Scrolls of the Prophet
Book I
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Sword of Palmyra
"Carelessly...the king grabbed the princess and forced her face-down on the runs of his compilation of bedding...he muffled her cries in a room without audience...and with his demeanor of cruelness in its heat of hot passion...tore at her leggings and the silks of her lowers...all without care for her mid-waiste of wrapping...and when she had revealed to him with all the fruits of her treasures, he ravaged the princess in his fits to find glory...and un-peached her with malice... When tired and finished with full draining of his lusts...the king moved from his position that was posed on-top of the princess...and without fair play or given thought—he ordered her away...
When tired and finished with full draining of his lusts...the king moved from his position that was posed on-top of the princess...and without fair play or given thought—he ordered her away...
With her fine silks now shown unwoven...tattered and torn...she rose from the spread of pillows and fled from the king’s chamber...only to then run away and vent her build-up of shame while disgraced on the fresh-bedding of her own bedroom-chamber while held prisoner in the high-tower of Palmyra’s fine palace...after returned to her quarters...she was not only distraught but her body was wracked with strange pains...and in a display of deep mourning...she collapsed without care at the foot of her bed...her body bruised and beaten...broken will on display...and wept in long guttural sobs that filled the voids of her room with their calls for some pity...
Lilia...the servant-girl...when she saw the princess prostrated in such a distastefull manner...moved quickly to drape a thick sheet of linen over-top of her torn clothing...then...with great care and trembling...she attempted to console the young woman and raise her back to her feet—with some kind-hearted words and a warm serving of tea...but Princess Salamaya was still too distaught to overcome the delemma...she leaned and curled up her body in a stance of pure mourning...fully cramped and well shaken...and she would not respond to any request of recital as her mind rose in form with set storms of confusion...personal shame...and shock...
After some time had passed...the princess slowly laxed and sat upright atop the tall pile of thick bedding...her pale...bleaked features more worse than before—hollow both inside and out as her stomach churned violently...a queasiness born of trauma and disgrace then bellowed within her...and she was overwhelmed with the need to purge the filth of the day which resided inside her...
“Prepare my warm bath...” she instructed to Lilia...her voice brittle and collapsing but still showing with command...
And with a trembling hand...she rose from the bedding and leaned with a single-palm given against the ornate cherrywood-chest which stood near to the corner with its edges of gilded-gold...then...in a sudden convulsion...she lost hold of her stomach and all its raw contents...she vomited into a low-lying large blue-bodied chamber-pot that sat solemnly below her...
“Oh—my lady..!” Lilia gasped...her whisper sharp-laced with panic...eyes in a blaze...She had been stationed at the brass-tub positioned nearby with her two-palms in their hold of a medium-sized bucket of water which was stuck at mid-pour...revulsed...she dropped what she had and the bucket fell into the water with a metallic-clang that echoed through the entire room...
Her wide...pale face...it turned toward the princess...one hand flew to cover the gape of her mouth...the other it lifted...trembled...and pointed down at the ground—wordlessly in flow—to the floor beneath the princess...
Guffing out in dismay...Salamaya turned away her eyes from the view of ochre before her...as a red pool of blood...and distasteful clumps...sat settling down on the blue-tiles which sat all around her...she stood aghast...her complexion fading...and fully washed out...
“I’ve lost the child...My child..!” she cried in a banter...her voice raw and filtered with release of new grief...in disbelief...she stumbled back from the scene and—seized by frantic motion—criss-crossed the room with vastly trodden steps...Her's was a body bare footed in stride...as she left vivid bloody foot-prints all across the veined-granite that covered the alcove floor...and as she paced frantic and wildly...each stride became slippery...and more desperate than the last...
Without pause...she fled through the tall archway which led out to the balcony beyond...its long silk-curtain was then sent to flutter as she cast it her wake...she lept high in the air to clear its top railing...—then silence...just falling...
Moments later...the horrid screams from the startled onlookers below had pierced through the high palace...they crept up from her landing far below to then come up and sting at the servant-girl’s ears like barbs of sharp ice..."
“No way..!” I shrieked.., while unable to comprehend what was just spoken out-load as I tried to steady myself...
“Yes way...young master...yes way..!” Sir Milo spat back, both sharp and affirmed. Then, with a practiced movement, he sprang from the ground in an adorned fluid of motion. The bulk of his frame moved like that of a great desert cat, all swift and controlled. And he came to my side with a quiet compassion as he helped me to lower the large man’s body into the hold of his freshly dug pit.
“Only three bodies left..,” he said grimly, and watched as I piled the sand over the light-blue square of cloth which he had gently placed over the dead man’s face.
“It’s truly a shame...young master..,” he muttered, his voice lean and heavy. “Is this the true reason for which we've all come to this place..?”
After he had voiced his thoughts aloud, the knight walked across the sand with long, deliberate steps and then knelt down beside the two-boys who still lay face-down like the girl before them, their bodies cold and pale, and stiff, locked in their deaths. Their final trail of footprints had ended in a pattern just a short distance away from the girl's, and they were frozen in the white-sand.
I watched his movements under the sparse moonlight that remained as I worked to fill the man’s grave. Sir Milo placed a steady palm on one boy’s slender back and, with a quiet disposition of care, he pulled the arrows free from the child’s upper body. He repeated the same tender care on the other boy, and then continued his path onto the girl.
“Seems the end of this late-night is fated to be filled only with stories of the dead and dying..,” I thought grimly, then turned back to pat the last layer of sand flat over the man’s newly dug burial.
“May the grace of the "Heavenly Father" take you and hold you...ashes to ashes...dust to dust...return now to the body of the "Holy Earthly Mother"...for she had first brought you..,” I whispered in offering to their lost parished souls.
“Three more..,” I murmered with a sigh, my body already on the move again. With a quickened pace, I joined Sir Milo by the side of the lifeless children. He stood in silence with a discerning look of disgust which marked his face. Then, without ceremony, he threw the five arrows far into the sands—and let them return to the hard earth from which they had come...
“So they both died..?” I asked, my breath short as I pushed the shovel into the sand repeatedly and began digging out a new square for the young girl’s pit first. “The princess and her baby...I mean..?” My voice hung splintered in the still of the air as I sought confirmation.
I glanced toward the girl’s dark hair. It was cast in the moonlight with its soft glossy-sheen—locks of silk danced lightly atop the cover of her body. She lay face-down, her form boldly stiff. The sight of it made me ache with a strange desire to place a palm of my own to her poor-lifeless shoulder, to gently shake her to wakeness.
She reminded me of the princess in turn—one brought to death by their use of own hand, and the other just a child, robbed of its future. "Perhaps...," I thought, "it is far better for both the unborn-child and her mother to have died before ever being seen as defiled..."
Once Sir Milo and I resumed our familiar positions—he cross-legged, and I kneeling into my labors—I returned to my digging, then cast out a question like fresh bait upon the waters.
“So…our man Hassani...he must of been so surely upset when he returned to the castle..?”
“Oh...young master...you have no idea..,” Sir Milo responded, and dove right back into the tale with that same somber gravity. Though the story turned dark, the man had a way with his given words that held me like a snare.
“Of course...the king of "Palmyra" was sorely disappointed when he heard about the princess’s death...Her suicide would not sit well with his rival...the great king of "Persia"... Not only would it cripple their trade agreement...but the border disputes—if not full-out war—were sure to ignite the moment that the word reached the "Persian" court...
Now...the king of "Palmyra" had no idea that the princess had been with child...Nor did he know that his captain of the guard had gone east to seek the impressive dowry in her honor...and with no suitors having come forward...he assumed that Salamaya had simply despaired from his agression and acted too rashly...true a tragic end...yes...but one he figured wouldn’t cost him more than some political tension and an angry letter or two..."
"In fact..,” Milo added with a touch of dry-air, “he even found it to be a just and kind sort of relief...for he felt that it would be one-less voice among the sixteen-wives he already had squawking...and that it would soothe the haggling which cursed the palace halls...”
I grunted in a quiet disbelief, but then added nothing.
“Meanwhile..,” Milo continued, “Hassani knew none of this...He had sensibly been waiting with his restless patience growing ever more frustrated as the sword’s completion had dragged on and on...but then at long last...after proper time had been given...the sword and its labors were finally completed...The blade boxed up and readied...
He had received it in person—opened up the box and lifted it free from its golden wrapping and held it in one-hand..."The most exotic and beautiful weapon ever forged.., hes admitted as the artisans bowed to him...and he thanked them with gratitude...The alchemists and blacksmiths had truly succeeded..; he now carried the treasured blade that would win him his bride...and with the sword now secured...Hassani mounted his black-stallion and spurred it hard ahead...his heart filled with joy as he galloped across the "Assyrian desert" and raced back to "Palmyra" to wed his prized princess…back to the child he believed would be the greatest gift which had ever been placed upon him...At least—that’s what he'd thought..."
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Sir Milo paused only briefly, and I imagined the hopeful warrior who had charged across the sands while he was caught unaware that the world he longed for had already been shattered.
“After sixty moons of hard travel..,” Milo resumed, “Hassani finally reached the gates of the city...and without delay...he requested an audience with the king of "Palmyra"...
The great hall was vast...its scale as intimidating as it was grand in scale while the king sat tall upon his golden throne of rule...atop many wide steps...his presence elevated above all those of his fine laymen...and along the perimeter of the immense granite chamber hung all manner of banners from the sixteen-nations which had been draped down the walls—one for each queen...each he had taken by either treaty or conquest...
On one-side of the vast throne-room sat the king’s sixteen-wives—they chatted...they whispered...and they fanned themselves briskly with combined silks and sly-glances. They were seated far from their husband...the king...and were separated from his throne by the many long-winding steps that stretched across the whole chamber like the waves upon a pool...
From the foot of the throne, a long red carpet had been unfurled...trimmed with golden edges and lined with silver streamers...It rolled down each step...and then all the way to the high-arched entry-way which sat across from the assembled queens...and on the opposite sides of the grand scene where the king's fifty-children who sat in their own neat formation...Princes and princesses...all of verious ages—the heirs of "Palmyra"—bathed in quiet curiosity...
It was into this scene that the great master Hassani had appeared in the brisk early morning of his long-awaited return...
Come up—come up..! Hassani...my finest swordsman and captain of the royal guard..!” the king of "Palmyra" had called over in his gift of booming voice. Within a fluid motion...he rose from his golden throne...his tall form draped in the flow of long purple robes...his head crowned with a heavy diadem of emeralds and rubies...he decended on to the great staircase with the highest dameanor of authority...and then came to meet Hassani in the center of the red-carpet which stood centered between his many wives and their countless watching children...All eyes were upon him as everyone in the grand hall then watched nervously as the two figures now joined forces with one-other at base of the steps which were lined up front and center...
The chamber itself shined beneath the high vaulted ceilings of slate and sandstone. The polished finishes of the palace glowed with the break of early light, it cast golden-streaks across the stone floor of the great hall...
"What has brought the bravest of the brave before his great king..?” the monarch asked with a broad smile...for he was clearly delighted by the sight of the captain...
Hassani stood tall with the composure of a seasoned warrior and took a step forward...he held out in his palms the large case he presented—white-coated in nature and lacquered till gleaming, its every angled surface bound in silver-trim...
He offered the king a gesture of respect and bowed down his head...the hall held its breath...
The king...fully intrigued...stepped closer and extended his fingers—thickly jeweled...and heavy with the rings of fat golden circles which were laden with precious stones. His sleeves of purple sunfire hung low from his wrists as he asserted a flick and unlatched the case's clasp...the lid rose on its own in a slowly timed lift...
Immediately...a light burst forth—gleams of crushed diamonds and faceted stones attracted his eyes as they peppered the handle in a fine scattered pattern from the length of the sword within. The blade seemed to glow almost on its own with an emblazoned inner fire and reflected the sun from the countless points of cut glass that littered the walls of the very big hall. The king’s eyes then widened with child-like awe...his mouth parted in silence at the display of such a breathtaking view...
Raising the mighty weapon high...the king marveled aloud...“What is this...great captain..a gift for the king... Should it not be the other way around—for one should award you for your years of loyal service..?” The king’s voice dropped low so only a few that were near could hear his immense gratification as he held the sword out sideways and examined it thoroughly...one palm gripped the smooth-glow of its handle while the other he possessed had become rested carefully and nested on the broad silver of its lenghthy mid-blade...
“My dowry..,” Master Hassani declared with a self sense of pride...his chest swelling...eyes gleaming within the promise of his up and coming victory...for the lifelong matrimonial promise of the beautiful young Princess Salamaya...from Persia..! He had half expected cheers...applause...or at least some sign of celebration from the court—but instead, only a heavy silence filled the hall...
Confused...Hassani glanced around...then returned his gaze to the king who stood calmly admiring the sword while dispensed with a defiled look and mischievous un-satisfied smile...
“Have you not heard...my fine captain..? The trollap is dead..,” the king said with a half-laugh. “Only one night in my chamber and she could no longer find gratification in others' release of so-called spiritual pleasures...and with a single leap of faith...she flung herself head-long off the palace balcony to her death..!”
Disbelief flashed in Hassani’s eyes as he searched the crowd for Lilia—the princess’s servant-girl—who stood apart with her own gaze cast downward in her admittance of sorrow and a poise of the unwilling...all while unable to share the cold-hearted shame which had now been laid bare before captain Hassani...Her tears eerilly traced their silent paths down the pale-flush of her cheeks as they dripped in a mix with her trembling sobs...
Rage boiled inside the captain...a dark and fierce breaking fate which up until now had been shielded from release by the black-curtain of his contentment that had long restrained it...Heat...frustration...hate...and a sorrowful rage clashed in his mind and left him stressed beyond his rage of contro...and for a moment...he faltered—just a blink from his eyes—before he then eagerly surrendered to the storm which brewed deep within...
Without hesitation...he let fine edges of his sharp feelings flow and dropped away the white-box that once held the great sword...his mind-set was crippled as he reached out in vengeance and gripped the sword's handle with an iron-fistedf strength...to only then in one swift, practiced motion, yank the blade free from the king’s lesser grasp...With a twist...jump...and spin...his body moved like that of a striking cobra...his arms raised and flailing...while locked high above his shoulders...The freshly reddened-edge of the sword's mighty blade had then granted its deadly promise...
The crowd had erupted with their gasps of shock and and awe...the entire lot unreadied for the tragedy to unfold...but still more than will to take it all in...the plot only thickened with each turn of the page...and all had took notice of the captains held rage...
The king’s head flew from his shoulders...it spun and bounced several times before it crossed beyond the red carpet and spun to a final rest...
Now forged anew in royal-blood...the great assassin Hassani had turned his back from the body as it fell to the floor...and with a stern given grimmace...faced the gathered mothers and children—the heirs to the throne—and shouted out boldly..:
“Look now...and see the head of your bloodline..! What he has brought upon himself on this day...he has passed onto you also...affix your gaze just upon it...upon my palms with your eyes—and remember this blad...and its cursed gifted tell...for the next time you see it...it will be your heads that roll..!"
Hassaini shook the blade in defiance...he stared each child down...and forcefully took another step toward them before continuing on with his disciplinary communication of veined retrubution:
And it is he you should thank...for his lust of lost innocence...a tragic-great death...and remember it well...for in all your future generations—it carries your names...bare witness to my harsh sword of vengeance...the one weapon of justice which has now born the assassin...and imagine your punishments from the great..."Sword of Palmyra"..!”
...Select Next Scroll...
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CURRENT VOLUME List:
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Scrolls of the Prophet...historical/biblical/adventure/coming of age
- Awakening
- Gathering
- Binding
- Bloodline
- Prophecy
- Phoenicia
- Future Dig
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Scrolls of the Past...historical/adventure/coming of age
- Amen Rey (Egyptian)
- House of the Fawn - (Greek)
- Spice Road - (Persian)
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Dominatrix...sci-fi/thriller/action/space adventure/coming of age/assassin
- Domina
- Bisal
- Alaran
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Terraformation..sci-fi/action/adventure/alien love story/space travel
- Terra-Form
- Terra-Rise
- Terra-Site
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Quest of the Seeker..thriller/murder mystery/afterlife/coming of age
- The Key
- The Clown
- The Seeker
**Hint: The Seeker is the Grim Reeper's brother...:)
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The Cleaner..action/thriller/coming of age/assassin
- The Child
- The Woman
- The Teacher
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Ready The Yeti..children's series/adventure/life lessons
- I Am Ready
- I Am Sassy
- I am Abominable
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