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This page contains the draft of a possible fantasy story I was thinking of writing. Notice how I wrote my name inverted, just to be different. Some things never change, hey. This page is part of a larger website, the Coinquay web presence. Click the coinquay graphic to return to the main page. You can also reach the main page with the url http://ey.to.hey.to/. Send comments and greetings to leuce@geocities.com. Please sign my guestbook [ Sign here ], or read what others have said [ Read here ]. |
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... Acolyte
Murray Samuel 1993-09-24 Basically this. This king comes in through these gates on his horse. The crowd rises in unison. He slowly rides his steed down a grassy overgrown lane that was once a lush garden. A priest awaits him and takes the horse's reigns. Two acolytes help the king off his horse. They walk beside him, taking him to this altar. There is an ancient rock on which he goes to stand. The acolytes take off his white robe, revealing his traditional warrior's dress : a little dress, and a torq. As if at a sign the crowd downs to their one knees, and looks expectantly at the altar. The king waits for a few minutes, then kneels down, and kisses the floor. The priest comes and stand in front of him. With a flick of his fingers the whole assemble hall alights with torches hanging from the sides of the walls, and even on the non-existent roof there seems the phantoms of candles on lampthings. The priest looks up at the sky and utters a few incomprehensible words. He then turns around and faces the altar. He begins to chant, and with him, hesitantly, the whole assembly. Only the king is silent, sweat on his face. Suddenly a big fire lights up from behind the altar, and everybody hushes that instant. The priest holds out his hands at the fire, and from nowhere a sword comes into being on his hands. He turns and faces the king. "Rise!" he commands, and everybody but the king rises. The priest then proceeds to knight the king in a ritual fashion. One of his acolytes standing near hands him a flask (vial) of oil, which the priest takes and smashes on the king's head. Then the king rises, and turns around looking at the crowd. A long silence comes. The king's tutor, who has not entered yet, now comes in through the doors. He and the king starts walking to each other, to where the king's robe still lies on the floor. The tutor takes the robes, and hangs it around the king's shoulders. From his pocket he then takes a ring, and chants over it, and puts it on the king's finger. Immediately a crown starts to form on the king's head, and the crowd spontaneously begins to cheer. The new king has been crowned, after so many centuries of civil war. Distant drums is heard, but it is not yet time for the musicians to play. Then the earth starts to tremble, and everybody turns into a panic -- they are inside an ancient castle, and a minor quake can kill all within those walls. Some people run for the outside, some run to the altar, some run to protect their king. Then the walls on either side collapse, and the gable falls onto those who ran outside, as they run through the gate. When the dust settles, less than a third of the people are still alive, and only one of the acolytes. The priest was dead, and nine tenths of the warband as well. Then the king weeps for his domain. He cries for long, and then he rises, and the people look at him expectantly. "We will build this kingdom again, before the darkness comes, and we will grow again, like the Old Kingdom." And everybody nodds. Then they leave through the tall Ash doors that still stands within it's framework. The acolyte, last to leave the place, silently closes the doors behind them, and turns to the altar to cry. |
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(c) 1999 Samuel Murray |
