by Raquel Dove
Balthazar sat in what was once his father's office. All though he wasn't officially the Lord Sultan yet, he would be soon enough. He had spent the rest of the morning after the council meeting shuffling through the papers on his father's desk, trying to familiarize himself with the current state of his kingdom. Things did not look good and it was now apparent that his father had been making the situation appear less dire than it was. Every one of their neighboring countries were beginning to encroach on their borders, in spite of them being allies. The Devasi kingdom had grown weak and everyone sensed it. They had been waiting for the right time to strike and that time was going to be now. Balthazar had to consolidate his power and show everyone that he wasn't too young to take the throne, or the kingdom would fall to their enemies.
The door of the office opened and a hunched old figure shuffled in. The man leaned heavily on a crooked wooden staff as he made his way over to the pile of cushions opposite Balthazar, his long white beard swaying with each hobbled step.
“You summoned me, boy?” Salaman said as he settled himself into a cross-legged position. His milky blue eyes focused on Balthazar. Salaman was the Head Elder and oldest living Devasi citizen. If anyone in the kingdom could tell him how to reach a new level of power, it was Salaman. Balthazar was loath to admit it, but he needed the old man. He needed the wealth of knowledge that his many years had brought him.
“You know my reasons,” Balthazar said, settling an impatient stare on him. “I don't have time for you to waste.”
“Of course,” Salaman said, with a slow nod. He took in a deep, steady breath and glanced around the office. He looked down at his lap and carefully picked a piece of fuzz from his tunic. “You always were an impatient little thing. I remember when you were born--”
“I told you not to waste my time,” Balthazar said, his voice rising. “There's no need for pleasantries. Get to the point.”
“Very well,” Salaman said, raising his hands in the air in supplication. “You are Lord Sami's choice as heir. I counseled him in such an opinion. It is unfortunate that it will come to pass before you are truly ready.”
“I know all this already,” Balthazar said, gritting his teeth in annoyance. “Get. To. The. Point.”
“I will lend my blessing in anointing you, and that will help the nobility to accept your reign,” Salaman said, speaking slow as ever and unperturbed by Balthazar's growing anger. “However, you know that will not be enough. There are too many threats to your rule, and you do not possess the power to oppose them all.”
“Then tell me what to do about it,” Balthazar said. He could accept the fact that his current power level was insufficient, but there had to be a way to augment it. Lord Sultan's had done so in the past. It was well known that his great grand sire had massively increased his power, nearly over night. Though he had disappeared before anyone knew how.
“It won't be easy,” Salaman said, his milky eyes wandering. “You haven't even gained control of your inner beast.”
“I can contain it,” Balthazar said, narrowing his eyes on the old man. He didn't know what his inner beast had to do with anything.
“Containing it will not be enough,” Salaman said. “The beast is intimately connected with your power. You must learn to harness it, to control it. You must master the darkness that would otherwise take over your mind.”
“That's impossible,” Balthazar scoffed. “No one has ever gained control over their beast.”
Everyone struggled with containing the darkness that lurked within them. It was not a particularly difficult thing to suppress the inner beast, but to actually control it was another matter. Balthazar wouldn't even want to attempt letting the damn thing out of the mental cage he had it locked securely in.
“Nonetheless,” Salaman said, “That is the path to the power that you need.”
“Very well,” Balthazar said his eyes narrowing, “how do I go about controlling the beast? I assume you know?”
“I may,” Salaman said as he began to stroke at his snowy beard, “However, mastering your beast will not be enough either.”
“Explain,” Balthazar said, a scowl forming on his face. “And make it quick. My patience is already tried with you.”
“The threats you face require more,” Salaman said, “ and nothing short of transformation will help you.”
“I think you may have become demented in your old age,” Balthazar said, his voice dipping low. “Transformation is more of a myth than controlling one's beast.”
“It is no myth,” Salaman said. A satisfied smirk spread across his cracked lips. “But you will require something very particular to assist you.”
“I'll indulge you,” Balthazar said, leaning back on his cushion. “Tell me what I need.”
“A human,” Salaman said. “A human will have the power you need to conquer your beast and facilitate a transformation.”
“A human,” Balthazar echoed, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward again. “Now I know you've lost your mind. There's no such thing.”
“It has been many centuries,” Salaman said, a peculiar smile creeping on his face, “but that will soon change.”
“You see the future,” Balthazar said, taking note of the knowing smile the old man now wore. “It is a well known fact. So tell me, old man, what you have seen?”
“Unfortunately I cannot,” Salaman said, as he rose suddenly from his cushion. He moved surprisingly fast for such an old creature. “I have told you all that I can.”
“I have not dismissed you,” Balthazar said, a growl echoing his words.
“And I do not require you to,” Salaman said, turning for a moment to look at Balthazar. “You will have the power you need at the precise moment you need it and not a breath before. Until then, I hope you'll be around when it comes time for your Taj Festival.”
Balthazar growled in frustration. The old man was insufferable, and if his services had not been absolutely indispensable, Balthazar would have ripped his throat out long ago. Darius came rushing into the room, brushing past Salaman as he was leaving.
“My Lord,” he said, his breathing heavy.
“What is it?” Balthazar asked. His mind was preoccupied with the things Salaman had told him. His gaze wandered to the windows carved into the top of the room. The air outside was cool, the day was beautiful. Much too beautiful for the weight of problems that had settled so quickly upon his shoulders.
“Your younger brother, Hasan,” Darius said, still trying to catch his breath. His words broke through the thoughts in Balthazar's head. He looked up at Darius.
“Has he disgraced himself yet again?” Balthazar asked. It wouldn’t surprise him. Hasan was always doing something stupid to disgrace the family. He had far too much of his mother in him, in Balthazar’s opinion.
“He has joined with Baal,” Darius said, pausing, “They've taken half the royal army with them. Hasan is attempting to steal the throne from you.”
7
