The Ballad of Persephone Read online

  A tray extends outward slowly from the incubator; the wait is brutal, testing his resolve. Latches snap into place; he chokes with doubt, his mind screaming with indecision – to act or to run? A bead of sweat rolls off his brow. “It’s a path to the Amon-I,” he whispers, then drops the syringe in the compartment. The tray retracts and he swallows hard. Now, the pathogen shares delicate space with the newborn.

  Persephone is clean of the disease, bringing hope to the parents of their dynasty’s continuity. In the past millennia, most Pure-Blood Anuk babies died soon after birth; only two from the higher echelon of royalty survived. Hours will prove if Persephone will be number three.

  Samiri picks up the syringe through protective gloves waiting ominously inside the incubator. A moment of hesitation overwhelms him. What am I doing? I am not a murderer for surely this will kill the child.

  “Do it!” a harsh whisper hisses behind him. He recognizes Aspasia’s voice. “If you don’t, all hopes to get the Amon-I is lost. Prove your loyalty to the cause.”

  Persephone’s eyes open; she looks at Samiri, paralyzing him with hesitation. Her piercing blue eyes bring pause to the Watcher. She makes what he assumes is a smile, breaking his heart for what is about to be done.

  He calls upon his training to assist his resolve. His heart pounds more laborious than a herd of mammoths in an open field. The sting of Aspasia’s harsh whispers fades with his exhale. He breathes in deep then without further hesitation and pierces the infant’s skin. She cringes with pain and her face sours, though she does not cry out.

  Chapter 3: Graven Images

  Hyperboria is a vast expanse of cold lands spanning the top of the planet; a frozen umbrella whose tips touch each land-mass at their northernmost edges. Sporadic ice sheets cover unpopulated areas year-round; however, patches of warmer areas exist closer to the globe’s apex – this is where the capital of ‘Hyperboria’ sits; the city’s founders did not care to make a distinction between land and city.

  Here exists the seat of power for the Anuk Empire. Despite having their own lands outside Hyperboria, Greater Houses in Illyria and Aryavan all pay homage to the reigning monarchy. All being products of the homeland, with ultimate rule emanating from the capital.

  Every five-year-old in Hyperboria endures what every five-year-old must throughout the realms – school. Four-hours of each weekday is spent in a congregation to learn the foundations of society. A sizable compound at the outskirts of the Royal Palace is set aside for this purpose. Students are not confined to an indoor prison but instead, are gathered outdoors to bask in the wonders of nature.

  In front of the classroom are sprawling green hills. At the back are high cliffs with a majestic waterfall streaming into a misty river. A smaller, less powerful waterfall flows off a rocky mound sixty-feet up. The local temple designated for the aristocracies sits just to the right of the water’s edge, creating an image of high-holiness enveloped in thick mist. A cool breeze carries sounds of birds and flowing water, soothing restless students, numbering 25.

  Here they learn about their ancestry or rather, a sanitized version of the historical records. Tremendous care is exercised to keep the violent tales of humanity away from precious ears. Both Great and Lower Houses have children enrolled at the facility. It is a mix of humanity comprised of both Anuk and man. The distinction has disappeared over the years, with only strict prescriptions of marriage and breeding adhered to in the Greater Houses.

  A fading constraint of civilized society once prohibited a marriage bond between Anuk and man. In those times relationships were tolerated, but union and childbearing remained a taboo. Age-old stipulations encouraged rebellion in the eastern lands of Aryavan, and in covert instances within Illyria, though in Illyria the ruling class turns a blind eye.

  After the decline of the Watchers’ dominance of high posts in government, mankind held desirable positions of nobility. The Forefathers viewed man as a naturally occurring species, just like their Anuk counterparts. Similarities between both races over time led to speculation of mankind being a satellite colony, long forgotten before the Forefathers’ arrival. Whatever the truth is, they remain the envy of the Watchers, who are viewed as a ‘created’ race.

  For the Anuk bloodlines, it is simple – there are only ENlil and ENki. These Great Houses are bound to enjoy ultimate rule. The remaining five Forefathers are the collective cousins of the two brothers; their lineage comes from the maternal side of the father, ANu. Their descendants make up the Great Houses, and the children not commissioned to rule are relegated to the Lower Houses. Mingling between the Greater and Lower Houses happens all the time, however, strict adherence to keeping the lines of ENlil and ENki pure is maintained; those of ENlil stay in their House, as does ENki. No one knows why – it just is.

  In this age House Vali is the only direct line to Lord ENlil after King Shuru. The King’s deceased brother is Vali’s father. Likewise, House Odin traces its lineage to Lord ENki.

  Mid-morning is approaching. Children are becoming restless. The teacher stands tall in front of a giant square field of light, pointing to bright symbols with her rod. The lesson of the day is the ancient alphabet. In unison those paying attention sound off the names of each symbol. One little girl is distracted by a small box passed to her from an unknown sender.

  “Persephone!” the teacher shouts, interrupting the Princess’ stare. “Pay attention.”

  The child makes a face to express her boredom with today’s torture. In her short life, the Princess has gained a reputation for mischief, mayhem, and vanity. School for her was just an interruption in a day filled with adventure. She was not brilliant by any measure, but she coerced others by flirtatious means to do her bidding, including schoolwork.

  For today’s lesson, she had a palace librarian give her a copy of the ancient alphabet, which she memorized. “I already know all this drivel. Can I go?” she shouts to the teacher. All eyes fall on her.

  “You may be the heir apparent, but in my classroom, you are a disruptive little brat.” The teacher fumes. “Very well, recite the sacred letters., on your own.” With a gesture, the images in the light field disappear. Persephone closes her eyes and does as she is told successfully. To her relief, the day’s session is over, as indicated by approaching guardians. She makes another face at the teacher before running off with her box.

  At the edge of a small bush, Persephone opens her present. A giant toad leaps out, startling her to the point of falling on fresh mulch. She hears snickering at the edge of a nearby path. “Osiris, you little shit, I will get you for this!” She takes off after the boy and his band of jokers. She loses them around a bend at a parking lot. She huffs and decides it’ time to go home. Her eyes lock on to the smiling face in the crowd, and she beams at the sight of her caretaker, Peki. She drops the box and runs off to complain about Osiris of House ENki.

  “Who are they?” Persephone asks Samiri, while looking out the window of their vehicle. She is in awe of the line of marble statues along the path to a wide boulevard.

  “Those are the Forefathers, my dear,” Samiri answers. Peki interjects, “Princesses do not climb on doors inside moving cars…now come down from there.”

  Persephone slumps down on the leather seat, looking at the floor to avoid Peki’s stern gaze. Unsatisfied with the answer, she is compelled to complain, “But those are stone, not the Forefathers.”

  Samiri smiles at the observation, “They are representations of them. To be adored by all.”

  “But they are stone,” she says. “I do not understand.”

  “Soon, a statue of you will be put up in the square. The people adore you too,” says Peki in his optimistic way.

  “Why do they adore me? My teacher doesn’t.”

  A moment of guilt passes through Samiri’s soul. He swallows hard and holds his breath to hold off the tight feeling in his chest. The child doesn’t shift her gaze from him as she patiently waits for an answer.

  “When you were born,
” Samiri says. “the world was plunged into despair from a deadly plague. You were immune to the disease and hailed a miracle from the Creator. The doctors used your DNA to create the means to eradicate the virus. So, you see little one, some adoration is expected.”

  “I don’t want a statue. The people should adore me, not a piece of stone.”

  Samiri forces a smile. He marvels at the arrogance, vanity, but also the truth of it. “We are meeting the Queen at the temple. So, best take your complaints to her.”

  The afternoon sun shines through open-air structures of the majestic temple, next to a waterfall. The roar of the water provides a therapeutic immersion to all who visit. Today, Queen Farah soaks up the sun with her handmaidens, waiting for her daughter to arrive.

  Farah is a fortunate woman. She is the third consort of King Shuru, the youngest, and as her title suggests, the favorite. She has contributed her share of jealousy and intrigue within the household, but when she bore the King an heir, her status as Queen was sealed.

  Footsteps interrupt her daydreaming on a comfortable chair. Her handmaiden whispers news of a visitor. She looks at a nearby clock and decides it’s time to end her lounging. She makes her elegant stride into a large rotunda, and sloshes a wine glass as she waits for the caller.

  She is not as vain as the King and Persephone, but her station demands she straighten out lingering wrinkles in her short royal-blue dress. She pats her curly, auburn hair and dusts her cheeks to make them rosy.

  Farah is not the prettiest of the consorts – she thinks she is. Since giving birth, she packed on a formidable couple of pounds, but not too much to distract from her oval face and voluptuous breasts. Her piercing hazel eyes are the only thing any recipient of her ‘dress-downs’ remember; those fierce, judgmental eyes are the scourge of her staff.

  The visitor finishes his climb up wide stairs to enter the stone rotunda. Prince Vali’s entourage joins him in a humble bow to the Queen. “Your Majesty,” Vali purrs as he throws his outstretched hand in front of his head, in a mocking gesture.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” Farah says. Four fingers tap on her wine glass. “Up, you morons.” She looks at the entourage. “Leave us.” The group hustles to join the Queen’s handmaidens.

  “What brings you to Hyperboria cousin?” She pours Vali a glass of wine.

  “Such harshness will only cause worry lines across that pretty forehead of yours.”

  She chuckles, “The only thing I worry about is what new scheme you are slithering in here with.”

  “You wound me Farah,” He moves close, leaving an uncomfortable space between them. “I am here to oversee the dedication to our little miracle.”

  Farah gives him a polite smile; mental screams are manifesting in her reddening complexion. She grabs Vali’s privates and squeezes like a vice-grip. Searing pain washes over the Prince’s face, matching the high pitch in his voice, “Calm down cousin, I meant no disrespect.”

  “Sure you did. How dare you use my daughter in whatever sordid affair you’re hatching?” She releases her grip violently, driving Vali back.

  “Careful,” he warns, “how quickly you forget. Persephone may be your and my uncle’s spawn, but she is my miracle. It was my science that allowed you to conceive in the first place. Without me…my dear Queen…you would be nothing more than relegated to consort number three, playing the bitchy housewives of…”

  “Shut up you imbecile!” Farah snaps. “Shuru is forgiving, he will understand.”

  “He will, but your unscrupulous behavior to mother an heir will leave you shunned in your own home. Laughed at in all Hyperboria. Neither of us wants that, now do we?”

  “Alright Vali, what do you want?”

  “Nothing. Everything. For now, simply to elevate Persephone to godhood.”

  “Blasphemy! Even I am appalled,” Farah says with disgust. “Leave me.”

  “Blasphemy you say? That burden belongs to the masses. They cling to whatever we feed them by way of news and entertainment. Religion is shaped by the priests, not the divine word. If everyone followed the word we wouldn’t be in perpetual chaos, would we? They’re stupid, ignorant of the truth, believing what is prattled off. So, my dear Queen, it is too late. The spreading of my word began five years ago.”

  Pattering feet running up the stairs interrupts both adults. Vali spins around and drops down to meet Persephone. “Give your uncle Vali a big hug.”

  “What did you bring me?” the Princess demands. Vali dips in his pocket to reveal a bar of her favorite Illyrian candy. She takes it and hugs him once more.

  “You see, cousin, this love affair is beyond your control.”

  In an instant, Vali’s frightening intentions become clear in Farah’s mind. Throughout Aryavan and Illyria, there has been a movement towards deifying the forefathers. Once Persephone joins the ranks of gods, her name will be unstoppable.

  Samiri stares out at rolling hills on the temple’s side. He stands with his hands behind his back, appearing to be meditating to any casual observer. His thoughts are jumping from carefree days at the Watcher academy, to the previous day’s meeting with Prince Vali. How far have I descended into oblivion? he laments. A faint shift in the wind alerts him to someone’s approach.

  “Aspasia,” he says calmly. She doesn’t answer.

  She joins him at the edge, planting a careful foot on a moss-filled rock. “It’s a long way down,” she jokes. “You will be pleased to know Prince Vali is following your plan to the letter…”

  “And he still does not question our motives?”

  “These Anuk are blinded by their immediate obsessions. Soon, my lover, our world will begin anew.” Aspasia grabs hold of Samiri’s arm and looks into his eyes as if bearing her soul. “The Chancellor summons you.”

  “What for?”

  “It is time you understand the full scope of our agenda; time you take your rightful place in the journey forward.”

  “No, I want your words,” he whispers. “Five years I have followed you, loved you, killed for you. Your words carry more weight than those of…a priest.”

  “Very well,” Aspasia takes Samiri’s hand. “In secret, our scientists have isolated the genes which will allow procreation. After years of research, we have found the way. Contained within the Amon-I is the knowledge to achieve this – to repair and regenerate what the Anuk stole from us. Engineered or not, it is our right to propagate, on our own.”

  “That is not all, is it?” Samiri smiles in malevolent splendor. “The Amon-I also has the secrets of the Anuk, the code to their long life, and their origins; in short, the mysteries of the universe. To possess such a thing is to have power beyond measure.”

  “We do not want such things,” Aspasia whispers.

  “I do.”

  Aspasia releases her hold. Her heart sinks with a miserable feeling, one of dread at his revelation.

  “In all your thousand years, you have never once wanted such knowledge?” Samiri asks.

  “Never. Not even the Anuk want such things. No one can control the Amon-I, not even you.”

  Aspasia’s sudden aversion brings pause to Samiri’s. Since giving in to that moment in Persephone’s incubator five years ago, he has done unspeakable things on the path to possessing the Amon-I. Along the way, the relic’s true nature revealed itself to Samiri, for which he deems the Watchers council unworthy of possessing. They were on a nominal path, but he wanted more.

  “You are correct,” he says, trying to appease her, then lets out a long sigh. “It is too much of a danger. If it were achievable, fate would have delivered it by now.”

  Aspasia puts her warm hand on Samiri’s face, “We are blessed with time. When the Princess weds Prince Vali, the Amon-I will be delivered to us, as promised.”

  The last day of the week concludes with a gathering of the most influential members in the government, the ‘Assembly of the Royal Comedians,’ as King Shuru calls it. Though not in a particularly comedic mood, he forces himself t
o attend.

  Governing members of each Great and Lower House assemble to conduct affairs of the realms. Those residing in Hyperboria sit in the grand chambers, while those in Illyria and far off Aryavan attended via a holographic representation of their live image. In total, a horde of 37 quarreling bodies makes up the council. Prince Vali is among the attendees, along with Prince Odin of House ENki.

  Every session explodes in bickering, insults, and rude stare-downs during serious discussions. Today the chamber is living up to its expectations.

  Shuru shouts as loud as he can to quiet the rowdy mob. In the past it was comical, now these traditional outbursts are shaving off the monarch’s last nerve. “If there is nothing else, we are done for today.”

  Prince Odin stands to address the gathering. His cousins have not seen him for ten years in Congress, so all afford him the extra time in the day. The female cousins marvel at his warrior physique, along with the temporary eye-patch he wears – the product of conflict in the untamed lands to the south. “Your Majesty, royal cousins, Lords and Ladies, I am honored to be in your presence once more. I would like to bring your attention to the increasing departure from religion. The cults rising throughout-”