A thousand apologies is right, tomorrow is Forgiveness Vespers (aka the beginning of Lent). Some part of me wants to run away from this - wants to seek refuge in another religion that doesn't require fasting. Unfortunately, I know of no such religion - that I would like to become, that is. Without further adieu, the long awaited manuscript I was inspired to touch. I'd like to see if you can tell what it is. I have changed a majority of the "normal" names because they were, well, normal. Too normal.
Prologue
Master Al’ead took the small figurine out of a leather pouch and ran his rough hands over its worn surface. He pressed his lips to it and held it in his hand as a single tear slid down his cheek.
“Myra,” he whispered. “My love, I am eternally sorry. I will atone for it.” A hand knocked against the wooden door to his room. His eyes opened. He gently placed the figurine in his pouch and walked to the door. “Who is it?”
“Adela, Master Al’ead,” came the reply. Al’ead opened the door and a small, dark-haired girl wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Adela, child,” he whispered, sitting her on his cot. “What is the matter?”
“Father,” she sniffled. “Father came to me and said that the Duke wished to see me wed to his son. His son is near ten years older than you, Master Al’ead! But then he and Mam got in a fight, and Mam was saying that we should wait until I was ten-and-four before we considered a marriage proposition. And Father said that then it would be too late to make such a good deal. And he slapped my mother for her intolerance and stupidity.” Adela continued to cry, sobs shaking her small body.
“Shh, Adela,” he soothed. “Be still, child.” She looked at him and cried harder. Master Al’ead thought quickly of a way that Adela would he put at peace. “Would you like a story, Adela? To take your mind off of it? I am sure that your father will heed your mother’s advice.”
“Yes, Master Al’ead,” she whispered hoarsely. Master Al’ead stood and brought Adela a small cup of water to her.
“Do you know the story of our lands?” he asked.
“No,” she answered.
“Well, before the division of the lands, we were one: Mec, Theo, Dragon Island, Kila, Nethalat, the Kar Nar Islands, the Desert Islands. All the countries bound with a loyalty, love, and respect for one another, but there was a man whose hunger for power drove him to begin the divide. Da’lea was his name. Da’lea began spreading lies about each country to pin them against each other with the help of his wife. He was, for the most part, successful.” Master Al’ead reached into the leather pouch tied to his belt. He pulled out the small figurine. “Here she is,” he showed her. “She was a very beautiful woman, and he had, at one point, loved her more than life itself. However, now he began to view her as a tool.” Master Al’ead stopped his story, his grey eyes transfixed on the figurine in the girl’s hands.
“Master Al’ead,” she questioned. “Are you alright? Master Al’ead?” He blinked and smiled quickly at Adela.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Anyway, he began to seize control of the islands with the help of his mistress, you see, she was a witch. Together, they created war and chaos amongst the islands. Eventually he came to rule the islands, for they saw him as a way out of the violence. He was a horrid leader. Finally, diplomats from the other islands decided that enough was enough. They met Da’lea and his mistress at the Lost City.
“The four couples stood hand in hand at the center of the City. Silver rain crashed down on them and lightning stroked the skies like a paintbrush on canvas. Da’lea clenched his teeth at the others, yelling that this land was made for war and war shall be its destiny.
“The man leading the four couples responded ‘I will not let you do this. I will not let you destroy this land with your lust for power.’ Da’lea replied, ‘I had no need to destroy this land, it destroyed itself.’ He then commanded his mistress, ‘Do it, do it now.’
“The mistress began a rhythmic dance, a wicked chant escaping her lips. Snakes rose up from the ground and killed the four couples where they stood. His mistress held the darkness in her hand, but even the darkness suffers when life is taken from the earth. After all were dead, she ceased her vile dance and collapsed unto the floor as the darkness tried to recover its life force. Try as she might to help the force, her work was to no avail. The guilt of murdering eight people in cold blood came crashing down. The guilt and the force became so much that she died as well…” Al’ead stopped his narration when he saw that Adela slept. He laid her on his cot next to the fire and covered her with a wool blanket. He sat on the ground and leaned his back on the cot. He stared into the fire.
“Please, Master Al’ead, continue with your story,” Adela said quietly, touching his shoulder with her small, warm hand.
“I will, I will,” he whispered, taking her hand in his. “The wicked man was… grieved… to see the one person he loved and who loved him lying dead. He began grieving as no man ever had. He began to repent his evil ways. He began a simple life, not wanting or lusting after power. Deep inside, the man hated himself, cursed himself, for killing the only people who brought peace to the Islands. As much as he tried, the lands would not stop their war. He prowled the land and the sea in search of peace and of death. He grew old searching. He grew old…but would not die.
“The darkness made the man prowl the earth – sometimes in the guise of a young man, but other times as an old one. Even now he prowls the earth…” Master Al’ead stopped. He turned to see the child sleeping peacefully. He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her forehead. “And that man changed his name, moving the letters once to the right: Da’lea, Al’ead,” he whispered. “That man is me, Adela. Would you forgive me if you knew?”
Master Al’ead stroked Adela’s cheek where her tears made little dried streaks. Al’ead gathered her up in his arms. He carried her back into her room and, as he closed the door, silent tears fell down his cheeks. The morning afterwards, Master Al’ead took his leave of the castle. He was never seen again in Nethalat.
Now - which of my many manuscripts do you think it is???
POTATOES!!!!
Asiat.
