Back to the Source - Part II
Meanwhile...
This is part 2 of the story. Part 1 can be found here:
Prince Darien slid back onto his seat with what he hoped was his usual ease. He raised his wine cup towards one of the servants.
‘This cup is dirty. Bring me a new one.’
Not using the cup you have left unattended even for a short time was the most basic survival trait, a fact of life in the royal household. With a new cup filled with freshly opened wine close to his lips, Darien struck a leisurely pose and took a careful look at his surroundings.
Everything seemed as it was before his quick foray outside. The bard kept singing, some guests still listened to him, others were busy chatting, drinking and eating. The mood was becoming more and more relaxed to the extent possible with the King still present. These constant feasts were a bore. Darien couldn’t even remember the excuse for this one.
He decided to distract himself with thoughts of what he could have been doing instead of wasting his time here. Normally, he would have probably been in bed with a book from the palace library in hand. Fayla had found him a history treatise recently. It was one of the rare texts reaching back to the times before the conquest. What little was known of that period usually came from legends and folk stories. Tales of powerful magic were hard to believe, as were the descriptions of Raqdalijal as a fertile land of wide rivers and green forested valleys. They made for an interesting read though.
On a clear night like this one, he could also go to the open desert. Far from the lights of human settlements, the sky was a feast for the eyes. Both he and Zaric liked to sneak out at night to look at the sky and listen to the swishing sands. Nights were a good time for serious conversations and the sharing of secrets.
Such excursions were relatively safe. No dangerous predators came that close to the fortress and even if they did, both boys knew how to defend themselves. The King’s son received combat training befitting the successor to the throne, and Zaric was his usual opponent in the training arena. Darien might have been slightly more skilled with the sword but, whenever they fought using battle sticks, Zaric could beat him with his eyes closed. Now that he thought about it, wouldn’t it be a great idea to go to the arena at night and have a duel in the darkness? They haven’t done it for a while. Darien made a mental note to mention the idea to Quentin, the battle master responsible for his training.
The bard finished his song and was replaced by a group of dancers. Young, skimpily clad women and men started a far too sensuous version of what Darien supposed was a folk dance. Quite a lot of guests eyed the dancers lustfully, which was probably the whole purpose of the entertainment. Darien also focused on their sinuous movements as a good way of avoiding small talk with people sitting next to him.
It was not that he didn’t like the sight of shapely female bodies. The problem had nothing to do with his personal tastes. It had everything to do with his position. There was no doubt that each of these dancers would enter his bed with unfeigned enthusiasm and do her best to show him all the secrets of lovemaking known to mankind. Many women have tried just that over the years, even before he was old enough to recognise what they were after. What he did not always know was who had sent them. He could never be sure of any lover’s sincerity. He could never be sure when his drinks might be spiked or a special needle buried among the pillows, or who might listen for potential secrets whispered in the heat of the moment. This was why, at the difficult age of seventeen, the only legitimate successor to the Raqdalijal throne was still a virgin. Sometimes, his entire body wished that things had been different…
A clink of metal hitting the flagstones made Darien jump. It also made him realise that he had been following the dancers’ movements with a disconcertingly acute focus. His mind felt fuzzy, and not just because quite a lot of his blood seemed to be concentrating in the lower regions of his body. He felt drugged.
Darien forced himself to tear his gaze away from the dancers and met the eyes of Fayla, the most senior royal advisor and his teacher of magic. A servant was putting a new knife next to her plate to replace the one that fell to the floor. Fayla smiled at Darien and focused back on her food.
He suddenly remembered the reason for this feast. It was a party to honour envoys from Perrea, the oceanic kingdom spread over hundreds of islands to the north of Raqdalijal's coastline. The folk dance unfolding in front of him was a Perrean traditional dance. And Perrea was famous for its prowess in mind control, especially hypnosis. These people could embed subliminal messages in absolutely anything: words, gestures, objects… Enhancing the appeal of dancers’ movements with befuddling suggestions probably required no effort at all. They must have been ordered to do so. And who would issue such an order? The one who chose the entertainment for this evening, of course. The King.
Now that he knew what to look for, Darien was able to discern special frequencies in the melody. They caressed his skin like drops of honey falling on the tongue. The choreography must have been modified as well, but he didn’t dare look too closely again. Instead, he sneaked a look at the other tables.
The colourful crowd of nobles seemed mesmerised by the performance in front of them. Men and women alike sat awkwardly in their seats with grins plastered to their faces or eyes glazed, their gestures slow like flies caught in sweet syrup. The only people who didn’t pay attention to the dancers were the King himself and two fair-haired men on his left. They wore outfits typical for the Raqdalijal court but their faces were clearly foreign. The Perrean envoys. One of them raised his wine cup towards the prince with a small smile when he noticed Darien looking at him. An insolent jerk. The prince bowed his head slightly and smiled too.
Actually, the servants seemed unaffected too. They moved about as quickly as ever. Interesting. How was it possible? And, of course, Fayla continued to stare at her plate.
‘Does our entertainment bore you, son?’
The slightly mocking tone caught Darien by surprise. He could only hope he didn’t blush. The King had left his seat and stood behind Darien, tall and broad-shouldered as ever, his rich attire slightly crumpled and his salt-and-copper beard speckled with tiny dots of sauce after a few hours of feasting.
‘Not at all, my lord,’ he stammered.
‘Really? I’ve noticed you sneaking out earlier.’
Darien chuckled weakly.
‘When nature calls, even a prince has to listen, my lord.’
The King smiled, but his eyes remained cold.
‘I have something to show you, son. It will be entertaining too, I have no doubt.’
He turned towards the exit and gestured for Darien to follow.
*
Would you like to know what happens next? Here is part 3:
About the Creator
Katarzyna Popiel
A translator, a writer. Two languages to reconcile, two countries called home.
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More stories from Katarzyna Popiel and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Back to the Source
‘The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Water returning to its source flooded fields and forests, villages and towns of the realm. Then the faraway ocean tumbled into the empty estuary. Its waves reached the lands ravaged by the river’s passage, and eradicated what life remained. When merciless sunrays dried the flood, only patches of salt shone among inhospitable sands. Survivors were conquered by drought and hunger, and cruelty took reign in the kingdom.’
By Katarzyna Popielabout a year ago in Fiction
Logic and reason are not always explanation enough.
Logic and reason are not always explanation enough. Understanding is elusive He sat looking at the half empty glass but not seeing it, he was cold but not feeling it, he was in pain but not hurting from it. His mind was numb, his memory a jumble of conflicting events, as if from a nightmare but were in fact real. The phone rang for a long time before it gained his attention and then he tried to turn it off, an automatic reaction against coming back to reality. His mind preferred the numbness to anything else that was available. In this distracted state he accidentally accepted the call and put it onto speaker, the voice from the speaker jolted him into giving it his full attention. This was a call from the dead. The voice was full of concern, “where are you John, why haven’t you called, what is going on?” Even to his own ears his tone sounded subdued, defeated, “I am in the cabin, in the woods but I am OK will call you later” and he turned the phone off both ending this call and not accepting any other.
By Peter Rose4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Another chapter of an exceedingly wonderful tale! Exceptionally storytelling, Katarzyna!
I'm really enjoying your story and this was a wonderful second part. I hope you keep going!