by D.E.P.
The castle that stood still seemed as if a cloud of darkness had covered the surface, for it did not seem the same. Perhaps it was that the mermaidens were not jumping from the surface of the water as they had been only days ago. Or maybe it was the dancers that were not producing a joy for the people. Or even yet, it might have been that the king was not present and that his brother had reclaimed the land.
It was that simple was it not? The king for sure did not think of any other possible circumstances of the land so easily succumbing to an enemy. Within days, his brother had claimed the land, running it as his own. Yes, it might have taken some time to convince the people of the king’s unfortunate tragedy—death in the land of Malum. Only those most loyal to king questioned the lie the kingdom faced, for they knew such a thing was nearly impossible to happen.
But yet the vines did not provide comfort, for very few understood its power and much less yielded themselves to such enchantment. If only they knew. If only they understood how the vines worked, perhaps the land would not face such judgment. But Furtim was all too smart for the people. He had known the king would leave and had provided a curse to overtake the tender body of the woman he so loved. So many curses and so much magic the man used! It was disheartening to do such drastic acts, so easy to proceed.
Furtim had walked through one of the castle’s immense rooms in which important discussions were made to benefit the land. The soldiers at the doorway did not in any way attempt to attack him. All that saw him feared him.
As if it were already his, the king had taken one step at a time, walking atop the white marble of the room. The room had several chairs bordering the long bluish table in the middle. Large black bookcases bordered the red walls, with clusters of different colored books that provided feelings and thought. Some of the books contained the important history of the land; some of them contained the secrets. Even so, Furtim walked to the balcony that was the main focus of the gigantic and magical palace. His black cape, with silvery borders, had dragged until his stopping position along the terrace. It overlooked the long bridge that connected the land to its ruler and the enchanting courtyard before the majestic wooden door— the entrance. This is where the people stood, waiting patiently for what the ‘ruler’ had to say. The inhabitants of the land had not yet understood the events that had proceeded with the land being so easily given to a stranger of a villain.
Furtim took a deep black powder from a small sack and threw it into the air. The inhabitants watched in concern, not comprehending the meaning of such a drastic and random act. The powder floated in the air, failing to fall as gravity had destined it to. A small breeze that began to intensify blew along the sides of the castle until it caught the black powder and pushed it forward. The powder spread across the sky, more and more of it! The sky began to multiply! To duplicate! To darken! The crowd watched in horror as small amounts of the black powder began to fill the once colorful sky to a deep black color that was by far the blackest the kingdom dwellers had ever seen it.
“What strange thing is that?” asked a tall thin man. He was somewhat elderly which was clearly noticed by his curled up silver beard. He was possibly a few hundred less than a thousand. “The horror! Brothers, is that not the man the king has warned us about without our listening?”
An elderly woman lifted up a lens to her face, “Why it is! Why, I remember as clearly as if it were a year ago Fredrick! I am most certain this man is a villain, a thief the land has bestowed in our presence.” She had curled ginger hair that wrapped around on the sides of her soft chubby face. Her eyes were a deep green with a hint of gold, intensifying her face to that of anger.
“What is it you say, Hilga?” asked one of the young women in the crowd. She was also tall; the sides of her body curved around her waist until narrowing to two slim legs. Her blondish hair was swirled upwards in a peculiar style by which a small veil was attached. The veil lowered itself, covering her face in mystery. Her lips were posed and tightened with deep thought, trying to perceive what was happening. She did not like it one bit. She was young, and unlike the elderly, she still had a life to live through. She did not want to live in a hellish lifestyle. This would be the worst that could happen: barely starting to get settled in the beautiful atmosphere and have her desires overturned by a hideous evil villain.
“Splenda! That man! Do you not see him? The one throwing that awful dark powder. Look at what he has done! We shall not trust such a defiant man this land has so cruelly bestowed to us!” yelled Hilga. Her face turned a deep red color and her eyebrows narrowed. As she yelled out her words, the small amount of fat tucked so neatly underneath her chin wobbled up and down, back and forth.
The black powder that seemed to spread all across the sky slowly turned into smoke that wrapped around the purplness the sky produced. It was clearly devastating for all of the land. Several of the inhabitants did not quite understand the effects of such black magic, for the darkness of the sky was never seen by the people. Hilga blocked her face with her chubby arms, trying to desperately evade herself from any destructive elements that Furtim may have produced. Fredrick knelt on the floor, also covering his face with his long slender arms while his tall hat tilted towards the ground.
Furtim smiled at the sudden chaos he had so keenly produced. The smile was dangerous to all that saw it, for it haunted many. It was ironic how such a tyrant could be evil at heart and still have the potential to spread his lips wide enough to produce a disheartening smile. The sky was suddenly dark and gloomy as if a deep fog had divided the bright purple sky from the inhabitants that lived underneath.
The stranger’s voice echoed like an intercom through the vast environment so all could hear at their own disposal. “Greetings! I am not who you may think I am. I am neither a villain nor an enemy to whom you should despise. The king has so harshly perished from the land; he had a slow and agonizing death trying to fulfill the dreams this land had so patiently lured for,” said Furtim. He walked from side to side of the balcony while his head fell to the ground in seemingly sadness. His arms extended towards his back as his hands clasped behind him. “He will always be a true hero in our hearts, for he truly was one to whom many admired. As his devoted brethren, I will make certain these dreams become a reality!”
Most of the dwellers listened to what the strange man had to say. Due to the light darkness, the man was hardly visible. No one was able to see his wide smile, the evil smile bearing teeth in which he would willingly bite the heart of the kingdom to dominate it for an eternity.
“How are we certain that our king died? What does Sapientem or the other kings have to say about this? Where is the queen? I want answers and I want them now!” yelled Fredrick, whom had slowly lifted his head up. He quickly stood up while holding his hat to his side. He had long pointed ears, and his hair, which was long and soft, was a light lime green in color.
“Why, I will most certainly show proof in a time’s day. I will show you his head!” stated Furtim. Only his cold and raspy voice echoed through the courtyard for all to hear. The inhabitants quickly got used to the deep dull color that surrounded them. They finally noticed it did not affect them except for their lack of sight. Only candles that hung around the sides of the palace spread a steady bluish light source throughout the small garden by which was positioned so humbly before the villain.
“As the people of the land, we will give you only short days!” yelled an instructor who taught at the local school of magic and weaponry. He had a dull red bow tie, long shabby pants, and his blue hair was neatly combed back. All in all, the man seemed intelligent and young with his small peculiar bluish eyes and his stout facial expression. He was thin and slightly tall; his thinness may have made him appear taller than he really was. A pair of brown glasses clung to the sides of his ears, quickly changing to a bold black color as if enforcing his demand.
“As you please. The king’s head will be laid in your hands,” stated Furtim, enjoying the ordeal of the people. He smiled peculiarly even thoug
h he was slightly annoyed by the man’s argument. He did not think twice about wanting to kill him and saved the note deep in his bloody skull. “Any more questions?” asked Furtim promptly. He turned away from the balcony and began walking away, not waiting for an answer to interfere with what he pleased.
“Where is the queen?” asked the same man. Furtim halted. The sides of the instructor’s face began to let out a thin liquid which dripped along his lips and down his chin. He went down to the ground, falling to his knees. His glasses fell onto the bright blue grass, exposing his agitated eyes. Deep thin golden veins bulged out until his eyes were quickly covered with the golden liquid. He screamed in agony. His skin began to become flimsy and his arms fell to the ground along with his body. The body seemed merely a puddle that reflected the terrifying face of the man. He had once taught of such important things that magic had done for the land, having his fate ending in death by magic itself.
As if not noticing the man’s deadly fate, Furtim turned around to the crowd and lifted a stick that was covered with blue flames. “The king’s wife? She is dead.” After his answer he walked away from the startled crowd.
“What magic could that be?”
“Do you really suppose he committed this crime?”
“It was possibly a potion the instructor drank. Remember last time? He nearly drowned in his own saliva! Those potions are deadly I tell you! No one should be taking his or her own medicine! That is preposterous!”
The citizens gathered around the body, staring at the blank face, for there was no face at all. The face was where the stomach should have been, and for the stomach? Well that was where the feet were supposed to be. Everything was swapped, for the body had been oddly melted. The people lowered their heads, many of the women wished the man well and the men nodded as if asserting what the women had said. After a few minutes of silence the people stared at the sky that had once been glowing a rich purple color. As if just noticing the change, many screamed in anger, bewilderment, and sadness, not to mention terror. The darkness felt evil and strange to the inhabitants, for they had forgotten such a drastic change in their lifestyles.
“Darkness has never been spoken of since the days of Malum! Only a few have remembered the sudden change. Sapientem must help us, for we have been deceived. That man is not who he says he is! He is a tyrant, a traitor who shall not be our ruler!” said Fredrick as he pointed at the blank balcony with a sudden rage.
Some of the children began to cry, clinging onto their mothers for support. Some of the mothers brushed long pink hair; others brushed a light green hair from the sticky tears that slid from the saddened eyes of their dear children. Still, others ran their long soft fingers through bright purple hair, trying to comfort the girls. The boys stood firmly by their fathers, positioned in a courageous stance. They had been nicely trained since the beginning of time to show a lack of emotions.
Many felt no point in waiting around the courtyard, and returned to their homes. The houses that stretched throughout the colorful land were rather small. There was no use in being cocked up inside when Mother Nature supplied a heavenly day where the sky shined for an infinity amount of times. That is, before Furtim so cruelly turned off their only light source. The houses were made of ivory metallic colored bricks, most made from certain trees the land produced. The houses rose up to three stories high, but were magically constructed rather thin. All the houses seemed to be constructed by the same magicianary architect, for all were similar in appearance except for the brooms that lay here and there or the flowers that chose where to be placed.
They were much like miniature styled castles, those houses. The houses had dormitories, but it was rather used more of a napping place. They were only small enough to place a mossy cushion in which to lie upon. These rooms were hardly used, only for resting purposes in times of life, sickness, or death. The kitchen, dining area, and living room were the largest rooms of the house, for it was where family and friends would gather around and gossip. In a rather small land as this, there was always gossip to be heard.
Many would talk about a new potion that was created, or how a professor had a deep sickness upon him. They might even talk about the new fashion that was erupting. They might then drift the conversation to how Scarlet, a young lady, looked bizarre with her new hairstyle. Or even yet, they would note how her shoes lifted her higher than the week before. Some would talk about the king and how he seemed stressed, or even how the queen was rarely seen in the gardens in the present days. But now what was there to talk about? The man named Furtim had stolen the people of everything they had: their kin for one thing, their queen, possibly a widely known professor, and the only light source they had. They were all in the same dreadful situation which ironically brought them closer.
Many glints of the blue light source were seen scattered across the terrestrial environment as each individual walked briskly to their miniature castles. There was no point in attempting to live life as before in the darkness. The darkness produced a dreamy-like appearance and all the residents of the land began to sleep a deep night’s sleep.
Furtim walked across the white marbled tiles, climbing down carved and decorated stairs while observing the castle that had so easily been forced into his hands. He knew the king did not expect his arrival. All he needed was to bring his head and he knew the task would be quite easy. The queen would not be able to even attempt to stop him for she was powerless, frozen in time. He knew if he wanted continuous domination, he needed an army to defend himself from Sapientem and the other lower kings of the land. Fortis was the dominant leader of the entire land, but he had appointed Sapientem and other individuals as rulers of smaller portions.
Furtim’s bluish veins that ran along his arms and hands continued to bulge, for he had used magic to kill. It was quite easy. The ancient spell had worked for a long while and only studious individuals of such magic were capable of doing such a wonder.
He had already influenced several warriors to fight for him. Others refused and walked away from him across the bridge. The false king had wanted to kill them but supposed that they would walk to where the king was, hoping to see through them with his magical capabilities. He had already said the spell; it was far too late for anyone to stop it from happening. The spell had injected itself into the bodies of the warriors and would supply the new king with senses if he would ever want to use them. They would only last for so long, however. The warriors would never have noticed, for the spell worked quickly and in seconds the task would have been called complete. Furtim strolled outside, climbing each stair slowly and carefully until he ended at the bottom of the spiraled staircase.
He looked above him and laughed a deep croaky laugh that began from his chest and traveled towards his throat. The laugh was hideous in itself, and thank goodness no one was able to see such deformed face of laughter. The powder was easy to make, the one that produced the darkness. The particles were from the land of Malum and when crushed to the size of dust, it could be easily thrown high into the air, producing a steady darkness. Sure the citizens would object, but the darkness would hide all.
He walked to the Vines of Fatum, able to hear the slithery noise the vines produced in the distance. Using a torch, he used the bright blue light to guide him to his destination. The last time he had been to the vines was around 100 years ago, when he was very close to his brother. They would play and run and dare each other one after another time to go through the vines and seek their destiny. It was all known that Fortis would be the named king in the land even though he was quite younger than Furtim. One of the times, when Fortis was younger than he was old, the vines had bestowed him a crown much like the one he wore. It was golden and shined a steady reflection of the king’s face. The vines had chosen him and he raced to tell his father and mother. But they were never to be seen. Only the blood on the floor was smeared onto the walls and marbled floor. Before the crown, Furtim had received a nice reddish dagger from the vines. It produced steady sm
all flames that bordered the blade along the edges; it was a remarkable device and he understood what he must do with it. He should have killed his brother when he had the chance.
Once Fortis was pronounced king of the land, Furtim strongly grew a dislike towards him. The Vines had failed him. He attempted one time after another to kill the king, but the vines did not let the king’s fate to end. The vines always bestowed to the king a goblet, spoon, or other object to determine if his food had poison. It would bestow the king weapons to defend himself from a phantom snake that crawled along his mossy resting place when he had carelessly drunken a cup of Somnum.
One of the warriors stood by the vines, his golden cuffs along his arms and legs producing a sudden glow with the blue flames. He had thin metal armor of some sort that covered his legs, but his chest was fully exposed. Still, a metal necklace ran along his bare neck. His chest was chiseled; the light produced different shades along every indentation of muscle he bore. Despite the chilliness in the air, the man stood firm and still, looking directly at the new king he feared. “Greetings, my king,” said the man as he bowed down.
“Proditor,” Furtim said nodding his head downwards, “Have you gone into the vines?”
“Of course not! You stated not to,” said Proditor, his voice echoing through the courtyard.
“Very well. I will speak soon of the plans that will soon transform this land after the vines provide me with guidance.”
“Of course!” stated Proditor. He formed a wide ugly smile, not as ugly as his master’s but still hideous to look upon, “Follow through, my Lord.”
The newly pronounced king went through the vines. A small amount of slime covered his wide smooth cheek. The small stubbles beginning to form around the sides of Furtim’s face became covered by the vine’s mucus. After he entered into the other side of the vines, he pressed his cold hands against his cheeks and steadily wiped the excess off his face. He held the torch on the opposite hand as to not cause a fire, not that it would matter since the vines would never and could never be destroyed. The torch, however, was not the only object aglow; the vines seemed to sense the presence of an important individual, and as to light the path, the vines caused a white moss to grow. Suddenly a shimmer on the floor was produced.
Furtim examined his surroundings. Much of the plants the vines had bestowed had changed since the last time he had so keenly went through them. Plants rose with white fuzz balls and others rose with curled up golden stems. Furtim, however was not there for a precise flower. He was in need of a specific potion, a rare potion that had long been banned in the land since the days of Malum. Only a solid few knew of the ingredients it contained. He pulled his black sleeves up, making his shoulders seem more muscular than they really were. He slowly moved his arm towards the vines as the armory reflected the slithering before him. He shook his head and laughed silently as he felt the power of the vines. He had done this before and each time it seemed as if it were something new, as if one time the vines would slowly gnaw at his body.
Nevertheless, he took one of his arms into the constricting vines. The lubed vines easily wrapped around his arms as he dug in deeper, searching for an item the vines would bestow to him in order to fulfill the destiny he longed for. The vines were feeling, they were thinking. Furtim moved his arm violently, stirring his hand to the right and left in frustration. His eyes became wider as he stared in disbelief. As if finally awakening from its deep sleep, the vines finally produced an object that neatly fell onto Furtim’s hand.
The object was rather small and Furtim smiled, for he knew it was the object he was in search of. It was a crystal vile. He knew it had to be, but the vines always worked in mysterious ways. The vines entwined along his arm, making the task of pulling his hand out of the wall rather difficult. Memories began flooding Furtim’s mind. The people he had killed, the people he had loved, and how his life had been transformed for forever more. These were the memories the vines had remembered of Furtim.
Furtim pulled harder until the vines released their grasp. He stared at his arm first. Three gashes were seen. While they were thin, they still let out a small amount of golden blood that only smeared the scar that was already starting to form. Furtim gasped uncontrollably for a reason unknown. Perhaps it was the memories that the vines were trying so hard to grasp. The vines would do such things. It was not a plant, those vines. It was far more complex than any inhabitant of the land, not to mention mysterious as well. It was slightly odd that such a masterpiece did not serve the land, but the other way around.
Furtim wiped the small amount of perspiration that so smoothly covered his forehead, having his long bangs stick against his skin. As if finally realizing what he had been there to do in the first place, Furtim lifted up his right hand, wanting to know if his small journey to the vines were of worth. The vines had let him down for the most part, but it started to seem as if the new king and the vines would find a keen friendship indeed. Furtim nodded in admiration. He lifted his face above, only to see a dark golden two headed snake stick two large tongues out at him. Long fangs shown as the serpent’s snout curled upwards, exposing the throat with a small sack of pure venom. The eyes of the large creature stared in such pity at the man that Furtim began to question the vines.
But he knew all too well that the vines had been correct, for they always were. After all, destiny, as everyone knew could hardly be reversed. With one small jump, Furtim reached up to the snake and grabbed it by the one throat that connected the two necks into one. The snake’s eyes blared out and the corners narrowed in disapproval. Furtim raised a small dagger in an attempt to pierce the monsters neck, but lowered his blade with a second thought.
“We will both conquer this land,” Furtim stated, admiring the surreptitious creature as he held it. “Credo omnes parati sunt,” stated the serpent. The mouth did not move, yet a silent evil whisper was clearly heard. Furtim knew what snake it was and was certain the serpent would be of some use to him. The snake had spoken that the kingdom had already been conquered by them. These type of serpents never lied.
Only a few were able to interpret the serpent’s silent whisper. Only the serpent itself chose whether to speak and serve a master. It knew all of the present and could decipher what might become. These snakes were rare in the land, most only found in the oddest of places.
Furtim lowered himself to the ground before the snake. A small amount of mist from above gently covered him with a small amount of water. The snake gleamed with the droplets that created a metallic shine on the black scales that shimmered golden colors. The snake curled itself along the arm, having the neck with the two heads lay upon the palm of the man. Furtim walked slowly into the vines and returned to the land he had so recently claimed.
Proditor nodded once again, seemingly anticipating his master’s return. He noticed the serpent along his arms and knew the power it contained. He carefully reached outwards, his tan hand inching forwards to touch the small glinting scales. The serpent had something else in mind, however. Only centimeters away from the snake’s belly, Proditor swiftly moved his hand upwards as the snake’s jaws attempted to bite the tender hand.
“It is very well trained, is it not?” asked Furtim. Proditor nodded quickly, a few drops of sweat dripping from his hairless head. His entire face gleamed with a small amount of sweat as his eyes lowered in dismay. Furtim’s eyes gleamed all the more as if planning an evil deed once again.
“Of course,” said Proditor as his king encircled him slowly. His black cloak dragged along the short grass, catching a few amounts of blades in the process. “As I could not have anyone know of my intentions, and you have so keenly gone into the vines without my permission, I have no use of you.”
The serpent knew what it was destined to do, its jaws aching from not having its ferocious teeth sink into cold soft flesh. It did not wait for the ‘king’ to call upon it. The king moved his arm towards the muscular man before him as the serpent dug its wide jaws into Proditor’s nec
k, producing two large bite marks at a mere angle. It seemed as if Proditor’s neck was stitched in two areas. But it was not so, for a silver liquid gave way out of the snakes mouth, a venom contaminating the man’s body.
Proditor did not die instantly; it would be a slow and agonizing death. He lowered to his knees before his master. His face was motionless, for he could not speak and his eyes became blurry as a deep grey fog covered him from his vision.
“You have lied to me and liars shall be killed. Do you understand now? Besides, you were not much use to me anyways,” said Furtim as he stroked the left head of the serpent until his hand stroked the neck connecting the two heads. “You were nothing more than a servant. You have served me well for the time being but those days I have longed to be over, for now I have a kingdom of my own. I saw fresh prints, prints only you could have made recently. So long my comrade.”
Furtim turned around, having his back face Proditor. Proditor’s body slowly fell to the ground face ward up. Proditor’s face began to turn into stone, his skin bubbling like stew all around his face and arms. He reached into the side of the armory around his waist, bestowing a small red vile.
“Ego vereor vir est non mortuus,” slithered the snake. It looked behind Furtim even though they were inside the palace and a thick wall lied between Furtim and the courtyard in which Proditor should have been laid.
Furtim looked in back of him as well, not wanting to go outside to see Proditor’s dead body. He knew the snake’s bite had killed him. Of course it would take a few minutes to an hour for the body to be fully encased by stone. It was impossible for Proditor to escape such agony; Furtim knew all too well he would suffer. “Of course he is dead. You bit him, did you not?”
“Sic,” the serpent stated. The two heads returned to face in the direction its master walked even though it sensed Proditor’s body still throbbing with life. This troubled the serpent deeply, for it did not understand how such an ordinary man as he could have survived even one bite, much less two. It forgot the fact and abided to the king’s prediction of the man’s agonizing death.
“Very well. What shall you be named?” Furtim questioned the sly serpent as it traveled along his thick neck, wrinkling the now red cloak newly adjusted at his shoulders.
“Callidus,” slithered the snake into the king’s ear. The tongue’s torch-like shape tickled Furtim’s ear to the brink of a course laughter. It did not sound pleasing, however. Furtim’s heart soon turned like stone, stopping the brief laughter that had caused an echo to form through the lighted hallway.
“I have always trusted serpents, for they are much different from inhabitants. I will name you my own, Callidus, for you have already served me once,” stated Furtim as he walked back towards the room in which the long table stood still and the bookshelves outlined the walls of small room. He walked towards the balcony which oversaw the darkness of the land. He brought out the small crystal vial containing a dark green liquid that bubbled as if wanting to escape the small container; it yearned for destruction.
Callidus looked at the vial with admiration, following it as Furtim straightened his arm before the balcony. He opened the emerald skulled top, and turned the vile towards the dark ground. The liquid of which the vile stored slowly eased itself towards the tip as gravity menacingly pulled the filth to down below. The liquid was thick and seemed as if a rare plant containing green leaves had been carefully smashed, producing a thick liquid bubbling with destructive elements.
Because of the sudden submergence of air, the liquid bubbled more viciously. As each bubble formed, it stretched the liquid out until it could no longer expand further. Finally they burst. Slowly a small drop of the textured substance, not even worth being called a liquid, fell to the ground below in which purple stems produced a mixture of bluish flowers. The blue flowers suddenly degraded as did the other plants around the small drop. The moistened petals crumbled like a dead leaf until they dropped one by one to the ground along with the stem that had so keenly supported the immense blossoms.
The ground in which the drop lied upon shook as if a creature was digging underneath. Jagged cracks formed along the ground and stretched a few feet across the courtyard. The dirt began to move back and forth in a rhythmic manner until all the living in the courtyard became dry and degraded; only the dry stems of the plants lay upon the ground like useless toothpicks at the brink of falling. The wind swirled around in circles. Faster and faster! It did not let go of destruction. It did not ease. It did not have mercy.
A shadow appeared in the middle of the dirt swirl pool. It was slightly kneeled and a fisted hand pressed against the ground to support its body weight. Once the wind calmed, the dirt that was pushed into the darkness quickly fell down as if the small grains of sand were smooth pebbles. A small amount of dirt polluted the environment until it eased away, exposing a creature in the middle of the dry and lifeless courtyard.
The creature was quite large, almost as large as Furtim himself. However, Furtim’s physique could not compare to the immense horror the creature’s outer features produced. The dry plants that now lay in the courtyard gave life to a creature, a horrifying and terrible creature. The creature had the appearance of any inhabitant in the land, except for a thin layer of green leaves and stems covering the surface of the body. These stems stretched along its face, producing an eerie feeling as if this creature was being suffocated. Small and wide yellow eyes stared at its master. As the creature’s knees bent down below the balcony, Furtim was aware of the thick brown spikes that protruded from the green mucus covering the creature’s back. Furtim smiled. He knew all too well that the creature, along with three more, would kill the former king and his companions with ease.
With three more drops, Furtim produced two more ghastly creatures. However, these creatures were quite different, as thin green mucus did not cover the superficial of the preceding monsters’ skin. Quite contrastly, the dirt was elevated to produce creatures of dirt, of mud, of despair. Their eyes were the same yellow as the previous creature as they glowed in the darkness at torches producing a steady blue light in the courtyard. They opened their mouths, having thin tacky mud stretch vertically along the opening. It was quite a horrid sight. They slowly crept towards the false king, the king knowing all too well that a drop of his blood was needed for their obedience.
Grabbing a small blade from a nearby table, Furtim quickly pierced his stout thumb that stood upright before him. It was just a small gash, nothing more, only enough to have a couple of drops of his red blood to escape his body.
It was not a mistake that Furtim contained such a vibrant red blood. While golden was the most predominant blood type in the land, some had silver, others had a mixture of green or blue. Still others had a light purple. However, red was a color that was not seen in the land from the times of Malum. Red was a color no one suspected of a child to bear unless…perhaps! Could it be? That a child may be cursed by the one man that had already perished? What a tragedy it must be that the false king’s shadow was followed without his knowing!
Furtim knew that his blood was rare and he raised his thumb into the air to admire the redness that sparkled, that shined, that intrigued the serpent besides him. “Vixi annos in sanguine rubro et numquam aspexerant Malum a diebus.”
“Of course you have not seen such blood. I may even be a descendant of Malum himself. What a great man was he! Courageous! Victorious! He made the land more powerful than the dandy flowers and the peaceful mermaidens that so delicately thrive in a weak land as this,” stated Furtim.
“Te sunt plus quam,” said the two-headed serpent. It wrapped its smooth, yet scaly belly along the back of Furtim’s neck. Only the head was a few inches from Furtim’s dark eyes.
“Of course, Malum did have a few failures,” stated Furtim, biting his lower lip and facing downwards as if embarrassed of stating a negative feature of a man he saw as powerful.
Furtim brought his thumb to the end of the balcony where the creatures already
began to gather like a cluster of trees. The drops of pure red blood fell silently through the night to be consumed by the beasts that eagerly awaited their master’s sacrifiction. The drop of blood could be clearly seen in the dark sky, for it was a shiny red pebble in which the light generously brought the reflection of the beasts underneath. The beasts nauseatingly consumed the drops of blood that fell before them. Their yellow eyes widened as a deep redness consumed their veins.
They each stared into the dark sky, letting out a deep roar that seemed to shake the fortress itself. No one knew of the creatures that had been born in the land. No one suspected. No one would ever question, and if they did, a curse would be put upon them.
“The king and his companions have entered the land of Malum. Seize them and bring me the king’s head. I do not care for the others; do what you please with them,” commanded Furtim.
The beasts seemed to obey as they walked across the courtyard. The green beast was clearly the leader of such atrocity as he walked in front of the ones made of dirt. Each of them leveled the palms of their hand towards the ground, encircling them as if motioning the dirt underneath to move. And that was exactly what occurred. The dirt began to form a cloud of dust in the surface before calamity came through, revealing the dirt being shaken from beneath the cracks and twigs. The dirt rose up, forming long sharp spades and axes—weapons ideal for the king’s death.
As if noticing that it would take a long time to reach the king and his companions, the beasts knelt onto the ground. A strong wind encircled around them until the dirt and bits of plant fibers that made up the creatures disappeared into the wind that engulfed them into the dark night sky.
“Morlutums!” stated the serpent. Both heads stared into the distance in admiration. A slight amount of the beasts, or what was left of them, could be seen ahead as the grains of sand drifted off until vanishing.
“They are destined to be assassins, those Morlutums. Before long the head of the king shall be in our presence.”
“Vinum apparent,” stated Furtim calmly, his throat croaking a small amount in the process. He lifted up his cape, revealing a goblet of wine as red as the handler’s blood. Staring down upon the red liquid, Furtim could clearly see himself. His beard was well kept, having an intriguing design much like fire on the outer regions of his facial hair. His eyes looked at the cup with hatred as he quickly lifted the goblet up to consume the liquid. The juice passed through his throat, relieving Furtim with a benign coolness, an iciness that he was content with.
“Tell me Callidus, what is the present of our enemies?” asked Furtim, setting his cup softly onto the stone balcony. The golden goblet reflected the scene of the king and the serpent as Callidus whispered into the king’s ears of what it foresaw.
Chapter 8
Hypnotized by Beauty
