Kingsbane: A Soul Stones Story Page 2

  “He?” Drygo asked, excitement in his voice.

  “Please don’t misunderstand,” Alijah said in obvious alarm. “I have no way of knowing for sure. I prefer using ‘he’ over ‘it.’ As I said, ‘he’ is moving and kicking as he should…”

  “But?” the king pressed.

  Alijah frowned again. “The queen has progressed into the second stage of pregnancy. By all accounts, she should be feeling better. The first is characteristic of nausea, the third, all manner of discomfort, but the second? The second should offer a brief reprieve.” The healer rubbed his forehead. “I’m afraid…” He glanced at the queen. Her brow was furrowed.

  “Spit it out already,” Drygo said, tapping his foot.

  “May I speak to you outside, please, Your Majesty?” Alijah asked.

  The king waved his hand and the two proceeded for the door. Ocken swung the door wide, allowing them to exit. He followed them out and closed the door.

  “This is a sign of bad news,” Alijah whispered. “It is too early to tell, but I feel I must prepare you… It is highly possible the queen may not survive childbirth.”

  “What?” the king yelled.

  The healer shifted nervously, looking from side to side. “I’m sorry if this upsets you, sire. I only thought you should be prepared for the worst.”

  “You only thought?” Drygo fumed. “Well maybe you should do less thinking and more healing.”

  “What’s going on?” Callum said as he ran up. “I heard shouting. I—” He saw the king running his hands through his dark brown hair. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll be on my way,” Alijah said. “There’s little more I can do, I specialize in herbs, not pregnancy, just… keep an eye on her situation?” The healer bowed, and took his leave.

  “What was that about?” Callum asked again.

  Drygo told him what Alijah had said moments earlier.

  “Surely he exaggerates?” Callum asked.

  “You heard him, did you not?” Drygo asked Ocken.

  “Yes, sire,” Ocken replied. Then to Callum he said, “It is as the king said.”

  “The old fool,” the king muttered.

  Callum said, “Perhaps he does not expect her to die, but he—”

  “Then why say anything in the first place?” the king countered.

  “Well, place yourself in his position. You are responsible for the queen’s health and safety. Should the queen die, by no fault of your own, who do you think would be held responsible?” the grand marshal asked. “I believe he’s just trying to save his own skin in case the worst should happen.”

  Drygo pondered Callum’s explanation for a moment. It sounded reasonable enough to Ocken.

  “And if the worst should happen?” the king asked, now pacing up and down the hallway.

  Callum replied, “It is the nature of things, I—”

  “That’s unacceptable. I can’t lose her,” Drygo said. “Surely there must be a way to heal her. Anything. Something we haven’t thought of. Something we haven’t tried.”

  An idea came to Ocken, but he didn’t wish to voice it. He had been written off for raising his people’s superstitious beliefs in the past.

  “If there is, surely Alijah would have tried it,” Callum said. “What?”

  Ocken hadn’t noticed the question was directed at him. The king stopped his pacing and came to halt in front of Ocken. His expression must have given him away.

  “What do you know?” the king asked.

  “Know about what, sire?” Ocken replied.

  “About the weather,” Drygo said, impatient. “What have we been talking about the last ten minutes? About Evangeline! I mentioned finding a way to heal my wife and your face lit up like a longboat ablaze in the night.”

  “I—I do not wish to say,” Ocken said, nervous jitters running up and down his spine. A bead of sweat ran down his brow.

  “You do not wish?” the king mocked. “I order you to tell me what you know.”

  Ocken closed his eyes and sighed. This was it. Surely the king would dismiss him from the guard for his outlandish beliefs. “You’re familiar with the gods of Aralith?”

  “Of course, who isn’t?” Drygo snapped.

  “Sire—” Callum started, but Drygo held up his hand, silencing the grand marshal.

  “I apologize,” the king said to Ocken. “Go on.”

  “There are ten gods, but there used to be twelve,” Ocken explained.

  “Yes, I know this,” Drygo said. “Our temples still hold two places for the lost gods, though their candles are extinguished and their shrines darkened.”

  “Well… do you know why that is? What happened to them?” Ocken asked.

  “Of course, every child knows this. Qirrut and Daldre, were elvish gods,” the king said. “When we drove off the elves at the end of the Great War a thousand years ago, we removed their gods from our places of worship.”

  “Well, my people, the Khur, have a different belief,” Ocken told them. “We call this “Great War” the War of the Gods. We don’t believe it was man against elf, but rather god against god.”

  “Your basis for this belief?” Drygo asked.

  “Are not Lotess, Erintos, and Ophi elves as well? Yet they still remain in our temples,” Ocken said.

  Drygo frowned. Callum pursed his lips.

  “What does this have to do with my wife?” the king asked.

  “There is a legend among my people, passed down from generation to generation, that claims the gods, in order to prevent another catastrophe, relinquished their powers and locked them away into stones. They then hid these stones, believing no one should possess such power.”

  “Again. I fail to see how any of this relates to Evangeline,” Drygo said.

  “Patience, sire,” Callum said. “Please, continue.”

  “I am well versed in all of the stones and their powers thanks to a prophecy,” Ocken said.

  “A prophecy? You expect me to believe in legends and prophecies?” the king said, a little louder than Ocken would have liked. Servants passing in the halls glanced in their direction.

  Here we go, Ocken thought. I won’t be able to show my face in the city for months.

  “No,” Drygo said, shaking his head. “I’ll have no more of this nonsense.”

  Ocken thought about reminding the king that he hadn’t wanted to speak, but the king himself had insisted that he share what he knew. Ocken thought better of it and held his tongue.

  The king threw up his hands, exasperated, and marched back into the queen’s chambers leaving Ocken and Callum alone in the hallway.

  Callum looked at Ocken, raised his eyebrows, and mouthed, “Prophecies?”

  ***

  Over the next few weeks, the king distanced himself from everyone, but Ocken believed he got the worst of it. Drygo placed Ocken on a semi-permanent post outside his bedchamber. Whereas he usually followed the king wherever he went, now Ocken stood in solitude for hours on end.

  He knew little of the queen’s condition, but he surmised her situation must not have improved or the king would have been more jovial. True to his word, though, Drygo tried just about everything to save his wife and unborn child.

  Ocken stood silently and watched as all manner of priests, shamans, healers, and alchemists entered and exited the queen’s chambers at the other end of the hall. They had one thing in common: they all entered with their heads held high and all left in a hurry, the king’s angry tirades flooding from the room in their wake.

  Then one day, a particularly tall and lanky man with a hooked nose and beady eyes named Lazairis, an alchemist of some renown, entered the queen’s chambers. When the door opened, the usual shouts did not follow. Instead, the king exited with the alchemist and followed him down the hallway. Alijah rushed after them in the king’s wake.

  “—don’t know,” Drygo said.

  “Are you mad?” Alijah said, hobbling and huffing to keep up. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

&
nbsp; “While ekanian root is quite potent,” Lazairis said, “it’s not harmful, I assure you.”

  Ekanian root? Ocken thought. What do they want with that?

  Lazairis continued, “The queen will sleep more soundly and it will aid in easing the queen’s pain.”

  The king stopped walking a few paces from Ocken and ran his hands down his face.

  “What are the side effects?” the king asked, considering the alchemist’s recommendation.

  Lazairis began, “There are no—”

  But Alijah interrupted, “There are no side effects for a normal dosage! But the amount that you are recommending could place the queen into an eternal sleep.”

  Drygo blanched at Alijah’s words. “Why would you suggest such a remedy?” the king asked Lazairis.

  “I would not, under normal circumstances, but as you have already stated when you called for me, you have tried all conventional methods and have failed,” the alchemist said, bumbling with his words. “I would not recommend this unless I felt it is what is best for the queen.”

  Ocken cleared his throat. The king cast him a piercing glare.

  “Got something to say?” Drygo asked.

  “If I may?” Ocken replied.

  The king nodded, his expression softening.

  “The Khur are quite versed in the use of ekanian root, though we know it by another name: kingsbane.”

  “Kingsbane? Are you serious?” Drygo asked.

  Ocken nodded and said, “It’s every bit as potent as these men have said. However, the desert tribes have been using it for centuries to fight their petty wars. My people created an antitoxin to nullify its effects on us. I’ve taken kingsbane so often that I’ve developed somewhat of an immunity to it.”

  “I don’t know,” Drygo said, “it seems too risky. I mean, kingsbane? Do you even know how that sounds?” He shook his head. “No. It’s not happening. I won’t risk it.”

  A deafening scream erupted from the queen’s chambers.

  Panic flooded through Ocken and the color drained from Drygo’s face. All four of them ran back to the queen’s bedside, Ocken once again carrying the frail Alijah.

  Evangeline lay on the floor, arms and legs sprawled wide. The king’s mouth hung agape as he knelt beside her and cradled her head. He looked up at the maid for an explanation.

  “Sh-she was just returning from the chamber pot a-and I didn’t do nothin’,” the maid said. “She just fainted.”

  “Well don’t just leave her lying there,” Alijah piped up. “Help her up onto the bed.”

  Ocken and Lazairis both reached out and assisted the king in returning Evangeline to her bed.

  To the maid, Alijah said, “Go check the chamber pot, tell me if you see anything abnormal.”

  The maid nodded and disappeared from sight. Alijah began to check her vital signs. The queen’s skin had taken on a yellow tinge. Ocken stood on edge, peering over the man’s shoulder, his heart thumping wildly in its cage.

  “She is stable,” Alijah said.

  “What hap—” the king started to say, but the maid returned and all attention snapped to her.

  “There’s blood in the pot, sir,” she declared.

  “Hmm…” Alijah began scratching his chin.

  Callum and Chelsea, who had found herself pregnant a month after Evangeline, spilled into the room.

  “What’s wrong?” Callum asked.

  Alijah continued to mumble to himself, “Liver failure, high blood pressure, blood in the urine, fainting…”

  “What in Iket’s name is wrong with my wife?” the king said, raising his voice.

  “It’s as I feared,” Alijah responded, hanging his head. “I’m afraid the queen is dying. The unfortunate truth is that one in five women die in childbirth. While the queen’s earlier ailments might have been unrelated, as it seems they were, when these symptoms present themselves, the chances of the mother surviving are almost one in one million.”

  Chelsea let out a whimper. Callum grabbed her and pulled her into his chest.

  “What about my baby?” Chelsea asked, placing her hands on her belly. “Will I die, too?”

  Alijah sat up as straight as he could, observed Chelsea, and said, “I cannot say for certain, but you’re healthy. I don’t see why you would experience any complications at this stage.”

  Chelsea’s ragged breaths steadied at the doctor’s reassuring words.

  “Surely you can save my wife?” the king asked, staring down into her face and caressing her hair.

  “There is nothing that can be done,” Alijah said.

  Drygo looked to Lazairis, his eyes pleading with the alchemist.

  “He’s right,” the man said, barely a whisper.

  Evangeline’s eyes fluttered then opened, staring up into the eyes of her husband. Before she could say a word, her eyes slammed shut and she cried out in pain through clenched teeth. The king squeezed her hand, worry painting his face.

  “It’s worse than I thought. The baby is at risk,” Alijah said. “I recommend we remove the baby immediately. The queen will die, but she will almost surely die anyway. We must save the baby.”

  “Absolutely not!” the king cried out.

  Chelsea began sobbing again.

  Ocken felt like a fish out of water. He had never known a lover, he could not begin to imagine the pain the king was experiencing, and he knew little about the practices of healers. Helplessness and despair filled his heart as he watched the scene continue to unfold.

  “The kingsbane,” Drygo said to Ocken, snapping him from his sorrow. Seeing Callum’s confusion, the king corrected himself, “The ekanian root. You can draft the antitoxin?”

  Ocken nodded.

  Drygo looked to Lazairis and said, “Administer the herb.”

  “My king, that will not help save your wife,” Alijah protested.

  “It may not save her, but it can comfort her,” the king said. “Do it. Do it now.”

  Lazairis reached into his pouch and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. He shook it violently and it turned green.

  “Hold her mouth open,” the alchemist instructed.

  Drygo tried to open her mouth, but she struggled against his touch and continued to hiss in pain.

  “Evie, I need you to listen to me,” the king said, speaking softly. “You need to open your mouth so the healers can give you a medicinal herb. Do you understand me?”

  She bobbed her head and carefully opened her mouth. She began to hyperventilate, small squeals escaping from her open mouth as her body convulsed. The alchemist poured the vial’s contents into her mouth. Evangeline choked then swallowed.

  Almost immediately her body calmed. Within a minute her eyes closed again and her breathing settled into a calm. Then her chest stopped moving altogether. Alijah checked her vitals again.

  “She is still alive, but in the deepest of sleeps only the ekanian root can provide.”

  Ocken let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

  “Out,” Drygo said. “Everyone out except Callum and Ocken.”

  Confusion furrowed Ocken’s brow. Why did the king want him to stay? Surely he wanted some time alone to make a decision.

  The maid took Chelsea from Callum’s arms and helped her leave the room. Alijah and Lazairis followed after them and shut the door.

  Ocken stared hard at the king’s face trying to deduce what his thoughts. When Drygo was certain everyone had left, he returned Ocken’s stare with determination.

  “You once mentioned a legend of your people,” the king began.

  Ocken’s eyes widened.

  “Yes, I know. I dismissed it. But I can’t let Evie die. I won’t,” he said. “Not until I’ve tried everything. And I mean everything, even outlandish prophecies and tales from far away. So let’s hear the rest of your story.”

  Ocken looked to his grand marshal for support. Callum only shrugged and motioned for him to speak.

  “It is said that one of the gods, Serith,
could heal all maladies, no matter the cause. People flocked to her from all over. Stories insist that simply touching her hand returned a person to perfect health.”

  Ocken paused, waiting for the king to ridicule the notion. When he was met with silence, he continued, “If we could find Serith’s stone, we might be able to save the queen.”

  “Might?” the king asked.

  “There are a lot of variables, Your Majesty,” Ocken explained. “Finding the stone—in time, figuring out how to work it, that sort of thing.”

  “So where do these legends say the stone is,” Callum asked.

  Ocken did not immediately answer, nerves taking over again. “They… don’t.”

  “What do you—?” the king yelled, then looked away and took a deep breath. More calmly he said, “What do you mean they don’t say where the stone is?”

  “I mean just that. It wouldn’t be a legend if it were a confirmed fact. And undoubtedly others would have sought out the stones by now. There would be demigods all over Aralith wielding unearthly power.”

  “So…” Callum said. “How do we find the stones? You must have some idea. Some guess as to where to begin?”

  “There is one possible place to look,” Ocken said. “But the stones aren’t guaranteed to be there and you would have to be mad to go there.”

  Ocken closed his eyes and silently begged the king not to ask.

  “Where?”

  Ocken sighed. “Where the stones were forged. A place called Anima Sanctum in the heart of the Wandering Wood.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Thirty minutes later Ocken stood outside the palace near the stables. The moon hung high in the sky as darkness covered the land.

  Why does everything always have to happen at night? he thought.

  When he closed his eyes at night, all he could see was the kranack attacking his father. He hadn’t personally seen the kranack, but that didn’t seem to matter. It was there, haunting him in the night.

  So Ocken tried not to close his eyes. Tried not to think about otherworldly creatures. Instead, he busied himself preparing for the journey ahead. He had already packed his satchel and now was loading it onto his horse. Slipping the leather strap through the buckle, he pulled tight and fastened it in place.