The King's Box

THE KING'S BOX

by

C. A. Zraik

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

CAZMAZ Publishing on Smashwords

THE KING'S BOX

Copyright © 2010 by C. A. Zraik

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Chapter One

It was morning at Black Tor Prison, the start of another tedious and unbearable day. Against an autumn sunrise of magenta and wedgewood blue, the bleak walls of Black Tor rose high upon the summit, perching over the tiny village of Doneff like a ponderous, threatening predator, its wide maw the black reinforced front gates. Peace Keeping Guards made their home inside the two gatehouse towers that fortified the heavy obsidian entrance. Four round watch towers enclosed a dusty inner bailey, and a five story Keep confined prisoners both above and below ground. The cold, damp, pock scarred walls of stone inside the Keep absorbed the complaints of a lawless brotherhood as prisoners opposed the unwelcome dawn.

The cramped limestone corridors and stairwells echoed with metallic clangs and crashes of heavy cell doors swung open, then slammed shut and locked tight again. Breakfast was dutifully brought in while the night's slop pails removed, the high point of a morning spent at Black Tor Prison.

Few outside the walls of Black Tor remembered Bedhee DeQuano, isolated in a cramped cell in the deepest recess of the prison's dungeon. Bedhee was an anomaly; far from the typical miscreant biding his time in Black Tor.

He was also Black Tor's oldest living prisoner, which is why he turned his back on the young girl who stood outside his cell door with such hope and expectation in her sightless eyes. Black Tor had become his home, regardless of the bad food, the stench, and the separation from civilization. What she proposed frightened him beyond measure.

I said, no, Gina. Forget it. Quit pestering me and go feed the other prisoners.

Gina frowned, and from the look on her face Bedhee knew she was not going to give up her plan easily. He shuffled away from her, dragging his lame foot through the moldy straw scattered across the floor of his cell. She couldn't see him: her world was one of dark and darker shadows, her ears and hands replacing her useless eyes. But nonetheless, Bedhee could feel her questioning sightless eyes touch him, poking at his heart and searching his soul.

Forty-eight years. Gina sighed and shook her head. She leaned against the old rusty iron bars and stared into darkness. Haven't you been punished long enough? It was just a silly old box, anyway.

What do you know? You weren't even born yet back then.

Gina raised her eyebrows and cocked her head in that infuriating way women had perfected since the dawn of man then turned toward the direction of his voice and waited expectantly for him to continue.

It wasn't just a box, he said softly; exasperated. I deserve to be locked up here.

I don't like it when you talk like that, Bedhee. Feeling sorry for yourself isn't good for your soul. Believe me, I know. I can't understand why you won't at least try. I've planned everything. It will work, I tell you, and you could spend the rest of your life safe and free! Just you and me, tucked away in a secret forest cottage. No one will suspect a little blind girl of initiating a jail break, she reasoned.

Bedhee sighed and shook his head. Gina, too, was a different type of prisoner within Black Tor's cold prison walls. Her only offense was having been born blind and orphaned. An old woman who Gina had loved and called Ida Kate had taken her in, teaching and nurturing her until Gina had turned five. Then the old lady had caught a fever and died, leaving Gina orphaned once again.

While Gina had sat begging on the street early one morning, a forlorn tow-headed moppet; barefoot, bedraggled, and far too thin, a prison guard stumbled over her. The young man felt guilty about hurting her so he brought her to the prison barracks to feed her and attempt to make amends. She'd never left Black Tor.

Bedhee had watched her grow up in the eight years that followed. He had also noted how careful she had been to make friends with the guards, offering to clean up their messes and run their errands, as well as doing her other chores. She worked for her keep, scrubbing down the insides of the nasty cells once they were vacated, dumping the slop buckets, and cleaning up after visitors. In return she was provided with hot meals and a roof over her head. And she and Bedhee had become close friends.

For Anderro's sake, don't ever speak to me of this again! Bedhee's voice erupted harsher than he really meant it to, and he winced when she jumped, startled. Her eyes filled with tears that she quickly brushed away.

Sorry, Bedhee mumbled, feeling bad about upsetting her. He turned his back to her again. The conversation was going all wrong and he didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to let her down or make her feel bad. But he couldn't, and wouldn't, participate in her plan.

He stared at the four walls surrounding him; familiar walls that encompassed and made up the whole of his world. He stepped away from the bars and Gina intending his movements to put a stop to any further discourse.

No, wait! Don't go away! She reached her hand through the bars, searching the empty air for him.

Bedhee closed his eyes. He hated it when she did that. Her face always wore that puzzled, expectant expression, and her arm was too thin and too pale, her hand far too calloused for a girl of thirteen. He shook his head and reached for her.

Please, Bedhee? She clasped his hand tightly between her own. What do we have to lose? I don't want to spend the rest of my life here. I want to go places, and be with you.

Go places? Be with me?

Bedhee snorted. The land had soured and gone bad since that day he'd lost the King's Box. Something inside that small, box had kept the land safe and fruitful. Something inside that handcarved wooden box, a simple no account box without even a descent lock! had provided the people of Kolibar with a good and peaceful life. And he, Bedhee DeQuano, was responsible for losing it! There wasn't anything to see in the land, except the misery he had caused.

I, I can't go out there, he whispered. His voice sounded frantic even to his own ears. He swallowed a growing lump of fear. Don't you understand? I belong here. I deserve to be here. The people despise me. If anyone were to see me and recognize me, they would tear me limb from limb and I couldn't blame them! I don't want to go out there. Forty-eight years is a long time to be kept away from the world, and so many things have changed. Bedhee sighed. I would be lost out there, he admitted, and released her hand so she wouldn't feel him tremble.

Far over their heads a bell began to toll, its mournful peal muffled by the thick prison walls. The prisoners in the other cells shuffled to their doors, curious.

What is it? Gina asked.

My goddess! Bedhee breathed as he grasped one of the cold metal bars to steady his already trembling hands. I've only heard that bell toll once in my life. A long time ago. When King Douthett's father, King Dipaula died. . . .

A voice rang out at the top of the stairs, This way! A group of men stumbled down the back steps that normally only Gina used when she removed the slop pails from the cells. Dark scarves covered their faces below their eyes, masking their identities. They all brandished swords and cutlasses, daggers or axes; some sort of weapon. They brushed past Gina, the spurs on the heels of their boots throwing off sparks while jingling and clinking on the stone floor as they ran toward a cell further down the row.

Bedhee reached through the narrow bars that separated him from Gina and put his arm around her shoulders, hoping he could protect her. She trembled and he quietly explained, They are not prison guards, Gina. One carries a huge ax. . . .

Bedhee and Gina both jumped when metal struck metal and something clattered onto the stone floor. The screech of a protesting door hinge assured them one of the prisoners had been successfully freed. Bedhee tightened his grip on Gina's shoulder when metal struck metal once again.

The man with the ax is breaking all the locks, Gina, Bedhee said, as he watched with horror. Gina's heart thumped inside her chest and Bedhee wondered if it raced with fear, or with hope.

She leaned back, as close to the bars as she could when heavy footsteps came toward them. The man grunted as he lifted his ax and a soft breeze ruffled Gina's short hair when he swung the weapon downward. Bedhee's arm jumped and Gina flinched, and then his cell door clanged open.

Freedom day, the man growled. Douthett is dead.

While the other prisoners rushed up the stairs Bedhee hesitated, watching them flee. He shook his head and released his protective hold on Gina. His flesh ached where the bars had dug into his upper arm and he rubbed at the stiffness, still undecided and in shock.

Come on! Gina cried softly. Let's go! What are we waiting for? She smiled and extended her slender, pale arm, searching the void for him.

Out of habit, and rather reluctantly, Bedhee reached for her. I don't know, Gina. I don't think . . .

Where ya going with the girl? a raspy voice snarled in the darkness.

Bedhee paused and then turned around slowly. Several feet away, a foul looking man leaned against the dingy stone wall of the corridor. The man chuckled and pushed himself away from the wall, stepping into a faint circle of yellow light given off by an overhead torch. The man raised his hand and scratched at the fleas in his unkempt beard. His long hair was dark and stringy with oil and dirt. His cold black eyes traveled over Gina and Bedhee winced, grateful she could not see the stranger's lust.

I said, where ya going with the girl, old man?

Slowly and deliberately, his boot heels clicking ominously on the stone floor, the prisoner walked toward Bedhee.

Don't you hurt him! Gina cried and moved in front of Bedhee as if to protect him.

I don't want him, the stranger said and spit on the floor. I've watched you for over a month now, you pretty little thing, he drawled, and I'm tired of just watchin'. He lunged forward and grabbed Gina by her upper arm, wrenching her up against his chest while roughly pushing Bedhee back against the wall.

Gina shrieked and swung her free hand upward, trying to slap the stranger's face. Bedhee knew she had never been mistreated, unlike many street orphans, and didn't know how to deal with the situation. He could see her panic rise in the way she struggled, and with it, a wildness that blanked her mind and claimed her soul. She struck out, twisting and turning, flinging herself this way and that, fighting for release. The stranger laughed and his hand tightened around her wrist.

Everything seemed to slow down and Bedhee felt as though he moved through a sea of sucking mud as he pushed himself away from the wall and started toward Gina's attacker.

The man's sharp body odor filled Bedhee's nostrils and he wanted to gag. The man held Gina's arm twisted up behind her back and was pressing against her with his body. Violently, she pushed herself away from him, but her blindness hampered her. The back of her head struck the wall as she flailed at him. The blow stunned her and brought tears to her useless eyes.

Seeing Gina's head hit the wall brought Bedhee out of shock and the slow motionness he was experiencing turned into a maelstrom. Without pausing to think, he grabbed the overhead torch. He lunged at Gina's attacker, thrusting the fiery brand into the man's face. He held it there, his aim steady and true. It only took a few seconds for the man's long greasy hair and beard to catch fire.

The stranger released Gina, then screamed and clutched his face. Bedhee instinctively grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the stairs, moving as fast as he could. Gina still fought though, beating on his arms and shoulders, mistaking him for her assailant. He ignored the sharp pain shooting through his left leg and persisted, shoving Gina forward and up the stairs.

He also fought the bile rising in the back of his throat. He'd never harmed anyone before. His heart thumped dangerously and his entire body began to shake. His legs threatened to give out beneath him as he realized what he had done to the stranger. His stomach turned over when the smell of burning flesh and hair filled his nose. He staggered, fighting down the nausea, and forced his thoughts toward other things.

He had to get Gina safely out of Black Tor, although he had no idea what he would do, or where Gina and he would go, once they reached the upper levels of the prison.

The stairs wound upward for quite a stretch before coming to an abrupt halt. Branching off from a small foyer was a narrow hallway with cells lining the cracked and dirty stone walls. The cells on Bedhee's left, however, had the luxury of barred windows and the hall was washed in brilliant morning sunlight. He squinted to protect his eyes, eyes that were long accustomed to the shadows and dimness of his dungeon cell. Something burst inside his soul.

Memories filled his head and he caught splintered glimpses of himself as a boy; riding his Piebald in the fields, enveloped in the warmth of a golden sun, practicing day after day so he could compete for the coveted position of King's Receiver.

Then came that bright sunny afternoon when he, a mere seventeen years of age, danced his horse out onto the field before King Douthett and a host of onlookers. He and the piebald performing magnificently with grace and style; the horse seeming to know how much winning the event meant to Bedhee. The piebald flew over the course, jumping the highest obstacles with ease, turning the corners with artful precision, and evading dangerous pitfalls and pursuit with simplicity and confidence.

That night, during a special ceremony, resplendent with food, music, and even dancing, Bedhee was knighted King's Receiver. To him had fallen the responsibility of transporting, guarding, and caring for the King's Box.

He shook the memories away. If he had only known what fate had decreed for the land of Kolibar, and himself, that night, he would never have accepted the position.

He shuddered and looked down at the sobbing young girl in his arms. The past was gone and there was nothing he could do about it now. He had to think about the present and get himself and Gina out of Black Tor.

The prison was far too quiet and Bedhee's skin crawled. On the distant upper levels he could hear voices, but he could not tell whether they belonged to the guards or to prisoners. To his right a large wooden door lay torn from its hinges and Bedhee turned Gina in that direction. Come on, let's get out of here, he whispered and drew a deep steadying breath.

Where had everyone run off to? he wondered when he stepped into the dusty courtyard. Why had the guards disappeared?

The prison's inner yard was empty except for a lone mutt who slumbered peacefully in a far corner of the compound. There were no horses tied to the hitching rails, no chickens scratching through the dirt, not even a pig lazing the morning away in a mud hole. The only movement, besides a slight breeze that caused the King's Standard to flutter atop the watch tower, was the reflexive twitch the dog made while it dreamed.

Shush, it's okay now, Bedhee whispered after cautiously tucking Gina and himself behind a large water cistern. He cradled Gina in his arms, smoothing her tangled and sweaty blonde curls as the young girl whimpered, her shoulders heaving with quiet sobs.

His stomach tightened and he swallowed hard. It pierced his heart to see Gina experience such terror. Damn that cutthroat! He hoped to whatever gods Kolibar worshiped these days that he'd caused that wretch some real damage! He suddenly wished the man stood before him at this very moment so he could hurt him again.

He blinked, startled by the intensity of his anger. He thought his ability to feel such deep emotion had been capped and put away a long time ago. Forty-some long years ago. He shuddered and pushed the disquieting feelings away, intending to examine them later, and peeked