[story] renumeration
author: the autumn poet (mycrazymandolin)
email: autumnpoet [ at ] gmail dot com
artist: the winter cynic (ruins_of_sodom)
email: r.duindain [ at ] gmail dot com
This is a Fictional Story based on a Fictional Story
Act One, Scene Zero
F8 Mountain
The king is dead.
A chorus of unearthly, almost metallic voices chanted that phrase until it became deafening to the ears. Steam spurted from pipes and lengths of hose as three human heads slithered up and out of the crater. The Wyrd Sisters peered across the crater rim, looming menacingly over the lush wasteland. Moss had covered most of the machinery and metal. Vines and trees seemed to have thrived with old wires as fertilizer.
You finally come Duncan of Cawdor
Son of Malachi
Speak
The voices hissed. Fog covered everything in front of Duncan. Slowly, the cloud thinned as he moved towards the obscured figure he could barely see in front of him. A rush of steam prompted him to step back, saving him from meeting an early demise. The mist revealed a steep drop ahead of him. It offered a passive yet unsavory exit to his journey. Sensing movement close by, Duncan leapt backwards and twisted his Key Bangles. The thick silver wrist lock made a clicking sound, glowing green as he prepared for the inevitable.
Be not afraid
Son of Malachi
Knowledge is what you seek, knowledge is what we offer.
Three sets of blue eyes appeared from the mist and blinked at Duncan. The Sisters slowly re-emerged from the crater with their wiry hair floating around the space. "So it is true." One of the Wyrd chuckled. "He is quite a splendid specimen." A pair of wide blue eyes blinked and stared at the tall knight who looked to be in his late thirties, well built and fit.
"Worthy, worthy!"
"My, my, Sisters. Be quiet lest you scare the good lord off." The words echoed in the hollowness of the crater.
"Show yourselves to me!" From Duncan's bangles came a sharp light piercing through the deceptive fog.
Three human heads hovered above him. Each head was attached to a cybernetic hose spewing steam and coughing wires and bolts. Their eyes were shut tight, their expressions pained. When they recovered, all three pairs of eyes glared at him.
"Well now! How boorish!" The first head chided.
"To think he came to seek us, how barbaric!" The second nodded.
"Hush, sisters." The third shook her head. "We must hear him."
The man raised his head to meet their unnerving gaze and attempted to twist his wrist again but the swift movement of the second head froze him on the spot. With her long hose, she slithered around his body, tightly gripping him with her cold touch. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Once is enough. You shan't do that. We won't allow it!"
The other two hovered closer to him, peering through their lashes. Their eyes were as big as his head yet their silicon eyelids batted daintily at him. "You come with a question, yes, my good lord?" the first head hissed.
art by the winter cynic
"Surely you knew what to ask before you found us," said the Second.
"Come now! Let us make haste. What is it that you seek? Why come to us with so dire a need?" The third moved away from him to get a better view of the traveler.
Duncan looked cautiously at each of the heads. He wasn't sure if he was in front of the Wyrd Sisters. He flinched as the second head tightened her hold. He had initially expected three old crones, hiding their hideous appearances with a long hood. These things didn't exactly fit the description he'd downloaded from the Imperial Archives.
"Hasten now, Son of Malachi. We haven't all the time in the world."
"Indeed," the other two agreed.
The First head leaned away. "Indeed, we need our beauty sleep."
The Third looked at the First, "Yes! Yes! The Shut Down awaits!
The three chorused, "Now hurry up Duncan of Cawdor! The future king of Interia! Speak so we can be rid of you."
"What do you mean by Future King?!"
The whole crater hushed at the question before a rumble of menacing laughter erupted, causing the ground Duncan stood on to shudder.
"Isn't it obvious?" The second head let go of him so quickly he fell on his back. "You shall be king."
"A great king!" The first agreed gleefully.
"A mighty king!" The third joined in.
"A king worthy of the throne of Interia!" the three chorused as they looked at each other with their wide blue eyes and nodded.
Duncan staggered to his feet. "Such blasphemy and blatant insolence! I pray you bite your tongues, you wenches!"
"You dare bare your fangs against us?" The first raised her brow.
"Such a tiny life you have," the third whispered solemnly. "Why not listen first before you throw your sentence, Great King?"
"I do not want to be King!" Duncan shouted.
The three sisters hissed. "We have been programmed to speak the truth and the truth we shall speak." The heads slowly moved back to the crater.
"You desire power," the first said, "...far greater than your own."
"For you to reach it, you must choose your path," the third continued.
"The Now you hold is merely a drop of what is to be Tomorrow," the second added.
"Here is the Archive you seek, Your Majesty. Verily, you will see a future vaster than what you see now..." And like an old computer, the voices dwindled into a burble of incoherent words with a robotic sound. As mysteriously as they'd appeared, the Sisters faded back into the settling fog, leaving behind a small port that resembled a USB hub.
Hesitantly, Duncan walked towards the artifact. It looked old and overused. The USB hub was indeed one of the lost Archives transcribed in the Engine disks from the Imperial Archives. The faded insignia of a strange fruit which the Olden Folks called the "Apple" was easily found on the front of the machine. Three USB ports were nestled in a black box which was further supported by a retractable metal pillar.
He twisted his bangles twice and pulled out a transparent wire. He plugged the wire into the port and twisted his bangles again. A surge of data transferred to his Key and without warning a hologram of the past sped around and by him and slowly the whole kingdom of Interia unraveled before him.
The sight of the cyber stream flowing along the lush forest of the kingdom brought tears to his eyes. He could see the many houses and mansions of the city, artfully lined up and arranged to create a beautiful view from above. His attention turned to the Imperial Mansion, the largest edifice in the kingdom with an elaborate garden and many robotic arms cleaning the fields nearby.
Slowly, the lights from the north dimmed and darkness spread fast downwards until half of the kingdom had lost its power. Someone had destroyed the dam. Water burst out of the reserve and flooded the city. Finally, the attack. Pandemonium ensued.
The kind King was found dead in his chambers. His body was sprawled on the floor with blood and a bluish-green liquid pooling beneath him. The Key, the life support of every citizen in Interia, had been ripped from him. It was nowhere to be found. Now, without His Majesty's Key, Interia would no longer be protected from other kingdoms. Without his Majesty, the kingdom would now need to face the challenges of a world outside a controlled and sterilized environment.
Duncan could see the King's wide eyes. They were glassy with death and kept a secret only his Majesty could fathom.
Son of Malachi
Duncan of Cawdor
Duncan saw the body of young Prince Anton drifting lifelessly in the cyberstream. The Prince's Key was nowhere to be found. Like his father, Anton's eyes were glassy with death.
And yet Duncan saw everything from the pedestal he was perched on. When he looked at his hands, he found them greased with oil and blood. Broken wires dangled in his fists. He found a virulent pool of smog and oil beneath the steps of his throne. He could hear the cries of joy. He could hear the people shouting his name.
His Royal Highness, King Interia
Duncan woke up, startled. He was back in his house, lying in his bed with the familiar whitewashed ceiling greeting him. At the forefront of his mind, he wistfully thought of Interia and the Archive he had downloaded. To him, no other king should reign but his nephew, Prince Regent Anton. He was determined to protect his brother's will, even if it meant dying for honor. What better demise could a knight have but to die for his Kingdom's future? Whose sword better to end his life with than that of the king's?
A small but satisfied smile animated Duncan's face.
Scene Two, Act I
Kingdom of Interia: The Imperial Palace, King's Hall
A strange silence echoed inside the King's Hall. All of the officials stood up from their seats to receive the Prince as he entered the room. There were whispers of condolences as he greeted each one of them with his head high and his back straight. His black tuxedo made him look taller, fairer than he usually was. He gave a small nod as he received the reverent bows of his council and silently made his way to the head of the table.
The council sat after the Prince settled onto his chair. They prepared their wrist discs and activated their holographic keyboards as a holograph projection of Interia's map covered the whole table. Red animated exclamation marks hovered over some parts of the map.
A representative seated on the far left of the table stood up and lightly touched the area of the map that was populated with exclamation points.
"Since the Shield has collapsed, we have been experiencing a gradual loss of power from the east side of Interia." She glided her finger upward to give everyone a closer look. Small windows popped up to show video clips of the area and the state it was in. "We had intermittent power surges in Westir two weeks ago. Two of the turbines have stopped working since. Fifty percent of the sector has stopped receiving electricity feeds."
A nervous hubbub erupted as the map zoomed out to show more areas affected by the sudden decrease of power supply.
"We are deficient by twenty percent in Sector Estrina," another representative added.
"Ten percent deficient in Sector Tartis," echoed another.
The representatives spoke, one after the other, of the electrical deficiency of their sector. Some of them were hopeful for an answer to their fears, others expressing anger and impatience at the Prince's indecision.
All the while the Prince watched them with a tinge of helplessness. His face looked unchanged but he seemed more weary than when he'd entered the room. "Enough." His voice came out as a whisper, drowned by the incessant pleas and cries of the men and women in the room.
Duncan slammed both his fists on the table. "Silence!" He roared. "We can see that everyone is experiencing power deficiencies. His Majesty has read all your reports. Let us be done with your complaints as each of us has our own!"
art by the winter cynic
The room promptly fell silent.
"Your Grace." The Prince's voice was a light and fluttery sound that instantly dispelled the disquiet possessing the room. He quietly stood up with a small smile, "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for expressing your sentiments." He waved his hand over the hologram, prompting it to form a globe with the whole of Interia highlighted. "As we all know, my late father, King Rickard Courtney the Third, has shielded our kingdom from any form of threat for the past fifty years. We owe him our gratitude for our heretofore peaceful and easy lives. Now that he is no more, we have to move forward with our own strength and defend Interia. Though, I must admit with great regret that we could have prepared more for the worst."
After a long pause and a deep breath, the Prince finally - and despondently - announced, "Gentlemen, I fear that we are at the brink of war." He gestured at his aide.
Lord Macbeth, a man in his mid-fifties, stood up. He connected his wrist disc's data to the main presentation. An image of a full air fleet covered the table.
"As you can see, our Intelligence unit caught this image from Tostidas' Air Fleet. They seem to be moving towards Interia. Now that the King's shield has been deactivated, we have little choice but to fight back."
A murmur of nervousness broke out in the room. Whispers of uncertainty and consternation reverberated.
In the middle of the Councilors' mixed emotions, Prince Rickard Courtney Anton the Second sat back down. He'd listened to the hubbub of protests before, and so with a voice commanding order, he declared, "Ready the armaments and gather every able body. We shan't wait for their banners to be raised against us."
Macbeth nodded. "Here, here! My House supports the Prince Regent!"
Duncan stood up and nodded, "Here! Here! My House supports the Prince Regent as well!"
Not long after, the whole room was filled with cheers of support. The Prince mustered a reassuring smile as his Council and Officers clapped. Despite the many problems the kingdom was facing, the promise of a decisive leader assuaged their small fears.
Scene Two, Act II
Kingdom of Interia: The Imperial Mansion, Gardens -- South Wing
Prince Rickard Courtney Anton the Second sat pensively in the gazebo. His passive gaze took in the curtains swaying gently in the wind and the lush green garden of violet, red and pink before him. The orange horizon caught his wandering eye. The color was slowly enveloping the garden.
The empire Anton's father had built was vast and powerful. Anton stood on very broad shoulders. His own? Not broad enough. He had little strength to offer his kingdom, little strength to take comfort in himself.
"Your Highness." The old Macbeth paused. There was little the Lord could do to school the young Prince now that he had no choice but to follow in his father's footsteps at the tender age of fifteen. The Prince had so much to learn and with the impending war, his days were numbered. "Shall we continue with Haydel's economic report?" Macbeth mustered a smile.
The Prince slowly turned towards Macbeth with a small, sheepish smile. "My apologies, Lord Macbeth. I was preoccupied. Let us continue."
The old Lord gladly complied, surprised by his Highness' candor. He was about to continue reading the report when a messenger entered the garden.
The messenger kneeled down before he announced, "The Lord of Ross sends his apologies for his absence. He also sends his regards and well wishes. If it pleases you, your Highness, I send you news from the border."
The Prince sat upright and softly replied, "Continue, Messenger."
The messenger broke the seal wired around the message capsule. "To His Highness, Prince Regent of Interia, Prince Rickard Courtney Anton. I, The Lord of Ross, send you my condolences and my full support. Though I have wished to send you my felicitations, I regret to herald these sad news."
There was a strange pause that lingered as the messenger tapped the hologram. A flicker of feedback warped some of the parts of the message.
"...Ships that can invade our territory. Their weapons are so rudimentary we haven't the technology to defend ourselves. They use pistols and dynamite as well as arrows that..." A strange static garbled his next few lines. "...to prepare. Our foes have been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Their armaments are well stocked. If I may be so bold, they shall arrive in a fortnight bringing armaments that only the late King's shield could defend against. I pray that despite this we shall prevail and restore Interia to its old glory."
A small stray teardrop glided down the Prince Regent's cheek. Unabashed, he stood up and nodded at Macbeth. "Prepare the Weaponry department. I want to hear their report."
"As you wish, you Highness." Macbeth nodded at his own messenger and without a word the young man quickly headed back inside the castle.
Macbeth's report was delivered in the garden. While arranging the papers for his Majesty, Duncan silently watched the discussion unfold. From the news that had just been delivered, he dreaded the Prince's next move.
"Your Grace, my esteemed Uncle, my only blood relative," the young Prince whispered to Duncan, "tell me. What are the odds against winning a war where you have little information of those that initiate it?"
"For Interia's prosperity, you have done well in alerting everyone in the council. Now, you should be kept safe to discuss our strategy." Duncan could not bear to say that the odds were slim.
The Prince nodded and was about to make his way towards the stone path back to the mansion when droplets of water gently touched the plants.
"Rain," he whispered in surprise. It was the very first time he had seen rain this close.
Scene Three, Act I
Kingdom of Interia
The year 1627 After Disaster marked the beginning of Interia's ruin. The sirens broke the barrier of silence and electronic buzz. Petrichor filled the air as citizens scampered back into their houses. It had been a month since the first wave of attacks by Tostidas' military air ships. The once pristine houses looked like dirty cardboard cutouts in the rubble left by sticks of dynamite thrown from the air.
The Imperial Mansion, Interior
The Prince watched as everyone scrambled to their homes behind barred windows. He could not help but wince every time the sirens were on. It reminded him of the first night. Interia knew that Tostidas was coming but the Imperial Knights of Interia had not anticipated that the Tostidas fleet would surround their military camp. As the supply of electrical power diminished, the Knights' military experts felt increasingly immobilized by the nightly attacks.
"Your Highness!" A breathless Macbeth barged into the room. "You need to evacuate! News from Lord Ross has given us ominous tidings."
"Speak, My Lord." The Prince moved away from the window, pressing a small button. The window was then quickly covered by a type of steel that camouflaged the window as a wall.
"Tostidas has found a way to breach the palace. The Duke of Cawdor has gathered his men to engage in hand-to-hand combat, as he has the most experience, having been able to fight in the old war."
"And why were we not given the opportunity to train with the Duke of Cawdor?" The Prince frowned. "Had we not anticipated that war was imminent with or without my father's protection?"
The old man bowed lower. "I must apologize, your Highness, but this old man holds no answer to your question. We were so spoiled by your Father's strength that we, as a people, failed to see how we needed to work in our own way to protect our kingdom."
"And this failure, does it extend to everyone?" The Prince snapped. "My people are dying of starvation! And this newness... the pollution, the unexpected weather changes... This is all that you are telling me now? While Father read countless books and worked many sleepless nights, all of you were just waiting on him?" He stormed out of the room before Lord Macbeth could respond.
The glass doors automatically opened one after the other as the Prince stomped his way from the inner chambers to the hall. He moved towards the mess hall. He found the Duke of Cawdor discussing the formation of the troops with the other knights. A holographic map covered the walls. There were many animated red flags hovering over certain parts of Interia's capital, Esyrfolt.
Prince Anton had never really interacted with his uncle before his father's death. He would only hear of Duncan when his father would tell him stories of his father's childhood. As a child, second to his father, Anton admired his Uncle who had dedicated most of his adult life to building and protecting Interia.
The Prince waited until the Duke dismissed the Knights before he approached. "Your Grace," he began. The Duke bowed deeply in response. "I heard that you will launch a counter attack. Allow me to assist you in this matter."
The Duke smiled kindly and kneeled in front of him. "Your Highness, allow me to speak as your Uncle."
The Prince nodded slowly. "I understand, Uncle."
"Anton." Duncan held the Prince's hand in his. "You have done well in being brave for your people. I am sure your father is proud of how you are handling the situation. You have been forced to take up the duties of a king at a young age, and yet not once have you shown a moment of weakness. You are our King." He clutched the Prince's hand tightly. "However you have yet to be trained in the art of hand-to-hand combat. And though there is much to learn about governance and leadership, you have been steadily educating yourself by observing and participating in these endeavors. I am proud of you but I cannot have you in danger."
The Prince's brows knitted. "I understand, Uncle, but as the future King I have to represent my people. I have to win this war." He looked straight into his Uncle's eyes.
Duncan sighed softly. "You are so much like your father, Anton. Even to his stubbornness. However, I cannot let you have your way. If you were to be harmed---"
"---If I were to be harmed," the Prince interrupted, "it would have been better in battle than in the comfort of my own home!"
"If you were to be harmed," Duncan insisted. "Then all is lost for Interia." He pleaded, "What do you say, Anton?"
The Prince hesitantly nodded and forced a smile.
Duncan nodded and stood up. He hesitated at first, but decided to pat the Prince's head gently. "It will be all right," he whispered. "We will make it all right."
"And what of the counter attack?" the Prince insisted.
Duncan gave him a ghostly smile. "It's time for you to head to Ysilgarde. There you will be safe. Electricity is still abundant and it is far removed from the Imperial." Before the Prince could even retort, he said, "This is your second important mission as the new King. To keep safe and protect Interia's lineage." He bowed. "Your Highness, we await your orders."
The Prince Anton, with his back straight, stoically ordered, "Duke of Cawdor, move forth and bring Interia victory."
"As you command, my liege."
An army of knights lined up behind Duncan and saluted. "Long live the King!"
The shout of victory echoed throughout the mansion, resonating in the barren streets as an armada of air ships moved in the direction of the capital.
Scene Three, Act II
Battlefield, the Gates of Esyrfolt
The stronghold lay in ruins as a battalion of foot soldiers clad in royal blue marched into the Imperial city's gates, with little regard for the slowly decaying environment around them.
As Tostidas' soldiers reached the city's central garden, the soldiers paused and prepared their bows and arrows, rifles and pistols. Their canons were dragged by horses and more soldiers as they hurried to their positions. The garden's carefully cultured Bermuda grasses and pansies were crushed under the heavy weaponry. Many of the transportation tubes and teleport pods had been damaged with their wires popping out everywhere.
"Hold!" Tostidas' Royal Blue Commander bellowed as they waited for any signs of life behind the rubble.
More than half of the capital had been left in shambles. The Imperial Mansion's north wing was decimated by stray cannon balls and explosives. Dust and debris covered the once ornate streets lined carefully with tempered but strong glass of varied color.
"Take aim!" He paused before screaming, "Now!"
Cannons sprang to life as they fired relentlessly at the North Wing's entry-way, pillars and doors collapsing to the ground as cannon after cannon was lighted and refilled.
Echoes of pain and terror filled the area as more of Interia's solders succumbed to the dust and dirty smog. It seemed that the shots did not kill them easily but the pollution worked miraculously to wipe most of them out. "Hold!"
The Great Tostidas Troops waited until the dust and smoke settled. It seemed that they had yet again outflanked Interia. Victory was almost theirs.
The soldiers attempted to squint through the heavy dust with little success. Trying again, they could almost see quick crooked lines of blue, white and purple from an unknown source.
A sudden rush of electricity cracked around their formation. It sparked and disappeared quickly enough to bewilder the soldiers. A few more sparks came until a full prismatic line ricocheted from the ground to the lines of their flint pistols, cannons and arrow heads, leaving the soldiers in a close to epileptic fit.
art by the winter cynic
As the dust subsided an army of Interia Imperial Soldiers, clad in knights' protective gear, moved in closer to the fray. Each knight held an electrical whip resembling a Tesla coil. Some held swords that conducted electricity. Behind them were men with balls of accumulated electricity in their hands.
"For King Rickard!" shouted the knights as they whipped and hacked the enemies in sight. Their protective gear enabled them to breathe freely into their suits, shielding them from the harmful chemicals produced by the cannon's fire and burn.
"Leave no prisoners!" Duncan barked as his men cornered the group. He twisted his Key Bangles. A dim green light fluctuated as he took them off.
Above them, a fleet of three or more airships moved toward the scene. Duncan unsheathed his sword and ran towards the Knights holding the electricity balls. In his hurry, his bangles slipped from his hand. The metal wrist bands slowly cracked and silently shut down.
"Your Grace! Cavalry!" The airships floated closer and threw down ropes to allow more of their soldiers to descend.
"Beacons B!" Duncan shouted to the knights holding the electricity balls, "Redirect the current! Don't let them touch the ground alive!"
Duncan rushed towards the opposite direction and commanded the rest of the army to flank the remaining foot soldiers. He called out for his own knights to move forward to battle. With their swords and shields they struck many enemy soldiers down.
The shouts of vengeance rang like bells that late afternoon, with the last of the ships reduced to planks of charred wood and live steel. Many burnt bodies lay on the ground, mingling with the suffocated and dying of Interia. A shout of satisfaction and anger filled the battlefield as the knights, men and women, cried in both victory and defeat.
They had used up eighty percent of what was left of their electricity to win the battle and yet, the war had just started.
A messenger ran as fast as he could towards Duncan, passing through a crowd of heaving shoulders and chests. He was breathless when he finally reached the Duke, "Your Grace! Ysilgarde is being attacked."
Scene Three, Act III
The Queen's Landing, Ysilgarde
"Hurry, your Highness! We haven't much time!" The young page ushered The Prince into the lower dungeon tunnel. "We have to reach the water gate before they find us!" The page, in his hurry, pulled the Prince by the wrists.
"Stop!" Prince Anton whimpered as he tried to keep up. "I command you to stop!"
"Your highness! We haven't---"
"We have the time! Let me recover!" the Prince bit out. He crawled towards one of the alcoves and sat down. "Where are we?" he ordered.
The young man kneeled in front of him. "We are at her late Majesty's water way, your Highness."
"Outside this," Prince Anton paused between breaths, "where does it lead?" He wiped the sweat off his cheek.
"Towards her late Majesty's metro-garden, your Highness. There is a shrine at the very middle. Her late Majesty's tomb lies there, your Highness."
"Then you shall head there alone."
The page's face turned white in protest.
"I cannot abandon this post for the sake of posterity," Prince Anton gasped angrily. "It just cannot be done!"
"Forgive my insolence, your Highness but you are our reason for fighting. Without you, our cause will be meaningless," the young man whispered.
"And what of me? Can't there be another king who can better lead the people? I - the inexperienced son of a great King?" Anton scoffed. "I am not worthy to be King," he whispered.
"Your inexperience, your Highness, is your power as it allows you to see the world with new eyes," the Page said, his voice wavering. "I too am inexperienced. I too feel undeserving of my position. However, because my Grandfather, Lord Macbeth, has entrusted me with this mission, I cannot fail him." The Page bowed deeper. "It is in my grandfather's honor that I can be certain of my destiny, your Highness."
Anton looked at him in disbelief. "It is in my naiveté that we have little to fight with. Who needs a king whose shoulders are eternally weak and wavering?"
"Strength is built through experience, Your Highness," the Page said.
"Then if it is strength that I should seek to build, I should be given the choice to stay or leave."
"It is also in strength that we are steadfast and follow our orders," the Page said with finality. "I cannot allow Your Highness to stay behind."
The Prince looked at him with a strange glimmer in his eyes. "Then the Prince shall escape, alone."
Scene Four, Act Zero
Aftermath, The Kingdom of Interia
The Kingdom cried victory for Interia as the head of Tostidas' General rolled down the cyberstream. The head slowly decomposed as the stream greedily swallowed the lifeless thing. After the loss of the King, Interia had also lost the Heir to the throne. Prince Rickard Courtney Anton was also found floating lifelessly in the cybernetic waters. His body was horribly disfigured by the plasmatic waves and coils of the stream. His clothes were the only recognizable thing left of the late Heir.
Of the court and council that traveled with the Prince only a few had survived: the heir to Lord Macbeth's household, the knights that bravely held their ground in front of the third dungeon towards the water way, and the late Lord Macbeth's chambermaid.
Though tired and with little electricity left, the cavalry and knights marched back to Esyrfolt. The knights carried the dried up and bloodied banners of their enemies through the remaining teleport pads. Day after day, the survivors wept for the loss of their Heir and praised the army for their valiant efforts. Among the knights given the highest honor was the Duke of Cawdor who was the next in line to the throne of Interia. The people recognized him as the warrior King.
A hollow laugh echoed in Duncan's head as the coronation ceremony came to a close. He remembered the dream he had pushed far back into his mind. Try as he might, he could still vividly remember the three pairs of eyes peering at him, taunting him and finally cackling in delight.
Duncan stood on the front steps of what was left of the Imperial Mansion. Most of the city had been burnt down and destroyed during the fierce exchange. He faced the survivors with a reassuring smile.
"His Royal Highness, King Interia!"
King Duncan of Interia stood up and waved at his people. The citizens cheered loudly at the quickly aging man. Without the technology Interia had carefully cultivated, everyone had slowly died. Without inoculations to combat the strange air and problems that came with the new environment, everyone was aging faster. However, was it not age that people looked forward to as they woke up every day? Now that he was king, he offered a new type of sensibility to his people, Naturalness. There would be many things to look forward to now, not just to keep everyone healthy, but to also to continually give his people hope despite the newness and vulnerability of their environment. Duncan looked at every single one of the survivors and attempted to memorize their faces. He stopped short when he saw three cloaked figures within the crowd. He could see their ghostly smiles as they moved farther towards the back until they finally disappeared.
"Hail His Majesty's new council!" One of the knights announced.
The regrouped council presented themselves in front of the king. The twelve kneeled in front of Duncan. The King blinked away his uncertainty as he unsheathed his sword and knighted each of the young lords, successors to those who had died valiantly in battle.
Duncan paused when he saw Macbeth's heir. The boy reminded him so much of his late nephew. Moved by the resemblance, he declared, "As a tribute to your Grandfather's services, I shall name you Lord of Cawdor, Lord Macbeth!" He lightly tapped the young man's shoulder with the blunt side of his sword. "From this day forward, son," he whispered. "You are to become even greater than your Grandfather."
The young man's smile was determined as he looked at the aged King. "I know I will, Sire."
Fin
email: autumnpoet [ at ] gmail dot com
artist: the winter cynic (ruins_of_sodom)
email: r.duindain [ at ] gmail dot com
This is a Fictional Story based on a Fictional Story
Act One, Scene Zero
F8 Mountain
The king is dead.
A chorus of unearthly, almost metallic voices chanted that phrase until it became deafening to the ears. Steam spurted from pipes and lengths of hose as three human heads slithered up and out of the crater. The Wyrd Sisters peered across the crater rim, looming menacingly over the lush wasteland. Moss had covered most of the machinery and metal. Vines and trees seemed to have thrived with old wires as fertilizer.
You finally come Duncan of Cawdor
Son of Malachi
Speak
The voices hissed. Fog covered everything in front of Duncan. Slowly, the cloud thinned as he moved towards the obscured figure he could barely see in front of him. A rush of steam prompted him to step back, saving him from meeting an early demise. The mist revealed a steep drop ahead of him. It offered a passive yet unsavory exit to his journey. Sensing movement close by, Duncan leapt backwards and twisted his Key Bangles. The thick silver wrist lock made a clicking sound, glowing green as he prepared for the inevitable.
Be not afraid
Son of Malachi
Knowledge is what you seek, knowledge is what we offer.
Three sets of blue eyes appeared from the mist and blinked at Duncan. The Sisters slowly re-emerged from the crater with their wiry hair floating around the space. "So it is true." One of the Wyrd chuckled. "He is quite a splendid specimen." A pair of wide blue eyes blinked and stared at the tall knight who looked to be in his late thirties, well built and fit.
"Worthy, worthy!"
"My, my, Sisters. Be quiet lest you scare the good lord off." The words echoed in the hollowness of the crater.
"Show yourselves to me!" From Duncan's bangles came a sharp light piercing through the deceptive fog.
Three human heads hovered above him. Each head was attached to a cybernetic hose spewing steam and coughing wires and bolts. Their eyes were shut tight, their expressions pained. When they recovered, all three pairs of eyes glared at him.
"Well now! How boorish!" The first head chided.
"To think he came to seek us, how barbaric!" The second nodded.
"Hush, sisters." The third shook her head. "We must hear him."
The man raised his head to meet their unnerving gaze and attempted to twist his wrist again but the swift movement of the second head froze him on the spot. With her long hose, she slithered around his body, tightly gripping him with her cold touch. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Once is enough. You shan't do that. We won't allow it!"
The other two hovered closer to him, peering through their lashes. Their eyes were as big as his head yet their silicon eyelids batted daintily at him. "You come with a question, yes, my good lord?" the first head hissed.
art by the winter cynic
"Surely you knew what to ask before you found us," said the Second.
"Come now! Let us make haste. What is it that you seek? Why come to us with so dire a need?" The third moved away from him to get a better view of the traveler.
Duncan looked cautiously at each of the heads. He wasn't sure if he was in front of the Wyrd Sisters. He flinched as the second head tightened her hold. He had initially expected three old crones, hiding their hideous appearances with a long hood. These things didn't exactly fit the description he'd downloaded from the Imperial Archives.
"Hasten now, Son of Malachi. We haven't all the time in the world."
"Indeed," the other two agreed.
The First head leaned away. "Indeed, we need our beauty sleep."
The Third looked at the First, "Yes! Yes! The Shut Down awaits!
The three chorused, "Now hurry up Duncan of Cawdor! The future king of Interia! Speak so we can be rid of you."
"What do you mean by Future King?!"
The whole crater hushed at the question before a rumble of menacing laughter erupted, causing the ground Duncan stood on to shudder.
"Isn't it obvious?" The second head let go of him so quickly he fell on his back. "You shall be king."
"A great king!" The first agreed gleefully.
"A mighty king!" The third joined in.
"A king worthy of the throne of Interia!" the three chorused as they looked at each other with their wide blue eyes and nodded.
Duncan staggered to his feet. "Such blasphemy and blatant insolence! I pray you bite your tongues, you wenches!"
"You dare bare your fangs against us?" The first raised her brow.
"Such a tiny life you have," the third whispered solemnly. "Why not listen first before you throw your sentence, Great King?"
"I do not want to be King!" Duncan shouted.
The three sisters hissed. "We have been programmed to speak the truth and the truth we shall speak." The heads slowly moved back to the crater.
"You desire power," the first said, "...far greater than your own."
"For you to reach it, you must choose your path," the third continued.
"The Now you hold is merely a drop of what is to be Tomorrow," the second added.
"Here is the Archive you seek, Your Majesty. Verily, you will see a future vaster than what you see now..." And like an old computer, the voices dwindled into a burble of incoherent words with a robotic sound. As mysteriously as they'd appeared, the Sisters faded back into the settling fog, leaving behind a small port that resembled a USB hub.
Hesitantly, Duncan walked towards the artifact. It looked old and overused. The USB hub was indeed one of the lost Archives transcribed in the Engine disks from the Imperial Archives. The faded insignia of a strange fruit which the Olden Folks called the "Apple" was easily found on the front of the machine. Three USB ports were nestled in a black box which was further supported by a retractable metal pillar.
He twisted his bangles twice and pulled out a transparent wire. He plugged the wire into the port and twisted his bangles again. A surge of data transferred to his Key and without warning a hologram of the past sped around and by him and slowly the whole kingdom of Interia unraveled before him.
The sight of the cyber stream flowing along the lush forest of the kingdom brought tears to his eyes. He could see the many houses and mansions of the city, artfully lined up and arranged to create a beautiful view from above. His attention turned to the Imperial Mansion, the largest edifice in the kingdom with an elaborate garden and many robotic arms cleaning the fields nearby.
Slowly, the lights from the north dimmed and darkness spread fast downwards until half of the kingdom had lost its power. Someone had destroyed the dam. Water burst out of the reserve and flooded the city. Finally, the attack. Pandemonium ensued.
The kind King was found dead in his chambers. His body was sprawled on the floor with blood and a bluish-green liquid pooling beneath him. The Key, the life support of every citizen in Interia, had been ripped from him. It was nowhere to be found. Now, without His Majesty's Key, Interia would no longer be protected from other kingdoms. Without his Majesty, the kingdom would now need to face the challenges of a world outside a controlled and sterilized environment.
Duncan could see the King's wide eyes. They were glassy with death and kept a secret only his Majesty could fathom.
Son of Malachi
Duncan of Cawdor
Duncan saw the body of young Prince Anton drifting lifelessly in the cyberstream. The Prince's Key was nowhere to be found. Like his father, Anton's eyes were glassy with death.
And yet Duncan saw everything from the pedestal he was perched on. When he looked at his hands, he found them greased with oil and blood. Broken wires dangled in his fists. He found a virulent pool of smog and oil beneath the steps of his throne. He could hear the cries of joy. He could hear the people shouting his name.
His Royal Highness, King Interia
Duncan woke up, startled. He was back in his house, lying in his bed with the familiar whitewashed ceiling greeting him. At the forefront of his mind, he wistfully thought of Interia and the Archive he had downloaded. To him, no other king should reign but his nephew, Prince Regent Anton. He was determined to protect his brother's will, even if it meant dying for honor. What better demise could a knight have but to die for his Kingdom's future? Whose sword better to end his life with than that of the king's?
A small but satisfied smile animated Duncan's face.
Scene Two, Act I
Kingdom of Interia: The Imperial Palace, King's Hall
A strange silence echoed inside the King's Hall. All of the officials stood up from their seats to receive the Prince as he entered the room. There were whispers of condolences as he greeted each one of them with his head high and his back straight. His black tuxedo made him look taller, fairer than he usually was. He gave a small nod as he received the reverent bows of his council and silently made his way to the head of the table.
The council sat after the Prince settled onto his chair. They prepared their wrist discs and activated their holographic keyboards as a holograph projection of Interia's map covered the whole table. Red animated exclamation marks hovered over some parts of the map.
A representative seated on the far left of the table stood up and lightly touched the area of the map that was populated with exclamation points.
"Since the Shield has collapsed, we have been experiencing a gradual loss of power from the east side of Interia." She glided her finger upward to give everyone a closer look. Small windows popped up to show video clips of the area and the state it was in. "We had intermittent power surges in Westir two weeks ago. Two of the turbines have stopped working since. Fifty percent of the sector has stopped receiving electricity feeds."
A nervous hubbub erupted as the map zoomed out to show more areas affected by the sudden decrease of power supply.
"We are deficient by twenty percent in Sector Estrina," another representative added.
"Ten percent deficient in Sector Tartis," echoed another.
The representatives spoke, one after the other, of the electrical deficiency of their sector. Some of them were hopeful for an answer to their fears, others expressing anger and impatience at the Prince's indecision.
All the while the Prince watched them with a tinge of helplessness. His face looked unchanged but he seemed more weary than when he'd entered the room. "Enough." His voice came out as a whisper, drowned by the incessant pleas and cries of the men and women in the room.
Duncan slammed both his fists on the table. "Silence!" He roared. "We can see that everyone is experiencing power deficiencies. His Majesty has read all your reports. Let us be done with your complaints as each of us has our own!"
art by the winter cynic
The room promptly fell silent.
"Your Grace." The Prince's voice was a light and fluttery sound that instantly dispelled the disquiet possessing the room. He quietly stood up with a small smile, "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for expressing your sentiments." He waved his hand over the hologram, prompting it to form a globe with the whole of Interia highlighted. "As we all know, my late father, King Rickard Courtney the Third, has shielded our kingdom from any form of threat for the past fifty years. We owe him our gratitude for our heretofore peaceful and easy lives. Now that he is no more, we have to move forward with our own strength and defend Interia. Though, I must admit with great regret that we could have prepared more for the worst."
After a long pause and a deep breath, the Prince finally - and despondently - announced, "Gentlemen, I fear that we are at the brink of war." He gestured at his aide.
Lord Macbeth, a man in his mid-fifties, stood up. He connected his wrist disc's data to the main presentation. An image of a full air fleet covered the table.
"As you can see, our Intelligence unit caught this image from Tostidas' Air Fleet. They seem to be moving towards Interia. Now that the King's shield has been deactivated, we have little choice but to fight back."
A murmur of nervousness broke out in the room. Whispers of uncertainty and consternation reverberated.
In the middle of the Councilors' mixed emotions, Prince Rickard Courtney Anton the Second sat back down. He'd listened to the hubbub of protests before, and so with a voice commanding order, he declared, "Ready the armaments and gather every able body. We shan't wait for their banners to be raised against us."
Macbeth nodded. "Here, here! My House supports the Prince Regent!"
Duncan stood up and nodded, "Here! Here! My House supports the Prince Regent as well!"
Not long after, the whole room was filled with cheers of support. The Prince mustered a reassuring smile as his Council and Officers clapped. Despite the many problems the kingdom was facing, the promise of a decisive leader assuaged their small fears.
Scene Two, Act II
Kingdom of Interia: The Imperial Mansion, Gardens -- South Wing
Prince Rickard Courtney Anton the Second sat pensively in the gazebo. His passive gaze took in the curtains swaying gently in the wind and the lush green garden of violet, red and pink before him. The orange horizon caught his wandering eye. The color was slowly enveloping the garden.
The empire Anton's father had built was vast and powerful. Anton stood on very broad shoulders. His own? Not broad enough. He had little strength to offer his kingdom, little strength to take comfort in himself.
"Your Highness." The old Macbeth paused. There was little the Lord could do to school the young Prince now that he had no choice but to follow in his father's footsteps at the tender age of fifteen. The Prince had so much to learn and with the impending war, his days were numbered. "Shall we continue with Haydel's economic report?" Macbeth mustered a smile.
The Prince slowly turned towards Macbeth with a small, sheepish smile. "My apologies, Lord Macbeth. I was preoccupied. Let us continue."
The old Lord gladly complied, surprised by his Highness' candor. He was about to continue reading the report when a messenger entered the garden.
The messenger kneeled down before he announced, "The Lord of Ross sends his apologies for his absence. He also sends his regards and well wishes. If it pleases you, your Highness, I send you news from the border."
The Prince sat upright and softly replied, "Continue, Messenger."
The messenger broke the seal wired around the message capsule. "To His Highness, Prince Regent of Interia, Prince Rickard Courtney Anton. I, The Lord of Ross, send you my condolences and my full support. Though I have wished to send you my felicitations, I regret to herald these sad news."
There was a strange pause that lingered as the messenger tapped the hologram. A flicker of feedback warped some of the parts of the message.
"...Ships that can invade our territory. Their weapons are so rudimentary we haven't the technology to defend ourselves. They use pistols and dynamite as well as arrows that..." A strange static garbled his next few lines. "...to prepare. Our foes have been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Their armaments are well stocked. If I may be so bold, they shall arrive in a fortnight bringing armaments that only the late King's shield could defend against. I pray that despite this we shall prevail and restore Interia to its old glory."
A small stray teardrop glided down the Prince Regent's cheek. Unabashed, he stood up and nodded at Macbeth. "Prepare the Weaponry department. I want to hear their report."
"As you wish, you Highness." Macbeth nodded at his own messenger and without a word the young man quickly headed back inside the castle.
Macbeth's report was delivered in the garden. While arranging the papers for his Majesty, Duncan silently watched the discussion unfold. From the news that had just been delivered, he dreaded the Prince's next move.
"Your Grace, my esteemed Uncle, my only blood relative," the young Prince whispered to Duncan, "tell me. What are the odds against winning a war where you have little information of those that initiate it?"
"For Interia's prosperity, you have done well in alerting everyone in the council. Now, you should be kept safe to discuss our strategy." Duncan could not bear to say that the odds were slim.
The Prince nodded and was about to make his way towards the stone path back to the mansion when droplets of water gently touched the plants.
"Rain," he whispered in surprise. It was the very first time he had seen rain this close.
Scene Three, Act I
Kingdom of Interia
The year 1627 After Disaster marked the beginning of Interia's ruin. The sirens broke the barrier of silence and electronic buzz. Petrichor filled the air as citizens scampered back into their houses. It had been a month since the first wave of attacks by Tostidas' military air ships. The once pristine houses looked like dirty cardboard cutouts in the rubble left by sticks of dynamite thrown from the air.
The Imperial Mansion, Interior
The Prince watched as everyone scrambled to their homes behind barred windows. He could not help but wince every time the sirens were on. It reminded him of the first night. Interia knew that Tostidas was coming but the Imperial Knights of Interia had not anticipated that the Tostidas fleet would surround their military camp. As the supply of electrical power diminished, the Knights' military experts felt increasingly immobilized by the nightly attacks.
"Your Highness!" A breathless Macbeth barged into the room. "You need to evacuate! News from Lord Ross has given us ominous tidings."
"Speak, My Lord." The Prince moved away from the window, pressing a small button. The window was then quickly covered by a type of steel that camouflaged the window as a wall.
"Tostidas has found a way to breach the palace. The Duke of Cawdor has gathered his men to engage in hand-to-hand combat, as he has the most experience, having been able to fight in the old war."
"And why were we not given the opportunity to train with the Duke of Cawdor?" The Prince frowned. "Had we not anticipated that war was imminent with or without my father's protection?"
The old man bowed lower. "I must apologize, your Highness, but this old man holds no answer to your question. We were so spoiled by your Father's strength that we, as a people, failed to see how we needed to work in our own way to protect our kingdom."
"And this failure, does it extend to everyone?" The Prince snapped. "My people are dying of starvation! And this newness... the pollution, the unexpected weather changes... This is all that you are telling me now? While Father read countless books and worked many sleepless nights, all of you were just waiting on him?" He stormed out of the room before Lord Macbeth could respond.
The glass doors automatically opened one after the other as the Prince stomped his way from the inner chambers to the hall. He moved towards the mess hall. He found the Duke of Cawdor discussing the formation of the troops with the other knights. A holographic map covered the walls. There were many animated red flags hovering over certain parts of Interia's capital, Esyrfolt.
Prince Anton had never really interacted with his uncle before his father's death. He would only hear of Duncan when his father would tell him stories of his father's childhood. As a child, second to his father, Anton admired his Uncle who had dedicated most of his adult life to building and protecting Interia.
The Prince waited until the Duke dismissed the Knights before he approached. "Your Grace," he began. The Duke bowed deeply in response. "I heard that you will launch a counter attack. Allow me to assist you in this matter."
The Duke smiled kindly and kneeled in front of him. "Your Highness, allow me to speak as your Uncle."
The Prince nodded slowly. "I understand, Uncle."
"Anton." Duncan held the Prince's hand in his. "You have done well in being brave for your people. I am sure your father is proud of how you are handling the situation. You have been forced to take up the duties of a king at a young age, and yet not once have you shown a moment of weakness. You are our King." He clutched the Prince's hand tightly. "However you have yet to be trained in the art of hand-to-hand combat. And though there is much to learn about governance and leadership, you have been steadily educating yourself by observing and participating in these endeavors. I am proud of you but I cannot have you in danger."
The Prince's brows knitted. "I understand, Uncle, but as the future King I have to represent my people. I have to win this war." He looked straight into his Uncle's eyes.
Duncan sighed softly. "You are so much like your father, Anton. Even to his stubbornness. However, I cannot let you have your way. If you were to be harmed---"
"---If I were to be harmed," the Prince interrupted, "it would have been better in battle than in the comfort of my own home!"
"If you were to be harmed," Duncan insisted. "Then all is lost for Interia." He pleaded, "What do you say, Anton?"
The Prince hesitantly nodded and forced a smile.
Duncan nodded and stood up. He hesitated at first, but decided to pat the Prince's head gently. "It will be all right," he whispered. "We will make it all right."
"And what of the counter attack?" the Prince insisted.
Duncan gave him a ghostly smile. "It's time for you to head to Ysilgarde. There you will be safe. Electricity is still abundant and it is far removed from the Imperial." Before the Prince could even retort, he said, "This is your second important mission as the new King. To keep safe and protect Interia's lineage." He bowed. "Your Highness, we await your orders."
The Prince Anton, with his back straight, stoically ordered, "Duke of Cawdor, move forth and bring Interia victory."
"As you command, my liege."
An army of knights lined up behind Duncan and saluted. "Long live the King!"
The shout of victory echoed throughout the mansion, resonating in the barren streets as an armada of air ships moved in the direction of the capital.
Scene Three, Act II
Battlefield, the Gates of Esyrfolt
The stronghold lay in ruins as a battalion of foot soldiers clad in royal blue marched into the Imperial city's gates, with little regard for the slowly decaying environment around them.
As Tostidas' soldiers reached the city's central garden, the soldiers paused and prepared their bows and arrows, rifles and pistols. Their canons were dragged by horses and more soldiers as they hurried to their positions. The garden's carefully cultured Bermuda grasses and pansies were crushed under the heavy weaponry. Many of the transportation tubes and teleport pods had been damaged with their wires popping out everywhere.
"Hold!" Tostidas' Royal Blue Commander bellowed as they waited for any signs of life behind the rubble.
More than half of the capital had been left in shambles. The Imperial Mansion's north wing was decimated by stray cannon balls and explosives. Dust and debris covered the once ornate streets lined carefully with tempered but strong glass of varied color.
"Take aim!" He paused before screaming, "Now!"
Cannons sprang to life as they fired relentlessly at the North Wing's entry-way, pillars and doors collapsing to the ground as cannon after cannon was lighted and refilled.
Echoes of pain and terror filled the area as more of Interia's solders succumbed to the dust and dirty smog. It seemed that the shots did not kill them easily but the pollution worked miraculously to wipe most of them out. "Hold!"
The Great Tostidas Troops waited until the dust and smoke settled. It seemed that they had yet again outflanked Interia. Victory was almost theirs.
The soldiers attempted to squint through the heavy dust with little success. Trying again, they could almost see quick crooked lines of blue, white and purple from an unknown source.
A sudden rush of electricity cracked around their formation. It sparked and disappeared quickly enough to bewilder the soldiers. A few more sparks came until a full prismatic line ricocheted from the ground to the lines of their flint pistols, cannons and arrow heads, leaving the soldiers in a close to epileptic fit.
art by the winter cynic
As the dust subsided an army of Interia Imperial Soldiers, clad in knights' protective gear, moved in closer to the fray. Each knight held an electrical whip resembling a Tesla coil. Some held swords that conducted electricity. Behind them were men with balls of accumulated electricity in their hands.
"For King Rickard!" shouted the knights as they whipped and hacked the enemies in sight. Their protective gear enabled them to breathe freely into their suits, shielding them from the harmful chemicals produced by the cannon's fire and burn.
"Leave no prisoners!" Duncan barked as his men cornered the group. He twisted his Key Bangles. A dim green light fluctuated as he took them off.
Above them, a fleet of three or more airships moved toward the scene. Duncan unsheathed his sword and ran towards the Knights holding the electricity balls. In his hurry, his bangles slipped from his hand. The metal wrist bands slowly cracked and silently shut down.
"Your Grace! Cavalry!" The airships floated closer and threw down ropes to allow more of their soldiers to descend.
"Beacons B!" Duncan shouted to the knights holding the electricity balls, "Redirect the current! Don't let them touch the ground alive!"
Duncan rushed towards the opposite direction and commanded the rest of the army to flank the remaining foot soldiers. He called out for his own knights to move forward to battle. With their swords and shields they struck many enemy soldiers down.
The shouts of vengeance rang like bells that late afternoon, with the last of the ships reduced to planks of charred wood and live steel. Many burnt bodies lay on the ground, mingling with the suffocated and dying of Interia. A shout of satisfaction and anger filled the battlefield as the knights, men and women, cried in both victory and defeat.
They had used up eighty percent of what was left of their electricity to win the battle and yet, the war had just started.
A messenger ran as fast as he could towards Duncan, passing through a crowd of heaving shoulders and chests. He was breathless when he finally reached the Duke, "Your Grace! Ysilgarde is being attacked."
Scene Three, Act III
The Queen's Landing, Ysilgarde
"Hurry, your Highness! We haven't much time!" The young page ushered The Prince into the lower dungeon tunnel. "We have to reach the water gate before they find us!" The page, in his hurry, pulled the Prince by the wrists.
"Stop!" Prince Anton whimpered as he tried to keep up. "I command you to stop!"
"Your highness! We haven't---"
"We have the time! Let me recover!" the Prince bit out. He crawled towards one of the alcoves and sat down. "Where are we?" he ordered.
The young man kneeled in front of him. "We are at her late Majesty's water way, your Highness."
"Outside this," Prince Anton paused between breaths, "where does it lead?" He wiped the sweat off his cheek.
"Towards her late Majesty's metro-garden, your Highness. There is a shrine at the very middle. Her late Majesty's tomb lies there, your Highness."
"Then you shall head there alone."
The page's face turned white in protest.
"I cannot abandon this post for the sake of posterity," Prince Anton gasped angrily. "It just cannot be done!"
"Forgive my insolence, your Highness but you are our reason for fighting. Without you, our cause will be meaningless," the young man whispered.
"And what of me? Can't there be another king who can better lead the people? I - the inexperienced son of a great King?" Anton scoffed. "I am not worthy to be King," he whispered.
"Your inexperience, your Highness, is your power as it allows you to see the world with new eyes," the Page said, his voice wavering. "I too am inexperienced. I too feel undeserving of my position. However, because my Grandfather, Lord Macbeth, has entrusted me with this mission, I cannot fail him." The Page bowed deeper. "It is in my grandfather's honor that I can be certain of my destiny, your Highness."
Anton looked at him in disbelief. "It is in my naiveté that we have little to fight with. Who needs a king whose shoulders are eternally weak and wavering?"
"Strength is built through experience, Your Highness," the Page said.
"Then if it is strength that I should seek to build, I should be given the choice to stay or leave."
"It is also in strength that we are steadfast and follow our orders," the Page said with finality. "I cannot allow Your Highness to stay behind."
The Prince looked at him with a strange glimmer in his eyes. "Then the Prince shall escape, alone."
Scene Four, Act Zero
Aftermath, The Kingdom of Interia
The Kingdom cried victory for Interia as the head of Tostidas' General rolled down the cyberstream. The head slowly decomposed as the stream greedily swallowed the lifeless thing. After the loss of the King, Interia had also lost the Heir to the throne. Prince Rickard Courtney Anton was also found floating lifelessly in the cybernetic waters. His body was horribly disfigured by the plasmatic waves and coils of the stream. His clothes were the only recognizable thing left of the late Heir.
Of the court and council that traveled with the Prince only a few had survived: the heir to Lord Macbeth's household, the knights that bravely held their ground in front of the third dungeon towards the water way, and the late Lord Macbeth's chambermaid.
Though tired and with little electricity left, the cavalry and knights marched back to Esyrfolt. The knights carried the dried up and bloodied banners of their enemies through the remaining teleport pads. Day after day, the survivors wept for the loss of their Heir and praised the army for their valiant efforts. Among the knights given the highest honor was the Duke of Cawdor who was the next in line to the throne of Interia. The people recognized him as the warrior King.
A hollow laugh echoed in Duncan's head as the coronation ceremony came to a close. He remembered the dream he had pushed far back into his mind. Try as he might, he could still vividly remember the three pairs of eyes peering at him, taunting him and finally cackling in delight.
Duncan stood on the front steps of what was left of the Imperial Mansion. Most of the city had been burnt down and destroyed during the fierce exchange. He faced the survivors with a reassuring smile.
"His Royal Highness, King Interia!"
King Duncan of Interia stood up and waved at his people. The citizens cheered loudly at the quickly aging man. Without the technology Interia had carefully cultivated, everyone had slowly died. Without inoculations to combat the strange air and problems that came with the new environment, everyone was aging faster. However, was it not age that people looked forward to as they woke up every day? Now that he was king, he offered a new type of sensibility to his people, Naturalness. There would be many things to look forward to now, not just to keep everyone healthy, but to also to continually give his people hope despite the newness and vulnerability of their environment. Duncan looked at every single one of the survivors and attempted to memorize their faces. He stopped short when he saw three cloaked figures within the crowd. He could see their ghostly smiles as they moved farther towards the back until they finally disappeared.
"Hail His Majesty's new council!" One of the knights announced.
The regrouped council presented themselves in front of the king. The twelve kneeled in front of Duncan. The King blinked away his uncertainty as he unsheathed his sword and knighted each of the young lords, successors to those who had died valiantly in battle.
Duncan paused when he saw Macbeth's heir. The boy reminded him so much of his late nephew. Moved by the resemblance, he declared, "As a tribute to your Grandfather's services, I shall name you Lord of Cawdor, Lord Macbeth!" He lightly tapped the young man's shoulder with the blunt side of his sword. "From this day forward, son," he whispered. "You are to become even greater than your Grandfather."
The young man's smile was determined as he looked at the aged King. "I know I will, Sire."
Fin