Thou asketh of the fate of him, the king who reigned when the great nations met in war upon the day that followed fête?
You ask about the destiny of the king who ruled when the major powers clashed in battle on the day after the festival?
Aye, thus I speak as through thy hand I mark events to make the world of knowledge learn that I am man, though yet unseen by thee or others’ eyes—am called but "Selestor."
Indeed, I speak through your hand, recording events to inform the world of knowledge that I am a man, though unseen by you or others. I am known simply as "Selestor."
False the name, and history writes in tomes my name once known to nations; yet I hold it well to guard the secret—secret of a line which, sunk in deep oblivion all that bore the emblem of a state but mocked today.
The name is false. History writes in its volumes my name, once known to nations. Yet I think it well to guard the secret, the secret of a line now sunk in deep oblivion, with all that bore the emblem of a state that is only mocked today.
The death of him who reigned when Northmen bold did seek to barter strength for beauty's prize, for gems, the isle itself, exchange perchance for northern border cold and grey, the haunt of bear and snarling wolf, and frost, black, deadly to the tender Southern ones. Such was our theme.
The death of him who reigned when the bold Northmen sought to barter their strength for beauty's prize: for gems, for the isle itself. Perhaps they would have given in exchange their northern border, cold and grey, the haunt of bear and snarling wolf, and of frost, black and deadly to the tender Southern people. Such was our theme.
He whom Atlantis called her king was wise, not wily, and excess he did abhor; and yet that day his galleys sailed to war he drank him deep of "liquor," as ye speak in modern times.
The ruler of Atlantis was known for his wisdom and honesty, despising excess in all things. Yet on the day his warships set sail, he indulged heavily in alcohol, as we'd call it today.
An alcoholic liquor made from wheat and juice of palm. A mixture fiery and reserved for revelers; but the king befitting thought the draught in time of stress, so drank he long and deep.
A potent cocktail made from wheat and palm juice. This fiery blend was usually reserved for partiers, but the king deemed it appropriate during times of hardship. So he drank heavily and for a long time.
His brain grew dizzy nor sight nor sound he knew, and falling prone, ere slaves could spring to save, the kingly brow smote marble and his senses fled and yet he lingered. Slaves stood near to spring at leeches' bidding for the quickening draught or cooling mixture, for the bowl of gold that caught the flow from pierced arm.
His mind reeled, and he lost all sense of sight and sound. Before the servants could rush to his aid, he collapsed face-first, his royal forehead striking the marble floor. Though unconscious, he clung to life. Nearby, servants stood ready to fetch, at the doctors' command, either a reviving tonic or a cooling drink, or to bring the golden bowl used to collect blood from a cut vein.
And yet no sense returned till evening. No glance of recognition met the gaze of her, his queen, nor of them—the buds of kingly tree to bloom when he had passed, the daughters fair, and son, the prince—the king!
Consciousness didn't return until nightfall. No flicker of recognition met the eyes of his queen, nor those of his children—the royal heirs destined to rule after his passing. His fair daughters and princely son—the future king—all went unnoticed.
And as he lingered came an ancient one unto his door—door bereft of hanging, that the wind of eve might freshly blow across the clammy brow, perchance bring healing in its salted breath all scented with the kisses of the rose, the lily white which marked the king's domain, the jasmine growing where the palm tree's shade cast cooling shadows.
And as he clung to life, an old woman came to his door. The door had no hanging over it, so that the evening wind might blow freshly across his clammy brow. Perhaps it would bring healing in its salty breath, scented with the kisses of the rose, of the white lily that marked the king's domain, and of the jasmine growing where the palm tree cast cool shadows.
All was peace and calm, save in the hearts of subjects, torn that day with various woes—the youth of nation on the sea to war—the king in stupor—waiting they.
Everything seemed peaceful and quiet, except for the troubled hearts of the people. That day, they faced different sorrows—young soldiers sailing off to battle, while the king remained unresponsive. The nation waited anxiously.
Crept an ancient one into the hall where on the ivory couch the king lay prone.
An old figure slipped into the chamber where the king lay sprawled on his ivory couch.
Spake she, unchecked, for grief had so sore beset the leech that vaunted skill fulfilled no purpose.
She spoke freely, for sorrow had so overwhelmed the doctor that his boasted expertise served no purpose.
Statesmen stood dumb, the queen had fled and by the hand led children weeping sore—the offspring of a line of kings for generations, but their hearts, as tender as the slaves bore sorrow ill.
Politicians were speechless. The queen had escaped, guiding sobbing children by the hand—descendants of a royal dynasty spanning generations. Yet their hearts, as sensitive as commoners', struggled to cope with grief.
With lips that set all firmly, brow that frowned, spake she, the ancient: "King, but not a god, ye now are called! and going take not state nor thing of earth, not life nor love nor gold to mark thee aught save but a wandering soul!
With a determined expression and furrowed brow, the old woman spoke: "You're called a king, but you're no god! When you leave, take nothing worldly with you - no possessions, no life, no love, no wealth. You'll be nothing more than a wandering spirit!"
"And yet, mayhap, the state which Earth doth keep the gods permit in realms more fair than thine, which yet is fairer than this earth holds other-where."
"And yet perhaps the gods permit you such royal state as Earth keeps, in realms more beautiful than yours. Yet yours is more beautiful than anything this earth holds elsewhere."
“Why speakest thou? Begone! hushed the voice of one big with authority. And slaves were bidden take the intruder from the palace.
"Why are you speaking? Leave at once!" commanded the voice of someone with great authority. The servants were then ordered to remove the intruder from the palace.
“But the ancient rose to height unthought of: “Touch me not! He dieth! He—the son who drew his life from this shrunk form! This do I swear who face the stroke of Ses and shall I, whose moments thus are numbered, dare speak me false?
“But the old woman drew herself up to a height no one had imagined: “Do not touch me! He is dying! He, the son who drew his life from this shrunken body! I swear this, I who face the stroke of Ses. And shall I, whose moments are numbered like this, dare to lie?
“Ah, nay! His sire a king, but I, whose glorious crown of womanhood was beauty and my curse, bore him who lieth on the ivory couch!
"Oh no! His father was a king, but I, whose glorious crown of womanhood was both beauty and my curse, gave birth to him who lies on the ivory couch!"
“The rightful heir, ye men of earth may speak, died at his birth; yet ye knew naught of this, so well my secret kept the favored slaves.
"The true heir died at birth, though you earthly folk knew nothing of it. My trusted servants kept this secret well hidden."
“He liveth yet again on ether planes—my son! Not her’s—the hated rival's—the queen ye knew who early passed. My son! The pomp and state, with knowledge, too, were mine as thine and in them gloated I. No less a king because, forsooth, the maid they chose for him—thy sire—was not thy dam.
“He lives once more on the ether planes, my son! Not hers, the hated rival's, the queen you knew who died early. My son! The pomp and state, and the knowledge too, were mine as they were yours, and I gloated in them. You are no less a king because, in truth, the maiden they chose for him, your father, was not your mother.
“I was and am no slave. A 'trader' was my sire. One of that land ye speak of as a cloud, or mist, so far away it seems to you who journey not. And scorn ye, too, its people who, born to war, in time of stress take to them deadly moods and harbor hate, and so demand what thou dost deem a sin—the eye for eye and tooth for tooth—adown their line for centuries.
“I was no slave, and I am none. My father was a 'trader'. He was one of that land you speak of as a cloud or a mist, it seems so far away to you who do not travel. And you scorn its people too. They are born to war, and in times of stress they fall into deadly moods and harbor hate. And so they demand what you consider a sin, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, down their line for centuries.
“He dieth!
"He's dying!"
“As the sun sinks!
"As the sun sets!"
“Low lies he!
"He has fallen low!"
“My son!
"My boy!"
“The well beloved!
"The beloved!"
“The son of him beloved in my youth and loving me till beauty fled. Farewell!”
“The son of the man I loved in my youth, who loved me until my beauty fled. Farewell!”
Her chant was finished, sank she on the threshold. Passed her soul.
Her song ended, she collapsed on the doorstep. Her life slipped away.
The secret, kept so well by them who, awe-struck heard, no seeming break in line occurred; and thus the prince born of the sinning line reigned long reigned well.
The secret, kept carefully by those who heard it with awe, caused no apparent disruption. And so, the prince born from the flawed lineage ruled for many years and ruled well.
The sun had set ere called the gods the soul of him, the king, to realms of peace.
The gods summoned the king's soul to the afterlife only after the sun had set.
And double sorrow had the people all, and double mourning, for them, the battle slain, and for their reigning king. A monarch wise in much that wisdom gives to thought—a purpose for the betterment of people subject unto him. And kindly spake the nation as one voice:
The people were doubly sorrowful and mourned twice over: for those killed in battle and for their departed king. He had been a ruler wise in many ways, with a vision to improve the lives of his subjects. The nation spoke as one, fondly remembering him:
"The son, now king, perchance will strive to reign with just humility, yet fail to reach the standard of his sire."
"The new king, though he may try to rule with fairness and modesty, might struggle to live up to his father's legacy."
And thus it fell.
And so it happened.
All day, I spake, the king did linger, but at eve the mists of deep oblivion left the sunken eye, and reaching out his arms as though to clasp he cried:
All day, as I said, the king clung to life. But at evening the mists of deep oblivion left his sunken eyes. Reaching out his arms as though to clasp something, he cried:
“’Tis won! I see them meet the foe!
"They've done it! I can see them engaging the enemy!"
“Tonight Earth's sun doth set for me indeed, but subjects spring around me on the ether planes where soul doth trend.
“Tonight Earth's sun truly sets for me. But subjects spring up around me on the ether planes, where the soul makes its way.
“My subjects sent in haste through stress of battle, yet I seek not alone the planes, but with fitting band, a king and subjects!”
“My subjects were sent there in haste by the stress of battle. So I do not go to the planes alone, but with a fitting company, a king and his subjects!”
Thus he spake and died.
With those words, he breathed his last.
The third in line was he. His sires brave and wise. His son no traitor to ancestral grasp of power.
He was the third king of his line. His forefathers were brave and wise. His son was no traitor to his ancestors' grip on power.