CHAPTER 8 – NO STONE LEFT UNTURNED
The Horse Prince’s arrival at the Citadel was always somewhat contemptuous. At the very core of their relationship, Anilithyìstad and Theomitus were rivals. After all, Theomitus had stolen Anilithyìstad’s sister away from their home. But in such dire times, all prior squabbles were easily put aside. Anilithyìstad tapped into the entire weight of Metuchen’s resources to find a cure for his brother-in-law. Another round of mediciners and doctors, even shaman priests from the western shores, examined Theomitus' rare disease.
Mitakahn was grateful for this, because now he was present for all of the consultations and could ask the proper questions that needed asking, from his point of view, the practical approach and beyond. Mitakahn prided himself on thinking outside the box where others could not. Such as Axion, who sat on the other side of the table mostly silent but nodded his head at what the professionals were saying. He’d heard the answers before. None of it mattered much.
It was a whole lot of ruling out other known diseases like plactack and larynxia, silent killers. The doctors discussed diseases that matched the symptoms, diseases that caused the organs to rot from the inside out. Each one could be traced back to an external source, meaning people didn’t just die without contracting the diseases first, by blood or inhalation, or even digestion. People who die of larynxia spend too long in the mines and the smoke does it to them. Plactack you have to either inherit or develop from over-exposure to carbon-based nutrients. Neither of which applied to the lifestyle of the Pride King.
“What if it is an undiscovered disease?” asked Mitakahn.
Everyone looked over at him. The mediciners were visibly confused. One just kept staring at Mitakahn without blinking..
“Then we will have no way to detect or treat it.”
“Paradoxia.”
“What is that?” asked Mitakahn
“It’s the name given to diseases that are formed by their symptoms first, of origin unknown.”
“This is why the practice of medicine defies reason,” said Mitakahn. “You spend all your time labeling definitions of your choosing and calling them facts.”
“Not all of the time, we research and collect, and then we educate.”
“So now the king is a lesson?” Mitakahn antagonized.
“The information we gather here might save the lives of countless others in the future.”
Theomitus smiled from across the room. Up until now the king sat there expressionless, causing everyone to doubt if he was paying attention. Queen Adyána held his hand earnestly. She paid careful attention to every word. The Queen was good at being royalty. Her face was a mask. Only those closest to her could read the desperate emotions hidden behind her reassuring facade.
“Paradoxia has always been more than that definition to me. It is a terrifying reality, the idea of a terminal disease that could come from nothing and consume you. If there is a cause, my king, we simply do not have the technology advanced enough to identify it. We are limited to our times, and because of that we fail you.”
The mediciner bowed before the king who leaned forward and patted him on the shoulder. Anilithyìstad walked him out. After another long day of testing and lack of diagnosis, Paradoxia was the closest thing they had. Deep down Mitakahn knew what the mediciner said was true. They just weren’t there yet, but maybe with what Cipher and Axion were planning there could be a safer future ahead of them with the Ignaleos Cor. Just not one Mitakahn’s father would see.
Mitakahn urged his uncle to tap into the other kingdoms through the knighthood for their physicians and mediciners. He obliged and from far and wide they came at the behest of their rulers.
Through the proper channels the Silver Den was able to influence many different sovereigns into sending support. Some made it more public than others in a petty attempt to destabilize an already unstable monarchy. Some purely didn’t care. Others were old allies and sent their best.
Even the senate sent their most learned mediciners. They thought it was magiscer that plagued the king, caused by prolonged exposure to magic. Certain sects of scientists theorized that the MagnaThoran magic gave off a radiation that could prove lethal over time. Many dismissed this due to Crucifire Plains and their notorious big city bias against the ancient ways, no broader an expression could be found than their definition of the word magic.
The bottom line was no one could prove anything, so no one could cure the king. Hope was depleting like the last candle running out of wax in a windowless room. Every day the king looked worse and worse. His skin tightened into leather. His body ate its own fat and muscle to prolong the inevitable. Some of the more naive mediciners tried to blindly cure him.
The king drank toadroot tea that smelled of the swamps and sweaty feet. Mitakahn wondered how he could even drink it if the smell alone was enough to make one vomit. But the king was still mighty and strong in his own right, even while his body continued to wither away. All the remedies in the world could not stop what was happening. Options were running out.
In the darkest of times the demon that haunted Theomitus took full control of the king’s body. As he tossed in agony on the bed, his fingers clutched the bed linens, thrashing them off the bed, failing to relieve the pain of his spinal tremors. And yet his mighty soul held on through the suffering for days; lost inside. Theomitus fought to stay alive, though the family could not figure out what drove his despair. What was left besides the primal instinct to survive through endless suffering?
The family had thought he was waiting until Mitakahn got home. Still, a couple weeks later, he held onto some sort of life.
Mitakahn and Anilithyìstad watched over the king for his remaining days while Queen Adyána and Axion ruled the kingdom. One day, Anilithyìstad could not keep his suspicions to himself and bid Mitakahn to private counsel.
“What is it, uncle?” Mitakahn asked, as they spoke in the room alone with Theomitus sleeping in his bed.
“Mitakahn,” Anilithyìstad spoke covertly, “we cannot afford to be close-minded here. We must consider the fact that the king was poisoned.”
“By whom? He has no more enemies left out there.”
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“Perhaps an attack from within…”
“What are you saying, uncle?”
“Is there any proof that this is not regicide?”
“And I suppose they’re also contemplating patricide over in the congress as we speak.”
They were.
The Governor of Zepathorum, a skulking creature by the name of Demeter, was addressing the high council in an impromptu meeting to discuss the possible implications of the dying king. The royal family had no idea; even though it was illegal for the state of the kingdom to call a meeting without the crown. Demeter was up to no good, a power play at the king’s expense. But he would not put his plans into action until after Theomitus was out of the picture.
Mitakahn, unfortunately, had faith in the decency of humanity, and failed to agree with his uncle’s suspicions. He could not consider any more malice in his life right now. His father was rotting away before his very eyes. Like an hourglass, the sands of his life perpetually diminished.
Mitakahn only had so much time left with the most important person in his life. In a last testament to his father, Mitakahn vowed to take in as much as he could no matter how painful, until the last hours. He knew now that he would forever miss life without his father, and would always want to return to it, no matter the conditions.
Mitakahn rotated through all the questions he had for his father. What he could ask. What he could not ask. What he wanted to know. What he needed to know to be able to go on. Mitakahn sat in silence and came up with one all-encompassing question to ask.
“What would you have of this family?”
He stuttered to finish.
“…when you are gone,” Mitakahn cleared his throat.
The Prince sat equal with the king, and even though his withered body sat around Mitakahn’s young proud stance, the prince still looked up to his father.
“Your brother will find his way. He will find his queen and become king. Watch over your mother and finish your schooling.”
Mitakahn sank in his chair. Did the king forget? There was no way to finish at the academy now, not after what he did. Part of Mitakahn wanted to say, “That’s it? That’s all you have for me?” But the prince knew… It was hard enough for the broken down king to say that much, to admit his own defeat, to accept his own demise. There are just some questions that can never be answered.
Mitakahn rubbed his bearded chin as he gave a long hard consideration of all the other unanswered questions that would go unresolved. Like why Mitakahn never knew about Theomitus’ brothers. Mitakahn wanted to know what was with all of the secrecy but simply could not ask without adding on to the king’s burden at this point. Instead, they stood in unsettling stillness, attempting to deal with the gloomy mood.
Anilithyìstad would quickly grow discouraged by the lack of answers he was getting. There was not enough medical technology or knowledge to identify his illness. It was almost supernatural. And Anilithyìstad would not take his brother-in-law to the warlocks, for he was still a king. And they were known for fooling around in dark arts and drew their power from NetherRealm. The King’s life was too important to be sustained through precarious means. They had no other choice but to do nothing. That was all they could do. There were special elixirs and even ambers common in the back alleys of Crucifire Plains that could ease his suffering, but the king denied such shortcuts. He endured through the full extent of the pain.
The young prince still could not bring himself to confront his father any further in the matter of telling him outright that he was dying. This was father, the king, he would fight it and win. The rest of the family had the same morale, but Mitakahn knew it was useless and couldn’t bring himself to reveal the tragic truth. His grief was turning to cynicism, and it would soon turn to resentment.
The king had become a shell of the man he used to be. Mitakahn thought this when he had first returned, but now he had been around long enough to take full stock of the piece of his father that was missing. The part of the king’s personality that comforted Mitakahn most, the wisdom, the bravery, the hero inside him was gone. And now, everything else was rapidly deteriorating. Mitakahn saw a defeated imposter take his father's place. He knew it was his father, he could still see him trapped within the piercing eyes. Mitakahn would stay with him, no matter how horrible it felt.
Mitakahn tried to be with his king every step of the way. Almost as if repeating his own mental vows, Mitakahn repeated to himself, “…carry him when he cannot walk. Sit with him so he is not alone.” No matter how hard it hurt, the prince had just cause.
Back at the academy, Mitakahn had expressed his concern with where a second-born son belongs in the world. Now he knew. He found his purpose, even if it was for the time being. His place was right by his father’s side when everyone else had enough. When his mother and brother needed time to themselves to regroup, Mitakahn was there so his father never had to be alone in the darkness.
In the late hours of the king’s life, many came to his bedside to bid their final goodbye. Mitakahn struggled with the idea of saying goodbye. Often they would both sit in awkward silence, not knowing what to say, trying to just enjoy life, the moment at hand, and being together. Mitakahn wondered what his king was waiting for.
• • •
On a very clear night, the air heavy and tainted, a figure cloaked in darkness crept through the streets of Zepathorum. He slipped into the Citadel and up the center tower unnoticed, approaching the king’s bedchamber. It was clear, whoever he was, he did not want to be seen and knew exactly how to subvert the royal guard. The stranger entered the king’s chambers and Mitakahn sat against the wall on a chair next to the window, eyes shut. Away in some far off place winning the battle and saving the girl. The soft curtains blew gently on his cheek, polishing a lunar mask upon his slumbering face.
As the full moon shone across the sky with the stars in the midst of their seasonal chant it gave the cloaked man a chance to look at the exhausted prince. Anilithyìstad confronted the mysterious newcomer silently. They uttered a few words close together. Anilithyìstad bowed to the stranger and left the room. The man walked over to the window after he put out the one candle lighting the room. He slowly measured up the unaware Mitakahn, sitting in the chair fast asleep. The man stared at Mitakahn and wondered what happened to the years. A cynical twist of fate had turned on this world, one he will never understand. And that was why, perhaps, he walked in the shadow, afraid of all things real.
He blessed the prince and slipped a bound up pouch into the pocket of his tunic, and patted it softly, over his heart. He continued over to the king.
“I’m here, Theomitus.” The figure stood over King Theomitus as he began to stir in his bed.
“I knew….you….would come,” Theomitus tried to smile.
“You did not have to wait for me.”
“I had to see you….one…last….time,” Theomitus squirmed in pain.
“This will not be our last time together.”
“Did you do it?” Theomitus’ voice quivered, “Did you give it to him?”
“Yes. He has it now, but he will not know why.”
“He will find a way.”
“They will both make you proud.”
“Thank you… for… showing up.” Theomitus feebly grasped at the visitor’s sleeve.
“Easy now, rest.” The shrouded man took the king’s hand in his, “Settle your breath.”
The distant kinsmen calmed the king. And then said unto him, “What long years had brought our relationship to… no matter what the quarrels were or who was to blame, all is forgiven and forgotten, little brother.” Baal Arkenoir left the citadel unnoticed, a place he once vowed never to return.