Seven Stories

Chapter 15: The Hundredth

Sitting across from her, Ikan was toying with a levitating ball of fire. It cast a reddish light on his moon-pale face. The actual moon was probably out by now, Karen imagined. She thought she could now tell the difference between day and night in the Wood of Souls and Spirits. There was no change at all in luminosity — the forest was no more than low branches and darkness — it was a matter of temperature.

It had been two days and a half since Lii and the others had vanished into the forest. This was the third night. Apparently, Ikan had no problem with making it the third night in a row he would make the most of his mastery of fire while she saw herself practically freezing to death.

"Ikan," she finally uttered. "I'm curious."

He darted a look at her, then focused on the flames in his hands again. Karen, who was non-violent and generally did not have the figure to be physically agressive, felt the imperative need to get up and slap the smugness of Ikan's brain. Instead, she made a face.

"How does someone end up being like you?" she asked him.

It must have strung, if not a shred of decency, a thread of pride, for he raised his head and actually looked her in the eyes.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"You were raised to be a monarch, as I was. But you're a zealot, blinded by a faith that accepts no hint of a doubt. You worship the Light and hate the Shadows much more strongly than I dislike your God. And yet the Shadows know I was raised to despise all of you. So I wonder what kind of violence you had to grow up with to reach this level of brainwashing."

Ikan stayed silent for the longest time, still staring at the young girl, with such intensity she eventually had to look away. She felt a lump build up in her throat. Loneliness settled on her shoulders, heavier than ever before. How could Lii not have known leaving her with Ikan was a terrible idea? She knew the prince, after all, she knew what he was like.

"I was not raised to be a King," Ikan finally said, slowly.

Karen frowned. She had a thousand questions pressing against her lips, but she held them back, as she was afraid she would discourage Ikan from talking to her again. She waited patiently instead, until Ikan sighed.

"I thought Lii would have told you by now. I was never meant to be a King, not in my father's mind anyways. Don't you wonder why I wear such long and silky robes and not shiny armors like my father's, or your fierce brother's?"

Karen bit her lip. She had to admit she had just assumed it was a cultural oddity of the Territory of Light.

"I am not trained to be a King, Karen. I don't know the first thing about leading people. My father never taught me this kind of things, nor did anyone in the Court. I am supposed to become a priest. The most important priest of my Territory, mind you, but no King."

"But why?' Karen finally gave up on her silent state. She was both dumbfounded and horrified by the injustice. "Do you have a brother?" Ikan shook his head no, and she insisted. "An uncle? A remote cousin?"

"I have a father," he replied. "A father who is not about to ever pass on the crown to anyone. Leading me to priesthood was the easiest way to ensure I wouldn't be put in his place in his senile years."

"That's terrible," Karen said. "Our parents leave us the crown as soon as we reach age nine. There never was a case of anyone, ever, refusing to let his child access the throne."

"Never ?" Ikan repeated. "No one has ever demoted a member of their family to access the throne?"

Karen looked away. Her gaze quickly lost its focus among the black branches and the leaves.