The Ballad of Persephone Read online

  A cousin obscured in the back shouts out, “You bear the name of a Forefather, but you do not speak for that line!”

  “There now, Cousin Odin,” Vali interjects with a snicker, “we all know your son has been chosen for the ‘Keeper-of-Secrets.’ No need to spread gospel on his behalf.”

  “That’s enough!” Shuru snaps. “Vali, Odin is the Primary of House ENki, as you are of ENlil…show some respect.”

  “Yes, uncle.” Vali bows his head. “Apologies Cousin. Carry on.”

  Odin shrugs off Vali’s outburst. “Worship of the Forefathers as gods is rampant! I decree all Houses of ENki stay clear of such perversions. We cannot allow this to fester so close to the awakening.”

  “The awakening?” Prince Atlas shouts. He is known to relish conflict. Atlas is Vali’s elder brother, and was passed up from his birthright to be primary of ENlil; his demotion after that subjugated him to a Lower House under his brother. This sting remained with him, and at every instance, he makes as much noise as possible.

  Atlas waits for the dramatic effect of his pause to wear off. “Anuk myth meant to scare humanity. The Forefathers have returned to whence they came. So, what if they are worshiped? It provides a tangible deterrence in the hearts of the governed.”

  Odin casts a sweeping gaze at members of his House. “Even so, do not let their legacy be one entrenched in fallacy.” Vali’s unusual silence prompts him to takes his seat.

  Shuru stands, prompting the gathering to do the same. After some words bidding the group good intentions for the weekend, everyone rushes out to carry on with their evenings.

  Odin remains with Shuru. He grabs his uncle’s arm but is soon pulled into a warm embrace. “I’ve missed you Odin. You’ve been gone too long.”

  “You honor me, my King. It has been a difficult time in the wastelands. Thankfully, rebellion has been quelled, and life goes on as it should.”

  Shuru gestures to the empty chamber. “I am tired of all this. I want peace before the light of Orion is extinguished from my soul.”

  “Nonsense uncle, you have decades left. I’ll hear no more morbid outbursts before dinner. By the Creator, one session here is enough to send me back to the badlands.”

  “If only there was a way to transfer rule to you permanently. The vultures have been gathering for five years, all wanting a piece of my precious ‘Sephie. I fear this is the end of my dynasty.”

  “The Creator only makes his will known to those with the patience to receive it.”

  Before the King can start a sentence, Persephone rushes in with a stuffed toy in her grip. She jumps on her father and hugs him.

  “Time to go, papa,” she says, displaying her plush bunny wearing a white coat, as her father sets her down.

  Odin kneels beside the girl, a kind glance breaking through his weathered exterior. “What’s his name?”

  Persephone peeks out sheepishly from behind her rabbit. “It’s a girl. Her name is Polly.”

  “You take good care of her, and she will be with you for thousands of years,” Shuru proclaims. Odin looks to the open chamber doors as his two sons approach. Beaming with pride, he urges them over.

  Thoth is by Odin’s second wife. He is lean, tall with vibrant dark skin like his mother. Osiris is Persephone’s age and by Odin’s first wife. He’s a stout boy with a light shade of olive skin. Both children grew up in the Royal household and are comfortable with Shuru. In formal settings, they afford their monarch all the courtesy expected of them.

  Odin holds his youngest hand and looks at him intently, “I believe you have something to say to the Princess?”

  The five-year-old pout as he stares at the floor. “I’m sorry your Highness, for sending you a frog in class.”

  Shuru bursts out in uncontrollable laughter, much to his daughter’s dismay. “Come here, Osiris.” With Persephone set on his right thigh, he lifts Osiris on to his left. He hugs the boy and kisses him. “You two better be friends, understand?” Osiris nods in acknowledgment.

  “Never,” Persephone declares in her bratty voice. Shuru puts them on the ground like a pair of dolls – one squirmy and one well-behaved.

  “Thoth, come here son,” Shuru says warmly. “You’re 15, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Listen to me very carefully…being chosen as an indoctrinate to the Keeper means you will become the representative of the Forefathers themselves. An honor bestowed only to those worthy. Swear now your loyalty to your brother Osiris, heir to House ENki, and Persephone, heir to Hyperboria.”

  Thoth drops on one knee “I swear it, for you my King.”

  PART II

  The Realization of Destiny

  “Man cannot rule man.” - Lord Xi-Wang-Mu, Queen Mother of the West (circa 2rd Sar)

  - Liviana Badur

  Chapter 4: Curse Not the Holy in Vain

  Long ago during the great expansion, cousins from both Houses migrated to the south-eastern edge of Hyperboria to establish the Principality of Aryavan. Borders were cut along the edges of Illyria in the west, and continued down the continent, incorporating a vast island they named Ulimaroa. When a conflict between ENlil and ENki erupted eons ago, all from ENki were expelled from the realm. To date, none of their Greater Houses exist amongst the Aryans.

  Aryavan is as diverse in culture as it is in climate. Here the taboos, which are shunned upon in Hyperboria, are exercised freely without fear. Codified Religion has been replaced by a fusion of mankind’s old beliefs and cults given fresh life 18-years ago.

  The landscape at the borders of Hyperboria, Illyria, and Aryavan boasts a comfortable resort-like setting for anyone with the means to indulge oneself. Nestled on the Aryan side, a modest palace complex cut out of bedrock overlooks a vast lake. Here, visitors partake in a host of holiday activities, including discreet encounters not suitable for the public realm. The locals have a saying, ‘The Creator won’t see what you do because his back is turned.’

  A frequent visitor to the decadent resort is Prince Vali. Here he can roam the streets freely with countless lovers hanging off his arms. His stays are always incognito, with only his Regent cousin having any knowledge of the escapades. In this winter month, he is here to indulge in a secret ceremony of a fire cult.

  Large owls feathered in regal coats of white settle in their comfortable abodes, perched high on tall trees overlooking a thick outcrop of foliage. Their occasional ‘hooting’ is a cry of protest to the humans disturbing this part of their forest.

  Hidden in a dark grove behind the resort is the sacred gathering place for the local chapter of the Aryan fire worshipers. Tonight, members pay homage to their deity by dancing around a giant pyre, naked, masked with the heads dressed as forest beasts. Generous servings of opium are consumed amongst the jubilant party. They chant a variety of nonsensical words and moaning, lacking origin or meaning.

  Dancing, swaying, groaning, each participant lets inhibitions fade with burning ember rising in gusts of wicked breeze. The cold wind caresses their bare flesh in an intoxicating frenzy. The moaning becomes a rhythm; soon, it carries a beat flowing into a pitch, reaching for the sky. Hands stretch out to stars, peeking down with sparkling brilliance. Arms lock together for a collective-union. Feet kick up dirt in a hurried side-step, circling the fire to the right. In unison, the crazy-circle moves with determination to an end known only to them. Five minutes pass before the ritualistic performance dwindles to a quiet spectacle.

  No one cares about a participant’s identity; none except a silent observer peeking through a thick bush. Queen Farah pulls her hood tight. She stoops low with a renewed effort to avoid detection.

  The pyre roars high when it’s given new life via fist-sized fire-rocks, cast into the dying flames by a fat priestess with the oversized head of a bear. Farah is startled by the encroaching heat reaching her 30-feet away. I’ve seen enough.

  The rooms at the resort are large, comfortable; high ceilings are adorned with paintings of scenes from Holy S
criptures, blending into columns ripe with overabundant depictions of taboo – a variety of scandalous sex scenes. Fire burns aromatic wood in a well-crafted fireplace. Gold ornaments line ivory shelves. Large beds with full posts are a staple afforded to each guest. The opulence of the place reflects the clientele.

  Exhaustion overcomes Prince Vali, as he nestles himself under a plush feathered blanket. A deep inhale matches an accompanying smile; warm therapeutic scents encourage a tight grip on his lover’s arms. The young man is fast asleep, tired from the activities at the grove and the post-ceremony lovemaking with his Anuk patrons. It is another quiet night until doors fling open, crashing violently onto the stone wall.

  Outrage is overcome by surprise, shining through Vali’s wide eyes. His lover cowers beneath the blanket as he grasps the fabric across his chest in a feminine fashion. “Your Majesty!” he blurts out.

  Queen Farah is alone with her gaze of fury; she points a determined finger at the male-prostitute rolling over his patron’s chest.

  “You!” Farah grabs the boy of twenty-something. “Out!” She tosses him across the room without so much as a strain or thought.

  Frightened out of his mind, the escort rushes out.

  “We have matters to settle, you and I,” the Queen says. The fleeting shock allows the Prince to regain his composure. He climbs out the bed, insolently strutting off to the adjacent bathroom. “Come back here!” she yells.

  “You are welcomed to watch me piss if you can’t wait…your Grace,” he says in his arrogant tone. He returns casually, standing in full view of the Queen.

  She glares at him, enraged. “Put some clothes on, you pervert.”

  Vali ignores the request, “Cousin, I do believe you are blushing. Trouble in the royal bedchamber?” He flashes a playful, yet mocking smile. Farah’s cold gaze encourages him to don a robe, carelessly thrown on the floor.

  “You will not have her,” she snaps.

  Vali smiles wider. “My Queen, how quickly one forgets promises. The time approaches for old communions to bear fruit. Or shall I bring to light the circumstances surrounding the death of two royal consorts?”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Nonsense; I am stating a fact. I bear you no ill will to you, cousin. Here, sit, let us discuss a compromise.”

  Against better judgment, Farah sits on the bed, shifting away from the Prince, as he plants himself next to her. “Persephone shall be my bride after her seventeenth birthday – in a week I believe?

  “Eighteen, you imbecile, it’s her eighteenth birthday.”

  “Really? She’s practically a hag. In return…” he pauses when Farah springs off the bed, then grabs her hand to gently pull her back down. “Our previous interludes with the late wives of King Shuru shall be buried for all time.”

  “I can have you killed and be done with all this.”

  “Ah, but if you could, you would have already. No, your Grace, you won’t dare for the knowledge I hold, like a hidden dagger pressed against your throat. Don’t be stupid Farah. Once the crown shifts you will ascend with me.”

  Farah breaks out in uncontrollable laughter. She is at the point of tears, giving Vali enormous grief. “I’m already the Queen you fool.”

  “Not when Shuru is dancing to the eloquent tune of ‘Hold me daddy’ in the glorious beyond. Odin will be regent until Persephone is crowned. Who’s the fool now?” The laughter dissipates into a void of silence.

  “Never,” says Farah. “Not at my daughter’s expense.”

  “You misunderstand, my Queen. Let me lay this out as simply as I can. Persephone and I wed. I rule in her name. Her divine status is almost secured in the hearts and minds of the people, thus making me, her husband, a god. Shuru, thanks to my encouragement, is in his last cycle. So, when you, the grieving widow and devoted mother, are brought into our household as consort, well…the title of Queen shall be yours once more.”

  A horrified expression overcomes Farah.

  “Oh,” Vali continues, “not to worry. All these years, I’ve been caressing that innocent mind of Persephone’s to pursue a more noble cause than that of rule.” His eyes shift, nearly giving away his lie.

  Farah softens her gaze with curiosity replacing suspicion.

  “Trust me, she will abdicate the throne in favor of divinity.”

  “I don’t like this, Vali.”

  “But you like being Queen more, don’t you?”

  A brief silence passes; Vali looks at her with a mask of curiosity, “Tell me, what are you doing here?”

  Embarrassment washes over the Queen’s face. She attempts to hide it.

  “Ah,” he sighs, “The young lord from lower Aryavan.”

  “Your spies serve you well, Vali.”

  “Not well enough, or I would have known you were following me. See dear cousin, we need each other to hold the dark secrets between us.” Vali kisses Farah’s hand. “Now on your way…your Grace. And do send in the boy I paid a small fortune for.”

  Farah opens the door and steps out.

  “See?” Vali asks, a sly yet confident look on his face. “We will never have a loveless marriage, rather it will be one best suited to our perversions.”

  Grand Citadel – Western Continent

  Located in the Western continent, across the sea from the edge of Illyria, at the very spot where the massive ships of ENlil and ENki first arrived, a Grand Citadel was created. Bordering the untamed lands to the south and Hyperboria, it is a place forgotten by all but the Anuk priests who reside there.

  Rich red canyons with multi-layered strata of gray, orange, and burnt-umber colored rock weave through thousands of miles in the desolate landscape. Wild rivers roar past small cities with colossal buildings touching the clouds. Hidden beyond the modern is the ancient, locked behind a valley of rock, out of view from their technologically advanced neighbors.

  The Citadel complex is not large by any means, but can if needed, accommodate a population of 10,000. Over time, modest structures have been built upon the sacred grounds, housing libraries, temples, and other facilities to mimic a settlement. Today, the population is only 100. Amongst them on this cold winter day is King Shuru and Thoth.

  Constructed in the ancient style, a grand library houses literature, histories, artifacts – the sort of things no longer coveted. An effort by Thoth to move everything to a secure location is almost at an end. On this bleak evening, he and the King oversee the final movement of relics. They sit in a large room with windows cut through stone. The sun’s brilliance streams in to fight off the cold winds on the seventh level of the structure.

  Thoth took on the mantle of The-Keeper-of-Forbidden-Knowledge one year ago. Indoctrinated at age 15, it took 10 years to learn the necessary foundations of the appointment. He was groomed ever since one of the priests here at the citadel, proclaimed to Prince Odin that his son will be the greatest Keeper to have lived. Thoth, at age 10, graciously agreed to renounce all claims to the title of Primary to House ENki, and passed the mantle to his half-brother, Osiris.

  “Uncle, here is your tea,” Thoth says humbly to Shuru. He sits next to the aging King.

  ‘Nephew,’ if you only knew I consider you a Grandson worthy of praise the likes of which have never been heard, Shuru muses with a smile. The colloquial references amongst the Anuk are confusing to the casual listener, with generational designations being thrown into a simplified pot; regardless of time’s separation, all Anuk of the Royal bloodlines are family, after all.

  With eyes full of pride, Shuru keeps his gaze on the Keeper, until Thoth reaches over to kiss his forehead. He has been ill for the past year. Many fear the monarch is at the end of his cycle of life.

  “A shrub from pTah can bring the color back to this mess you have going on,” Thoth says while stroking the King’s beard. The old Anuk laughs.

  “Of all the youth I have encountered within the family over…too many years to remember, you are my favorite.”

  “You only say that be
cause I indulge your fancies. I see you are still with the Amon-I texts.”

  “Yes, quite a shitty read I’ll say,” Shuru jokes. “Why in the name of the Creator did our ancestors insist on writing such mysteries coated with more mystery? Couldn’t they simply say what they needed to without resorting to parables?”

  Thoth picks up one of three leather-bound volumes to examine it. “These were transcribed from the Amon-I itself. Just a sliver of teachings made its way on the pages. I am afraid the full knowledge of the Amon-I will perish with the old ones. This is why I am recording everything.”