by Coral Walker
It all happened in a flash. A blue shadow leaped off the trolley, fended off the stunned officer, took control of the trolley and pushed it onto the spinning disc. The metal-framed trolley slid straight into the electromagnetic field. The moment they touched, the room was filled with intense, blazing light beams, scattering out of the field, creating sparks and smoke wherever they fell.
His hand was suddenly free. At once he reached for the button. Just as his finger felt its soft dip, a loud explosion shook the air and threw him to the floor. As he fell, he saw him — arm outstretched and flying backwards in the air.
He rolled himself into a ball, hands over his head, bracing for the fall of the debris. The name came to him.
“Jack,” he murmured, “Jack Goodman.”
+++
Peter’s eyelids fluttered. Kevin was standing by the bed, holding a syringe in one hand. He caught his eye and chuckled. “You’re finally awake.”
With his free hand, Kevin felt the bone that went through his bare upper arm and located a spot.
“The appendectomy surgery was successful,” said Kevin, wiping the spot with a cold wipe. “Your appendix has been removed. Unfortunately, because the infection had already spread to the intestines, we had no option but to remove part of the intestines as well.”
“No more worry about my weight,” Peter grinned faintly.
“Indeed.”
“What about Prince Mapolos’ treatment?” asked Peter.
Kevin didn’t answer. Holding the skin tight and pressing the syringe, he injected the needle. A sharp pain shot up Peter’s arm towards his shoulder as Kevin pushed down the plunger. He was pushing too fast. Where were the professionally trained nurses?
“How was the treatment?” he asked again.
Pulling out the syringe, Kevin looked a little distracted.
“Oh, my aching head,” he said, shaking his head as he put down the syringe. “I’ve had it since the explosion.”
“The explosion?”
“Make no mistake, Peter,” Kevin said and gave him a quick glance, “the treatment was a success. Prince Mapolos is now a proper man, actually, more than proper. Twenty inches taller than he was, and no longer deformed. On top of all that, he received the ultimate sovereign cells, and they were well charged. You should have seen how he glowed. That was magnificent.”
“Just like Bo and his parents.”
“Well ... Yes ...”
“What about the explosion?”
“That was quite unexpected. I was about to turn off the machine, as I could see it had been successful. But Lord Shusha stopped me. Obviously, he wanted the most out of Bo and Brianna. I don’t know what would have happened if we had allowed Bo and Brianna to be completely drained like that.”
He paused, stroking his furrowed forehead with one hand before he resumed. “That boy, Jack, somehow got himself pushed in while lying on a portable stretcher trolley. While everybody was wondering what on earth was going on, he jumped off, pushed the trolley and parked it in the middle of the field. The next second, lightning, sparks, smoke, and then the explosion. It was complete havoc.”
“Is he alright?”
“Who?”
“Jack.”
“I should think so. But I have to admit I don’t know. I saw him thrown into the air by the force of the explosion. He was definitely in one piece. Lord Shusha’s guards swarmed in, and they took all three of them. I haven’t seen them since.”
There was a moment of silence.
“We have no reason to worry about them,” resumed Kevin. “They’re not our responsibility anyway. The explosion caused two casualties: Sarah the new girl and Johnson. You might wonder why I am doing all the nurse’s work, but here we are, nurse-less. Both of them stood too close to the generator, which was the cause of the explosion. Sarah’s not too bad, mostly scratches and cuts, but Johnson has been in a critical condition since and might need one of his legs amputated. They will be sent back to Earth together with you on the next shuttle.”
Peter closed his eyes.
“It’s finished, Peter. Relax and get some rest.”
Kevin took his leave, but before he disappeared through the door, he turned, eyes gleaming. “I think you might like to know — the first instalment of the stones will be shipped in the same shuttle with you.”
15
Sovereign’s Glow
Slowly Lord Tulardigo dropped to his knees, mindful of his frail legs. The King, propped up by two kneeling attendants to keep him in a seated position on his majestic throne, was a crumpled and ailing old man under his regal accoutrements.
The King’s right hand dangled down in front of him. Tulardigo grasped it and kissed it. It was as cold as the hand of a corpse. With his heart trembling with pity, he looked up, tracing the folds and creases, and caught no sign of life, except that, below the King’s pale lips, a tuft of his wispy beard fluttered feebly.
The Queen was right — it was beyond doubt that the King was dying.
Quietly from behind the King’s throne, Queen Filliona appeared in front of him, her hand holding a delicate pad of blue ink. Gracefully she took the King’s hand in hers and pressed the pad of his middle finger against the ink pad and then Lord Tulardigo’s forehead.
With the royal blue print of the King’s middle finger on his forehead, he now had the power to speak for the King.
From her sleeve pocket, the Queen took out a long scroll. A strong, piquant scent filled the air. She handed it down to him, and he received it with head bowed low.
“Rise, Lord Tulardigo. I bestow upon you the honour of speaking on behalf of the King,” said the Queen.
Swaying on his frail legs, Lord Tulardigo rose to his feet.
+++
Prince Marcus stood with his head looking slightly down, aware of the ring that he had placed on the middle finger of his left hand. The tip of the index finger of his other hand was resting on its engraved surface, feeling its lines and furrows, mapping out the picture that was etched in his head after spending so much time sitting idly and staring at it.
It was compelling in a fanciful way, as if without his knowledge it had seeped some fantasy into his mind that he could not help but submit to.
The dreams, every night since he had started wearing the ring, had the same theme — he lived in a white house with his wife Princess Zelda and three children: Jack, Brianna and Bo. By now, he had become so familiar with it that he could recount every event and every moment of that life and felt almost like it was part of his real life.
He had meant to treat the ring and its dreams with contempt and had thrown the ring away — a Prince of Bara should have the dignity not even to cast a glance at a Rionean woman, and having an intimate involvement with one was simply unthinkable. But, with a guilty conscience, he found himself retrieving the ring from where he had discarded it and putting it on his finger again and again. When he shut his eyes, he touched the ring and prayed for the same dream.
There was a hole in his life, unexplained and unresolved. He had disappeared for many moons and was then found together with Princess Zelda. It couldn’t have been just a coincidence that he and Princess Zelda had shared the same fate. The dream was telling him something that was beyond his wildest imaginings — he was not what he thought he was.
“Prince Marcus, Prince Marcus. Lord Tulardigo is calling you,” Higo whispered, jogging his elbow.
Marcus woke suddenly from his thoughts. Every eye in the chamber was on him.
“Come forward. Prince Marcus, I pray,” said Lord Tulardigo, smiling at him.
Uncomfortably, he strode forward.
The Queen was standing next to the throne with Cici, his bride-to-be, by her side. While the Queen gazed at him softly with the unguarded affection of a mother, Cici looked down, her eyes glued to the ground.
He knelt down in front of Lord Tulardigo, head bowing low.
Born to a father who was a king, for his entire life, he had been preparing and expecti
ng this very moment. Now his father, the King, was dying. It was time for him, the one and only heir, to rule the kingdom, to be the new king.
But why was his heart beating so fast, and why was he feeling so hopelessly unprepared?
Was it because of the ring? The dreams?
He must be mad to believe the dreams. Perhaps mother was right — he was on the edge of insanity, and only the duties of a king could put him right.
+++
Lord Tulardigo unrolled the scroll and, holding the sides with both hands, displayed its contents to the King’s imperial chamber.
The buff parchment looked empty, with only a few lines of script in the middle, small, neat and elegant, as was typical of the Queen’s handwriting. The King’s seal, depicting him as a muscular man fighting fiercely with a mythical, horned beast, dominated one of the bottom corners, legitimising the document as an order of the King.
“Long live the King, long live the Queen,” he began, then glanced down at the scroll and started to read.
“I, King Lagos Lanbrando, with a heavy heart and soul, declare that it is now the time for me, an old, ailing king, to depart from my beloved nation, subjects and crown. The crown shall be passed to Prince Marcus, my rightful heir. I shall entrust Lord Tulardigo, my knowledgeable chief counsellor, to preside over the transition, to ensure the King’s crown and King’s authority are bestowed on the rightful heir.”
He gazed down at the kneeling figure in front of him, his heart swelling with softness. He had been Marcus’ tutor for all those years and knew him inside out. With a gentle and kind heart, he was going to be a great king for the war-battered and bokwa-infested kingdom.
His hands trembled slightly as he rolled the parchment back into a scroll. He returned it to the Queen, who was waiting for him with a golden bar and hammer. Accepting the two sacred objects with a low bow, he wobbled his way back to where Marcus was kneeling.
He took a moment to catch his breath, and with one hand rested the bar right above Marcus’ head. “Men and women of the Court,” he started, “after three strikes, unless some justifiable reason is given for disputing the royal succession, I shall pronounce Prince Marcus our lawful new king.”
“One strike,” he struck the bar with the hammer while counting aloud, straining his partly deaf ears to catch the satisfactory sound reverberating across the crowded chamber.
“Two strikes.” He stuck again and raised his arm for the third and final one.
“Halt!” a voice boomed, startling the chamber that was still reverberating from the ringing strikes.
A spasm of annoyance crossed Lord Tulardigo’s face. With much reluctance, he dropped the hand with the golden hammer and turned to see who had made this untimely challenge to the regal strikes. A man in an elaborate gold-collared robe strode forward from the front row of the audience of important lords and counsellors.
Lord Shusha!
Of course, for there was none as reckless and arrogant as him.
What did he have to complain about? Wasn’t he supposed to be allied to Prince Marcus by the engagement so conveniently arranged between his daughter and the Prince? What was more, Marcus’ accession to the throne was simply indisputable. No matter how affectionately he might be attached to poor, contorted Prince Mapolos, he must be wise enough to know that it was by law impossible for an unfit man to become king.
Could this be something to do with Prince Marcus’ disappearance, which had been so deliberately hushed up, for fear of unveiling scandals or undesirable consequences?
“May I ask for the reason for your interruption?” enquired Lord Tulardigo.
“If the King has another able son, don’t you think this situation can be challenged?”
“But the King doesn’t have another able son,” cried Lord Tulardigo. It was such an idiotic question from a wise man, and the chamber echoed his thought with a peal of laughter.
“I demand an answer to my question, yes or no,” said Lord Shusha in a determined tone, staring at him firmly.
He must be mad. Lord Tulardigo glanced at him, carefully studying his angular face, too solemn and alert to be taken as mad. He sighed and continued, “I assume you mean Prince Mapolos. If he is able, yes, as the king’s eldest son, he has every right to challenge it.”
“What’s the procedure?”
Would he ever stop? With unbridled impatience, he barked out the answer, “If both are legitimate heirs, which I very much doubt is the case, and want to challenge for the throne, the King shall decide. If the King, for any reason, is unable to do so, then a duel between the two Princes shall settle the case. The winner shall be the king.”
“Very well. Thank you, my Lord. I cannot imagine a court without your wisdom.” Lord Shusha bowed to him before turning to face the audience.
“Prince Mapolos, I pray you attend upon the Court,” he cried.
There was a commotion from the front rows as a tall hooded man marched out with firm steps and didn’t stop until he was just a yard away from Lord Tulardigo, towering a head above him.
For a moment, Lord Tulardigo was so startled that if Prince Marcus hadn’t sprung up to grasp his arm in time, he would have crumpled to the floor. This man wasn’t the Prince Mapolos he had known. With a straight back free of any hunch, he was no longer crippled but instead a strong and well-proportioned man.
His face had been straightened too, as if by magic, and no longer slanted up on one side. All in all, he looked proportional and, in a vague sense, stately.
“Mapolos, my brother!” Letting go of his arm, Prince Marcus turned to the man. “You should let mother have a good look at you.” Prince Marcus grinned a boyish grin and grasped his brother’s hand and led him to where the Queen stood.
The Queen lost all her majestic composure and was shaking like a leaf.
“Mother, it’s Mapolos. Look how much he has changed.”
The Queen, face as pale as a sheet, struggled for a smile. “V ... very w ... well,” she sputtered, and collapsed into the arms of Cici the next moment. A few maids rushed forward to escort her to a room behind the chamber to recover.
A moment of bewilderment dominated the chamber before Lord Shusha spoke. “Lord Tulardigo. Now we have two rightful heirs for the King’s crown. I pray you continue the procedure.”
“Wait, wait. I agree that Prince Mapolos is physically fit to be the King, but we must witness his king’s glow to show he can be the rightful ruler,” Lord Tulardigo said, recalling the secret conversation between him and the Queen.
To his surprise, Lord Shusha laughed heartily. “Of course. Shall we?” he gestured.
Turning back to face the chamber, Lord Tulardigo declared, “Let us dim the lights and have the spirit of night dominate the chamber. We shall witness the sovereign’s glow.”
No sooner had Lord Tulardigo’s voice trailed off than the chamber grew immediately darker, as one after another, the wall lights were covered up. It was an awe-inspiring moment, and the muffled excitement was palpable in the darkening air. There were more than a hundred lights, but the royal guards were agile and diligent with their tasks, and the chamber dimmed significantly.
When the last light was covered, the chamber went quiet, as if all the audience were overwhelmed at the same time by the glow, the magnificent sovereign’s glow, not from one, but from two radiant Princes.
+++
When the chamber was illuminated again, Lord Tulardigo was a defeated man, crumbling inside, struggling to make sense of the situation. That ill-natured child, for him to become King was beyond the realm of reason. The duel, he thought of it with a pinch of disgust, the bloody, ancient practice for determining a King in a complex situation had not been used for more than three hundred years.
Prince Marcus’ eyes came to meet his, and in his glance he saw what he feared most. “No!” he wanted to cry out, to pull him aside, and to dissuade him from his evident course.
It was too late.
“Lord Tulardigo, my dearest tutor,
” Price Marcus spoke with his usual charismatic tone. “Shall we unite in our hearts at the good fortune of having Prince Mapolos, my sole and dear brother, standing here with us, strong and capable, as I’ve always wished he would be, free of his ill-fated adversity. He’s my brother, and the same blood runs through our veins. My dear Lord Tulardigo, as the oldest son of the King, I see no one but him, Prince Mapolos, as the rightful heir to the crown.”
“No, Prince Marcus!” Lord Tulardigo cried. “I pray, think again! For all those years, I have tutored you, taught you and guided you to become a good and responsible king. The kingdom needs not just a king, but a good king.”
“Bah! Prince Mapolos was my pupil. Are you accusing me of not teaching him properly?” Lord Shusha interrupted.
“Truth speaks louder than words. I accuse no one, Lord Shusha!” Lord Tulardigo barked back.
“Please, both Lords, hold your tongues. It’s a settled matter. My dear Lord Tulardigo, do forgive me — I am only too glad that I am no longer alone to shoulder the weight of the kingdom. It’s the first time that I have ever been given a choice. Too many cooks spoil the broth. If we go ahead and fight a duel, I shall have no choice but to offer myself to be slaughtered. Allow me, my dearest teacher, who in many respects is like a father to me, to withdraw my claim to the crown.”
“What about the Queen? Your mother?” enquired Lord Tulardigo in a hushed tone, playing his last card.
“Prince Mapolos is equally her son. No matter how troubled she is, she will be reconciled. Hold my hand, my Lord, and make the announcement. Then I shall retire.”
With a sinking heart, Lord Tulardigo took the outstretched hand of Prince Marcus in his.
“Behold!” in a trembling voice, he declared. “Prince Marcus renounces his claim to the crown.”
A wave of shock swept across the chamber, which then became so quiet that it was as if the chamber itself held its breath. When he let the hand drop, he was no longer the man he had been on entering the chamber. Aged, doddery and unsteady on his feet, he watched with blurry old eyes as the crowd parted to present a wide path, along which Prince Marcus marched out of the chamber.
