Interlude 4: Ispano
The coronation had concluded with thunderous cheers and applause a few hours ago. The event was solemn and grand at the same time, with thousands of intricate rituals Parnall normally would have ignored. Then came the celebration, a string of nights with festivities and bizarre entertainments, which ranged from the most common fire-eater troupe to the exotic dance of the cat slaves.
To Parnall, the celebration held no meaning. What was important was the fact that he was at the moment the sole sovereign of Ispano, taking over what should have been his – not of the pathetic twit people have dubbed his twin sister. Only the strongest may reign over the vast land of Ispano, and he had proven himself so far by securing tight reins over the people of Ispano and directing matters according to his visions. A lot of things were in his agenda, and everything should happen according to his plan. He had ambitions he was sure to be fulfilled in the near future.
The celebration was also one of the events in his agenda.
To make everything going his way, he needed something to distract people's minds and to wipe off their suspicious nature. He devised the celebration to suit that purpose, although he refused to be part of it. For Parnall, parties were only for fools who didn't know how to look ahead into the future.
So there he was, standing alone on the top roof of his majestic castle-like fortress. The cool night breeze played on his dark hair as the twin moons cast their silver light and accentuated his silhouette with a soft aura. The golden eyes that shone with cunning and intelligence twinkled in the dark, focused not on the desert scenery before him but on the future in his vision.
The heavy and intricately decorated crimson robe he had wear in the opening ceremony had long been deposited into the safety of his formal wardrobe together with his skull-cracking crown, and he had changed into his much more relaxing everyday wear that consisted of an embroidered soil-coloured light tunic and cream-coloured leather breech. With his ebony hair bound back loosely with a simple gold ornament, he was almost a vision of relaxation with his back against the fortress' stone wall, but the hard edge in his features gave a chill to everyone who had the bad luck to encounter him there, at his favourite dwelling.
No one knew exactly what his plan was except him. He trusted no one, preferring to keep all matters in his head. He didn't make records nor did he draw his visions. His memory was the only place where his grand design existed. Everyone around him served only as the puppets for his scheme, and he lived to be the puppeteer who controlled their every move. His words were final. There was only punishment waiting for people who chose to defy his words.
As the moonlight reflected on the bejewelled hilt of the dagger that had never left his side since the day it came to his possession, he shifted his attention on the dagger and scrutinised its beautiful design carefully. His eyes never left the dagger as he unsheathed it and lifted the blade before his face, a disturbed expression floating across in a brief second.
"Ardine," the shape of his lips changed rapidly, producing a gentle sigh.
For a moment the sweet face of his twin sister floated into his mind. His ears rang with her innocent peals of laughter, sparked by the memory of his childhood, now long gone. In his eyes it was almost as if the younger Ardine stood shyly before him, her arms stretched up timidly for a gentle hug.
Parnall made a move to embrace the imaginary twin sister, but the illustration soon reformed into a more mature Ardine, looking at him with a love/hate expression – a scimitar in one hand and blood-covered body like what he saw in their last encounter. Soon other voices joined his memory, this time filled with screams of pain and murder. They were his own screams from childhood. Forming his lips into a cold smirk, he shook his head gently to chase away his vision of his twin sister, ever dwelling in the darkest corner of his memory.
There should have been no regret. Even as he examined his emotions at the moment, he was sure he felt no regret. Everything was done like what should be done. Ardine deserved the fate that he had designed for her. She was an evil disguised under the skin of an angel, for she had taken everything his all his life – his throne, his childhood, his happiness. He used to think of her as an angel, but in truth, she had been the devil herself.
He narrowed his eyes at the offending sight of the dagger, tightening his hold around it. Ardine gave the dagger on their sixteenth anniversary, claiming it was for his protection. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips as the memory sparked into life. He had been used to the idea of people ignoring his existence, and there she had been, pretending as if she had cared. What protection? He had been alive thanks to his own endurance as a human-being. He needed no protection from her.
But still, he had been merciful towards her, hadn't he? He had let her live, at least for the moment. And for one thing, he never doubted Ardine's fortitude. She would live even if it meant going through hell, until the next occasion when he would then kill her. And he had seen it in the eyes of the Fanelian general. The general would make survival easier for Ardine if the little prostitute would lower her innocent pretence and submit herself to his will. Parnall could hardly wait seeing how living under other's mercy would change Ardine's entire perspective on life. Yes, he had been merciful, and he had been a kind brother. He helped Ardine to learn her lessons of life quickly.
He sheathed the dagger crisply, his expression satisfied. He had once thought of deposing the blade, but in the end he always decided to keep it. His end resolution was always the same. He would use the dagger to kill Ardine when the wench has proved to be of little sport for him anymore and hang her head in the middle of the town's arch as a warning to the people who dared to displease his person. That day may soon come.
The gentle rustle of clothes brought his mind back at the present time, and he was soon confronted by a pair of glowing cobalt blue eyes of a sleek cat-man. With a grace a cat-creature could muster, he bowed deeply before the young sovereign, revealing a dark crimson mark that forever branded his shameful and unfortunate fate as a slave his silvery white hair glided down gently, revealing his slender neck. He would have passed as a handsome nobleman if not for his cat-like appearance. The richness of the green brocade he wore contradicted the significance of the slave mark he sported upon his nape, but was more suitable to the festive mood of the occasion. He crossed his arms in front of his chest in a slave fashion, betraying further his origin.
"A slave way of salute!" Parnall commented sharply, clucking his tongue in disapproval, "You're my agent, not my slave! Show some of your worthiness!"
"Your Majesty," the cat-man began smoothly, "once a slave…"
"But you are NOT anymore!" Parnall hissed, his earlier composed attitude gone with the new arrival of his unexpected guest. Glaring at the older cat-man, the newly established king stated in a calmer tone, "I have demolished the law of slavery a few days before the day of my coronation."
"But it was not as easy to change the structure of society already existed." The cat-man argued gently, almost paternal, "Your Majesty, if you are fortunate indeed, it may take ten years at the least to change Ispano thoroughly, a noble ambition I thoroughly admired and anticipated."
"I am Ispano, and Ispano is I." came the stubborn reply of Parnall, forever disapproving opposition to his visions of the country, "When I said abolish the slavery, that is what should happen."
Ever tolerant, the cat-agent replied, "There is no doubt that the new law will come into practice in due time,"
"My words are the law!" his below ringing clear into the night air, Parnall vented his anger toward the suspecting agent. However, Parnall did not lay his fist upon the cat-man even once, so in the contrary to his normal habit when dealing with his lower-ranked objects.
The silence stretched between them for a deafening few seconds, each was too tensed to utter the word that would probably worsen the situation. The cat-man was the first to submit to the situation, preferring to deal with a calmed subordinate rather than a furious one. He rose to his feet without a word and gazed straight into his king's eyes like he was to a man of the same rank. Fearless of the intimidating atmosphere that the young king exuded, he enquired quietly, "Is this what you wished?"
"Dallad," Parnall finally nodded in satisfaction, acknowledging the other's existence formally for the first time, "You showed some backbone in your defiance. You truly impressed this Parnall."
Even if Dallad felt something akin to puzzlement about the king's sudden change in attitude, he would never show it. His main duty as the king's agent forbade him the luxury of flaunting his emotions. His face ever composed, he answered the compliment – as he chose to perceive it – with his ever-stoic way, "Thank You, Your Majesty."
Once again silence was stretched between them, but this time it was a different kind of silence – it was a companiable one in which no word was actually needed. But as the night drifted away, Dallad felt the need to voice some of his thoughts into the silent conversation, "Your Majesty has been generous to our kind. Never before we received a better treatment."
Ignoring the blatant praise, Parnall instead opted to direct the conversation to a less personal ground. He had his own reason in abolishing the law of slavery, but it was unwise to disclose the matter of his heart to a person he had yet to trust. "You did a job well done in relaying the dagger to Lady Celena Schezar, Dallad. The object should serve well to refresh her memory. What kind of reward should I award you?"
"I need no reward." came the stoic reply. Parnall waited for a few moments, but Dallad didn't continue his words.
Parnall turned around and let out one of his doubtful smirk, but refrained commenting any further. He would mind his own business, and he would not trouble himself with the other's business too. It was fine for him if Dallad chose to be secretive. As long as he did not hinder his plan in the long run, Parnall would let him keep as many personal secrets as he wished.
"The celebration?" instead he inquired.
"Everything goes according to your plan. Even the prime minister is thoroughly involved in the spirit of the festival, Sire." Dallad elaborated, emphasising on the words 'thoroughly involved'.
What happened next was a fast exchange of conversation.
"What about the ever fiery cat-lady? Our most spirited prisoner?"
"Oh, you mean Lady Merle, I presume? She was ever in excellent condition, Sire. Only we are forced to sedate the lady in fear of her crafty mind and overly vigorous exercise."
Parnall chuckled in amusement at a recent memory of the cat-woman that had recently become his prisoner before continuing, "And Asturia…Freid? What about Lady Celena?"
"Freid is a little slack even after the warning attack you have devised upon Fanelia, but Asturia was a different matter."
The young sovereign didn't comment on Dallad's report. Instead he diverted his gaze toward the vast purple skyline of Ispano, his expression dark and thoughtful for a fleeting second. Parnall was aware of the consequence of disregarding the naval force of Asturia. He couldn't afford having Asturia as his adversary at the moment. However, he was also aware of the past history of Asturia: the mighty kingdom once formed an alliance with the dark kingdom Zaibach only to be betrayed in the end. His recent ambush to Fanelia would negate his position in the eyes of the sovereigns of Asturia.
"Leave Asturia alone for the time being. A conscious lion is best left alone." Finally he answered, "Only keep watch on it from afar. I would like every single thing to be reported to me."
"And what about Lady Celena, Sire?"
Parnall started at the mention of the name. Lady Celena. The sweet, gentle Lady Celena. The first time he gazed into the fiery blue flames of her eyes was when he was concealed within the safe shell of his black guymelef. He suspected she realised who he was when she bowed before him. They had met a long time ago when Ispano had still been in Zaibach's clutch. He had been seven and Celena had been Dilandau Albatou then, the charismatic adolescent commander of the Dragon Slayer – the best guymelef fighting force ever existed. He had admired Dilandau – his grace and agility was forever imprinted in the little prince's mind.
"What did your contacts say about Lady Celena?" he inquired thoughtfully, his eyebrows burrowed in the middle of his forehead.
"She seemed to resume her normal life, although the doppelganger that I stationed over her residence as her personal maid reported back some strange behaviours. The lady has always been quiet, but she became more quiet and contemplative if possible. She has had doubts of her own identity and suspected her brother's truthfulness."
"Hmm…" Folding his arms in front of his chest in contemplation, Parnall strode back to exit the vast rooftop. He decided he had heard enough for the moment. He knew Dallad had not yet recounted the news of Fanelia's current state, but he lost his desire to stay and listen. He was curious about how Fanelia had fared, but the conversation about Lady Celena had altered his entire mood. He would either retire to his chamber or recourse to the secret basement below his office. It was a routine that needed his utmost attention.
"Your Majesty?" came the questioning voice of Dallad. "Are you going there?"
Parnall answered after a brief pause, "Yes, and tell everyone that I am in my chamber and not to be disturbed."
"Do you need company?"
The young king considered his options before finally saying, "Company is not necessary. I will be alone this time"
Dallad's answer was his bow, done in the slave fashion. Smiling mysteriously, he retreated into the darkened passage that led to the lower level of the palace before Parnall had any say of his earlier and purposely-done blunder. His defying earned the young king's scowl. And Parnall, having made sure that noone followed him, started to follow the path to his office where the secret opening to the hidden chamber existed.
"Let me out of here!" A shadow in the darkened cell rattled the metal bars that separated her from the real world outside. It had been a few weeks after her abduction, but her captor had apparently decided to keep her in his dusty cell for the moment. Merle regretted the day she attempted to run away from Fanelia. Her reckless decision was an opening for the enemy for they had been clever enough to track down her movement and capture her.
"Let. Me. Out!!" Once again the cat-woman cried out with her hoarse voice, earning herself some mocking from a group of young guards who happened to patrol near her 'cage'. She ignored them. She had realised since the early days of her captivity that screaming and kicking would lead her nowhere and only serve to exhaust her energy, but the cramped tiny cell started to rack her nerves. It was either screaming or leading her way to insanity.
Kicking the metal bars for the last time – an action she soon regretted as she hopped around the tiny cell clutching her injured toe, she sighed profoundly as she slid down the mouldy stonewall and curled into the foetal position. A bead of crystal clear tears dangled at the corner of her eyes as she once again sighed in exasperation. Coldness surrounded the atmosphere in the cell, which only served to aggravate her already foul mood. She supposed she had become thoroughly spoiled by the extravagance that Van had generously provided for her. She was not even sure if she could adapt to the life in the convent anymore. Her capture might be a bless that made her realise her incapability to live as a nun.
Eyeing the small rations on the little tray beside her, she clenched her teeth in disgust. They must have placed some sedative in the food again, as she had always felt delirium after her night-meal. She wasn't a fool who would perform hunger strike and lose her physical strength in the process, but the fact that her food contained sedative made a living doll out of her. She retained her physical force, but her awareness was the awareness of a baby.
She wondered what had happened to Fanelia since her capture. One of the guards had been considerate enough to inform her (in a much-too-happy tone, she might add) that the new king of Ispano had attacked Fanelia and reduced it into debris. Merle couldn't believe her ears. For her, Fanelia would always be victorious. However, if Fanelia did fall into oblivion, what happened to Van and Hitomi? And she was also concerned with the people who had been kind to her.
At this rate, however, it was simply useless to speculate some things that didn't really give answer to her main dilemma: the imprisonment. She had to find a way out of the cell and the impossible layout of the prison, and escape to Fanelia. At least, if all the news about Fanelia's demise were untrue, she could warn Van about the Ispanian king's intention.
Rising to her feet, she diverted her attention toward the barred window on the other end of the cell. It was the only window that connected her with the outside world. Climbing up to a beaten wooden stool – the only available furniture in the cell, she peeked outside and basked in the cool glow of the moon. She considered herself quite lucky in this matter. At least she was still permitted other views beside the prison's murky walls and the sulking faces of the guards. Apparently noone considered her dangerous, and crafty she was certainly not. Noone really thought she would be able to escape. Or so people thought.
It was a deserted marketplace outside, but it was usually lively with chatters, people trading and bargaining and children running around during the day. Sometimes she became the recipient of curious stares from the children who ran around the market, and sometimes, if she was lucky, one of them would speak to her, but she was careful not to alarm them or to drag them into trouble. Being in prison meant being a criminal, and she didn't want to put the innocent children in her problem.
Merle didn't know what time it was, she suspected it was already well past midnight. During the day, when she was bored to the point of insanity, she would amuse herself by watching the crowd passing her tiny cell window, having a little glimpse of Ispano (she was sure it was Ispano because some girls, who apparently came from noble families, dressed up like Ardine had done when she had first reached Fanelia: with their veils and their strangely ballooned skirts/pants. There was only one thing she marvelled about. She had been scandalised by what the girls, including the spoilt princess, wore. Apparently skin-baring clothes were the fashion for unmarried Ispanian ladies). Everything seemed to be superficial as whirls of every shade of colours imaginable flew before her widening pupils. Merle would have enjoyed the captivating beauty if it weren't for her current predicament.
The beauty of the Ispanians astounded her. The Fanelians were striking with the domination of dark hair and olive complexion – giving them a rather forceful persona; the Asturians looked gentle and graceful with their wispy fair hair and richly ornamented clothing, and Freidians were simple and religious, solemn in their darker appearance, but there was only one word Merle could conjure for the Ispanians. There were simply beautiful people. They were of a perfectly coordinated race, at least anatomically. They had the longest eyelashes and eagle sharp eyes she had ever seen, and the women's long dark hair flowed behind silkily while the men bared their bronze hard chest to the orange sun. Even the animal men were gorgeous. Merle simply couldn't resist glancing at the spectacles every now and then.
Merle had been treated with fascinating sights of aspects of Ispano, both in its brilliance and barbaric ways. Ispanians still very much adopted the jungle law. Slave trade was very much still in practice, although she spied the crowd scattered when a group of patrolling guards charged their way. She also witnessed the decapitation of a captured thief's hands – she shuddered everytime the horrible scene popped into her mind. And they were loud, the Ispanians. Although she didn't understand what they were saying, she witnessed them literally screaming at each other, even when they joked around.
All in all, she concluded that…the Ispanians were rather annoying and uncivilised despite their beautiful appearance (even compared to her). And they were rather prejudiced as well. A multicultural society, she noticed the Ispanians possessed, but they also had little respect for other races beside human. Only the dwarf-looking creatures received a certain amount of respect although she was not even sure if it was respect in the first place. It resembled more of a wave of trepidation.
Shaking her head ever so slightly, she chased away her current train of thoughts and focused more on her misfortune. Inside, she fumed. She supposed to feel sad and lonely, but she had chastised herself most of the time for feeling excitement for being in an exotic place and enjoying the adventures. The small cell had apparently suffocated her brain and drugged her with her fantasy. But she could never lose hope, couldn't she? There might be a way to escape, if she was attentive enough.
Merle started to shake the small window's frame deliberately, knowing that the guards would just ignore her, having assumed that she was on her antics again. To add the touch, she started to screech in her saddest meow, "Let me out! Let me out of here! Help!!" while her eyes darted to the left and right and her brain racking for an instant solution.
A small chip of stone came off the wall at the force of her shake, and she grinned from ear to ear, proud of her little accomplishment – soon to be big. If there was one thing she learnt, it was that the prison's walls were made of baked clay and certainly very ancient, and of course she could perform something to accelerate its damage. Hell, she even suspected the assaults of Zaibach in the Great War (if she learnt her history correctly) had already lessened the wall's durability.
With the agility possessed only by cat creatures, she soon emptied the clay bowl out of the precious rations she clearly held no favour of and banged it on the floor while crying out in mock distress. Still pretending to be insanely hysterical, she made her way quickly to the window and rattled it once again to drown the scratchy sound produced when she attempted to dig the metal bars out of the wall. Inward, she smiled a smug smile. Those Ispanian bastards had baked the clay bowl so perfect it was as hard as granite. A perfect tool to dig her way out. And she was glad her acting in the past few days (despite the fact that she did it out of boredom) had taken away the guards' suspicion on her. What was more, the screeches seemed to aggravate their nerves – a perfect excuse to avoid her cell even more so.
She didn't know how long had she been carrying on her newfound activity, but when she paused to inspect her handiwork, she almost beamed with pride. Little debris scattered around the little void she managed to create around one of the metal bars, and she was sure she would be able to take it off with a few more extra tugs. Sometimes her being a cat woman was a blessing, for her physical strength was beyond that of a normal human female.
She was about to continue her work when her sensitive ears caught a male voice clearing his throat. Gasping in utter surprise, she quickly let go of the piece of clay she was holding and pretended she was looking out of the window.
"What are you…doing?" the man seemed to be amused by her sore attempt to cover her deed.
Groaning in exasperation, Merle finally gave up any chance that she might be able to run from the accursed place that very night. In her occupied state, she had clearly forgotten her earlier charade, for the man apparently came to check on the noises. Throwing her arms in the air, she turned around to deliver a snide remark or two (couldn't hurt her no more than her hapless attempt), only to be silenced as she studied the appearance of the man before her.
A cat-man, he was. And recognised him, she did. His main features were hidden by the shadow, but those deep blue eyes…she had seen them the night she was kidnapped. He was her kidnapper, to be exact.
Snarling viciously, Merle launched herself as near as possible towards the cat-man, but the bars that stood between them prevented her to maim him seriously. And Merle hated him even more as examined him from head to toe: his stance was relaxed, with his face ever so composed, betraying no emotion in the depth of his mind.
"Lady Merle," he began conversationally, clearly ignoring Merle's indignant sniff and her angry growl, "It's the first time we have become truly acquainted, although it happened under terrible circumstance. My name is Dallad. I would be happy to let you out of your confinement, but forgive me, for I am required to obey the king's order." With that he added a graceful bow, showing off his knowledge in deportment.
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Merle grumbled her sentiments loudly, not even once trying to be subtler, "So, what are you going to do to me? Killing me on spot? Or cut my members into bits and pieces? You have a lot of choices. All you have to do is choosing one of them and finish me quickly." But suddenly, realisation dawned upon her face as she once again said suspiciously, "Or…do you capture me so that you could use me against Van?"
Shaking his head in amusement, Dallad leant on the wall across the cell as he spoke in a low voice, "Yes and No."
Merle only looked at Dallad bemusedly, not understanding even a single meaning behind his words. This only served to amuse the cat-man even more as he produced a string of light chuckles.
The cat-man actually smiled at her – it was a gentle smile she had not experienced since the first day she was taken away from Fanelia, and spoke to her in a kind way – unlike the arrogant bastards who served to be her cell guards, "You're safe here. At least you don't have to deal with the war personally. Besides, everyone treated you well, didn't they? We've given you enough food…"
"…with enough sedative to make an elephant sleep, am I right?!" Merle interrupted hotly only to be angered even more when Dallad laughed openly at her. But at the same time, she felt remorse as well. The laughter sounded so bitter and hollow…
…and when the laughter stopped, the atmosphere around her had frozen. The air surrounding the area had stilled, and Merle could only hear the beatings of her heart.
"Well, we don't want to lose our important prisoner, do we? Or do you have any better option? Shall we just put you to sleep forcefully?" The voice sounded calm and kind, but it still managed to chill her blood. He was definitely different from the guards who usually attended her cell. She sensed strength of mind from the cat-man and a no-nonsense attitude. He was a dangerous man, despite his tranquil appearance.
Merle was literally bristled at the end of her tail, and in her anger, she was unable to utter even a single word. In the end, she decided dealing with the cat-man was not worthy of her time. She was ready to return to the corner of her dark cell when Dallad's smooth voice travelled once again into her ears.
"You have a root in Ispano. You, Lady Merle, are an Ispanian by birth and by right."
Merle froze at the words. Turning around to face Dallad once again, she threw a cautious glance at him as she remarked tersely, "You're lying!"
There was a deafening pause before Dallad decided to continue, "You have no family, lady, and you have no previous memory of your life before the late king of Fanelia adopted you into his household."
Merle gave him no response. He took it as his cue to continue his story.
"It was more than twenty years ago, I supposed. Zaibach was getting ready for the impending Great War that Emperor Dornkirk has prophesied, intoxicated by his promises of great future and new abundant life. The Zaibachan Sorcerers have started their experimentation on human genetics. Ispano and Zaibach were allies then, and the Ispanians gladly supplied their guinea pigs, which were derived from their stock of slaves: the beast children."
Dallad's sharp eyesight was able to detect Merle's mild interest by the twitch of her ears. Smiling knowingly, he recounted more of what he knew, "You and me were parts of them. You were such a vicious little girl at the time, keeping up your resistance even if it meant getting beaten up."
"Were you…were you and I close at that time? Were we siblings?" came Merle's soft voice.
Dallad shook his head subconsciously, "I don't remember much. Although I was already ten at that time – old enough to remember most of the main events, you and I spent very little time with each other. We have always been placed in different laboratories for each experiment."
"How come I escaped and you didn't? How could I actually get out of their clutches?"
Dallad's voice was gentle as he tried to explain his story patiently, "Again, I am not sure. I heard rumours about you, though. Said a little cat-girl was beaten to death for defying orders before being thrown in the desert. That's the last thing I heard about you, my lady."
Merle's heart grew colder and colder as she touched an invisible scar hidden in the bush of her light hair, a constant reminder of how one of the retainers of late king Goau found little Merle, thirsty, exhausted and nearly dead as she crawled ever so slowly on the hot soil of Ispanian desert. The retainer had just delivered a message to the king of Ispano when he saw her lying there unconsciously. Seeing that he was already outside the boundary of Ispano and thought there was no political harm in helping the child, he brought Merle back to Fanelia where she had secured herself an automatic custody. She just realised she owed the man a lot for saving her life back then.
Shuddering slightly, her knees suddenly gave way to her weight as she slid down to the cold stone floor, tears trickling down her face. In a second, she had transformed herself from the brave and reckless creature to a tear-streaked and sobbing cat-woman. She wished Dallad had never revealed the truth. She had been so happy living in ignorance of her own dark past, although she had to admit that sometimes her life was confused by the bleak future that seemed to obscure her path. Life was harsh sometimes, but she always had faith it would the obstacles would come to pass.
Merle was so encompassed in her own whirl of emotions that she didn't hear the sound of Dallad unlocking her cell and crouched silently beside her. The weight of Dallad's hand on her shoulder was the one that brought her sagacity back into her mind. Gasping in sudden rush of rage, she swatted his hand away as she gathered what was left of her composure and scrambled to her feet. Ragged breathing escaped her lips as she glared angrily at Dallad, her eyes telling him the first thing that appeared in her mind…
"'How dare you.' It's what you wished to say, isn't it?" shaking his head in amusement, Dallad smiled thinly as he nursed his abused hand, not displaying even a single sign of retaliation. "That's the spirit. You have never even once shed a tear since the beginning of your capture, and yet you shed one for a past that couldn't hurt you anymore. I'm glad I was able to prevent you from drowning in your past."
"Don't preach!" Snarling viciously, Merle prepared her claws, ready to defend herself should Dallad decided to launch himself at her and touch her. "One move, and I'll slit your throat!"
Rising slowly to his feet, Dallad's eyes suddenly became very serious, although his smile seemed to become a permanent attribute on his face. Considering his options, he decided not to aggravate the cat lady although with his stealth and power, it would be easy for him to outdo her. He had hated confrontation before, and he had not yet changed.
Turning away on his heels, he decided to let Merle be for the time being. He merely spoke to her again as he walked away, "Come with me. We are going to move you to a more secured place."
He could feel Merle's distrust from behind and what sounded like a sigh of disappointment. Did she want to crush his face that badly?
Glaring sharply at her from the corner of his eye, he spoke once again, this time with a warning tone in his voice, "And don't try to run away from me if you don't want to die a wasted death."
A short pause stretched between them before he finally heard her hesitant steps behind him. With a brave voice, the cat-woman commanded, "Show me. We have no time to waste."
Smiling to himself, Dallad let Merle to walk past him before following her himself. A group of guards who had been commissioned by the king himself started to follow him as they detected his arrival, their expressions taciturn at having to follow a former-slave's order but otherwise didn't dare to defy the king's wish. Only death awaited those who dared to challenge the king.
Merle looked back longingly, her hope gone as she was deprived of her last chance to leave the wretched Ispano. For the moment, she could only hope that fate would be kinder to her as she was so certain that she had yet headed to another tiger's den.
Darkness engulfed the vast chamber as Parnall stepped carefully inside, as if he feared to disturb its occupant with the noises that his steps made. Calmly he lit the torch that was deposited at one corner of the chamber, revealing the interior in more details.
Chaos greeted his eyes as he scanned his surrounding. Several clothes and objects were strewn on the floor, and the four-poster bed appeared to be in heavy disarray. The vase had been smashed against the alabaster wall while some of the hanging silk curtains were shredded into pieces. Struggles and retaliations appeared to exist in the chamber, but everything was quiet at the time being.
Cautiously he treaded the battlefield-like chamber and started to pick up the discarded clothes. Placing them safely on top of a sturdy oak table, his eyes began to examine the chamber for a familiar figure. It was not long before he finally recognized a lone figure of a woman at one corner of the chamber, sitting forlornly on a battered wooden chair.
Shivering slightly, the lady drew her knees to her chest, dividing the distance between her and Parnall. He gave her a searching look, but she simply refused to return his gaze. As his gaze followed the outline of her figure, his eyes widened ever so slightly when he finally distinguished the dripping crimson stickiness against the smooth white skin of her hand…and all over the rosebud of her lips.
His logic screamed for him to rush to the woman's side to stop her bleeding, but a voice stopped him in mid-step. The horrifying sight somehow had nailed his feet on the ground, refusing him the ease of movements usually taken for granted. Even his strong will would not prevent the lost of his composure.
Lush black hair gleamed in the dim orange light of the torch, strikingly dishevelled as it pooled around her figure, reaching the bottom of the chair. Her exquisite features told the viewers that she was still in the middle of her thirties, although the gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes revealed deep agony and sorrow. Disordered and unfocused, everyone who had the chance to see her would doubt her sanity.
Parnall opened his mouth, but the words left unsaid as his instinct finally took over. He hastened to the woman's side promptly, not even bothering to ring for a chambermaid to take care of the mess instead. Concern shone in his eyes as he bent over the torn skin, his hands busy looking for a fairly clean cloth to staunch the bleeding immediately. Occasionally glancing upwards to the woman's face, he attempted to gauge her emotional state as he searched his mind for an appropriate yet respectful admonishment.
The woman mumbled intelligible words before snatching away her injured hand protectively, glaring spitefully at him before retreating behind the safety of the curtain of her hair. Again, Parnall attempted to treat her wound, but this time she slapped his outstretched hand away.
And yet again, Parnall attempted to force his voice out, but he soon clamped his lips together when he finally set his eyes on a particular object, cradled gently on her lap. It had once held his utmost affection as a child – the ragged and filthy handmade doll.
He had treasured the battered toy in the loneliest days of his life, when people had jeered at him in disgust and turned a sweet smile at his twin sister instead in their attempt to win father's favour. They had always been aware that Father – he had wondered himself why he even bothered to name the old creature his father after all the disgrace he had received in the past – had favoured Ardine more than him. Those despicable swindlers! People had treated him like a petty little insect despite the obvious court status he possessed. His sister was a princess, yet she was treated like a queen, even more so than the rightful queen – his cold and jealous step mother. And he was the beggar dressed up in the outfit of a prince, abused as the people around him used him as the release of their frustration. Power and respect had been the things he was deprived of in the past.
Yet he struggled to live, hanging onto the mercy of the late Ispanian king and his wife, at least until he was strong enough to revolt. His pride was bruised very badly, but he realised early on the importance of tactical survival. Giving in was a disgrace, but he never meant to admit defeat. He acted the sweet and understanding brother for her sister and was successful in gaining her favour – resulting in less discrimination between him and his sister.
And the ragged doll was among the things that had kept his spirit high in the past. He had found it sitting at one of the dark corners of his bedchamber after father had tortured him senseless with his much prided bullwhip one day – it had been there as if waiting for his return. Father had detested his fast attachment to the doll, and despite his pleas the old bastard took away the doll from him forcefully. Ardine had resolved in making him happy by showering him with her own collections of expensive toys, but he had learnt not to make attachment to worldly materials by then.
He had not seen the doll for over ten years…until today. It had never occurred in his mind that father would dispose the doll in this woman's chamber; so full it was with myriads of other pathetic objects.
And then the word escaped his lips in a rush of breath, "Mother…"
Yes, his mother. How could he forget the fact that this woman was his sole relative, a mother who had been separated from his birth? As a young boy of twelve he had accidentally stumbled upon the secret chamber below father's office and encountered her, whose existence was banned from his life. He had always been aware of her existence, but never before he had a chance to meet her, because for the late king of Ispano, Pia Ashakala – who used to be his favourite concubine and companion – was a traitor. She had been caught committing adultery with one of her slaves while the king was out for an official duty. The time she had spent imprisoned in the dark chamber had contributed to her journey to madness.
Now that father was dead, Parnall was finally able to take care of his deranged mother. However, while he promised to grant the happiness she so deserved to have, he was unable to cure her mind. The damage had already been done. Pia would forever possess the mind of a child, as she so conveniently buried herself in the realm of her happier past, which obviously pointed to her childhood days as the beautiful small daughter of one of the most famous Ispanian clan. Ashakala clan was no more though; the members were eradicated the moment the king heard the so-called treachery of his wife.
Sensing the burning sensation in his eyes, he buried his face in his palms, willing himself to steel his resolution. He was mildly surprised when a light touch suddenly hovered on the crown of his head, hesitantly stroking his midnight strands gently. He raised his eyes; his heart leaped out of his chest when he witnessed a sweet smile fixed on his mother's features, albeit a sad one. But it was reassuring and refreshing, genuine.
Smiling hesitantly, Parnall made a move to bandage the injured wrist, pleased that Pia made no move to refuse him. He didn't know what had happened to her earlier, but he resolved in his intention to cure his mother, no matter what it would cost him in the end. He himself had barely known her, and he still was million miles away from gaining her trust, but as the sensation of her touch took over his mind, he comprehended one thing: she gave value into his life by choosing to bear him.
Note from the author:
Dear readers,
I'm glad I've finished this chapter quicker than I thought. I've always have difficulty in portraying the real Parnall. So far I'm still exploring his character, adding this and that. I think Parnall has started to show signs of temper here, and quite fragile as a person. I plan to expand his past in relation to his and Ardine's births in the later chapters.
Now, about Dallad. This character has appeared in some earlier chapters of my fanfics, although then I haven't yet named him. This character's real interest was unknown. However, I hope I made a clear connection between his character in this chapter and the other chapters. I hope I didn't confuse anyone until now.
Merle is back! And I think she's more herself in this chapter. I think she always bounced back from her predicaments in amazing speed, and was comical most of the time. I hope I portrayed her well here.
I hope I portrayed Ispano clear enough. Don't hesitate to email me if you find something amiss or not clear. In my plan, Ispano had always been this multicultural nation, although the human – who dominated the nation – were prejudiced against the other races. Still, it was one of the oldest kingdoms in Gaea, with a wealth of culture and inventions. It was the reason why the Ispanian tended to be haughty – because of its heritage.
Parnall's biological mother made her debut here…as an insane woman. I will reveal her story little by little as the story progresses. She is an important character in a way that she supports the background of my plot. I hope you will come to like her. She was in pitiful state, but she was not without her fault.
Please ask me questions if you see some aspects that aren't very clear. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.
Yours,
Louise Tjandrasjahan
01st May 2002, 22:57 p.m.
Western Australia Time
E-mail me?