A Monarchical Mishap: Parts IV and V
IV.
Two and a half weeks had passed and in the meantime Ramo had sat alone on the spacious Tri-arch throne, and his sisters had still not returned from the voyage which, as it turned out, was little more than an extended vacation. Also, Oliver had nearly finished on Kalb’s Land and would quite soon be returning to his home.
Oliver had grown angry in these weeks as he would simply wake and then set himself to his task with a vengeance until the spark of the evening. He would not eat all day, and he would be offered simple and pitiful rations of bread and water in his stable before he went to bed.
However, on the third to last day before his task was to be completed, Malakah had run towards him with a serious expression and launched something at him with her hands. Oliver looked up, startled, and he saw a small package darting towards him from the sky. He caught it in both hands and ripped apart the covering to reveal a glass of water. Oliver looked up, but Malakah had already run off by then, the back door to the mansion slamming behind her.
That night, just as Oliver was about to return to his stable, he saw Malakah staring at him from the back steps of the mansion. Her green eyes seemed to be floating alone in the air due to the angling of the candlelight. Her head was cocked to the side and when Oliver looked at her he saw crinkles along the sides of the floating green orbs; Oliver intended to ignore her, feeling particularly spiteful that evening.
“I only want us to be friends while you’re here,” she said after him, her voice, although only a whisper, poking the quiet atmosphere sharply. “I don’t need anything from you; I simply wanted to offer kindness whenever my father cannot find me.”
“Friends,” Oliver said to himself quietly.
“What was that?” she asked coming a bit closer.
“Friends,” Oliver repeated, more due to his reinstated confidence than
Malakah’s interest. “What are friends other than unarmed enemies?”
The sound of boots pushing against the sand came to an abrupt halt. Oliver could only see her silhouette, but he could sense how she had been punctured by his words.
“For the cold hearted,” she said, “friends appear to be competitive opponents or even foes. But if you allow them access just a little bit, they could change all that, Oliver.”
Oliver walked down to the stable without responding and fell asleep without eating.
It was Oliver’s last night in Kalb’s service; he was to stay the night and Tetzel or whomever else would return him to his village in the morning. He could not bring himself to sleep and was staring thoughtlessly at the ceiling of the stable; he had refused to eat that night as well and he could feel, when pressing his hand against his cheeks and ribs that he was severely malnourished.
It was that point in the dead of night, when the only natural sound is the breeze causing the stable door to creak, when Oliver heard thrashing and groans in the yard. Having never been asleep, he sat up immediately and stared through the window.
He could see the silhouette of the smaller guard, pushing a crying girl into the grass. She attempted to stand up again and run towards something, but she was shoved again, this time launching backwards a bit before slamming into the ground. Oliver then saw that the girl-Malakah-was attempting to run to the larger of the two guards that was holding her father down to the floor and beating him. The smaller guard continuously kicked Malakah in her lower back while she cringed on the floor, curling and extending her legs to soften the blows.
The two guards placed a half–unconscious Kalb onto a horse and they tied him down, in a similar fashion that Tetzel had tied Oliver in several weeks ago. One of the guards seated himself on the same horse as Kalb, while the other guard fastened himself to graceful black stallion that Malakah often rode. Oliver stared, petrified, as they ran down the stone bridge, heading towards the everglades and the northern Pax Portion.
Oliver grabbed the sword which he had been allowed to bring with him and ran out of the stable towards where Malakah lay on the grass, motionless. Her dress was ripped in places and her eyes were shut tight, her pale face shining from the light of a full moon. Oliver felt her chest and his breathing reduced to a more normal level when he realized that her heart was still beating. He lifted her up, exhaling forcedly, and carried her into the stable. He gently placed her on the floor, right where he slept every night, and stared at her silky hair for a moment. He then turned and ran in the direction that the guards and Kalb had treaded, his sword up and his heart pumping faster than usual with the thrill of a first quest.
The guards lacked the wherewithal to cover up or remove their own tracks. Oliver used those as his compass in order to track down where they might have taken Kalb; the tracks led him to the border of the everglades, the skin scrawling forest where the first two queens of Mugwump entered and did not return.
Oliver hardly paused to think about that gruesome history but plunged forward, his sword held a bit higher. He pushed through the low hanging branches and squirmed when he saw a beige snake with black rings on its skin curling its way up a tree. He passed by a log which he accidentally bumped his leg into, causing it to flip upwards and reveal insects that were far too inclined to escape from that fortress.
The large and grey winged insects encircled his head and two landed on his nose. He swatted, slapping his own arm and ear to defeat this unforeseen foe. He dashed past the log and they landed in his hair and he felt sting after sting on his scalp. Eventually, his vision waned and he grew disoriented; he tripped over a stone, and then he collided with the everglades floor, his forehead scratching a rock.
His arm sore and numb with bites, he barely managed to lift his sword. As though immensely intoxicated, he swung the arm holding the sword until the hum of hundreds of pests dissipated to silence. Oliver lifted his head ever so slightly and tenderly touched his forehead; his fingertips and palm was slick with crimson. He pulled his feet in and under his chest and pushed himself upwards; when he was upright the process of bleeding and the thought of blood made the trees spin before him. He leaned against one of the trunks and his weight and injury dragged him down to semi-oblivion.
The only thing Oliver could see was a vague outline, an abstract shape. He lunged himself towards it and felt a rough and brittle surface against his cheek. He wrapped his arms around it and pulled and was standing upright again.
What’s that noise? He thought. There’s someone behind this tree. There must be someone behind this tree.
“Behind this tree,” he muttered vaguely to himself. Oliver used the tree as an anchor and pulled himself to the other side. He saw a small opening, the center of which sat a small patch of moonlight. There was nothing behind the tree, no sullied corpse and no savage assassins. He breathed in deeply and lay right in the patch of light, straining his ears for any sound of fatal conflict.
Due to Oliver’s dilapidated state it was nothing but a whisper at first. As he returned to a steadier state of consciousness, he heard the groans as they were. He pushed the blade of his sword into the dirt and pulled himself upwards, using the handle. The blade snapped off the handle and Oliver fell to the floor. He cursed under his breath when he took in his splintered sword and decided to head for the source of the noise, empty handed.
Oliver heard the noise directly above him when he arrived at the next clearing, where the moon bequeathed its glow more brightly than before.
“Shaaah!” screamed the voice from above. Oliver turned his head skywards and saw, amongst the lower hanging branches, the body of a man was tied by the wrists and ankles.
“Master Kalb, I’m here!” he yelled and started to climb. He was halfway up when one of the branches cracked under his weight and threatened to hit the earth. He lunged for another branch and continued to pursue the task. He was right at level with Kalb when he saw the two guards, standing in adjacent trees, their swords directed right at his head. Oliver put his hands above his head and he felt sweat build up right beneath his hairline on the back of his neck.
“Parl, Parl, help me!” Kalb shouted, his mad eyes practically crawling out of his sockets.
The guards inched further along their branches, keeping their swords directed on Oliver the whole time.
“I think I know why you might be here,” the larger of the two whispered.
“You are here to assist us in getting rid of our master,” the other one cackled.
“Set him free,” said Oliver, balancing himself by placing a hand on the trunk so he may stand up straighter. “Set him free now or I will turn you in to the king.”
The men’s laughter echoed furiously in the night, like a sudden clap of thunder; King Ramo’s ineptitude was common knowledge after all.
“No,” one of the guards said. “Due to the way Kalb treated you I am sure you would like to assist us.”
“Please, boy, please,” sobbed Kalb, a horrifying noise that seemed to neglect his mouth and tear straight from his throat.
The smaller stuck the arm with the sword in it to Oliver and said, “Go on, take it. This will be your first and final chance to rid the world of him.”
Oliver, his mind having betrayed him for the moment, took the sword and turned it over in his palm, the smooth surface licking his skin.
“It is unwise to pretend that you do not long for his demise,” the larger guard muttered. “We are giving you the chance to do this, to feel that power. Why deny yourself this honor?”
Before he had even finished speaking, Oliver found himself cutting the rope binding on Kalb’s left wrist; it eventually tore and Kalb shrieked as he swung dangerously by three limbs.
“Why did you come?” he pleaded.
Oliver froze and realized his initial intentions; he had come to save Kalb but more specifically for Malakah’s sake. He remembered her lying unconscious in his stable and the way she stood against these sadistic and burly men to protect her father. But Oliver could not help that swirling feeling of euphoria that stirred through his groin and throat at the thought of killing this oppressive master.
He remembered how, just four days, Kalb had tried to haul a chair at him for not completing a task properly. Oliver retrospectively examined how Kalb had beaten him to the floor for staring at Malakah a bit too long. The thought of Malakah reminded him that maybe offing Kalb would be beneficial for her as well; Oliver and Malakah would both win. It would not only satisfy Oliver’s lust for power and triumph but Malakah’s need for freedom.
Oliver plunged the sword into the binding on Kalb’s right ankle and the man yelled in despair; the guards were laughing at this point, urging him on.
It was at this point that Oliver remembered his fantasy concerning Tetzel, the cowering victim. Will I really pass up the chance to make that a reality? thought Oliver. And for what? Why does Kalb deserve life when he has stolen so many others?
He sawed the rope on Kalb’s right wrist and a guttural sound bubbled on his lips as he flipped upside down, hanging only by his left ankle.
“Kalb, who is your master?” Oliver asked, not expecting an answer but just to amuse the guards; they had to grab their guts due to the level of glee they had been vested with.
Oliver let himself stew and revel his moment, and then, climbing down a bit on the trunk, he cut the binding on Kalb’s left ankle.
Kalb’s eyes were like the globe; the breadth of the green was the land, and the amount of tears could have filled the ocean. That only lasted a moment, however, because as he launched towards the everglades floor the light in his eyes were only fireflies. Then, there was nothing but a heap, lying among the kingdom of the grey winged insects.
V.
Malakah awoke the next morning with little to no casualties to her health; Oliver arrived back in the stable just before dawn, after he and the guards had hidden Kalb. She smiled widely when she saw him and he managed a small grimace in response. The gay expression melted almost as soon as it appeared.
“What did they do to my father?” she asked.
Oliver looked at her and he tried to manage a convincingly morose expression; the blood drained from her face instantly. The guards had gone into hiding as fugitives after they had hidden the body.
She looked down for a moment and nodded her nose and eyes reddening instantly.
“Did they do it here?” she said and she turned her head toward the window, right where she had been attacked.
“No,” Oliver choked. He tried again, regaining his composure. “No. They did it in the everglades and I tried to stop them, but…”
She was pressed against him, her arms around his neck and she was bawling with ferocity into his shoulders. Oliver then realized that lies were his only steam for the time being; eventually he would run out and he would be nothing. He did not understand the purpose of pursuing this fatedly dead-ended other than following an innate human instinct to survive; it was all he could do not to cry himself.
Tetzel arrived just before noon on this cloudless day when the sun was at its most merciless point. He tried to offer Malakah comfort as he left, saying that the fugitive killers would be found: a reassurance to her, a forewarning to himself. Two soldiers from the Royal Tower blocked Tetzel’s and Oliver’s paths as they crossed the bridge, out of the grounds.
With hands grasped firmly on their shoulders by the soldiers, the two guards stood looking harassed. Tetzel smiled at them politely, and he graciously asked what they needed.
“We found these two fugitives last night and recognized them as the guards of this land. Noticing their strange appearance and behavior we questioned them and eventually came to the conclusion that they were guilty of something. Then, we learned that they had murdered Kalb and we searched for the body from dawn until perhaps two hours ago. We came across the body, and then we took it to the Royal Tower.
“We believe that Oliver Parl could have been an accomplice in this crime and we must take him in.”
Tetzel seemed shocked, and his eyes rounded on Oliver with worry; he looked genuinely frightened for Oliver.
“No,” he said. “This boy is not a killer. I cannot let you take him.”
“You do not have a choice,” one of the soldiers said forcefully. “The king’s orders.”
Oliver stepped forward and allowed himself to be steered forward by the soldiers; Malakah stood by Tetzel, a mixture of fear and grief colliding bizarrely on her face.