The Ballad of Persephone Read online

  “Thank you, Highness.”

  “Time is against us. I am hoping Shuru doesn’t die before the council meeting – if all goes as planned, I shall rescue the Princess just in time for him to announce our union.”

  “What if he does pass?”

  “Then Farah will make the declaration. It will be subject to debate of course, possibly opposition…this is why I need Shuru alive – his voice credits the marriage without question.”

  “Shall I send word to the others of the Watchers involvement?”

  “No,” Vali says. “Your role is to eliminate all traces of our hand. Let the wild men have their fun for a day or two. Our retaliation for their villainy will bear multiple fruit - one being the elevation of the Watchers standing in the court. See? We enjoy dual accomplishments in this undertaking.”

  ~ Corinth Airport ~

  Desperation is something Queen Farah does her best to conceal from Persephone. Her inner turmoil for plans about to transpire sends her into erratic thoughts of avoidance. Her panicked behavior is misunderstood as concern for her husband; no one but Samiri knows the real horrors which lie in wait.

  “Your Grace, you cannot delay much longer,” Samiri advises the Queen.

  Farah hurries Persephone up the shuttle’s ramp. Once her daughter is out of view, she hands Samiri a data tube. “Have this transmitted to Thoth immediately.”

  “What may I ask is its contents?”

  “A private concern I fear only he can help resolve. Now, do as I say.”

  “At once your Grace,” Samiri says with a bow. He steps back to allow the ramp to retract. Before it does, he catches sight of Persephone gazing down at him with a smile. He returns her wave. You poor child. The wheels of fate are in motion.

  Whining engines increase in tempo. Exhaust burns white with a neon blue outline, joining soft blue hues from the shuttle’s underbelly. Ion drives engage, lifting the craft 15-feet off the tarmac. The nose pitches 20-degrees above the horizon. Engines erupt into a roar sending the shuttle off towards the North.

  Samiri enters a waiting car; he wastes no time in examining the Queen’s private message on a monitor. So, you hope Lord Thoth can avert the inevitable? My condolences dear Queen, but no one can save you now. “Drive on,” he orders.

  Thirty minutes of flight time puts the shuttle over the Dalmatian coast. A barrage of rockets launch from a large ship, targeting the Queen’s craft. Erratic maneuvers are no match for the incoming projectiles, aimed with precision at the shuttle’s wings. A direct hit sends the aircraft plummeting into the ocean.

  Within moments small recovery boats swarm around the wreckage. Armed tribesmen waste no time plucking dead pilots and three passengers out of the water. Once the prisoners are safely on board, the crafts dart off to the attacking vessel under the guise of a cargo ship.

  Northern Illyrian wild-men observe their incoming prize, particularly the Captain. Dardanes is a beast of a man with long dark hair braided in his tribe’s style. He clutches a pair of binoculars with a smile showing off teeth stained from excessive tobacco use. He grunts with victory.

  A tribesman similar in girth steps up to his side. Balaites, or Bal as the others call him, is the son of a chief, whose tribe was eradicated by the Dardanii’s – the Captain’s tribe. Now he serves as second in command in this pirating brotherhood.

  The Dardanii are notorious for raiding unsuspecting villages throughout the Illyrian principalities. Not much is done to curb their activities; in fact, a blind eye is turned in favor of stimulating the black-market trade. ‘Well, we’re not going to catch slaves ourselves’ is what an Anuk Prince declared years ago. Once a modest fee is paid, the tribesmen are allowed their pillaging without repercussions.

  “Secure the prisoners with the rest,” Dardanes orders Bal. “They are important. No harm must come to them, understood?”

  Bal scowls as he leaves the Captain.

  On the lower decks, Farah receives the backhand of an irate deckhand. She connects her fist with the man’s jaw, breaking it with ease.

  Persephone snatches a dagger from another man, trying to subdue Koray. She presses the sharp blade on his neck.

  Farah darts towards an attacking group, jumps high and plunges her body into the line. An intense beam hits Persephone’s prisoner on his chest. She panics, from where?

  Farah gets hit with a dart, dropping her with intense pain. Persephone lets her dead pirate slump to the ground. She looks around for the shooter and spots him on a high catwalk. If he wanted to kill me, he would have, she tells herself and rushes to her mother. Farah’s eyelids slide shut. An impulse of fear creeps into Persephone’s soul. She notices a thick royal-blue line forming at the needle’s entry point.

  The remaining pirates back away from the prisoners. Farah’s display of strength and speed brings caution to the men. They all scream in their minds, She’s Anuk.

  Unafraid, Bal strides forward past Koray, glancing curiously at her. He smiles at Persephone as he pulls the dart from Farah. “No trouble and no antidote.”

  Persephone’s blood burns with rage. She remembers Osiris’ words of caution, yet the subtle hint of power courses through her muscles. Farah grabs her hand. With an intense look, she shakes her head to encourage compliance.

  “Promise me,” Farah demands in a weak voice, “Do nothing.”

  Persephone nods.

  Bal grabs the Princess. Two pirates lift the Queen off the dirty ground.

  Persephone tenses up her jaw. “Where are you taking us?”

  Bal gives her a wicked smirk. “You’ll see.”

  Chapter 9: The Cruelty of Man

  “Outrageous!” Prince Odin screams in the royal council chambers. In the special session, a handful of attendees, members who live within the palace’s precincts, gather after receiving word of the Queen’s abduction. Three royals are present via holo-screens, including Prince Vali. “I want every last one of them killed!” Odin says.

  “Calm yourself cousin. A rational mind will solve this,” Vali says. “I am almost in my Capital. Soon I will gather resources for a viable plan.”

  “I will join you,” Odin says. Protest erupting from the council members does not change his resolve. Vali’s image smiles.

  “I welcome the help. How soon can you arrive?”

  “Father,” Thoth interrupts. “This is unwise. His Majesty needs you here.”

  Vali’s expression turns into one of concern. “I would heed the Keeper’s advice if I were you, Odin. You will be called upon as Regent if our Majesty is returned to the Creator. Hyperboria needs you there. We will find them.”

  The council agrees.

  “Very well,” Odin concedes. “I want the criminals brought here.”

  “What is the mantra?” Vali asks rhetorically. “Man cannot rule man…that’s the one. I will remind them of this.” His image disappears.

  A half-hour is spent debating strategy. Amid the clamor of outrage and complaint about Lower Houses’ exercising ‘a loose hand’ in managing affairs, Odin breaks away to peer out the large window behind the King’s seat. Memories of Persephone’s last abduction assault his mind until sickening nausea churns deep.

  Two things fell into an abyss on that dreaded season – Persephone’s innocence and his marriage. His mind snaps back to the present at Thoth’s call. He dismisses the members and their repetitive chatter. The room clears with a rumble of noise moving out of the chamber.

  “I fear something hidden may be at play here,” Thoth says with a grim expression.

  “Tell me,” Odin says, breathing deep, forcing calm.

  “I am not certain of it, but I suspect the King has been poisoned.”

  “Can you help him?” Odin asks.

  “We can try. I need to move him to pTah, to the Hall-of-Records.”

  At full sprint, Osiris slides to a halt next to Odin. “I’ll go with Thoth, Father.”

  “Sorry, little brother. I need the ordained Primary of House ENki to unlock the vaults
of ATun.”

  Odin puts his arms around his sons. “Things are about to change. Shuru has set in motion changes to the fabric of society. We need him to buffer the storm.”

  ~ Pirate Ship, on Corinthian Sea Lane ~

  Ships loaded with all manner of goods traverse dark-blue waters on the sea-route, stretching between two continents. At the north is the vast expanse of Illyria, spreading into the borders of Aryavan; in the south, the wildlands of pTah dissolve into a much-ignored continent. Making a right turn from the north, a hulking gray ship enters a heavily patrolled sea lane – destination unknown.

  Rumbling bulkheads vibrate through every corner in the vessel’s higher levels, indicating the ship is steaming at increasing speed. Narrow passageways barely fit two pedestrians walking side-by-side, even less so with the sizable tribesmen trying to push through to their stations. Two escort Persephone to a lower deck, filled with red light scantly illuminating the darkness. They descend metal stairs to a catwalk overlooking an assortment of crates. Each footstep clangs metal on metal. They arrive at a closed hatch with a small antechamber.

  One tribesman spins the Princess around. “Remember me now?” he asks with a mouthful of tobacco sludge falling down his lips.

  The other grabs her chin. His disgusting breath smells of fish. “You played your nasty game. Tried to steal our money.”

  The first pirate gets in her face. “Word is, you stole the gold from Aryavan. Caused a big loss, you did.” His face gestures to the ante-chamber with a terrible smile. “Bal will take care of you.” He pushes her in the metal room.

  Muffled groans behind the bulkhead frighten Persephone. Muffled voices groan behind cold steel; images of apparition’s long-dead fill her head. Frigid air accentuates the depressing nature of the surroundings.

  “Leave,” Bal grunts to his men. He holds up a rolled-up garment, a tattered heap of brown cut from dingy fabric. Delight gleams in his eyes, the corners of his mouth rise.

  “No!” Persephone grumbles in defiance.

  Before she can react, Bal slaps his broad palm on her neck, sticking her with a short needle attached to a ring. The tip is laced with a sedative similar to the one Farah received. “You may be Anuk…you may not. Can’t take a chance if you are. Don’t worry, it will make you drowsy. I sip it with my tea. You won’t feel a thing.” He holds up the tattered rags once more, insisting with his demeaning grunts.

  She is disoriented. Her limbs are weakening, but she tries her best to fight off the poison’s effects. Bal slaps her face hard, throwing her against the bulkhead.

  “Change!” he screams.

  “I will cut that hand off if you touch me.” Persephone snarls. Another slap leaves its mark on her face. Tears well up; not from the burning on her cheeks, but rather for the building fear of Bal’s lusting eyes.

  She strips off her clothes in slow controlled motions. Clouded memories buried deep seep through a fragile mental fog she doesn’t understand. Shame stings her thoughts, shame for something she cannot recall.

  Bal swats her arms as she covers up her nakedness. Beyond any conscious reasoning on her part, she screams out.

  A steady hand yanks Bal out of the chamber. Dardanes shoves him on the cold bulkhead, slamming his head several times to reinforce his displeasure. “You lay one finger on that girl, and I swear by my mother I will cut off your cock.”

  “Only trying to have some fun Captain,” Bal says. He gives Persephone a dirty look before storming off.

  Dardanes picks up the dirty clothing. “Do as you’re told and it will be over soon.” Alarms blare, resonating on steel and marrying up to flashing lights.

  Two pirates rush to Dardanes, out of breath. “Captain,” one of them says, “Corinthian blockade.”

  “Put her with the rest,” Dardanes orders before leaving. One man grabs Persephone’s arm while the other opens the main room’s hatch.

  Inside the space are 50 people huddled together; men, women, and children. The air is a foul mix of body odor and urine. Towards a corner, the pungent smell of feces compels the Princess to vomit. Without compassion, she is shoved on an old woman wearing similar garb. The door shuts with a loud ‘bang,’ dampening the alarms outside.

  “‘Sephie!” Koray’s frightened voice calls out. She hugs Persephone tight, erupting in tears.

  The old woman shifts her body to make room. “Calm yourselves, children. It is the only way to survive. What’s your name?”

  The Princess composes herself. “This is Koray. I am Persephone.” Her head is spinning, limbs going numb. Her gaze falls on a girl, bruises covering her face. She must be no older than twelve. Persephone’s breathing becomes labored. An invisible hand chokes her heart. The mental cloud returns.

  “You’re named after a god,” the old woman says softly, pulling Persephone back to the present.

  She scowls. “She’s not a god. Just a silly girl who does not know how the world works.”

  The old woman looks beyond the walls of her confinement, up towards the sky. “I pray for her to save us.”

  “Don’t waste your breath. There is no god but the Creator.” Persephone closes her eyes and shakes her head, wishing the nightmare to end. “Praying to an Anuk Princess is a foolish endeavor.”

  The woman forces a smile, “I know she’s not like the god. But there’s no word to describe our thanks for her miracle years ago. It is because of her I survived the plague.”

  The words seem distorted in Persephone’s ears. What’s happening? she wonders. Her lips and tongue being to weigh heavy. She takes Koray’s hand into hers. “What happened?” she asks the woman.

  “They attacked our village. We are all that survived. When they come again, don’t let them see your fear.”

  “Be quiet,” an old man interrupts. “They are listening.” he points to a small dark device on the ceiling.

  Persephone lowers her voice to a whisper, “Not to worry. The Corinthian navy has put up a blockade. They will rescue us.”

  The sleek gray hull of a Corinthian destroyer rises and dips alongside the pirate vessel. Ocean spray hisses on steel. Metal planks drop in an unwelcoming fashion. Soldiers rush across the makeshift gangway, rifles at the ready, dominating the upper deck.

  Dardanes waits for the officer in charge to approach. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he grumbles to Balaites.

  “Never,” Bal says with a cocky smile.

  “Who is the Captain?” the naval Commander asks.

  “I am,” Dardanes shouts.

  “Your credentials at once. We are searching this vessel.”

  “You are mistaken,” Dardanes says offering a rolled-up piece of parchment.

  The Commander snatches it. “It is you who are mistaken. Search the ship!”

  “We have done nothing wrong,” Bal says.

  The Commander displays the unrolled parchment with a mild annoyance in his tone, “I do not care for your forgeries. Comply or you will be chained. Speak to me again, and I will sink this ship.”

  Dardanes smiles. Arrogant Anuk pricks. He activates a communicator. Within seconds Princess Octavia’s image appears.

  The Commander bows. “Your Highness.”

  “This vessel is under my protection,” Octavia says. “Disembark at once!”

  Without question, the soldiers promptly begin their retreat. Bal glances at his Captain with an uneasy, suspicious stare. “Is there something you are not telling me?”

  “No concern of yours. Leave the prisoners alone; this is my last warning, Bal.”

  The last of the boarding party departs the gangway. Dardanes walks off to a tight corner with his communicator recalling Octavia. “Your Highness, you failed to mention I would be abducting Anuk!”

  “Don’t you dare take that tone with me!” Octavia shouts. “Discretion has always been your admirable trait Dardanes of the Dardanii. Never forget who facilitated your tribe’s miraculous rise amongst the wild-men. Question my orders again and I will have you impaled with the pedestal y
ou sit on, through your ass!”

  “Who are they?” Dardanes asks. “A Royal and her handmaidens? My men accuse one of the females for our losses at Aryavan.”

  “I don’t know about that. You lay a finger on those women, and it will be the end of the Dardanii.” The image disappears.

  “Bal!” Dardanes calls out. “Change of plans.”

  “Captain?”