Chapter 3 A kingdom in peril
A jarring rhythm pounded in her ears as Aeon walked into the kitchen and find her mother attacking a catfish with a mallet.
“What are you doing with the poor thing, mother?” she asked, her face contorted with pity at the helpless slimy fish wriggling over the chopping board.
“I don’t know how these things stay alive and kicking after several blows to the head,” her mother said, letting out a sharp breath. “Hey… I’ve been out to the market and back. Where have you been all morning?”
“You know, as usual… I gathered mushrooms to add to your stew…” Aeon said, letting out a weak chuckle.
“Seriously? It took you all morning to do that? You got morels?”
She nodded. “And chanterelles, more than enough to last us a week… I got ginger, shallots, and elderberry flowers, too.”
“I don’t think it takes more than a couple of hours to pluck these from the ground,” her mother said, narrowing her eyes over the basket of assorted fungi and herbs.
She couldn’t decide whether she should tell her mother the truth about the sleeping man Socrates was guarding in the shed. Maybe not.
A muscle in the corner of her eye twitched. “Yeah… it only took me a couple of minutes to pick those, actually… but then the bells tolled… so I sat at the banks of the marshes for a moment of silence, lost in my thoughts for the old alpha king…” she said, tugging at her earlobe.
“Well, the alpha king had been in a coma for nearly a month. Death would have been a relief,” her mother scoffed. “It’s about time we hail a new alpha king… and from what I’ve heard, Prince Herrick, the older son, would be the wiser and benevolent version of his father. The boy is well-educated… studied with the Moors… and had explored the outer world beyond the realm of Augurria.”
“Is he back?”
“His ship will be arriving soon. Although it’s a bit too late for him to bid farewell to the late king, I’m sure he’ll be quite prepared to carry the mantle and lead us out of our misery.”
“You think the new alpha king will allow magic back in the kingdom?”
“Wouldn’t you wish? But don’t keep your hopes up… Herrick is still a Lycaon, after all.”
“Then nothing really changes… how can we be genuinely free if they suppress our very nature, like it’s a crime to be who we are? They should punish only those who use magic for unjust and unfair intents… including those who intend to hurt or to kill.”
“I get your point, my dear… but there are only a few of us natives left in the kingdom who were born with abilities. I cannot vet for those immigrants who learned magic differently. We don’t have the voice to demand such right. Do you understand? We have to be thankful for the fact that we are not hunted down and burned at the stake like they do in other kingdoms. The Lycaons protected our land and way of life, keeping us safe from plunderers, intruders, and inquisitors—”
“But that’s exactly how they took over this land a couple of centuries ago. They plundered it and declared themselves as gods ruling over us. They’re just protecting themselves from other plunderers like themselves,” Aeon scoffed. “I haven’t forgotten father’s history lessons. Our ancestors had been too naïve… they welcomed these strangers into our land and gave them more than they deserved… the Lycaons took everything from us.”
“That may be true… but we cannot punish the sons for the sins of their fathers.”
“What about Percival? He committed sins all on his own…”
“He may be ruthless… but that’s how kings are… they do what’s necessary to keep order in the kingdom.”
“More like to keep their butts glued to the throne… I still don’t understand why magic seemed so bad it had to be outlawed, even before the immigrants had arrived—”
“We have to admit, the power of magic strikes fear in the hearts of those who do not understand it—”
“Then why don’t we try to make them understand?”
“Ugh, I get exhausted whenever I talk to you. Can’t we talk about normal stuff for a change, like pretty clothes and pretty boys?”
“Sure… my father never tires of giving answers to my questions, though. He loves to argue for the sake of arguing,” Aeon chuckled. “I miss him so much…”
“Oh, I miss him, too…”
“Speaking of— where’s Berion?”
“He’s coming home soon… maybe he got stranded and had to seek shelter overnight somewhere. Last night’s storm was rather harsh,” her mother said, giving her a dirty look. “And you should give him some respect… stop calling him by his name. He’s my husband now.”
“But he is not my father and will never be,” Aeon said, setting her mouth in a hard line. “Please, don’t press it. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, anyway… we’re good, okay?”
Aeon never liked her stepfather, Berion. As a traveling merchant, he had to be away for days and sometimes weeks, to do business with clients across the realm. She savored the comfort of his constant absence.
She glanced at the pot of stew boiling over the hearth. “Can I have a bowl of stew when it’s ready? I want to eat in the shed with— with Socrates— while I work on my new project—”
“What project?”
“The— the one I told you about— the Cannabaceae hybrid that can be harvested all year round, remember?” she said, her eyes blinking rapidly.
“Uhm… I don’t remember… but sure, I hope you make actual progress with that. Berion says our canna oils were selling well with the physicians, and apothecaries across the realm are clamoring for it. There is a high demand for it, which means a good income for us.”
“Fantastic. Then maybe you should expand your laboratory so you could produce more of it, right? And perhaps clear out the shelves of those useless stuff that grandfather left. They look disgusting.”
Aeon’s grandfather was a known eccentric and recluse, a man of science, to most people. But what they never knew was that Baashi Apo was an alchemist, who, apart from developing potent medicines for ailments, had been toiling day and night in his workshop on a project that he claimed could change the world. But whatever it was, it died with him the same day he had finished it. His daughter Phaedra, Aeon’s mother, had inherited that workshop and everything in it.
“You know I can’t just throw those away… I’m still studying my father’s work…”
“I wish I could help—”
“No, not in the lab… you’re already doing much to help by getting the ingredients for me. Your invaluable knowledge in botany is vital for my work.”
“Maybe you can let me read through his journals and find clues to what his last work was all about.”
“Not a bad idea… I suggest you start with the last volume and go backwards. I started from the beginning and it’s quite frustrating.”
“Brilliant. Then we converge in the middle, and tie up what we find—”
Footsteps clattered, and the front door swung open as Berion trudged in with his muddy boots trailing dirt into the house. He unslung a sack from his shoulders, dropping it to the floor with a thud, and plopped on the couch like a shadow puppet with its strings cut loose.
Phaedra hurriedly came toward him, sliding his boots off his feet.
“You must be tired… would you like a bowl of stew?” she said, almost in a whisper.
“Yes… that could sate my hunger, but not the sadness that consumes me. I bring bad news—” he said. Deep creases lined his forehead.
“We know… the alpha king is dead,” Phaedra said.
“Well, that’s not the end of it,” Berion said, massaging the back of his neck. “I heard from a reliable source in the palace this morning… that Crown Prince Herrick’s ship, on its way to our shores, was overrun by pirates last night… and no one in that ship was left alive.”