The Key (A Fairytale) — Chapter 1: One More Journey (Part 2)

My father timidly put his hand on my shoulder. "I am sorry that I have not been able to make you happy, Son. I have tried. Lord I have tried." He looked into my eyes searching for some kind of recognition, but I gave him none.
"It's just that since your mother died," he continued, "I have been a bit lost, as you probably know, and raising you has been difficult for me, I just don't know how to do it. I am sorry. I love you more than anything."

I slowly, and deliberately, removed his old hand from my shoulder.

He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking down. "I wish you could have known her. She was a lot like you," he said, lost in memories for a moment.

"At any rate," he continued, "I have known the blacksmith for many years now, too, and he is a good man, son. He has always been honorable and truth telling, putting everybody's welfare before his own. He knew that he was risking his life, coming here like this, and he did it out of love for you and conce
about your unhappiness, not for the cart of gold. You must believe me. You must not do this to him?"

My father had proved to be completely inept at raising his only child, and he was trying my patience once more. Other than my eyebrows rising almost imperceptibly, my face remained expressionless. "You question my decision, father?" I replied, staring at him.

"Please," he said, "the blacksmith's wife is with child, and you know well enough that visitors are never permitted in the dungeons. He will never know his son or daughter, and it will be impossible for his wife to make ends meet without him."

He was pleading. He was such a weak man. I slowly turned away, smiling to myself because I knew what would make me happy; when my father was dead and I was king! He stood behind me for a moment longer, and then slowly walked back to his chambers to do whatever bungling fathers and decrepit old monarchs do.

I went to bed as usual that night, quickly falling asleep in my mammoth four-poster feather bed in the midst of delicious thoughts of how I controlled my father once more. A little after midnight, however, I was abruptly awakened. Something was sitting on my footboard!

I hurriedly lit a candle, my hands shaking, because nothing could have made it past my dedicated guards. And my windows, two-hundred feet high on the ramparts, were unapproachable.

The candle exposed a smiling face surrounded by blackness. Tall and skinny, with bony hands and a sharp chin, he was wearing a black robe and wide-brimmed, pointy hat ado
ed with stars and a crescent moon that danced in a pitch-black sky. It was a sorcerer, an old one, and one that I had never seen before.

"Heh, heh, heh," was all that he muttered.

"What the hell are you doing in my room? Guards, guards! I yelled, jumping out of bed and running for my sword.

"Heh, heh, heh," again.

Where were my guards? I drew my sword and put it against his neck. It went right through as if nothing was there!

"Please," he said, "sit down. Your guards aren't coming, and your sword is useless."

I sat down.

"My dear prince," he began, "you have everything your heart desires, except for what you truly crave. You see, only one thing will in fact make you happy, and I can grant that one thing,"

"Kill my father?" I said jokingly. As self-centered as I was, I couldn't have my own father killed, even though he was standing between my destiny and me.

The sorcerer only smiled.

I rubbed my eyes to make sure this wasn't just a dream; but the sorcerer was still there, and he was indeed impressive. Then I threatened him, as I had threatened others, "Don't you realize that if you fail to make me happy, you will die in the dungeons?" But this time the threat came out like a whimper, subdued and cautious and not typically strident as my threats had always been.

He began to laugh, louder and louder, his eerie voice echoing throughout the spire and shaking the room, until I had to grab a bedpost to keep from falling to the floor. He looked at me with coal-black eyes that blazed like fire, "You don't understand, young man, no dungeon will ever hold me. But you - you are a different story! You are incarcerated in your prison of desires and I am your only hope."

As if he had said too much, the sorcerer quickly regained his composure and became quiet for a moment. Then, in a soothing, persuasive tone, he continued, "I could have your father killed, and it would look like an accident. But I can do far better than that."

I looked closely at this cunning individual. He was powerful, but could I trust him? Did I have a choice?

"You are not ready to take over the kingdom," he declared. "You have not proven yourself to your subjects, and as a matter of fact, they hate you. Soon, you would be betrayed. But I can turn common sand into endless rooms of gold for you, more than you could ever imagine, and with this enormous amount of gold, you could equip and train the most powerful army ever assembled. Then, you could lead this great army to victory by conquering every kingdom in the land, and when you finally conquer the last kingdom, your subjects will love and revere you, and you will finally have the one and only thing that will truly make you happy. Power!"

Of course! Power! It's what I had always thirsted for. I knew that I was destined for more than this princely role, this insignificant excuse for royalty that kept me so restrained. Yes . . . I could picture myself a great warrior leading my vast army to uncompromising victory, conquering all the kingdoms and showing my feeble father how it should be done.

In the blink of an eye, I became obsessed with this idea of power. "Well done!" I exclaimed. "You have permission to begin changing sand into gold, and while you are filling the bottom rooms of the castle, I will begin making myself worthy to lead my men to victory. I will become the fiercest warrior the realm has ever known!"

My guards were rushing up the stairs. What caused their delay? Did time somehow stand still for a moment?

The sorcerer said no more, just smiled faintly and disappeared into the thin night air.

That night, sleeping was out of the question, as in my mind I led my army to victory. But I would need that great white steed that I imagined in my visions, the fastest and most powerful horse in the kingdom.

Early the next morning, the royal stables were deserted. A mist was rising from the warm hay piled alongside the stables as the stablemaster slowly raked out the stalls.

"Hello in the stables," I shouted, with my usual authority.

He looked up, disinterested, but laid down his rake and slowly began walking toward me. After a few steps, he realized who was waiting and his gate improved appreciably as did his demeanor. Breaking into a nervous smile, he called out, "Sire, how nice of you to visit. I must apologize about the conditions because . . ."

"Shut up!" I called back; I didn't have time for this small talk, "I need the best charger in the land."

He glanced over at a corral, and then quickly glanced back at me, apparently unsure of whether or not he wanted to get involved with this.

"Let's go," I said, and began walking toward the coral that he glanced at. He obediently fell in step behind.

"Sire, there is a magnificent white colt over there that is unlike any I have ever seen, but I must warn you; he is dangerous, very dangerous, and I wouldn't want be responsible for . . ."

"Shut up! . . . Shut up! Just tell me where he came from, you imbecile!"

"I am sorry, Sire, I didn't mean . . ."

I shot a ste
glance at the stablemaster.

"What I meant to say Sire, if I may, is that an old man in torn robes, quite a sight I must say, brought him here a few days ago and asked if I would stable the horse until a person of royalty came for him. I laughed at him at the time, but the old man did have very strange eyes, hmm . . . and I could see that the horse was unusual, so I did as he requested. Did the beggar come by and see you?"

"No, you idiot! Nobody came by to see me! Are you sure this is the best horse?"

"Oh yes, Sire, if you have the courage to mount him. Oh, I'm sorry, I know that you have the courage, what I meant to say was that if you ride him, you will see that there will never be a match of his speed and power. But Sire, he is extremely strong, so please be very careful. It would not be good if you got hurt at my stables. Oh, and Sire, the beggar mentioned that the colt's name is Conqueror."

This groveling stablemaster was getting on my nerves, "Get out of here. Go do your shoveling or whatever it is people like you do. Now!"

"Yes, Sire," the stablemaster mumbled, as he backed away bowing toward the stablesn

The horse and I looked each other over. Neither of us moved. He was apparently of northern stock, a huge horse with powerful shoulders built to run like the wind. He cautiously eyed me with his ears laid back, and then issued a clear warning by slowly and deliberately pounding the turf with his right front hoof.

I slowly moved closer, and then slipped cautiously into the corral. He could kill me easily now, but he was exciting, imposing, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. Suddenly, my fear gave way to an extraordinary feeling, a feeling much like the sensations I had when fighting with the jailor, an underlying familiarity about something, something that I couldn't put my finger on but it was as if I had known this horse from somewhere, some place, sometime in the remote past.

And while I was pondering this, the colt began walking deliberately toward me!

I stood perfectly still. He began walking faster until he began to trot, coming directly for me. I glanced toward the corral gate but I'd never make it.

Then he surprisingly slowed to a walk, and then nonchalantly sauntered over as if he had known me forever! He looked at me for a moment; he looked directly into my eyes as if he were human, and then he became just a horse again, nuzzling my hand and looking for a treat. Despite the fact that this whole episode was rather disquieting, I had definitely found my charger.

The stabelmaster had Conqueror outfitted by the time I arrived again later in the day, and complimented me on how good I looked on the horse. I almost made a mental note to do something nice for the stablemaster, but of course, I didn't. Doing nice things comes from weakness. (To be continued)