The Key (A Fairytale) — Chapter 1: One More Journey (Part 4)

My campaign rained death and destruction upon the realm for fourteen long years. I was a young man when I first led my troops into battle, but now I was a seasoned warrior, feared throughout the land, and although the war had cost me an eye, and countless friends including my general, victory was near. The last kingdom was about to fall, and I was about to fulfill my dream of becoming the most famous warrior in the history of Ayatana.
The massive devastation was well worth it, because now my subjects respected me, and no one could have felt more powerful tha
I at this moment. Yet, strangely, happiness evaded me. The sorcerer promised me that power is the answer to my discontent, but now that I had unbridled power, not only was I unhappy, but a disquieting, unexpected guilt began seeping into my soul.

The guilt was not unlike that mystical change that turned me into a fighter years ago, but in an odd way, it was more subtle. I began really seeing the mayhem I unleashed – the death and destructio
I had caused. This unexpected awareness was accompanied by an extraordinary burning in my soul, something quite foreign that I couldn't explain, almost a yearning of some kind. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

The sun was setting one afte
oon in a perfectly still meadow where we were bivouacked. It was one of those evenings where everything was unmoving, motionless, almost in an anticipation of some kind, because suddenly a yell from a forward scout abruptly pierced the tranquility, alerting us that a rider was approaching. We had experienced a few attempts lately by the enemy – courageous, solitary riders disguising themselves, attempting to get close enough to kill me. But we were prepared.

The unidentified horseman was riding hard toward the encampment, and as he swung toward the meadow, my bowmen took his mount out from beneath him, but this didn't stop the intruder; he began running directly toward me on foot. A flurry of arrows from the powerful crossbows soon took him down as well, only paces from where I was standing. I approached the man cautiously but could see that he was defenseless, and when I was close enough to see his face, I suddenly recognized who he was; a courier from Ayatana disguised to get through enemy lines. He raised his head, "The king is dying," he whispered.
I swung onto Conqueror's back in full battle gear, and raced for the castle. The great horse ran relentlessly the entire night and most of the following day to carry me to my father's side, and all the while, I was haunted by the many unkind words I had spoken to the old king. Whatever was going on deep inside was gaining momentum, because I felt as if I was nearing a breaking point, a threshold, and not at all feeling as I thought I would after conquering what my father refused to violate.

My feelings toward my father were changing. Something unusual and baffling was going on deep inside; feelings resembling remorse, feelings that were as alien to me as warfare was those many years ago. I had never felt these things before, and therefore didn't know what they meant, or where they were coming from.

The guards recognized me immediately, lowering the drawbridge and granting me access. As soon as the gates opened, I rode my exhausted horse directly into the main hall, then down the long corridor, up the steps, and into my father's bedroom where he lay close to death with the entire court surrounding him. I leapt from my horse and pointed to the door, and in a tone that could not be misinterpreted, yelled, "OUT!" After which everybody immediately rushed into the hallway, taking Conqueror and quietly closing the door behind them.

The room reflected a dying king; subdued, deafeningly quiet, deadeningly tidy. I sat down and held his frail, bony hand, so old and veined, with pasty skin as thin as paper; surely, my strong body would never come to this. The old man's dull eyes flickered for a moment; he recognized me and tried to speak, but death was imminent; all he could manage were shallow gasps. His breathing was sporadic now, and at times non-existent.

I remained with him for what seemed like a long time, and was surprised when the old king whispered something – but I couldn't hear him.

"What did you say?" I asked the old man. But he only stared up at the ceiling.

Then, with great effort he managed to whisper, "I am so sorry."

"What are you sorry about," I demanded.

But he didn't respond.

"What are you sorry about?" I shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

What was I doing, shaking my fragile, dying father like this? Why was I so angry, especially toward him? Or was I angry with myself?

Startled, he murmured, "That you can't be happy."

And suddenly, something hit me in the pit of my stomach – I now knew that the last fourteen years were wasted, and all the killing was useless – I was no further along than when I was a lonely child.

I became mortified, my face lined with anguish, as I tried to reconcile years of selfishness. I wanted to say that I was sorry, for everything, but I couldn't find it in my heart to express even those simple words to a dying father.

He looked up at me, and haltingly whispered, "My son. I love you. I give you my life now; it's all that I have left." And that was the last thing he said.

For a long time after he drew his last breath, I watched the artery beat in his neck, and then it became still as well. There is something dreadfully final about death.

So it was over. And absolute power was now mine. I had achieved my final objective; supreme ruler of the entire land. But I felt no happiness, as the sorcerer promised. The sorcerer was a liar; all I felt was disillusionment. Why had he lied? Why did he put me through all of this? Power could never be the way to any happiness, let alone lasting happiness. This thirst for power had not only cost me an eye, but the lives of my closest comrades as well, and the weight of my own kingdom's responsibilities was now hanging heavy on my shoulders, let alone the many kingdoms I had conquered. I had made countless enemies - enemies sworn to vengeance.

My head reeled. I felt terribly forsaken and alone, as if everything had been taken away from me. I found myself in an unfamiliar state of confusion and bewilderment.

Suddenly, my mind became crystal clear for one brief, astonishing moment, similar to the moment when I stepped into the ring with the commander. But this moment was different; this moment was charged with greatness while the other seemed only a temporary respite. This time I saw my entire life unfold before me in one momentary flash, and I understood, if only for a moment, that a lifetime of deep insecurities cause insane ambition and a thirsting desire for dominance. And I understood how this was responsible for the terrible destructio
I had caused.

And suddenly, . . . I didn't know where to turn.

"You will never find happiness outside of yourself, my prince; the key can only be found within." It was the blacksmith's words suddenly flashing in my mind. They inexplicably taunted me, haunted me. I ran into the hallway, "Summon the jailor," I shouted.

"I'm right here, Sire," he replied, and stepped out of the crowd.

I pointing to the bedroom and announced, "My father is dead, I am your king. Bring the blacksmith here immediately."

The jailor didn't move. He didn't say anything, just stared at the floor.

"My old friend, did you not hear your king? Get me the goddamned blacksmith."

Nobody in the crowd even breathed. Their heads were down, afraid of what was about to occur. Visibly shaken, the jailor approached and kneeled with his head bowed. "I beg your forgiveness, Sire, I must inform you that the blacksmith is dead."

"What?" I screamed. I reached for the grip of my sword. "What do you mean he's dead? How did he die? Who is responsible for this?"

I looked around in panic. I was lost. What was I to do now? I drew my sword, looked at it, and then sheathed it again. What was wrong with me? What had I become?

"It was nobody's fault, my king," the Jailor quietly continued, trying to explain to his old friend, an old friend that he knew was in trouble. "Let me assure you of that," he said, "and he died peacefully, Sire, for during his many years in the dungeons he had become a symbol of hope, winning the hearts of all the prisoners, calming the frightened ones and giving his food away to those who were ill. I think his heart could no longer take the pain he felt for all those poor souls down there with him, and it finally broke, and when he died, the prisoners as well as the guards wept for him." n
"Did he say anything? What did he say before he died?" I peered into the jailor's eyes, grasping at a chance there might be an answer. But there was none. Grabbing the jailor by his arm and snatching a lantern, I ran toward the dungeons. (To be continued)