Seven
Days to Apocalypse:
1
“In God’s name shall he preach,
In God’s name shall he warn, In God’s name shall he lead...lead you, a son of
God, to your downfall” said the shrill voice, of a ninety year old hag, the one
they called, the Oracle of Blemfl.
His
Highness, Montaine Flumberg, to whom the Oracle’s words were addressed to, sat
opposite her, his legs placed on a tree stump fashioned into a stool, his gaze
fixed on the seemingly mad woman in
front of him, hovering her hands over the large bowl of fire, the flames of
which were said to show her the future. His mind put forth a million questions,
but his lips remained shut as if the mind refused to let it function knowing
very well they needed to hear a little more of what the Oracle had to say.
The mind of his companion, Prime Minister Elis Frankton,
though was already coming forth with a million reasons to say why they were
wasting their time in the cave of an obviously
mad woman who could hardly see the people in front of her and was often seen
mistakenly refer to the plump Frankton as Sire, Highness and majesty and
directing her predictions towards him.
The constant cawing of the one eyed raven, imprisoned
inside a clunky cage that rattled as the easterly winds intruded the mostly
humid, cave high atop the southern end of the volcanic Galapharus range, didn’t
do much to change the cranky mood of the visitors at the Oracle’s den.
The whole place reeked of blood, death, decay
and plain dust, if it had any stench of its own. Montaine’s gaze momentarily
shifted away from the yapping hag and on towards her cawing companion, at whose
claws lay a dead rat, its entrails dropping out of the bird’s cage. The majesty,
whose forces had been responsible for the death and impalement of hundreds of
thousands of men over the past two decades, but whose royal sword hadn’t ever
tasted blood, cringed at the sight of the vermin’s corpse.
The prime minister’s eyes grazed over
the large dusty shelf behind the Oracle’s throne, inside which were arranged
books of great density, dense both in physical size, as well as the knowledge
they possessed, but whose gifts were being ignored by the old woman and whose
original purpose was misunderstood and was therefore being misused. The old hag
used the paper from the books as fodder for the fire which seemed to tell her
the future, instead of the more reliable facts or the more imaginative fiction
that the books originally contained. The bookish Frankton’s rage knew no bounds
when he saw the old lady carelessly rip off a page from his favourite book, The Gratifying Entanglement, by Sir Willy Woodshaft, the pages of
which had helped the prime minister save his marriage but unfortunately had
also lead him to father some bastards.
“Sire,
do you not think it is time for us to shift our focus on other important issues
that requires our attention at the earliest?” asked Elis, tired of the Oracle’s
gimmicks with her bowl of fire and her vain attempts to appear mysterious and
supernatural.
“Heed my warning, young King! The single greatest threat
to your crown is fast approaching your castle even as we speak and his words
shall lead you astray…” repeated the Oracle, lifting a cat’s skull from a table
nearby and caressing its sharp canine teeth, while eyeing the two men in front
of her, with her own head tilted.
King Montaine shifted his gaze from the hag to his
trusted lackey, who was shaking his head and puffing out air, restlessly,
incredulous of every word being uttered by the Oracle, disgusted by the lady’s
silly affectations.
“My Lord’s downfall you say? By a single man you say? I
can assure you, m’lady, there is no one in the entire world who is strong
enough, clever enough, insane enough to even attempt to harm the greatest ruler
of Calmenforde,” said the rotund minister with red cheeks, thick, well
maintained silvery beard, hazy grey eyes with puffy under bags, bushy eyebrows
and wrinkly forehead. “Lord Flumberg is the heir to God’s kingdom and he is to
be defeated by a mere follower?” snickered the sixty five year old man.
“He
is no true follower of Him and he certainly has no need of fearing you to be
His son, as he doesn’t believe in His existence in the first place” said the
Oracle, in a very calm, slow manner, this time staring sternly at Montaine.
“The Oracle seems
to have lost her mind, Sire” whispered Frankton to his King. “It’d be wise to
end this absurdity and return back to our business.”
“So how shall I
identify him? This deceiver you speak of” asked Montaine calmly, taking a sip from
his wine glass, ignoring his lapdog’s comment. His brilliant blue eyes shimmered
from the radiance of the fire in front of him and his short, well maintained
black hair moved serenely as an occasional draft moved through the cave. He was
a handsome man with fair skin, lean pointy nose, a thin goatee, wiry frame and
with a menacing gaze. A quick glance at the man could make one think that he
was made more for the bed than for the battlefield and he had almost always
been battling with his courtesans while his men had been dying for him in the
warzone.
But little did he
care for the well-being of other men and little did their deaths mean to him,
for he believed it was their privilege to lay their heads for him, as he slowly
worked towards fulfilling his destiny and claimed what was rightfully his, the
tag of being the ultimate ruler of every land discovered by mankind. His
efforts were still at its infancy though as he found some annoying resistance
even from the neighbouring land of Rimvaugn whose resources and capabilities he
had already dented in a massive unexpected invasion not so long ago, but whose forces
were rumoured to be regrouping for payback. Invading foreign lands was a costly
affair and the modest coffers of Calmenforde, at one point threatened to
disappear into nothingness, which forced Montaine to sign a treaty with the
Rimvaugnians. The spread of the fatal Scarlet Fever also did its bit to slow
his progress.
Montaine’s lust
for power though hadn’t yet satiated and he prayed to the Gods, from whom he
believed he had descended, that he be given all that was necessary to claim his
birth right. Prayers alone seemed insufficient to please the Gods and Montaine
believed the building of shrines to honour the divine, would help him achieve
his life’s mission in a swifter pace. He never for once feared or doubted that
he would die without ruling all of the discovered lands, and it was all just a
matter of time, in his assumption. He however did not want to attain what he
wanted right towards the end of his life, but well in his youth, so that he
could relish every honour and glory coming his way and ensure that every single
human in every corner of the world can take in his physical beauty, youth and
vigour and know that they were being ruled by a worthy one.
And so he wanted
to build a shrine to honour the Gods, the ideal location of which, he wanted to
know based on the positions of stars to yield him maximum favour and he and his
prime minister had arrived at the ageing Oracle’s cave for the said purpose,
only for the old hag to threaten them with a strange prophecy.
“Sire, I urge you
not to meditate on the old lady’s words” stressed Elis, not bothered about
being heard by the person he was insulting, feeling a bit annoyed seeing his
Lord encourage the Oracle with further questioning.
“Since my
grand-father’s reign, the royal family has been in constant consultation with
the Oracle and plenty of important decisions have been made at her behest-“
“I am sure even
your grand-father and father hadn’t consulted soothsayers, prophets and
Oracles, as much” murmured Elis, “and none of them had been as devoted to this
particular Oracle, as you, my Lord.”
“And none before
me have wanted control of lands far beyond the Calmenforde’s walls, as I.
Greater ambitions require greater guidance. And the Oracle hasn’t ever been
wrong, has she?” asked Montaine, staring emotionless towards the old lady, who
suddenly seemed oblivious to their presence and was seen meddling with the
raven’s cage, poking the one eyed bird, in its good eye with a tiny twig,
sending the scavenger into a frenzy.
“Need I say more?” asked Elis Frankton,
pointing towards the strange behaviour of the Oracle. “Age catches up, my
Lord.”
“You shall do nothing
to find this deceiver. He will find you soon on his own accord” said the
Oracle, interrupting the conversation between the king and the minister. “And
you shall have nothing to do, to save your position as the king of Calmenforde.
Your reign shall end and it shall be at his hands” repeated the old lady, with
no concern about offending the King.
“Oh yes, and how
shall he do it? Does he travel atop a mythical dragon that can burn our troops
to cinder or does he carry the weapons of the Gods that can summon storms and
rivers of fire, to level Calmenforde to dust?” asked Elis, with a grunt,
rolling his eyes.
“Words…there are
no weapons that can bring about as much ruin as words. And he has complete
mastery over it” said the Oracle, slowly turning her head away from the cage
with a serious look. “Do not trust anyone who claim to know the future” the old
lady burst into a hysterical laughter, that reverberated to all corners of the
dark cave that was illuminated by nothing but the bowl of fire at its centre.
“Case proven” said
the prime minister, sighing and gathering himself to leave.
Montaine remained
seated, as he watched the ninety year old hag laughing like a mad woman,
pricking her hand with a tiny blade that she possessed and poking her bleeding
finger into the bird’s cage, allowing the one eyed raven to feed on her wound.
He’s had enough as
well. He convinced himself to trust the words of a sycophant over the
soothsayer. Montaine picked himself up
calmly, took a gold coin from his pocket to drop into a bowl nearby as a fee
for the Oracle’s service, stopped midway, pondered for a couple seconds and
walked out of the cave, throwing the coin into the hands of one of his soldiers
waiting outside.
“Make sure the
cave is closed down.”
“Yes Sire…what of
the Oracle? Shall I lead her to the prison or chase her beyond our walls?”
asked the soldier hesitantly.
“You heard
everything from the outside?” smiled Montaine, “Good, then you must know her
service is no longer required.”
“Yes, my liege…so
is it imprisonment or exile?” asked the soldier again.
“Leave her in the
cave.”
“But you wanted me
to close the cave” asked the soldier perplexed.
“That’s what the
coin is for” said Elis Frankton and the King patted the soldier, giving him a
sly smile, as he climbed down the rocks fashioned into stairs leading down to
the ground where a beautifully decorated carriage awaited him, with a modest
brougham behind it for the prime minister. A group of eight soldiers on
horseback surrounded the two wagons and the wagon drivers opened the two wagons
for the respective passengers.
Montaine Flumberg halted
for a second as he was about to enter his chariot and looked back at the cave.
He saw the soldier to whom he had given a coin summoning a couple of his comrades
and with their help, working towards moving a large boulder nearby, closer to the
entrance of the cave, to shut it down. The Oracle though seemed not to care
about her fate and her own haunting laughter, along with the cawing of the
tortured raven continued emanating from within the cave.
Montaine closed
his eyes, took in a deep breath and tried to forget all that he had heard in
the past few minutes, only to fail miserably.
“Something about her words churns my guts.” 
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