Kudisha Departure Episode 1 Journey to Rehnor series (4 page)

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
explaining 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?”