"Beware
the Eastern Sun"
Chapter 8
"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."
-The Prince by,
Machiavelli
T.K. stood, arms folded, with a
frowning face of authority.
The two men before him pleaded their
case. Just another land squabble, yet nonetheless necessary. As usual, there is
a meadow where cows or other livestock graze. They both claim the land to be
theirs. It should be an easy case.
When they finished, T.K. thought for a
moment. "The land should be equally divided, with a fence built to show
the boundary. You will both fund the building of the fence. An official will
visit the lands tomorrow to decide the details."
The two men bowed and exited.
Matt remained silent in his corner,
waiting for the giant doors of the hall to close before beginning his reproach.
"Remember, T.K., the first lesson is that justice must come from an iron
fist. These people know not how to rule themselves, and need others to tell
them what to do. The first man clearly encroached on lands that belonged to the
other. You should have exacted a punishment to the first man and given the land
to the second man."
"I'm sorry, Matt," T.K.
said, lowering his head.
"In time you will learn."
Matt walked out a back door and took his leave.
T.K. stood in the hall alone, save the
two stone-faced sentries at the oaken entrance to the King's Chamber. He looked
up at the giant, forbidding throne raised above the hall by a set of steps. It
stared back at him, oppressive and ancient, like the trees of the old forest
and the older yet mountains in the far east. A certain age and twisted wisdom
exuded from it, as if the years had tempered it to a refined state of authority
which could not be ignored.
Sighing to himself, he pulled his
weary body out of the chamber and through the cold, stone halls to his
quarters.
Matt sat alone, in an isolated
chamber, staring into the light of a dozen candles. The room was some ancient
shrine of gods long forgotten and that still remained, faded pictures dancing
out their acts of heroism and infamy. Each of them held their post, watching
wearily for perhaps a time when their followers would return. They almost
mourned and wept aloud for the days when their names were remembered, when
their customs practiced. There was a time when their voices were heard across the
land, but now, they sulked-silent, leaden faces worn by the winds of time.
He had started coming there perhaps a
year or two ago. It was an offshoot of his chamber, which he had largely
ignored for most of his reign. But soon, he grew curious, and had a mind to
have a look around. He found things exactly as they stood this very day; he had
not moved a single thing, except to replace old candles, dust the statues, and
other housekeeping affairs.
There was a larger room just like it
near the town square. It was more of a cathedral-like version of the personal
shrine in Matt's chambers, and as such, it was equally wasted away and
abandoned. The common folk always steered clear of it, and no one ever spoke of
it, even when questioned by Matt himself. Occasionally a story or rumor would
arise about some old hag in the dregs of town who knew of the old ways, or of
some farmer who had mysteriously disappeared. Then there were the senile and
destitute who would sometimes ramble on and on incoherently about the
"haunted" place, even lapsing into an ancient language at times. But
they were isolated cases. Most stayed away from the place because they said it
was a good place to get killed.
Still, as Matt thought more and more,
he found himself increasingly intrigued with this ancient culture. How long had
it been here? Who had left it? Was the digiworld around then? How could it even
be as old as it looks? The questions echoed in his head, often for days. And
if, by chance, he would answer one question, it would only lead to another
series of more mind-boggling questions.
But then it came to have a deeper
significance to him. For some reason, he felt almost comforted in the presence
of these long-outdated deities. As if he shared some bond with them, some
common aspect which he could only perceive but not substantiate. Perhaps it was
the ambition, the ambition to be something greater, the want for glory, a need
for strength, the want of acceptance. But he always brushed these idle thoughts
aside. He preferred to sit beneath the silent eyes of these gods and to
meditate and ponder in peace. There, his mind was one with the world.
He looked more intently into the light
of the candles, squinting, as if searching for something that was not there.
For a few fleeting moments, he had almost seen, or rather sensed something, but
it was gone almost the moment it came. It had been happening lately; he would
get some hint of presence and search for it, but the harder he looked, the more
elusive it would be. Finally, Matt closed his eyes and took a deep breath,
inhaling slowly. He held it for a moment before letting the air out gradually.
Then, he gathered himself up and rose, blowing out the candles with a quick
breath.
His muscles cramped slightly under the
weight of his body. He took a moment to shake some life into them. Checking his
watch, he realized that he had been there for nearly two hours. He shook his
head; his meditation sessions had been getting longer and longer, but it seemed
nearly the same to him. Perhaps he was losing grasp of something that was once
his. He reflected on that thought for a moment, but pushed it aside to think of
more pressing issues.
In the shrine, the silent faces of the
ancient gods continued their vigil.
* * *
A gentle breeze blew her hair across
her face.
Mimi sat in a small patch of
springtime flowers blooming in a grassy meadow by the lake. The clouds inched
across the sky rhythmically, in time with the swaying of the trees and the
currents of the lake. Her eyes drifted east, to the vast expanse of lush green
hillsides which ended, somewhere beyond the horizon, upon a series of gray
mountain ranges. Somewhere in that direction, on a large knoll overlooking a
broad plain, there was a stone castle. Somewhere, there was he.
It always brought a sadness upon her
whenever she thought of him, but she could not help but do so. Matt was never
quite the social or outgoing type, but you could see in him a capacity to care
for others. In his own silent way, he did express his emotions and feeling, his
thoughts and reflections. He was speaking a language that only a small handful
in the world ever chose to speak. There was a voice, but it could not be heard.
It pained her to see him such as he
was in recent times. There were high times and there were low times, but none
so low as now. Matt had always based his actions upon a care for others, but
somehow, perhaps in his blind faith in himself and his justice, his intentions
became twisted and warped. Like a young sapling, he grew and grew, but his
leaves were destined to be shaped by the will of others.
That was not to say that he was a weak
person. In fact, he was quite the opposite. But it is often the strong-minded
that come to be the clay for others, for once twisted, they are hard to
reshape.
She often asked herself when it all
began, when she had taken such an interest in his character. Perhaps it had
been since the very beginning, and she had not noticed it. But she could still
remember the first time it became completely clear to her.
They were at the
amusement park and everyone was having fun, but Matt merely leaned silently
against a tree and contented himself to watch. He would occasionally scold
T.K., or help some fallen comrade back onto his or her feet. It was fatherly,
the attitude he conveyed, which was a stark contrast with his usual seeming
immaturity. It was then that she realized that there was a whole depth to his
character heretofore unknown to her. Matt would forever be a mystery, a
singularity entrapping all those who come near.
Still more distinct in her memories
was her last fond recollection of him. That was when they had first begun to
open up to each other. It was none other than the magical season of summer...
They sat on a grassy hill overlooking
the city. She lay in his lap with him idly stroking her hair. He was doing all
the talking, but she didn't mind. It was soothing to hear his voice ramble on
about his ideas of grandeur and plans for the future. She would occasionally
say a few words, but it was much easier to listen, and much more relaxing.
Finally, Matt stopped talking for a moment. When he began again, he looked deep
into her eyes.
"Have you ever thought about the
future?"
She looked up dreamily, lightly
frowning. "What do you mean?"
"I mean...well, not like what's
going to happen tomorrow, but like what you'll be doing in ten, twenty
years."
"Don't be so silly, Matt,"
she said. "Why bother yourself so much over all that? Whatever happens is
bound to happen anyway," she said off-handedly.
He paused again in thought. "Do
you see me in your future?"
It hit her then. No longer was it kids
fooling around during summertime, but some bigger, larger issue. Commitment.
The idea was frightening and alien, yet somehow attractive and exhilarating. It
was as if she was making a passage to a world of responsibility that she had
fought all her life against. But this time, it was different. This time she
wanted it.
They stared into each other's eyes for
a time, Matt tense, waiting for an answer. Finally, Mimi laughed, pulled his
face down to hers, and kissed him.