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| ISBN-13: | 9781477231678 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 10/17/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 212 |
| File size: | 221 KB |
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The Curse of the Western Kingdom
By Angie Korchevskaya
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Angie KorchevskayaAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-3166-1
CHAPTER 1
Four hundred years past, in the present day's Washington D.C., a beautiful palace was erected. Unfortunately, by the 20th century, the ancient structure was bereft of its luster. Not so long ago did it loom gloomy in solitude, surrounded by gray mist, among knotted thorn brush and wild wines. No birds nested atop its crooked, dilapidated cupolas. No living creature was seen or heard anywhere near the periphery of those ruins for a long, long time, save for howling of wolves on cold moonlit nights. A few real estate companies explored the possibility of tearing down the ruins, but were refused a permit. The big boss upstairs, the U.S. president, was somehow convinced that the old structure was of some momentous historical significance so he boycotted all attempts of the local regulating bodies to profit from exploitation of the land. "We simply cannot allow any demolition until we learn more about this cryptic artifact," president commented to eager reporters. "Folks, people have been reported missing too often around these parts as of late. I am not going to allow some hoodlums terrorizing my nation. The Potomac riverbank is off limits to the public until we catch whoever is responsible for this rude joke. I don't want any more innocents going missing. As your president, I give you my most solemn vow that I will not rest until I ensure a safe return of the missing to their families."
The president was not the only fellow drawn to the mystery of the ancient ruins. Scholars from every part of the country, among them Washingtonians, mulled lengthy hours over medieval manuscripts, hungry for the power of wielding the fountain of knowledge sealed within. History is a treasure, more valuable than gold or diamonds, because it reunites people with the past. It takes them back to their roots, revealing their distant heritage.
Surely the walls of those ruins once reverberated with noises of humanity. Yes, at once they certainly were populated by more than dust and cobwebs. Its occupants were poets, minstrels, scholars, doctors, regents, servants, knights, and who can ever forget the peasants coming to pay homage to royalty? What stories, what human drama and tragedy would those medieval denizens have told, if only we could hear their voices? If in their absence we had a shred of physical evidence to shed some light on how presumably a flourishing society could have vanished off the face of the earth ...
For years I frantically searched urban records, consulting the most prominent historians and anthropologists in hopes of tracing back to the timeline of events leading up to expiration of the kingdom. However, my inquiries hit a complete bottleneck. Even prehistoric races left traces of their presence in shards of pottery and subterranean drawings long after they crossed over to the netherworld. I simply refuse to believe that a medieval civilization was not blessed with the art of penmanship. Unless an uncontainable fire ate up every written record owned by those people, an unproven hypothesis at best, I will continue my search for real answers.
Some say that a major battle took place between the kingdoms in question — we'll call them the Western Kingdom and the Eastern Kingdom. The Eastern Kingdom, having far greater forces and more advanced military, stormed the Western stronghold and easily conquered the peaceful Western civilization. Thereafter, Western Kingdom was forced to cast aside its sole identity.
I am not a scholar, and must thus speak my own mind on the above matter. I am a believer in the impossible. I am the master of articulation who with precise balance of speech and emotion imbues empty words with power. I breathe life into my stories, until they eagerly burst forth from the pallet of my tongue and are no longer mine. Smooth and flowing, they entice escapism to fantastical dimensions that sizzle with exotic cacophony of sites and sounds.
Reality is a master of deception — It is all in perception; you see a cloud, I see a dragon, you see a black cat, I see an augury — And so too, there is no one well-defined theory, no logic could or ever will suffice to explain the woe of the Western Kingdom. And so, I have lent an ear to a rumor that's been floating about the D.C., and that rumor speaks of a curse. Please have patience as I go on with a story of a great tragedy and betrayal:
The only heiress to the throne of the Western Kingdom fell to a wasting illness. Young and beautiful she was, admiration she did have, but vitality swiftly abandoned her. Her sickness consumed her like a plague of locusts within a matter of weeks. Wisdom left her and was replaced by an irrational anguish. She cried for her remaining days, for days all she had, and on her deathbed she betrayed her adoring subjects to a most cruel and unjust punishment.
What did the princess hope to accomplish by cursing her kingdom? One needs only a reminder that she was a living, breathing person; flesh and blood; mind, body, and spirit. Mortals are complex entities of instincts, thoughts, and feelings. Princess was ruled by her wants of: Liberty, Life, and Pursuit of Happiness. She was denied all of three freedoms. A life mate and a son or a daughter to inherit the throne would have been a tremendous blessing. Since she could not obtain those things in life, she decided to cheat death by tormenting the living.
On the eve of the princess's curse, The Eastern Kingdom had expanded into a vast empire by securing key alliances from neighboring municipalities also reliant on military aid from outside, and by attracting fresh recruits with promises of being rewarded land and being raised to status of a lord.
The Western Kingdom was nowhere as vast or powerful. However, its one true advantage was patriotism. The western nation loved their land and their kingdom. Although their forces were much smaller, western men fought with fiery spirit in their hearts. They were honored to lay their lives on the line to preserve independence of their kingdom and their lives.
The ruler of the Eastern Kingdom was a power-hungry, egotistical slave driver, who resolved to erect his empire by employing sweat and blood of his captives. Men of all ages were enlisting in Western military to fight Eastern minions. Their priority lay in protecting their nation; no man could think about settling down to start a family while his land was continuously threatened by outsiders. That's why it was so difficult for any woman, especially a noblewoman set apart from majority of common population by four walls and a throng of bodyguards, to find a partner for life.
Everyday the newly crowned queen of the Western Kingdom wilted under the burden of wasting sickness. Her father predeceased her by no more than a week. The circumstances surrounding his death were suspected to be the same ailment that smote his daughter.
Alone except for her faithful nanny, anguished and afraid, the princess called members of her council to her deathbed. Raving feverishly, the princess was inconsolable. She half moaned half cried "I curse this very kingdom before you today. I am slipping away, no matter how much I struggle. What have I done to suffer so cruelly? This is a wicked, harsh penalty! Hear me, oh you Almighty! I shall seek retribution for this day from beyond the grave!
"I failed to produce an heir. My throne will be vacant. The last of the royal blood means the end of a kingdom; the end of a people! Oh, you terrible destiny! Hear me, those of you gathered around me this day, you must go to the Eastern ruler and beg him be merciful to you and lend him your service. I order you to abandon this kingdom, this land shall be yours no more; it shall be as empty as my throne; it shall belong to the winds of destiny!
"But for those who shall not heed my command, a terrible curse shall strike them. My spirit shall descend upon this palace for eternity. There will be no peace for those who willfully remain. Creatures of pure evil shall tear their souls from their bodies and feed off their carcasses.
"Those who will venture in here to explore hallways and secret underground passageways in search of precious treasures well concealed from lustful eyes, and the dungeons which are kept for the criminals of justice, will never again see the likes of day. Undead will strip flesh from their bones, and they shall be remade in their likeness: scavengers with craving for human meat. These creatures shall obey me. I shall be their overlord.
"This kingdom will be swept in ultimate darkness. Shall you not heed my warning; you shall be consumed along with everything else in its path. These shall be my last words. Alas, I am fading away. This kingdom's ultimate end is nearing. It will be a great privilege to see my father again, somewhere beyond understanding of any mortal. Listen to my words and beware." With the uttered promise of darkness, the princess fell limp in the arms of her whimpering nanny.
The entire kingdom mourned bitterly the princess's passing. Her body was sealed in a vaulted tomb next to her father, located at the core of the palace's underground maze of twisted staircases and passageways. Those who resided within the palace's secure walls had no desire to surrender to the Eastern Kingdom. The former princess's council met to appoint a regent ruler. Western forces' successful campaigns earned them back lost territory. They successfully held off intruders and eventually diminished influence of Eastern sovereignty in the West. And thus the Western Kingdom began to thrived, more so after than during the princess's reign, a solid proof of durability of a free nation.
* * *
As time progressed, the princess's curse became but a bedtime tale to tell to one's children, a vague reminiscence in the minds of Western Kingdom's inhabitants. They were confident that if the princess were to live, she would be very proud of their prowess for independence. However, little did they know that all their hopes and dreams were about to be shattered ...
The princess's vile spirit awoke from its perpetual slumber, sizzling with rage as it observed the living going about their business through the tall mirror in front of her flaming throne. She burned with jealousy every time a babe cried in its mother's arms, when a retired soldier unconcerned for combat lethargically stretched after a long day of hewing his farm field ... But what got under her skin the most was the plane village bumpkin sitting on HER throne, skimming HER journal logs — toasting with HER goblet in the company of his self-appointed retinue of confidants. Intolerant to such direct affront, she gathered her devilish allies and said to them, "The time has come to show my fury to those senseless humans!"
... And so, the princess was transformed into a hideous winged wraith and sent deep underground by a higher power to be punished for all her vile profanities proclaimed against humanity. The tall black framed mirror in front of her throne became her sole companion. It hid her hideous features in a reflection of flawless beauty. She became a captive of that reflection. Alone she bore her misery, screaming orders to her demons to torture any soul, by any new inventive method that became unlucky enough to fall into their clutches. After extensive punishments, she would appropriate those souls for herself, applying her dark powers to absorb their energies. Sole snatching allowed an immense surge in her strength and dark powers. In this manner she also gained the knowledge essential to breaking the barrier between the boundary to the world of the living and the dead.
When all was in place, the wraith hosted a contest of might, inviting the wickedest of demons from all levels and corners of the underworld to compete. Hundreds came, but only a handful remained standing at the end of combat. Those few were handpicked to scavenge the underworld for artifacts said to have the power to void the barrier set to separate the worlds. Having then gathered all the artifacts, the wraith used her black sorcery to open the portal and cross over to the world of the living.
* * *
With the demoness's return from beyond the grave, chaos erupted at the palace. Undead materialized through walls of the dungeons. They descended upon human sentries in a flurry without a warning with their clubs, axes, and scimitars. The wardens issued desperate, bloodcurdling screams for help as they were remorselessly hacked to pieces by gruesome ghouls.
The noisome clanking of steel and rattling of bones awoke Thorel, the appointed regent to the throne of the Western Kingdom. Wasting no time, he hollered for the sentries guarding his bedchamber to sound alarm gongs.
The whole night erupted in utter chaos. The whole palace was on its feet within minutes as gongs began to sound throughout the palace. Alley dogs were barking and people were running crazed in all directions wondering if palace was under attack.
In minutes the armory was packed with men scrambling to arm themselves in a hurry to back up their leader. Of course, by that time, servant-maids were awake, as well as wives of the royal guards. Confusion reigned supreme. Cranky babes and older children bawled and wailed at the top of their lungs at being pulled roughly out of beds and cribs by panicked adults. Nothing would distill their fright. Steel blades and torches were flashing down every corridor.
Seasoned soldiers proceeded, heralded by Thorel, to search every hallway, every nuke and cranny to weed the unknown interloper. They were unsuccessful tracking down the source of disturbance until they reached the cavernous passage into the dungeons ...
They walked through a musty scented underpass overgrown with decades-thick moss canopy, carefully descending down steep stone steps trodden upon countless times by feet of royalty. The dungeon double gates that only hours previously guarded the entrance to separate prison cells were ajar; the wedge smashed in two. A gagging stench of rot permeated the atmosphere. Walls, floor, and ceiling were spray-painted bright crimson. Wardens butchered by a lurking nemesis sprawled whichever way on the mossy dungeon floor with bashed-in brains. Most were disfigured beyond recognition, chunks of flesh and limbs splattered in a grotesque show.
"What could have done this?" captain-commander of the royal guard clenched his fists. A fresh recruit with a weak stomach was breaking off from the formation to empty himself out of visual range of his comrades.
Thorel shook his head. "I should have foreseen this," he said. "It's the curse. We prayed the night would never descend upon us. We denied such a thing could ever befall honest, hardworking people. Alas, we've been done in! Princess, why won't you be appeased by our hard work! All we've ever willed was to preserve your glorious name!"
As if in an answer to Thorel's outcry a plump green bat materialized out of thin air. Small at first, it eventually grew until its wings touched the ceiling. Then it began to shape-shift. It took on the form of a wraith, then of a lesser demon, then of an orcish mage, and then, when it seemed there was no end to the scary spectacle ... The shape-shifter became a woman.
She towered over the humans. Her slim bosom wrapped tightly in black leather seductively enticed the men. The otherworldly seductress was a picture of perfection in all respects but one: her profile was unearthly green.
At the snap of her fingers dead began to twist and move along the floor, dragging behind mangled body parts or tripping over their own dangling innards. Eye sockets crawling with maggots stared with disdain at the living.
More ghouls were breaking out from under bloodstained floor. Human once but no more, they were a walking nightmare — skeletons in rags with eyeballs supported merely by red membranes hanging out of dried up sockets. They had long, crooked, and sharp teeth. Spurred by the smell of fear and fresh blood, they spilled in a sea of death from every direction, up to the surface, brandishing lethal weapons from beyond.
Knights clustered in a tight circle around Thorel, bearing their swords at the undead in a solemn attack stance. There was nowhere to go, they were outnumbered and cleverly ambushed by undead in a tight circle from all sides. The clash of weapons was menacingly echoing from somewhere up above the ground floor.
"Princess, why are you doing this?! Answer me!" Thorel called out to the black-clad demoness.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Curse of the Western Kingdom by Angie Korchevskaya. Copyright © 2012 Angie Korchevskaya. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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