Midnight Rendezvous
The nights in the deserts of Jehanna were harsh and forlorn. Where temperatures reached a scorching 45 degrees Celcius during the day, at night the temperatures plunged to the polar opposites of less than –10 degrees Celcius.
His breath was coming out in puffs of white mist. His robes billowed in the wind. His hands were red and frostbitten. The gust sent rough grains of sand rubbing against his skin, his face. His lips were red and cracking from the loss of moisture. His eyes were tearing from the constant stream of sand and dust.
Still, the harshness of everything could not erase the smile on his face.
Oblivious to the pain from his the cracking skin on his lips, he smiled wider.
A gravestone stood, a lonely piece of marble, in the sea of yellow sand and brown stone.
It was not a great work of art, neither was it particularly outstanding in its sandy surroundings.
The marble bore a crudely-carved inscription, the words blurred from the years of weathering by the sand and the wind.
There was no picture on its surface, no intricate lettering, no elaborate detail adorning its plain surface with the nondescript scratch marks.
When somebody did happen to walk past the area, none of them gave a single glance to the little obscure piece of rock by their feet.
But did they know how painstakingly someone had carved out the words, gripping the chisel awkwardly in his untrained hands?
Did they know how someone had traveled thousands of miles to the oasis in the middle of the desert to find the most beautiful piece of marble he could find?
Did they ever stop to wonder how many tears had been shed upon the surface of the stone, giving it its pearly sheen?
Did anyone bother to try and read the blurring words carved out upon the stone and find out who was buried under their feet?
Did anyone ever know that with the burial of deceased, the heart of the living was buried alongside it, sealed forevermore under the sands, watched over by the stone?
The man was tall, lean and had a good figure. The black fedora he cast a shadow upon half his face, but as the moon cast its longing light upon the Earth, there was a hint of crows' feet at the corner of the man's eyes, little lines along the man's mouth and a tanned complexion that had started to sag with the progression of time.
His long red strands of hair were mixed with silvery-grey, thinning strands. The skin on his hands were rough, and the blue veins were starting to make their appearance on the backs of his hands, like small streams making their way across the land.
His robes were velvet green, dusty but rich. There were several insignificant loose strands at the seams. His fedora was worn, the fur forming little tufts at the corners. His boots were polished, comfortably neutral and a most dull shade of brown.
A long killing edge hung by his belt, the handle rough and worn from use. The blade gleamed under the moonlight, the edge polished to fine sharpness. In his hand was a shamshir, illuminated by the moon. The design and motifs on the handle was old, but it had been lovingly preserved through the ages, such that it retained its former luster. There was a name carved on the edge of the handle, but the characters were nearly smoothed out due to frequent touch.
I won't need to leave today. I'm done back at the palace.
The man knelt on one knee before the stone. His fingertips lightly caressed the letter 'M', one of the letters still vaguely visible.
Alistair is all grown up. He will be able to manage everything that happens from now on.
The man gave a little laugh.
If anything, he will surpass me as a king in no time. He knows all the diplomatic rules, all 1001 of them, knows all the weird etiquette and excels at everything except singing, which is…pretty unfortunate but useless for a king, I guess.
He stretched.
At the coronation today, the people were pretty eager to get him up onto the throne. The entire bunch of them was cheering when I placed on the crown on his head.
A furrow appeared momentarily between his brows.
But…was I really that bad? I did try to manage all the small things happening around the country, reply all the letters, address everyone's concerns, attend almost everyone's weddings…Haha, maybe I was just a little too happy-go-lucky for a king…Lesson number 100004, never have a gambler as king.
He grinned.
Remember that time I tried to decide on the solution to the irrigation by flipping a coin? Oh gosh, that must have really scared all the officials off. Luckily Lady Luck was by my side that day, and the coin landed heads. If we had implemented the 'tails' solution, I bet more than half of Jehanna would be facing water shortage problems today.
He traced the letter 'M' on the gravestone over and over again with his index finger.
So many things have happened over the past few months. First Natasha died, then Gerik fell sick, quit mercenary work and came to work in the palace as an advisor, now Alistair's coronation and my abdication…Things happen fast I guess, and my lucky coin always seem to serve me well for decision-making.
He reached into his deep pockets and pulled out a coin. The edges were smoothened by age and time, but the surface caught the moonlight and glowed silver.
Remember my lucky coin? Heh, I used it to decide the date of Alistair's coronation. As usual, it scared those poor uptight officials out of their minds. They must be really relieved that Alistair is coming up and he has not inherited any of my gambling streaks.
He tossed the shiny coin into the air and caught it in his right hand.
But it was well that the coin chose today to be the day of coronation. The sun was shining mildly and there was even some amount of wind, unlike yesterday, which was scorching hot. I would have dried up like a fish in that weather, wearing those thick pieces of clothes they call ceremonial robes. It resembles the ragged pieces of cloth the maids use to wipe the table more than some former dress robes for royal and solemn occasions.
He stifled a yawn.
I'm…a little tired today after standing for three solid hours undergoing the agony of the ceremony. I'll be going back now, then. You know I'll come back tomorrow. Good night…
He stood up and prepared to walk away.
Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you. I'm not staying at the palace anymore. It's a little far away from here and you know how I dislike walking long distances by myself. It feels so lonely. It also shortens the time I have for you. Thus, I have decided to move, into your cottage.
He twirled his thumbs nervously, as though he had done something wrong.
You know, it was…well…the closest piece of livable space to you that I could find. I already tidied things up a little and cleared up all the layers of dirt and dust accumulated for twenty years, and now it looks really clean and pristine! I…hope you don't mind that I'll be living in your house though. I promise to look after it and take good care of it for you, so don't you worry!
He held up the shamshir.
Look! I even brought your sword to hand it back on the wall, back where it always belonged. Yeah, I'm sure it'll look really good on our…I mean, your wall…Okay…now I'm really tired….sleepy…Hmm…goodnight…see you…
He walked off, yawning.
…tomorrow…
Silence fell over the desert night again.
The only sound was the ever-so-faint sound of footsteps lightly and skillfully treading through sand, the lonely sounds of footsteps going further and further away.
He was rudely jerked from his dreams by a heavy pounding of the wooden door.
Cursing, he pulled the covers away from they had entangled his legs and slid out of the comfort of the bed.
Pulling open the door in annoyance, he squinted at the two armoured men at the door, wearing the royal crest of Jehanna on their breastplates.
"K-k-king Joshua!" Both of them were momentarily speechless at the sight of their former king in the small cottage. Their looks shifted from surprise to shock to confusion as they contemplated whether to continue standing and gaping like a pair of goldfish or prostrate themselves before their newly-abdicated king.
"What?" He huffed grumpily, running a hand through his hair.
"Ehh…" One of them nudged his companion. "We were instructed by your s-I mean, King Alistair to inform the occupant of this cottage…"
His companion blurted. "We never knew it was going to be you, King Joshua, or we would have waited at the door till you had risen comfortably…"
"…that this land would be used for developmental purposes in building in a new man-made oasis for the citizens of Jehanna-"
"What!" His eyes snapped open, wide open. He was suddenly wide awake. " And this cottage?"
"It would be…ehh…torn down…" the soldier shifted uncomfortably. "Along with everything in a vicinity of two miles in this area…"
"Everything?" His voice came out as a hollow whisper. He raised a trembling finger and pointed at a small grey piece of stone in the landscape outside the cottage. "Even…that…?"
The two soldiers exchanged a look of utter bewilderment. "Ehh…" In their eyes, it was a piece of rock, any ordinary piece of rock that could be found in any part of the world. "I suppose?"
Someone had just stabbed a sharp knife through his heart.
Wordlessly, he slid down alongside the door frame, collapsing onto the floor like a marionette with cut strings.
Twenty years…he had endured twenty years…before he could relish the feeling of being with her once more…and this was all he had? To move in for one night and receive news the next day that the entire area was going to be demolished? To come here in time to watch his former men dig up her broken body savagely, smash the gravestone he had painstakingly carved stroke by stroke?
What happened? Why did Lady Luck do this to me? Why does fate continue to persist in playing tricks on the two of us?
Would destiny not grant us even the slightest amount of time to actually remember and cherish the love that we still have? \
Why was Lady Luck being so unfair to him whenever it came to love?
Why did she have to separate them twenty years ago?
Why does she still have to separate the two of us now?
Why? Why? Why?
WHY?
With a anguished cry, he drew his sword.
The two soldiers scarcely had time to gasp before they were cut down, creating a bloody pool on the floor.
He fell on his knees, his body trembling from the sobs that he had suppressed for so many long years. Tears ran down his cheeks, dripping from his chin onto the wooden floor.
Lady Luck, I placed my whole life's faith on you…yet…on the most important thing in my life, you keep on deceiving me…why? Why?
You've separated us with class status, with marriage, with social expectations…even death…yet, even after death, you still will not leave us to love each other?
Why?
He slammed his fist repeatedly against the wooden floor, the tears falling faster, thicker.
Why?
Author's Note:
This is another story dedicated to my favourite couple Joshua and Marisa. I always think of their love as one that is tragic and always remain unrequited as long as one is a king and the other is a assassin who has had her hands stained by the blood of thousands of innocent souls. Hence, the story came into being.
I recommend reading this story with some sad music like Hwang Jin Yi-OST, which is Korean. Or for Chinese, try Liu Ruo Ying's Butterfly. For English, I think Within Temptation's Memories really suits the story.
Yes, it's not the end, this is likely to be a trilogy. Thanks for reading and please review!