Monday, 27 August 2012

The Ghosts Of The Past

Chapter 3: Honor Above All

Cold winds rustled through the bars of King’s windowpane. He scraped through the floor, as swiftly as his weary legs could carry him, to seal the shutters. Upon reaching the glass he gaped at the long arrays of mountains covered with snow. The mist left lucid heads of droplets which marred his views of the hillside road leading to the black castle. A black stature among winds of white, the castle stood tall with its roots spreading deep underground. “Honored yet corroded from within”, the King said to himself. Disgusted, he turned away from the glass. “Bastards are they!! Curs I have bred and raised”, the King shouted to nobody. His eyes found to the rotten apple that lied on the table, waiting to be eaten. With a taste of contempt, he yelled for his servant, “A fresh apple is what I wish. Fetch me one, or a pike is awaiting your head”. The servant scrambled frantically as he reached the King’s chamber. He scooped up the trashed apple and was about to leave when the King bellowed, “Convey to all the noblemen and lords of the kingdom, their King desire a council gathering before nightfall”.

The servant nodded in hushed agreement and not a syllable escaped from his lips as he hurried outside the chambers. The King stole a glance back at the funeral pyre. Ravens, black as death itself, sat atop his younger son’s carcass. Blood boiled in his veins as the fury blurted out of his mouth. “Damned sons I have raised. Must’ve been bastards for my seed is as strong as these castle pillars. Brother slaying brother, in broad daylights. Where has their self-esteem gone, blown to these northern winds?? Eunuchs I have raised.”

He descended from the stairs of his chambers. His silk cloak draped the floor beneath his jewel laced body as he made way for the main hall. A thousand times he had mused over his verdict, but no stone could bulge the predicament once given by the King. He entered the council as each and every congressman stood and bowed to him. Gracefully, he sat down on his throne.

“His Grace”
, a shaky voice spoke from the horde of people, “the council expects your justice”. A sudden upsurge of grief passed over the King as the resentment was replaced by agony. He felt desolated in the assembly as he found himself searching for his only blood that remains, Mathilda. The heir of the crown was missing from the congress. With eyes heavy and a heart sans of any love, he started the ordeal.

“I stand before this assembly as the King of the empire “, his voice echoed across the painted walls of the great hall. “A sin had been committed by one of my bloods and a grave one at that. Follies! Betrayals and serpents sneak in the shades of this realm”. He raised his hand, shaking, pointing to his Gods, “They are the Creators and the slaughter took place under their eyelids”. He beheld the gathering seated at their places, “I swore upon the Gods, Justice would be served and the sinner would be beheaded in front of the gathering itself”. 

The council gasped and a sudden rush of inhalation escaped everybody’s mouth. Murmurs exploded as the judgment was passed. “S-I-L-E-N-C-E”, the King roared. With a heart dense of emotions, the King commanded a swarm of swordsman to seek his vanished son and to drag him back into the realm. “The sword awaits the head of the warrior”, breathed the honorable King.

[To Be Continued...]

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