by J. Naomi Ay
But, he didn’t, and neither did Karukan, who at each step along the ladder, met his rival’s bid, and raised it, half thinking, hoping it was all a bluff.
Now, Karukan suffered in a way he had never known before with the cries of a billion voices resonating unceasingly in his ears. Now, he bore the burden of a billion souls upon his shoulders. Souls he had only wanted to save, to spare from Kalila’s treacherous reign.
"If not by you then by your son," Wooter said, his large body perched upon the box of wafers. "You have spared your son this burden by taking it upon yourself. Eventually, all would have resulted in the same. Only now we are free to escape, to begin life again on this new planet." Then, Wooter laughed. “And, as a small bonus, all of Parliament and those bloody politicians are now gone.”
Karukan took small comfort in his friend’s words, for indeed, he would have spared his son the horrors of this war, and this decision. Never would he have wished this burden upon Kirat, for despite the young man’s insolence, he was closest to his father’s heart.
Neither was there solace in knowing that his enemy, Markiis Kalila suffered this same sorrow. Perhaps even, he was dead now and unlike Karukan, his soul was released from this horrific shame.
"I sincerely doubt that,” Wooter sneered, tossing back a tiny snifter of alcohol from the precious supply which would have to last the entire transit. “He won't be dancing in the fields of Heaven. More likely he is screaming as his skin burns to cinders in the dark cellars of Hell. At least, I hope so. Kari-fa! The man deserves it, self-styling himself as a saint."
"I would choose Hell over what I must endure now," Karukan replied morosely, while staring at the hand which refused to take up either pencil or pen.
"No, you wouldn't, Ruka. Now, you have the opportunity to redeem yourself. Perhaps this is all part of some great master plan, and you have been cast in a role already written for you. Have a drink, my dear friend. I toast you and your new title, King of Rehnor. Surely, that is much better than watching your skin burn over and over, whilst the Devil laughs at your discomfort."
"Perhaps, our skins shall do so regardless," the King replied, and poured himself a glass of the precious amber liquid. "Indeed, the natives there might find us rather tasty. We shall travel all this long distance across the stars, only to end up in a pot fried to extra-crispy."
"Ah, there is my old friend and king," Wooter laughed again. "You shall survive this yet. I look forward to our landing, whether or not the natives’ pot awaits. It shall be quite an adventure, and much warmer than our ice cave in the frozen north."
"Adventure indeed."
Karukan turned his back slightly, this small movement indicative of Wooter’s dismissal.
“Good day then, my king.” The Lord Chamberlain rose, stifling a yawn. “I shall venture upward to see how my beloved wife entertains herself. Summon me if something urgent or important arises out here in space.”
Karukan nodded, and took a sip from his glass, restraining himself from swallowing it whole. Doing such would merely prompt him to refill it once again.
He could get quite drunk here. Who would care? What would it matter? He was king of a land that no longer existed on a planet that was poisoned for centuries to come. King of Rehnor, indeed. What was that? The lord of twelve ships, ten people each. If they all survived, the Karuptas amounted to no more than a few families.
They wouldn’t all survive. Precious few would set their feet upon the new earth. He had been told this by the voice of that spectral, that alien, or angel. Karukan was never certain what he was. He had come to the king since he was a child, Behrat’s age, or younger, first appearing as a shining orb, when Karukan thought he was still asleep.
Later, the phantasm took the form of a boy, and later still, he manifested as a man. He could have been the mirror image of Karukan now, so much so the king had a thought that he might actually be himself. Or, he could simply be an illusion, a product of his own lonely, and traumatized brain.
But, what if he really was Karukan? What if instead of Rehnor, this tiny ship took him through a black hole, through a time warp, or a space tunnel, allowing him to return to counsel himself? Wouldn’t he then advise himself to take another course, to negotiate with Kalila, and save Rozari? Unless, this was how time was supposed to happen. Was Karukan another Noah sailing forth in an interstellar ark?
“Am I?” Karukan asked the air. “Am I merely the pawn played at the hand of the Divine King?”
“Would that make you feel better?” the voice replied, although his image could not be found. “Would you absolve yourself of guilt if I told you your destiny is Commanded by God?”
Karukan wasn’t certain. How could anyone forgive themselves after all that had been wrought? Especially, if this voice was nothing more than misplaced ionic impulses, charges that could be eliminated through medication or electric shock. In his madness, he had brought about Armageddon, and in his further madness, he had absolved himself of guilt.
The voice laughed.
“You are indeed mad, Ruka. Would that I could join you in your drink.”
“Fuck off,” Karukan mumbled, shaking the specter and his taunting from his head.
He extracted a cigarette from his single desk drawer, resolved to commence the task on the table before him. Fill this page and a thousand more like it with the history of his people. Explain to future generations all the reasons why they came. Record as many of the sacred words and chants that he could recall, honoring the God that had guided his hand.
"Papa?" Behrat interrupted before Karukan had transcribed a word. “Papa, Kirat’s bleeding. Dr. Beryl says you ought to come right away.”
“Kirat?” Karukan’s heart thumped hard in his chest, as his breath caught in his throat. “Kirat? No. It can’t be.”
Behrat blinked rapidly, his small face pale with fear.
“Kirat,” the King repeated for the third time, unable to raise his legs, to lift his body from this desk.
He knew instinctively what was about to happen, or had he been told?
“Did you tell me this?” he screamed, raising his fist, and shaking it at the air.
“I…” Behrat cried.
“No, no, no!” Karukan raged. “Not Kirat. Not my eldest. Not my heir! Do not take him from me. I beg of you. Take this one instead.”
“’Tis too late,” the voice replied. “I have told you all would not survive the transit. This one has been selected, and it has been done.”
Journey to Rehnor
The series continues with Departure Episode 2 – Shortru
To find out more about the Two Moons of Rehnor series and all of my works
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