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Wind. Daniel Mello
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“I know why I’m here, Nielius,” the prisoner croaked, “you can save your breath.”
The king raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, “then speak what I desire, Oracle. The sooner you tell me what you see, the sooner you’ll be returned to that shack you call a home.”
Underneath her ragged hood, the Oracle of Meaden smiled. “You will never return me to my home, Nielius,” she spoke. Slowly, she raised her hands to throw back her hood, revealing her balding head.
Looking up to stare into the king’s furious eyes, she continued, “your troubled life, your entire heritage has led up to these final times, and you are going to lead the kingdom toward its destiny.” Her eyes bore into the kings pupils, burning with satisfaction at his rage; this rage, she knew, was his fear manifest and it hovered inside the emptiness of his soul.
“These vague prophecies you speak annoy me, witch,” the king spat. “Clarify your speech, or I will eliminate it all together.”
“And if you eliminate my voice, than you will betray the entire reason you had me kidnapped, Nielius,” the Oracle snapped. As she pulled her eyes from the king’s gaze, she noticed a hint of comprehension in his brow. Pulling in air from the crisp night sky, she took a slow breath, centered her mind, and allowed the entire Universe to vibrate through her. The king and his Steward watched her meditation closely, for this was the reason why she was stolen during the night.
Instantly, the Oracle’s eyelids snapped open to reveal her trance white eyes. Her chest rose and fell with the tide of her breath, and her throat quivered with an ethereal voice.
“The Legend who once was will be again,” she croaked., “the age of this kingdom has concluded and the judgment of all the Heavens will deliver the land from the Evil One.”
The king of Hyrendell stood rooted to the stone floor, his Steward perched on the edge of the armchair, both pairs of eyes shaking with fear and curiosity as they gazed at the trembling witch.
She continued, “a new age of peace and cooperation will begin, and the kingdom will be ruled by light once more.”
The king could restrain his inquisition no longer. “Will I be the one to deliver the land from evil!?” he barked, his face shaking with avarice, his pupils glaring with fury.
The Oracle closed her eyes and calmed her breath. “Yes,” she whispered, “yes, you will.” And with that, the room swirled around her as she fell into the night, and her body dropped to the cold stone floor unconscious.
The king and his Steward watched the witch fall, but stayed where they were, entranced with the prophecy. Both of their minds raced with every conceivable option of how to elevate the kingdom to peace; flashing between the disobedience of the people and the goal of total unity. The king thought that his laws were strict enough to force the kingdom into one way of life, but he would have to tighten his grip if he was to solidify cooperation.
The High Steward probed his memory for anything that resembled a legend of the kingdom, passing over the ancient artifacts in the castle’s museum to the history of Hyrendell itself. A fog of a remembrance brewed in his mind: a series of moments where he learned of an ancient prince that saved his people from a brutal attack, and in his kingship ruled the land with justice and mercy. He remembered commenting that the people of the time must’ve been foolish to think that peace could be established through mercy. Mercy denoted weakness, and a weak king could never rule Hyrendell.
But Lotharius remembered hearing the scholars of Hyrendell’s Monastery saying that the people of that time were so grateful for being saved that they commissioned the land’s greatest blacksmiths to create a magnificent sword worthy to be wielded by their king. It would eventually be named The Legend of Ages. To his knowledge, the sword was legendary because it only existed in fables; it hadn’t been seen in a thousand years. How could a mythical sword arise? It would need its master to wield it, yet how can an ancient, rotted corpse of a king return to the land? And if he did, by some hideous sorcery, could he defeat King Nielius’ army to triumph?
King Nielius must’ve been concluding the same thought because both men quickly snapped their gaze to stare at each other.
“I think it is about time we learn more of our ancestors,” the king decided. “Put the witch into a holding cell, and have her monitored and nourished. I need her alive.”
“Yes, Lord,” the Steward obeyed, and hurried to the door to snatch the guards. He relayed the king’s command, and they carried the oracle’s unconscious body to the depths of the castle.
Without a word, the king and his Steward hurried to the castle’s library and began to research all of the kings in Hyrendell history. Hours passed, fading into the night as the stars turned overhead. With the help of an exhausted librarian, King Nielius and the High Steward Lotharius scrutinized the archaic writings of scholars long passed, searching for anything that spoke of a legendary king. They studied all of the known history of the land, from its discovery in 3371BC to the current age, focusing on any significant, decisive battles and any superstitious myths that arose from the people.
Sometime around the break of dawn, an excited “ah hah!” broke the grave silence. The Librarian jerked in his sleep, and King Nielius looked up as Lotharius hurried over carrying a rather fragile manuscript.
“Here, Lord. Apparently in 254AD, during the Battle of the Heavens, someone named ‘The Legend’ arose to power, governing the land with an ‘even hand’, so it says. It looks like he ruled for almost twenty years over Hyrendell as it ‘prospered like never before’,” Lotharius quoted.
The king’s eyes blazed across the frail pages, scanning them for any hint of who this king was. “273AD…Legend…murdered…” Nielius immediately stopped and re-read the last paragraph. It was written in old bardic script:
The Legend’s rule ended with an intense sword fight inside his personal chambers, where secret assassins murdered him in the night . Although an extensive search was initiated among all of Hyrendell, the killers were never found . The following day, King Eaodan McCloud was buried among his clan, as per his request . Not even in death did he wish to leave those whom he loved...
“McCloud,” King Nielius breathed, “why didn’t I connect it before…?”
“You mean old Eaodan was the fabled legendary king?” Lotharius chuckled. Then quite suddenly, he burst into a raucous laughter. “No... Way…,” he spat in between breaths. It wasn’t some mythic sword. How could he be so stupid! The king, however, sat back in his chair, pondering over the distant lineage.
When Lotharius was calm enough to speak clearly, he continued, “sure, the kingdom was prosperous during his era, but prosperity does not make one great, and certainly not legendary! After all, how could he return? Eaodan never had any children!” He stood up from leaning against the table to pace around, stretching his tired legs.
“You know the story of my heritage,” the king began, “after Eaodan’s death, his Lord High Steward Gregorius Evacus was voted into the kingship by the Privy Consol, though I’m sure the Steward’s Consulates were compensated for their suffrage, if you see my point. Afterward, having bore no children, Eaodan’s Queen Seraphina was banished to Hyrendell Village, and she was never heard from again.” He crept up from his chair and paced toward the nearest window to look out upon the dawning sky.
“I don’t quite follow, my Lord,” Lotharius admitted as he stepped to Nielius’ side. A brief smile of sympathy toward the Steward’s ignorance passed over the king’s face.
“Don’t you think it’s curious that the surname of McCloud is still in use to this day, yet the Evacus Clan has ruled the throne for over a millennia?”
Lotharius thought about this simple fact for a moment. “Well, I’ve never really paid it any mind, my Lord. Once the noble Evacus’ were crowned, why would it matter if the McCloud’s lived on?”
“That’s my point,” Nielius countered. “I’m sure my ancestors