing he could not trust him. Why did he not see this before?

  “We will meet tomorrow, the council will listen to you, then I will recommend that you and your family live in the slave village. That is the most I can do for you Halim. I have restrictions that keep me from offering anything greater, and I fear upsetting Ernostride.” Burhan still walking, slowing only when he spoke of his god.

  “I am truly grateful to you...” Coward! Halim was angry, his mentor would not help him keep his family in their home. At best he would be in the slave village just north of theirs.

  He had lost his firstborn. Forced to throw her in the great fire, an offering, In return his wife would be impregnated with a giant. Their second child was a boy, but not a giant, allowed to live in the slave village, as a slave. He watched daily as he was treated horribly. They would kill him if he tried to stop the mistreatment.

  Now his wife, only days away from giving birth, was being watched closely. If this child was not a giant, she would be considered barren, it would be his obligation to sacrifice her to their god, and then customarily he would find a new wife. This weighed heavier on him than the hundreds of pounds of elephant meat strewn over him.

  He hated Burhan. Is this the hate I am supposed to feel?

  “Halim!” Burhan called out to the slow walking young giant.

  “Coming!” Halim had nearly come to a stop as he thought about his wife.

  Chapter Eleven

  King Altair waited in the queens chamber, her private room filled with all the pleasantries of the world. Her bed was from the forest of Arolla, hand crafted by the musician tribes. She had wardrobes from the southern kingdom, filled with garments from across the land, the finest linens, and only royal and noble colors filled her collection of clothing.

  Shamal.

  Altair could not escape the man whom he just confronted hours ago. Nearly four hours had passed, and he needed to talk to the queen. She was out later than usual.

  He gave her lordship over his other wives, and gave her authorities no queen had ever had in all his father’s reigns. She was powerful, but by his making only, and he could take that power away at any moment. He told himself he could, but could he?

  “Where is he now?” The queen asked, as she entered her chambers unnoticed by the king.

  The king turned to her, startled by her voice, “He is gone, he knows the scroll is not here.” The king answered her, showing his impatience.

  “Why did you not kill him?” She said, mimicking his impatience.

  “Killing him could not have been an option.” The king was hoping that Shamal was no longer in the castle. But his fears would remain hi
dden from his collected and witted queen.

  “Why not? Is he not as old as you?” She continued to scold him.

  “Woman if your beauty were anything less...”

  “You would kill me? Have you not lost enough wives? Listen to me Altair, send Souhold after Shamal, he can kill him.”

  “Release a traitor!?” He came back quick and loud.

  “He has already been released great king, he has brought us some important information regarding Malik. He has been pardoned with my seal.”

  “He is the devil children speak of.” Altair not ready to calm down as he gazed at the queens beauty, she was a devil too.

  “A devil now on your side great king.” She reached out to him, wrapping her arms around him, looking him in the eyes, smiling innocently, lulling his anger down.

  He battled in his mind to throw her to the ground or to kiss her; to scold her or to thank her. She was deceiving and cunning to the core. He wrapped his arms around her, then released her just as quick.

  “Send him to me, I would like to hear about Malik’s mischief.”

  Agreeing, the queen released her grip on the king. Keeping her stare on the king, she walked out of her bed chamber, a seductive glimmer in her eyes, the king did not know whether to be concerned, or pleased with such a wicked woman.

  Altair walked across her room, his thoughts trailed behind him, then as he sat down, his fears slowly descended upon him. He was concerned.

  She is more vicious than loving. She does not withhold her tongue in respect to me; assuming someone my age would be easily killed. Why have I let her slowly destroy me? Her beauty...

  He shook his head; he repeated the last two words enough to smile at his ignorance. Take her beauty away and she was a conniving lunatic, bent on her own profit. As selfish as any other queen he had put to death for such behavior.

  She would kill me if she could.

  Chapter Twelve

  Itamar entered a small trading post, a little wooden building with a sign beside it read “Merchants trade here.” The structure stood beside one of the many docks the village had. A lone wooden shack, big enough for about ten people and all the odd objects of value a man could want.

  Itamar looked through the piles of weapons, furs, and pottery. He looked through the blown glass and ivory tusks.