The Herald in Red

For 28 nights King Edgar would dream of the hooded figure with mirror eyes. The dreams were full of low, commanding whispers and distant screams. Whether they were screams of pain or ecstasy, he could not tell. The mirror eyes gave out nothing. The stone hall in which they met was vast and shadowy. The air in it was thick with anticipation.


He gave in to the whispers on the 29th night, when the moon was full. There was no resistance as he donned the red hood and the cluttering chains and went out into the night streets, a sharp, ceremonial sickle in each hand. The people of his kingdom were timid, broken by centuries of oppression at the hands of his dynasty. That was good. He needed their compliance.

For each life he took as the Herald of the Othergods, there would be another month of prosperity for the kingdom. And then, as the moon would turn full again, he would descend into the stone hall to wait for his successor.

The palace would issue a statement. The king would be proclaimed dead. Killed by the red specter that had befallen the kingdom like a curse. Prince Talin, his son, would have slain the menace and would take the throne.

Edgar thought about his own father, who disappeared 30 years prior. The way he looked at him the last time they saw each other. He remembered how scared the folk were, how they cowered in the night as the specter roamed the streets, sawing a harvest of death. He still heard the last words father uttered unto him, eyes wandering, voice distant: "What if he lied? I won't be the one to break the tradition, but would there really be no peace, no prosperity if I did?"

Edgar would not be the one to break the tradition, either. And when the time comes, he would be the one with the mirror stare, whispering the demands of the Othergods into his own son's ears. Even though he never heard them in another voice, than the one belonging to his own father, and never outside a dream. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Empty Guru

Image
"I'm afraid of death" - said the seeker. The teacher's face showed no surprise. Over the years he'd been watching over the mountaintop monastery not many had made the way up the thirteen hundred steps to meet him, the Hidden Guru. But those who came seeking his teachings were all struggling with the same question that has been haunting humans throughout their history.  "You're afraid of the... how they call it, the great unknown?" The Guru's voice was calm but sounded distant, as if projected through his mouth from a great depth within his body, echoing within. "But there is nothing unknown about death, you see. There is no great mystery beyond the veil, as there is no veil at all. What you see is what you get."  The seeker looked confused. "But... but beyond our life here and now I can see nothing". "Ah, but that's exactly what you're getting." A myriad of emotions passed through the man's face to finall...
Read more

The Dead Grove

Image
We are not living. We are not of this world. Not anymore" - the creature facing Randolph spoke in a hissing whisper.  Its mouth - or was it a snout - lacked any lips that would conceal rows upon rows of teeth sitting in its blackened gums. It had no eyes, but the empty eye sockets were focused on Randolph with tension and apprehension. "Why do you come here? Why do you wake up from our slumber? How dare you - a human - come to the sanctum of the Dead Grove?" Two sets of twisted horns or antlers adorning the beast's head lowered somewhat, as if in a threat. Randolph didn’t know how to answer that. The misty wood smelled of ash and mildew and looked as if it was drained of all color. The trees and bushes lacked any foliage and seemed brittle to the touch. It's a dream - thought Randolph - it has to be. "Of course this is a dream, vermin!" the creature muttered with growing anger. "How else would a human enter this sacred place, other than projecting ...
Read more

The Absent Father

Image
 Henry’s father was long gone before he died. It felt like it to Henry, anyway. He was there, but he wasn’t there for him. Not when Henry was learning to tie his shoes at 7. Not when he had to learn how to shave at 16. He wasn’t there for Henry when a much older woman took his virginity at 19, and when he had his heart broken and didn’t feel like living anymore at 27. He was just a face in the crowd at Henry’s wedding at 29, not once offering his opinion on Henry’s fiancee before she became his wife, and never after. He was never one of the main characters in Henry’s story, and with each passing year he faded more into the background. His voice has gotten small and quiet. Not that it mattered much, as the man stopped talking almost entirely. Weeks would sometimes pass without him uttering a single word, not even when asked. The now old man would mostly just sit in his armchair, staring absent-mindedly and drift off into sleep. It wasn’t really Henry’s internal need or desire to try...
Read more