Kudisha Departure Episode 1 Journey to Rehnor series, Page 3

  Because of all this, and because Kirat’s dad was so weird, keeping mostly to himself, except when he had to do official functions, a lot of people called him an evil usurper, and an infidel, whatever that was. They used all sorts of large terrible sounding words which meant his father was very, very bad.

  “That’s completely false,” Queen Lorena had scoffed, when Kirat asked her why nobody liked their family. “The people love us. Wave to the cameras, dearest. Smile with all of your teeth.”

  But, why did they make up so many rumors that were untrue? Torim had said he heard this one or that one at his school. Torim was allowed to go to a regular school, unlike the de Kudisha princes who had to be tutored by special teachers at the palace. All the guys laughed at the King according to Torim. Torim probably did too, although he would never admit it, not even to Kirat.

  “I surely hope Torim did not,” the Queen continued. “If so, then he is not your friend, and he shan’t be allowed to come visit you anymore. He shall be denied the privilege of sharing your royal presence.”

  Kirat insisted Torim would never have done such a thing. Torim was completely loyal to the de Kudisha family. In fact, he swore young Viscount Shrotru had subsequently punched a guy out, receiving his own black eye and ten demerits in the process. Fortunately, the Queen never bothered to confirm Kirat’s story, for the Crown Prince would have been devastated not to have visits from his friend. He’d be so lonely, he have to start talking to invisible people just like his dad, or spend every waking hour playing by himself on his game system.

  The thing that bothered Kirat the most when it came to the talk about his father, was that everyone knew he had commanded Queen Myra’s execution. Why would he have done that to his sister-in-law, and especially, the innocent, unborn baby she was going to have, unless he considered the child to be a threat?

  “It was the law,” Lorena had replied. “And, your father is loyal to the law above all. If he does not follow the law, why would anyone else?”

  Then, she had waved the boy away, as it was tea time and her maid was setting out some cakes, as well as the scones which his mother liked nearly as much as bread.

  The law, Kirat realized. Even kings must obey the law, otherwise, there would be no law at all.

  “What’s an infidel?” Behrat had asked not long after that, when he was watching the news on the TV. Normally, Behrat saw nothing but cartoons, or those dumb shows that featured games and clowns, but for some reason, he was staring at a group of talking heads.

  “It’s just a name,” Kirat replied, not quite sure of the definition himself. “It’s something stupid that Markiis Kalila made up to taunt our dad.”

  Names meant nothing, Kirat knew, even though whenever he called his brother an idiot, or complained about one of the servants in not-so-nice terms, it usually resulted in a moderately severe punishment.

  “If Daddy’s an infidel, does that mean so are we?”

  “No. Don’t be an idiot,” Kirat snapped, and snatched the remote out of his brother’s hand. He flicked the show back to some triangular creature, who was singing a song about his favorite fruit. Behrat wiggled happily, the talking heads and their conversation already forgotten.

  It stayed forefront in Kirat’s mind, though, despite how hard he tried to forget it. The boy forced himself to watch those same talking heads to try to understand. The war. What was it all about? Kirat couldn’t figure it out, and no matter who he listened to, it struck him that none of those guys knew either.

  When the crown prince was fourteen, the boy approached the king, who despite their proximity in the same household, kept his sons at a distance, and separated by closed doors. Kirat had a long list of questions, and some ideas. He would even offer to make an overture to Markiis Kalila’s son. If the older generation wouldn’t find peace, maybe the younger could.

  “Kirat?” Karukan gasped, when the boy was admitted into this father’s office.

  “Your Majesty,” the boy replied, bowing low.

  “Get up, get up.” The King waved his hand, blinking rapidly as if woken from a daze. “Kari-fa! How you’ve grown, and I haven’t noticed. I am so very sorry. I have been far too busy.”

  Kirat smiled a little, uncertain how to respond to such a statement without sounding too critical of his father’s inattention. Karukan, too, had grown and aged, although not like his son in size and girth, but rather, his black hair was sprinkled with gray and his face was lined from years of stress.

  It was the King’s fortieth year, and his fifteenth as Karupatani’s ruler, yet Karukan appeared to his son, as one who had long passed sixty.

  “Come, my son, sit before me, and allow me to feast my eyes, for you remind me of my brothers when they were young. You are the very image of Sorran. No, I believe your eyes are those of Revak.”

  “I look like you did, Father,” the boy replied, a bit harshly. “Everyone says so. Everyone says I am the image of Karukan in his youth.”

  The King frowned and his brow wrinkled, as if considering that thought.

  “Well, let us hope you are blessed with both a larger intellect and kinder disposition,” Karukan mumbled under his breath, and then forced a smile at his son, and a cheery tone. “I suppose you resemble my appearance, although I was never quite as handsome as you. But, tell me, what has brought you here today? You have something you wish to discuss? Is it in regards to your schooling?”

  Kirat opened his mouth to respond, but found his tongue quite unable to move.

  Karukan waited, his eyelids continuing their rapid blink, a knuckle absently knocking a rhythm against his desk. He raised his brows and inclined his head. As if to prompt the boy, he nodded encouragingly.

  “Yes?” he asked, glancing furtively at his watch. His time was limited. There simply weren’t enough hours from dawn to dusk.

  “The war?” the prince blurted suddenly. “Do you intend for us all to die? If so, I have an idea that might prevent it.”

  Karukan blinked again, his face not registering the boy’s excitement. He sighed heavily, and his eyelids closed, as if instantly overcome with fatigue. His hand ceased its drumming, and fell with a thump upon his desk.

  “They say,” the boy continued, encouraged by his father’s silence. “Hahr has taken the independent islands, and they intend to keep them, despite any threats from you. They say this situation could escalate for you have nuclear missiles pointed at them, and Kalila has missiles pointed back at us. I think the problem lies not with the people of Hahr, who are as kind and generous as those of Karupatani. I think the problem lies with you two kings disputing a territory neither of us need. Perhaps, if I could speak to…”

  “Wooter!” the King called loudly, shocking the boy into silence.

  Kirat immediately jumped to his feet, his hand involuntarily reaching for and protecting his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” he gasped, as the Lord Chamberlain ambled into the room.

  “Wooter, please explain to the boy how rumors heard on the television are not fact. Neither, does pacification breed the peace we so desire.” Then, he waved his hand again, indicating that the Crown Prince and Lord Wooter should quit the chamber.

  “Let me explain the war of words,” Wooter began, escorting the boy out into the hall. “It is a lesson you must learn, and understand well. The hearts and minds of the people are easily swayed, and rarely ever won by truth, despite how obvious that truth may be.”

  Kirat made to shrug off the Lord Chamberlain’s arm, although his father’s man held him fast.

  “Come with me, Your Royal Highness. There is something you need to see.”

  Chapter 5

  Lord Wooter’s biggest frustration with his best friend and liege, Karukan, was the latter’s inability, or lack of desire to respond to verbal attacks. The King had no issue sending in fighters, launching missiles, and lobbing bombs. Neither did he balk at ordering ground troops to engage in mortal combat. However, when it came to defending his actions to the press, or exp
laining his reasons for doing this or that, the King and his press office remained deathly silent.

  “It is altogether unseemly, and not worthy of my station,” Karukan declared dismissively. “I have no desire to engage in a conversation only to be ridiculed for my awkward or ineloquent use of words.”

  The King did have a point there. No matter what he said, or how definitively he said it, the press took great pleasure in twisting it around. And, it wasn’t solely the press from Hahr either. The Karupta reporters were just as bad, if not worse. In fact, never had Karukan, at any point in his tenure as king, ever received any coverage that Wooter would have considered favorable.

  How different it was for the King of Hahr! The same press basked in the glow of his every utterance. No matter what Markiis Kalila said, whether it was filled with wisdom, or complete and total bunk, the press swooned, or lovingly applauded. Had the exact same words emerged from Karukan’s lips, they would have been scorned, ridiculed and mocked. The Saint, they named Kalila, and the Infidel, they attached to Karukan, although Wooter was never entirely certain why.

  In truth, Wooter didn’t quite understand why Karukan was treated with such disdain, for his own people and his own parliament regarded him harshly. The King didn’t womanize, or drug abuse, and only very rarely did he over imbibe. The palace parties were always modest, his apparel not overly excessive, and the car, which chauffeured the Royal Family about, was the same vehicle the late King Revak had commissioned.

  Altogether, Karukan was a decent fellow, extraordinarily thrifty, and honest almost to a fault. Thus, he was simply incapable of putting on the sort of performance the press desired. In addition, he closeted himself away, preferring his solitude over the presence of any other, save Wooter, or on occasion, the Queen.

  Yet, he was mocked unmercifully, scorned, judged, and ridiculed, when in Wooter’s opinion all he was doing was trying to save his people.

  “Where are we going?” Kirat asked, shaking Wooter’s hand from his arm.

  “You shall see momentarily,” the Lord Chamberlain replied. “And, when you do, I expect you to keep this knowledge to yourself. The first rule of being a king is to know when to hold your mouth firmly shut. Consider what you are about to witness a privileged secret of the State.”

  It was impressive, the boy had to admit. In fact, for a moment, he appeared a bit awestruck. Even Wooter’s breath caught, despite how many times before he had seen the spacecraft, and each time his heart swelled with pride at this marvel of Karupatani engineering.

  “Can I go inside?” Kirat asked, stepping tentatively around the landing legs, long spider-like extensions upon which the spacecraft perched.

  “Not today, but soon. Too soon, I am afraid, if it appears that Kalila will follow through with his threats.”

  The boy grew silent, his mouth frowning in the same manner as his father’s.

  “Will it come to that, do you think?” he asked, after a time.

  “I cannot predict the future.” Wooter waved for the boy to follow. “Learn this lesson well, young prince. Peace is not won by inaction and indecision. Only the fear of superior strength will stay the hand of the aggressor. That spacecraft is not intended solely for our evacuation, but rather as a demonstration of our resolve to the King of Hahr. Your father will take whatever measures are necessary should Kalila provoke him into action, and the Parliament shall be forced to agree, for there shall be no other choice.”

  Again, the boy didn’t respond, his brow furrowing as he digested Wooter’s words. Then, he nodded slightly, staring up at the spacecraft with an expression akin to wonder. Wooter left after that, accompany the boy back to his suite, whilst his large belly rumbled with a demand for dinner, and his throat craved a drink to fortify his resolve.

  Yes, Parliament would come around, for they would have no choice in the matter. Unlike his brothers before him, Karukan meant to launch the bombs first, and tell the politicians about it later.

  Lynda was sitting at their usual table in a dark corner of the bar, when Wooter finally made it, albeit a full hour late. She understood though. Lynda was good in that way. She knew the difficulties Wooter’s position entailed, and accepted the fact that all hours, he was at the mercy of the King’s beck and call.

  In the same manner, Lynda would accept Wooter’s awkward, and somewhat rough attempts at lovemaking, which weren’t always successful despite her best efforts. Lynda was good in that way, too. Of course, Wooter would reward her, whether or not he accomplished his task. Her fee was high, but he believed she was well worth it.

  “Hello darling,” Lynda murmured, raising her glass, and offering a half-hearted smile in a voice still laced with a trace of an accent.

  “Kalika-hahr,” she had said. That was where Lynda was born, and where she had lived until ten, and her father became unemployed. Her mother was against the Saintist movement. Her mother demanded they leave. “Markiis Kalila is just a man. They were asking us to worship him as if he were a god. That was ridiculous. My mother said, no way. So we came here, and I don’t regret it.” Then, she took Wooter’s hand and placed it somewhere warm. She began to do something that drove Wooter to distraction.

  Wooter accepted her story after he had it checked out by the security office in the palace. Lynda was a working girl, and he couldn’t be too careful. Sometimes, one never knew who their enemies were until was too late. Still, every time she opened her mouth to speak, he was reminded. She was from Hahr. She was a whore.

  “Why so late today?” Lynda asked, placing Wooter’s hand between her legs. It was hidden by the table, so no one in the bar could see it.

  “The ship,” Wooter mumbled, one hand busy, the other grasping his glass of beer. “The boy. I had to…”

  Lynda made a noise, a low moan in the back of her throat. It sent Wooter’s heart racing wildly, his blood pounding in his ears. He felt an encouraging tightness in his groin, some pressure, and some strain.

  Yes, yes, he thought, pressing Lynda harder.

  “Shall we go upstairs?” She leaned over, her lips gently brushing against his ear. “Are you ready?”

  Yes. I am ready. I can do this.

  Wooter set down his drink, and made to rise, the pressure instantly easing, the tension gone.

  “Kari-fa!” he swore.

  Lynda sighed, and closed her eyes.

  Wooter had been married once, and divorced once. This was nearly twenty years ago when he was barely out of high school. Certainly, he had no problems then. If anything, his problem was entirely the opposite. His girlfriend had become pregnant, and the next thing he knew, he was a husband, and soon to be a father.

  Except, the infant died. Only minutes after birth, Wooter’s son took one breath, but refused another. It was almost as if the boy looked around and decided, No, thank you. I’m not ready for this. Call me again when you guys have figured out how to stop fighting.

  After that, it seemed there was no point in remaining married, so Wooter and his bride went their separate ways. Wooter joined the Royal Guard. As to his ex-wife, he had no clue what happened to her. It was just as well, as he had never liked her all that much anyway.

  Fate had smiled upon Wooter, although it didn’t appear so at first, when he was assigned to the squadron of the Royal Guard’s worst lieutenant. Bleckerd was not only stupid, but completely lacking in common decency. His greatest source of entertainment was when one of his men fell face first into the mud, or nearly drowned crossing a river with an eighty pound pack upon his back.

  There was something sadistic in Bleckerd that led him to taunt the men under his command in ways that left Wooter shuddering even now, in ways that left Wooter emasculated more than a dozen years later.

  Wooter’s temper got the best of him one night, or it might have been the abundance of alcohol consumed at a bar. Coupled with the inability to enjoy a girl already bought and paid, Wooter’s patience for Bleckerd was sorely tested. Upon returning to base, the young guard was confronted by his comm
ander, and subsequently, one ended up with a broken jaw, and the other locked in jail. From there, Wooter was sent to the northernmost point on the entire planet, to man an outpost with non-other than Lt. Karukan, the then-crown prince.

  Initially, Wooter found this new assignment as grievous as the prior, for what would the prince be but another pampered ass? Karukan, in the meantime, regarded the other’s arrival as an intrusion, for he was perfectly content in the ice bound cave all by himself.

  “What are we to do up here anyway?” Wooter demanded, purposely avoiding any reference to the prince’s rank.

  “We are monitoring Hahr’s troop movements,” Karukan replied. Casually, he glanced at the screen before him, waggled a finger at a few red dots, before returning his attention to the book laid flat upon his lap.

  And, this is how it went for the first few months with the two men only meeting upon changing shifts. Wooter grew restless, though, for he was unused to silence, and interminable snow, so despite his initial reluctance, he made an effort to speak to Karukan.

  “The weather…do you think it’s going to change?”

  The prince looked up from his latest book with a shocked expression.

  “Well…no,” he replied, after a time. “No, the weather here only varies by ten degrees year round. During the summer months, we can expect a high of forty-below.”

  “The troops,” Wooter began again at another attempt to converse with the prince. “Do you think Hahr is making any progress in their movements?”