The Chained King and the Castle of Mystery

1.

Not all students knew what they want in life; those who did eventually learned that with enough hard work and determination, one should be closer to success than failure. And Steven Risd believed so, too. With a highlighter in one hand and the chemistry book opened on his desk, he read eagerly, marking the important passages in yellow. High grades meant a scholarship into the medical school, and being prepared was Steven’s only hope to make that dream come true.

He gazed out the window. A plain blue sky stretched from above. Wind swaying the pine trees underneath. The image of the Big City flashed in his mind’s eye, with all its reflective skyscrapers, its fine shopping malls, its subways and metros and the buzz of people from different sects flowing like a nonstop river. It had an intriguing taste to it. That was the future, Steven mused. It lay in the capital.

But then a metallic noise burst in and took Steven by total surprise. Birds fluttered away into the sky.

The clanging returned, louder and disturbing, sparking a change in mood. A man started shouting: How many times have I said not to leave the metal rods loose!

A quarrel grew outside, and the rumbling engine of a tractor joined in, followed by the reassembling of metallic rods. Steven sighed. His educational appetite would wane if the noise kept on coming. Getting into that mood took a while and lots of mental preparation, especially when procrastinating with something else seemed more fun and exciting. He craned his head outside the window and spotted the workers. They yelled as if it was their duty to do so. A man welded a huge steel board over a gate, trickling golden sparks onto the ground. Steven gazed away. There was no end to this. To him, this morning seemed beautiful and conducive for some intellectual activity. What a waste it would be if he stayed in this place.

He packed his book in a bag and rushed downstairs.

His mother was sifting flour into a bowl at the kitchen. The voice of the morning broadcast filled their space with life. His four-year-old sister sat her doll on a desk; dressing it in new fancy dresses.

Steven lowered the radio volume. Morning mom. He went right to the fridge.

Good morning, honey. Pancakes should be ready soon.

No thanks. Steven pulled some cheese and turkey slices from the fridge. Got to go. I won’t be home for lunch either. And he started preparing a sandwich.

Busy busy, where are you off to? she walked up to him with hands smeared in white.

Anyplace away from that noise.

His mother gave no comment on that subject. Before I forget, she passed him the mustard. Your dad asked if you could join him at four o’clock to meet a client who wants a new cupboard with some special electronics, or whatever you guys do…anyways, he said you would know.

Yeah, sure, I know about that. Thanks for reminding me. Steven licked his fingers. He liked the taste.

Listen. I know you have your own plans. So it’s okay if you don’t want to go. I’ll tell him.

No. I really want to. It’s a nice project.

Okay…and yeah, Peter stopped by. He said that they would be rehearsing for the play by the lake.

Oh shoot. Today! Steven sighed. Fine. I might stop by there later. My God, so many things already.

At the end of every year, a selected group of graduates performed the Final Play. A play that should—as the school preferred to describe it—wow Amberhill and get the newspapers going. They selected the finest. And this year’s play was Shakespeare’s most beloved tragedy: Romeo and Juliet. Steven was Mercutio. He never thought he had part of Mercutio in him: that strange, witty and uncontrollable fellow. The man was too much to handle, but after spending weeks molding himself to become Mercutio, his wild imagination joined in, and Mercutio grew in Steven so much that Steven felt this character was influencing him somehow.

But the best part of it all was Clarice. She was his Juliet, and Steven found her adorable. The thought of her being there was refreshing. He had skipped some of their rehearsal sessions already to prepare for the exams. He had taken things quite seriously, perhaps some time off would be better. Act normal, like all the other fellows at school? He did not know if that would be the best way to go at this stage. He packed everything and rushed towards the door.

Don’t be late for dinner. his mother’s loud voice came from the other side.

I won’t! Steven closed the door behind him. The Big City, he thought, there lay his dream. To live there, to become a doctor, and live the way the people in the Big City live. He took in a fresh breath to celebrate that thought. He had to get the highest marks to reach it.

The piercing noise of steel cut through his ears. The magnificent factory and its metallic towers loomed over their small house like a stainless steel giant. The golden sparks still trickled, and the loud shouts resumed. Three years putting up with such a sight, three long and tedious years. And yet there were two more years before it would be fully operational: Olden’s factory. The newspapers gave this factory a dedicated section. The promise was this: the billionaire’s factory would produce clean-energy products and sell them for half the market price. This would put most companies who had invested in their non-clean products in a critical situation. The business model would redefine all structures, but everyone doubted the reliability of Olden’s proposal.

Steven found it hard to believe that a businessman would one day save the world without pocketing a hefty profit. This project would start more of its likes soon. There must be a business twist somewhere. All businessmen were magicians with numbers. They knew how to twist things up, but the calculation required too many brain cells to die. Steven found it best to leave that thought alone. He did not have a brain for business at all, and it assured him that leaving this place was the right decision for him.

He got his bicycle out from the backyard and fled away. Wherever he went, that screeching sound haunted him, like wax stuck in his ears. Always clanking in his head, so he sped on, turning to the only spot that could save his day—to where a blue lake mirrored the sky, and the oak trees stretched high, and the squirrels scurried along the branches, and the atmosphere hosted a symphonic play from nature. It was a place in the Eastern Forest: the most peaceful place on earth.

Soon he was at the bridge—which connected Amberhill to the Eastern Forest. But signs and road fences blocked the way, and a nonstop flow of trucks passed through into Amberhill. The workers blocking the road advised Steven to take the other bridge—five miles away. That wasn’t a good start of the day.

He pedaled for a shortcut, and slunk into the woods to his side instead. The sunrays barely found a way to pierce through the densely packed trees. They rendered the forest dim, as if the day had sped forward to evening time. Steven stopped, brushing some sweat of his forehead. He checked his surroundings, but noticed something out of place.

He took a quick look around him. Where is this?

A sea of autumn elm leaves scattered in all directions, dead from the chill in the wind. They lay between many identical trees. It was hard to orient himself.

Puzzled and a bit concerned, Steven walked back in the direction he’d come from, but he ended in the same spot, as if he was locked in a loop. He couldn’t have just lost his way. He had just entered. Besides, wandering through the woods was one of his greatest pleasures. How could he lose his way now? Something was different.

He propped his bicycle against a tree and sat next to it with his bag on his lap. He took out his sandwich, maybe it would fuel his memory and stomach. It was still cold, and it gave no memory, just the taste of turkey and cheese; it was a delightful combination, though. Somehow, being alone in such a place had a strange effect on him, like being taken to a secluded inner place where he was the king and his thoughts were his kingdom. He used to feel the same whenever he stayed back at home, or read a story or watched a movie, but such moments rarely ever happened anymore…thanks to the factory and its owner: Olden.

Ever since Steven had been a child, he’d spent his time watching his father busy at the workshop, hammering nails into wood. Creating shapes that had never been made. He often believed his father was an artist. There was a strange sense of commitment and precision about his father’s work that intrigued Steven. He was an expert carpenter. His workmanship was unmatched. He was someone who invented things rather than just building the basics. But, Steven’s heart lay somewhere else. His father in his turn took a profession different than his own father, who was a doctor. It seemed as if history was repeating itself once again. Steven aimed to walk in his grandfather’s footsteps. And although he knew how happy his father would be if Steven joined him in their business; his father urged Steven to pursue his own goals.

It’s your life, Steven, his father had told him. Follow your dreams.

But, Steven felt he would drag along on this journey a sense of guilt and obligation that he would never be able to bear. He often believed that it was a struggle to choose what to do in life. Still at this age, when most of his friends wanted to live the moment, and cared about the ongoing trends in their present time, Steven cared less about such matters. Peter told him to wing it, but Steven couldn’t just let things happen. He felt lost without a plan. The problem was that there were hundred of possibilities, all with an equal share of good and bad odds. And each route conceived a thousand more possibilities. Planning wasn’t a bulletproof thing here, and to come to the right choice was simply difficult. This part of deciding what to do in life was unfair. It was like following an unknown road. But, he knew in his heart, though, medicine could be a good match.

Looking up, he saw the trees stood so tall; stretching to where only those with wings could reach. The quietness of the planet came down through the rustling leaves, and swept in such thoughts, a sudden movement pulled Steven back to his surroundings. A bush rustled not far from him, and then, a squirrel scurried out from between the leaves.

Hey, Steven smiled.

The squirrel stopped in its tracks and watched. Blinking.

Steven tore a small piece off his sandwich and threw it few feet away. Go on, have some, He gestured his invitation.

The squirrel snapped out of its stance, picked up the piece, and scurried away like a thief being chased.

Such reaction got Steven laughing. He kept his gaze on the rodent until the squirrel disappeared behind the bushes. Time to go, I’ll rehearse with everyone, he thought. What was I thinking, Clarice is there and I want to study?

Now, there was a sudden urge to return back at once. The last piece of his meal filled his mouth, and as he munched, he picked his bag and dragged his bicycle along. Wandering through the trees got him back to nowhere. Going north and south did not change anything, either. The trees were all alike. And nothing led to anywhere. His disappointment grew bigger and bigger as his search proved pointless, until, as he wandered a little further, a whooshing sound brought a smile to his face. It was the sound of hope, coming to him as running water, humming through the woods.

The river, Steven couldn’t believe his ears.

The sound grew louder. It came from behind some tall bushes far off toward his right. He loped on, and instead of a river, a glittering spring, oval and small, lay ahead of him. To his surprise, there was a waterfall flowing from the heart of an oak tree that stood thick and short. The tree’s branches bent over a clear spring, tickling the water surface with its leaves. A beam of light tore down through the leaves, drawing a beautiful scene.

As Steven looked around, he glimpsed something blurry hovering in the distance. He cocked his head for a clearer view. And on the other side of the spring, a cottage appeared. It sat under the shades of the oak branches, and it seemed as if the cottage had just materialized. Small in size, cozy in appearance, the place had a strange charm to it. It was adorned with garlands of flowers and gems—like amber and emerald. All notions of evil, sorrow, hatred, and wickedness seemed distant, as if the place had come out of a fairy tale.

I’ve never seen a cottage in this area before. I must have wandered really far. I better ask for directions.

He propped his bicycle against the nearest tree and came to the teal entrance. It had a bronze knob and knocker that glinted in the straying light. He tapped the bronze knocker gently, sending a sharp thud into the cottage. Now, he waited.

No answer came.

He knocked twice more. Each tap sharper than the earlier one. And yet, no one answered.

Bummer. No one is there? Dammit. He sighed.

As he wondered what to do, he spotted the keyhole under the doorknob, glinting faintly as if its rim were made of real gold. He brushed his fingers against the door, feeling it. Its well-polished texture was surprising. What he found resembled the superb workmanship of a professional carpenter. Maybe as good or even better than his father.

He knelt and felt the sleek and gilded keyhole, then out of sheer curiosity—and the desire to go in to inspect further—Steven brought his eyes closer to the keyhole, and just like that, in a split second and before his dark eyes had peeked a glimpse of what lay behind the door, the knob turned, and the door lock ticked and opened. 

2.

That was startling. Steven stared at the knob for some seconds. From that tiny glimpse through the keyhole, it opened?

The door glided some inches inward and a faint glow seeped out. Steven peered in. He saw some candles burning wax and shadows dancing on the floor, the likes of which came from a fireplace. A strange feeling told him to walk away, but he often felt that in places which stimulated his curiosity. He could not turn his back now. He stepped in, careful with his moves. He came to what looked like a parlor, where the ornamental walls hung dried bellflowers, with many wilted lilies and fresh red roses. All nailed to the wall and organized in separate groups. A brisk breeze flowed in from the opened window, bringing the scent of daisies, peppermint, and chamomile, and a hint of burnt wood. Somehow the atmosphere relaxed him, and all the worries were gone. A memory of himself dabbling with herbs in his grandfather’s herbal shop resurrected in his mind.

To his side a rug lay underneath a red velvet sofa. It faced a fireplace that had a fire going, and that’s when the shock of surprise made Steven bristle in his place.

Standing between an oak cabinet and the fireplace was a beautiful lady. Confident in her stance. Elegant in her gown. She seemed in her late thirties. Her hair hung over her forehead, shining a yellowish glow as if it were made of strands of gold. Her hair brushed her darker eyebrows, while her long teal gown sparkled with freckles of purple gems, making the gown look majestic and stunning.

For some reason, Steven expected a man—a carpenter maybe. But he was startled by finding a woman. He even tried to stare at some place other than her eyes, but he couldn’t. Those vivid doe eyes drew him closer into the woman’s inviting smile, as if she were his lost love and soul mate.

Caught in such a situation, after allowing for his curious self to walk him into her home without permission, Steven hoped for some grim reaction from the lady so that he could flee, but her smile said otherwise.

Hello young man. What a curious boy you are, her tone was pleasant. She rested the flask on the marbled mantelpiece and stepped forward. Is looking through someone’s keyhole a personal hobby? she asked with no smirk or mocking tone.

Heat surrounded Steven’s body as if the temperature rose at once. Actually, He itched his chin. Not really, he offered a shy smile to pledge on his behalf. I’m terribly sorry, he added, meaning it. Never in his life had he sweated like now. Drops on his neck, down his forehead, others stuck on his back. He could feel them all over.

But the woman did not seem offended at all. Don’t worry, she said. Sit, please. Make yourself comfortable. She tapped the red sofa.

I don’t want to bother you. I should be going really.

Oh, pity. That is alright then, There was disappointment in her eyes.

Umm, he said, trying his best not to sound crude. I actually lost my way. What a drag he was, saying that.

Oh, not to worry. I can help you with that, where do you want to go?

Well, I was heading toward the Eastern Forest, but now, I guess it’s too late for that, so I just want to find my way back to town.

The way back is simple. She pointed at the door—which was still opened. Head in that direction and you will find your town.

That’s it! Steven marveled, surprised to how simple that was. That sounds easy. Thanks!

You can also head in this direction, she added by pointing at the fireplace, and you will find the Eastern Forest. It’s close by, too.

Steven kept staring at the fireplace. He couldn’t believe it. Was I that close?

I really appreciate it. Thanks! he was overwhelmed. He shrugged his pack up on his shoulder, and smiled for farewell. Well…

What’s you name?

Steven stopped. Steven, Steven Risd. he said.

Nice name. I am Elisa. It’s nice to meet you. Do you live around here?

Steven nodded. Yes. I live across from Blue Earth Rock factory.

The woman kept quiet. Her eyes were smiling. Her face told him she didn’t know about it, and in that brief moment, he wondered how anyone couldn’t have heard about the most well-known project in the world.

But then a faint sound grew from the other room, like a teapot whistling its ready alarm. The woman’s eyes opened wide. They were filled with mirth. How lovely. Would you care for some tea, Steven? She looked excited. You can tell me all about that factory. There is still time before dusk.

Steven itched his chin, feeling his face warm again. He kept his eyes on the wooden floor. It wouldn’t be polite, now, to refuse her invitation after helping him and welcoming him in her house.

The impatient teapot whistled for mercy. Sure, why not. Steven nodded.

Lovely. Thank you. Just a moment please. And as she walked away, Steven saw something else that set the woman apart from the rest of Amberhill’s women. Her hair was so long that it almost reached her feet. He sat on the red sofa, and settled his pack down between his legs. The teapot’s whistle subsided, and the sound of plates clattering burst out instead.

Now, approaching footsteps came from the other side. Elisa’s shadow grew smaller on the warm floor until she was back, bringing her smile along. Her cheerful presence charmed the place.

She kept the silver tray on the side table. The teapot and cups, with a bowl of sugar cubes, were well arranged. She sat on a backless chair, pressed against the wall, gurgled some tea in both cups and dropped two sugar cubes in one of them. I prepare my tea a bit sweet. How do you like it?

Sweet is good.

She did the same for the other cup, dipped a small spoon in, and offered it to Steven.

Thank you. He picked up the cup with two hands as if it were a bowl. Its exterior felt like it was made of seashell and its inside was sleek and blue. The thought of drinking all this tea made him feel famished already. Nice cup. He puckered his lips and took a sip of what tasted different than any tea he had before. There was mint and chamomile, mixed together with another flavor he couldn’t recognize. He liked it and nodded in admiration. A bit too sweet for him, though.

But somehow, now that she was quiet, silence crept in, and anxiety sneaked into Steven. It was awkward not to have anything to say. He tried to act normal, but his body language gave him away. He looked ahead. Smiled. Took a sip. Smiled again. Stared at his bag. Took another sip. What should I say?...Oh yeah, she wanted to know about the factory.

How did you lose your way? Elisa said.

That was a different subject. But why not, Steven thought. Relief found its way back to him. Well, he started, I was trying to reach the Eastern Forest from the bridge, but it was closed. So I decided to go around through the woods, you know, a shortcut, but I lost my way, and here I am.

It must be something urgent that made you take the woods to get to the Eastern Forest, then?

Not really. Steven thought for a moment. Might be a good idea to share a little. It could build a good conversation until the tea ended. I go there often, to read.

Oh, That answer surprised her. What do you read?

Steven straightened his back, flattered a bit. Well, nothing fancy, just some school books. Today I wanted to prepare for the final exams. Still time, but there is a lot to prepare for. I need to be ready.

You like studying then.

Steven choked as the tea went down his throat. No. Not at all. He laughed while coughing again. God, no. Me liking to study, of course no, come on, no, no, it’s a drag to be honest. But, you know, studying is studying, you know, you got to do it. As mom says: if you want to get to what you want, you have to study hard for it. Hard work pays off.

So you know what you want, interesting, she sounded amazed, And what do you want?

Without giving it another thought, Steven was proud to share. I want to be a doctor, he said. I really need to do well on the exams. I want to get a scholarship so that I can go to the Big City and study medicine.

Elisa did not say anything. She watched Steven as if he had said something astonishing. He felt embarrassed now, like he was being put under the microscope. Her eyes went to his cup, and said, Can I ask you why?

Steven’s first impulse came with confusion. Why? he mumbled. He cleared his throat. That was a surprising question. Well. He thought for a moment. Um…hmm. He took another sip, and pondered on the matter as the woman waited with the cup between her hands. What a tough question, he pursed his lips, thinking hard.

For some strange reason, Steven couldn’t phrase his answer. To him it was more about following his intuition than having a plan. Well. I know I would love doing it, he began with what he knew was true. My grandfather was great at it, and I admired him a lot. I want to be like him. I know I would love to be a doctor. It’s my dream now. I really don’t have a main reason, I am following my heart on this one.

The woman, though, never took her eyes off him. They burned with curiosity. She stood up and walked toward the opened window. Don’t you want to know why you are so in love with this dream? she asked, now facing him. Don’t you want to know what makes your heart wants it?

That same confusion returned. Those were unexpected questions and hard ones. Somehow they made him feel vulnerable. I don’t know. I guess I would like to know, yes. But, well, hmmm, I really don’t know. I guess it’s always better to follow what you enjoy than what you don’t. He wanted to escape the answer in anyway possible, now. But his answer did not brighten her. Her face told him there should be something else.

Is this a trick question? Steven itched his thigh.

Not everyone can become what they want. But very few are lucky enough to know why they want it. It is a hard question. I know. Only fools could say they know the real answer to it immediately. Her words turned Steven curious and uncertain at the same time. But, learning the answer can be fun, my dear Steven. Sometimes it needs luck. And luck is a good friend to have along, she pointed, Luck does not come to anyone, only to the curious ones. And you seem to be a lucky fellow. It is your passion that brought you here. You are a curious person. So tell me, do you have other curious hobbies?

Steven understood the words, but the meaning felt a bit vague. Lacking something. I enjoy working with dad at the workshop. I think I like acting now. I also like reading stories. Yes, I like doing that a lot. I’m not sure if that answers your question, though. He gave a faint laugh.

What kind of stories do you read?

"All kinds. I read anything