Scrolls of the Prophet
Book I
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Taste of Her Flower
“Octavious Riolet, but please call me Tav..,” with my eyes full of interest, I offered over to the knight, and with a sudden bit of motion, I then dropped the sword to its finish down on the sands. I placed both my hands against the arrow-shaft which protruded from my tunic and tried to dislodge it, but it refused to oblige.
“This is surely a gift from the gods up above...but...Sir Milo...do you think you might lend a hand..?” I asked in vein comfort as I tugged at the flat-plate of hard-wood that was still pinned to my chest through the slit of my tunic. I glanced down at the two fine-feathers that sprouted out from the shaft’s far-end, and it struck me as comical how the arrow, the plate, and even my tunic, had all become one.
My new friend, Sir Milo, he had already removed his heavy-linen cloak and heavier chain-mail vest with what seemed to be little effort, and he tossed the pair aside and on to the saddle of his fairly large brown-mare, "Alfy" he called it but it seemed a very odd name for just such an animal..," I thought.
Sir Milo, himself, he had long, light hair which was complemented by a full-facial mustache that was mixed with his beard. The hair of his chin was both thick and full-burly, and it came pinned fairly neatly to the sides of his face while locked in place with his use of two black-ringed-bands. His soft turquoise-eyes were clear and decisive while the breadth of his chest spoke volumes of his strength. He possessed long arms which hinted at the fact that he was a man who had been well-versed in battle. And what skin that was now exposed, showed to be much lighter than mine, as the run of his stomach bore six-firm, square-panels which were arranged in two rows of three. He looked to be about twenty-five years old, and just by his presence, I felt a flicker of intimidation though I kept my gaze somewhat lowered while he made his approach.
“Relax...young master Tav...and hold yourself to no worries...Keep up with your swing with that broad-sword of yours...and you will find yourself in no time to be barrel-chested as well..!” The big man had spoke half-heartedly but in a smooth, caring tone, and then placed one large palm gently to slump of my shoulder. Without hesitation, he grasped the long arrow-shaft with his other hand and then slid his big thumb from its place on my shoulder to then come to rest on the wood-plate which still rested at my chest.
“Hold tight..!” he commanded, and then pried the arrow shaft side-to-side, steadily he worked at it until bit-by-it it came loose.
“So...Master Milo...you know of this assassin, the one they call Hassani and of his sword called "Palmyra"..?” I nearly trembled as I spoke, and casually removed the wooden plate from the inside of my tunic.
“Would you care for a souvenir...young master..?” he asked, and held up the point of the arrowhead so I could get a better view. “You don’t know who the sword had belonged to..?” I stared him down deeply with the cast of my eyes, his own light-blue rings flashing with a sharpened intensity as they wholly sucked me in.
“That thing has been too close for far too long..,” I said, and pointed at the arrow he now held in his hand. “But this wood here...one should never leave the hearth without it..!” I smiled with a touch of indignation at the large man while I tapped the hard plate which now sat gripped in my fingers. “I’d much like to know the great story of the man and the blade, if you’re so inclined to share it...”
Master Milo walked over to his light-brown steed and once there, he reached into a dark-leather saddle-bag and pulled out a clean length of white-cloth. His mount was quite large, and it stood tall with fat muscles which rippled in definition while under the moon-light, the rays of it outlined the animal's sturdy legs and broad gape, as it rose up in contrast against the white-desert sands. Returning, Milo carelessly tossed a lightly stitched fabric on to the ground next to the sword—and the very same blade which I had unwittingly taken from the dark-cloaked assassin just a while earlier on this night.
“Take care of it...and it will take care of you..,” he instructed, his tone firm and serious. The words echoed those of the Great Master Tancred, who had spoken the same thing during my lessons at the main camp by the highway. I’d never thought much to keep such a saying in forethought, for I carried only a small dagger back then to protect me from life's evils. But now, with this fantastic sword in my possession, I felt a deeper respect growing inside me, and it mirrored that of Milo and his Master. His gesture comforted me, as though I had been a most welcomed new member into their fold.
It was clear that this was no ordinary weapon of chance—and carried with it a significant story and purpose in its tell, one that would soon be revealed to my eager listening ears...
“Now...young master...see that the sword is wrapped and secured properly...and I will tell you a tale of unparalleled violence...and I will not hold back on the carnage...This is the fabled story behind the "Sword of Palmyra...", his voice deeply vibrated with more intense gravity. “It begins with that man they call "Hassani"...the assassin, the one who's identity you have already encountered...and how he became the most dreaded assassin who demanded the creation of just such a grand weapon...
Listen closely...young master...Tav...to the ancient tale of the "Sword of Palmyra"...And know that your own story within this blade's capture will likely be added to its legends of truth...Surely, the great "God" of "Abraham" has smiled upon you this night...” He spoke with a solemn seriousness, and no hint of a smile...
With calm precision, Milo began unbuckling the chain-mail which remained strapped around his waist as he continued to speak. Steady on his feet, he returned to his horse and then tossed the armored pieces over his saddle, his voice rang again without missing a beat.
Being held without want to miss even a word, I quickly spread the white-cloth wide on the ground. And now, with a much clearer understanding of the treasure I possessed, I carefully lifted the heavy sword and laid it down gently on the fabric’s flesh-like softness. And though it remained still too dark to make out the full pattern of its details, I folded the cloth’s edges over and covered the blade twice for more added protection.
Without pause, I ran back to where I had first engaged "Hassani’s" and his horse, and joyfully recalled the moment when I had brought both the man and his beast tumbling to the ground.
“That had to hurt..!” I muttered aloud, and poked my fingers in the sand to search for the staff which might have been broken into pieces. With any luck, there might be some sizable fragments which carried important etchings. To my astonishment, my palms closed around the whole staff as it rested just beneath the shallow sandy surface. I turned it over in my hands, its dark texture unmarred—it was as if the whole incident had never even happened.
Calmly, I placed my palm along the length of the staff but felt no nick, ding, or gouge. This was very strange indeed, and I scanned the crystalline sand for any sign or silver-glint from the elongated spear-tip. To my relief, it lay exactly where I had dropped it when I’d knocked down my dark-attacker who was responsible for the massacre of both the guardians and their children.
“Yes..!” I exclaimed, with a particular extreme satisfaction. I then walked back and placed them also in the moonlit white-sheet, and was then ever carefull to make sure that the staff and the spear-tip both rested comfortably right next to famed, "Sword of Palmyra". I rolled each one twice, then twisted the lot into a bundle. This crowned my triumph, and I set the flat-paneled-lid, atop the center-length of the pile.
Having finished the task, I rose up and moved closer to where Master Milo was seated just next to his big pile of riding gear, he looked fairly civilized with his many layers of protective knight's-gear fully removed.
“Ready..?” I asked.
“Ready..!” he replied, and a smile quickly spread across the run of his face. With steady fingers, he reached toward a saddle-bag and gently unclipped both of the shiny-metal clasps which secured its wide-cover, and then opened it up. After shuffling through it, a long, dangerous-looking spike hit the air up above it and before I could focus, he dropped it back in.
“Let’s see...just where to begin..,” he said in a voice that was pleasent and ever-teasing, and set his giggles aside as he began with the story...
“Oh yes..!” he began, “the whole mess had started in the fara-way land where the sword had first been created—the stronghold city of fortune...and the great kingdom of "Palmyra" itself...Four-days by camel-ride it was...just outside of "Damascus..," and deep in the harshness of the "Syrian desert"...the place was part of a sprawling oasis...a city for travelers which came bathed in bright sun...It was there...in that tropical pocket of life, that our fable first began...”
I fell deep into the tale as if I could already see it, almost as if the place was unfolding right before my eyes. My focus sharpened, and I hung on every word...
“Some twenty years ago...your newfound friend "Hassani", he was a younger man in stature and had been possessed with a burning ambition. He was a master-swordsman in status—the greatest in all the land—and a captain of the king’s-guard in that great city were he lived. Even today, there is no doubt that he remains one of the finest sword-fighters in all the "Holy Lands"...Hundreds have fallen before his great blade...and the pair of golden-daggers which reside at his sides...Some say those fine blades were forged from the use of rare metals and then folded repeatedly...hundreds of times...Others' grave whispers and said that the daggers themselves had been made from the broken pieces of his cursed victims' bones...ones who were hypmotized by some hiiden trance to obey his every command...And still...there are those who say the golden-daggers he retains do hold the souls of small children...this of course to the voice of many's dismay...to brush up against him...or to just come within reach of his assassins or so-called "daggers of death"...would offer a cruel punishment...and in the end...only the truth would be revealed of one's fate from the meeting...but few besides you have ever lived beyond a day's passing to tell their great tale...”
“He really has golden daggers...?” I cruedly interrupted, my eyes wide as copper-talents.
Sir Milo nodded gravely, then he continued rather quickly, “Not a man in our command doesn’t tremble at the thought of facing down that assassin one-on-one...To even survive such a battle is one thing...but to come out unscathed on the far-side is yet quite another...”
“But "Sir Tancred"...he would surely…” I tried to interject.
“No—no.., no..! Not even the Great Master himself has escaped without injury and wounds...and like you...he had also faced down the black-death of the sands some few years back...and if you dare to...you can ask the big man to lift up his tunic and show you his ribs...and if he’s in a good mood...you’ll see the long scars—the memories he carries of his entanglement with the assassin and his use of "Palmyra..." As for me...you can see the proud mark from an expert’s arrow right here...this one on my shoulder...the braggard shot me cleanly while at his pace of long distance...and it struck my flesh so hard that it fully passed right on through me...tip...stick...feathers and all...and it knocked me to the ground as if I were no more than a child's play thing...”
“Ouch..,” I said with conviction as I absorbed the brunt of his pain vividly in the hold of my mind. The vision was so clear and so frightening, and I dreaded even the thought of ever meeting up with Hassani again.
“Ouch is right—and that’s no yak’s droppings..!” Milo chuckled at my grimace, and we shared in a laugh. Then, after a brief pause, he resumed with the story...
“Anyway...back to Palmyra..,” his thick palms fell to the saddlebag straps once more as he rose from his position and settled into a more comfortable set of clothes for the work that lie ahead.
From the far side of his horse, Sir Milo pulled out a familiar tool which was about twenty-palms long: it had a round wooden-shaft and bulky metal handle on one end, and a large, concave square with rounded edges on the other.
“You dig...young master...and I’ll continue our talk..,” he said without hesitation, while he caught me dumbfounded and locked in a stare.
“Shovel...lad—shovel..!” His voice boomed out loudly, though my mind struggled for a moment to immediately catch on.
Then he pressed the broad end of the utensil to the ground and stepped on it hard with the toe of one boot. Like a master who now guided his slave, he half-stepped back and left the tool standing firmly upright in the sand. Suddenly, I understood. Without fit or grimmace, I followed his lead and grasped up the shovel, together we strolled over to the first of two bodies which still remained stiff and certainly lifeless while posed on the ground.
Without hesitation, I began digging out the shape of an appropriately sized pit for the body of the woman. Now perched on the sideline, Sir Milo gave instructions from his nearby seat in the sand, and with our task underway, he began speaking again...
“You know...young master...Tav..,” Milo continued as he glanced over at me from below a narrowly furrowed brow, “it’s truly a wonder that you survived in your battle with "Hassani"...and that let alone...you somehow walked away with his sword...He’s not the sort of character who would part with the "Palmyra" in the slightest of ways...and he’ll surely kill fifty-men in his pleasure if that’s what it will take to get it back in his hands...”
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A hard lump formed in my throat as I continued to both, dig and to listen. I tried not to let the weight of his story unsettle my mindset. I couldn’t allow for any thoughts of the assassin to cloud up my thinking, or shake what nerves had that remained. If not for the labor of the dig, I was certain my spiraling frame of mind would betray my consentration. I was grateful when Master Milo resumed speaking of the tale. His words, though heavy in violence, at-least they served to distract me from the previous assassin’s quest for harsh vengeance, the preview of lifeless bodies, and the cursed purpose of our work together. Punishing...
“One day..,” Milo began, “a great "Persian" king came to visit "Palmyra"...and he sought to make a treaty for peace...He had also brought with him not only fine gifts...but an offer in bloodline—the eldest of his daughters...the favored of his house...to be wed to "Palmyra’s" king in accordance to their laws...It was to be a marriage which would finally bring an end to their many years of war-mongering...bloodshed...and the countless border wars which had plagued both their lands...It was to be a long lasting truce between the two greatest powers.
Currently...the king of "Palmyra" had already sixteen wives...all of them endlessly quarreling for position...higher rank...and much better status...The idea of him adding a seven-teenth new pecker—especially one gifted so young and from a foreign rival—well...it made him feel nauseous...it was madness to him...But he was no fool...and he saw the scribing on the wall and its display of advantages...So...for the sake of making peace...he accepted the girl—the Princess...Salamaya in training—as his future new wife...
I paused to wipe the sweat from my brow, and then shoveled and listened as Milo continued...
The "Persian" king had agreed to the match...and Salamaya was moved into the highest parts of his palace. But it hadn’t been long before the king then renigged...He grew tired of the ceaseless bickering from his other sixteen-wives...and he chose to break the alliance and not marry her after all...He left her to wilt all alone in the outer palace gardens...ignored her alltogether and left her alone...And it was there—beneath the shade given off by an old olive tree—that Captain Hassani...the king’s most loyal guard...had first saw her there.
She was weeping in pulses and he spoke kindly toward her...and soon...what had begun with the simplest gift of compassion...had become an infection which led to affection…and then onto love...deepest...undeniable-love...The kind of love that shakes entire kingdoms...”
I slowed my digging down and hung on every word.
“Eventually...Princess Salamaya felt she had to approach the king herself...She was now seventeen—and well past the age for betrovement...and she longed for companionship...and for the gift of a child...for a place to belong...And she begged for the king to grant her these pleasures...”
Milo sighed...
“The king was not cruel...but he had fifty-children already...he’d had enough of his wives' scenes to last him a lifetime...so he decided then and there to not to take her for himself...but rather...allow her to marry the prowess of another...one of his captains...But only the most worthy would do...”
He gave me a look...
“To settle the matter..," he continued.., "the king made a proclamation..: Whoever would present him with the finest sword in all the lands—the very weapon of creation...that man would be worthy of just such a dowry—and earn the princess’s hand...”
I nodded in silence, and urgently listened...
“All the captains were eager...for Salamaya’s beauty was known throughout the entire realm...But most had secretly understood about Hassani’s affections—for his love wasn’t exactly the most guarded secret in the land. Her servants had made sure of that as they passed the word along to every corner of the palace...”
Milo’s tone grew darker...
“Hassani would not let his chance slip away...so he sold everything he possessed—his land...his cattle...even his servants...and with only a bag of gold on his steed...he set off across the sands to the mystical city of "Harran"...a far-off land in the kingdom of "Mesopotamia"...for there it was said...the greatest alchemists in the world lived and had forged weapons of battle for both their kings and their emperors...”
I looked up and cleared away the beads of sweat from my forehead and then wiped them on my tunic. “He went all that way… for a sword..?” I questioned...
Milo nodded solemnly. “Not just any sword my young friend...but "The Sword"...and over in "Harran"...he sought out the finest alchemists and paid them handsomely in reward to fire up their smelters and produce with their wares...for just a singular purpose...to create the sharpest and hardest blade that the world had ever seen...a sword unmatched in weight...balance...and craftsmanship...Hassani had given out very exacting instructions—he had also demanded that the sword be forged with the highest of precision...right down to the last grain of metal and millimeter of curve...And he insisted it be revealed with the most extravagant of finishes—both gems and golden-inlays...and the like...and as many runes of power to be affixed to its great handle as one could possibly hold on fast to...”
He paused, letting that part settle in...
“Hassani gave the alchemists every coin that he had...and he put all his hopes and dreams into that single-edged blade...a blade which he called the fantastical "Palmyra"—it being named after the city—after the woman—and after the promise he'd made to show out to win her...”
I swallowed hard. “Sir Milo… can you help me place her in the..?”
“Yes—yes...let’s get this one out of the way..,” he replied, and pushed himself up. Together, we lifted the woman’s badly-gouged form and gently lowered her into the grave I had dug. The weight of her body, the finality of it, it pressed heavily on my mind.
After a moment, Milo reached into the pocket of his tunic and withdrew a small bundle of brightly colored silk-squares. With delicate fingers put into action, he snached one free—a pleasently pink-square—and then gently laid it over her wide-eyes and to cover up her face.
“May the "Heavenly Father" take you and hold you..,” he whispered. “Ashes to ashes...dust to dust...Return to the "Holy Earthly Mother" from which you have come...”
He then turned to me and gestured at the shovel once more. “She’s all yours now...young master...Tav..,” he said softly and stepped back from the pit...
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My flesh quickly began to feel heavily labored, and first with the emptying, and then with the re-filling, it felt strange to my senses as I covered up this fine woman. I took solace in the fact that the master had given out some kind words prior as he put another small cover over-top of her face. His action immediately took the edge off of the work which had to be done. In contrast to my efforts, I found this new tool to be quite effective at both the digging and the filling; my mind sent to wonder, "Why I had not seen such alchemy as this before..?" I shook my head side-to-side, and thought of the vast amount of holes which I had dug in the past.
“Please master Milo...do continue your story...” My breath called out laboriously as I patted the swollen lump of dirt to a more flat rendition, and then moved on to the next pit in line. Sir Milo shot me a smile with a face of approval as he returned just across from me and settled in position. When comfortable, and content at his place, he restarted the story from the exact point he left off.
“While Master Hassani awaited the alchemists to complete the great sword...word had arrived that might pose him with problems...atleast for the success of his eventual love's-promise...The message came by courier from the kingdom of "Palmyra" and that of princess Salamaya...and after he ciphered the newly dispatched text...he found himself immediately being stricken with its derived happy news...The captain of the guard was fully ecstatic to find, that he was going to be a father...for the princess was with child...
Salamaya had requested that the captain make swift with his return...for soon she would show...the flat of her tummy was now shown with a swell...in a plea for his quickness...she scribed in the letter that she'd do her very best to not let the king take site or to notice...for her current situation should stay surely unknown until the captain had returned...the great master put great haste to the artisans at their work...and he held high hopes that they might hurry up with the completion of the sword...but to his dismay...they had simply replied that such grand details would take up with more time...he knew them to be loyal and professional at their trades...and also that they had the knowledge of his newly bound needs...and that the artisans would work as diligently as they could to finish up swiftly...
It was all too clear to both princess Salamaya and captain Hasaani...that if it was found out that the unpromised princess was somehow with child...she would be in great danger from the wrath of the king...and that of his nobles...for all knew such conditions almost always led to full stoning...and a painful death to the offender...
Another thirty-moons had come and gone by...and still no captain of the army had shown himself forward...The king at this time had become somewhat heated...for he reveled at the idea that the virgin princess would submit...and called for the young maiden to be brought forth to his view...and in all of such places...his royal sleep chamber...
Salamaya was nervous and feared for her safety...but the king had given his orders so she could not refuse...In an act of contrition she had her servant-girl Lilia...bind her middle-waist with wide scarves and tie them extra firmly...this to hide her stomach better from the king’s cautious view...the growing child within her...
When the princess arrived at the king’s private bedroom chamber she played with extra coyness...she played-off his approaches...it was her far reach of hope that the king would not take more interest...but to the gift of her sadness...the king of "Palmyra" had become even more heated...his overly anxious view took in her supple newness on the run of this night...
The king figured with great enthusiasm that he would be the first to have the young princess's brand...and take the purity of her virgin-peach full and away...His mind was at ease for he knew she would not provide any word of such a thing to his other sixteen-wives...for he was the king and to voice against his disposition...well...it would mean an immediate beheading...besides...to his sort of thinking..."what proof would she have..?” and thought surely in the end that it would be his sword that was put against hers...
Princess Salamaya played off the king’s advances...and with the call of a headache she played a raised fever...but his majesty had only become further flustered when without show of shame...or that of good morals...he took the young maiden in a forcible way...the king’s actions were brutal as he fell into a rage..Salamaya tried to pull away from his advances and flee from his bed-chamber so that he would not be removed of all clothing...and the reveal of all signs of her and the captain's held secrets...her actions in time only seemed to enraged the king further...all-the-while increasing the fire which burned down-below...and for...the taste of her flower…"
...Select Next Scroll...
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Thank you valued Rider's Vault Members..!
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CURRENT VOLUME List:
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Scrolls of the Prophet...historical/biblical/adventure/coming of age
- Awakening
- Gathering
- Binding
- Bloodline
- Prophecy
- Phoenicia
- Future Dig
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Scrolls of the Past...historical/adventure/coming of age
- Amen Rey (Egyptian)
- House of the Fawn - (Greek)
- Spice Road - (Persian)
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Dominatrix...sci-fi/thriller/action/space adventure/coming of age/assassin
- Domina
- Bisal
- Alaran
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Terraformation..sci-fi/action/adventure/alien love story/space travel
- Terra-Form
- Terra-Rise
- Terra-Site
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Quest of the Seeker..thriller/murder mystery/afterlife/coming of age
- The Key
- The Clown
- The Seeker
**Hint: The Seeker is the Grim Reeper's brother...:)
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The Cleaner..action/thriller/coming of age/assassin
- The Child
- The Woman
- The Teacher
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Ready The Yeti..children's series/adventure/life lessons
- I Am Ready
- I Am Sassy
- I am Abominable
or
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