The Chronicles of Ki
Book 1: In The Beginning
© Copyright 2024 Frank Walters Clark ~ All Rights Reserved
It is late, and Nibiru’s supreme ruler, King Dal is drinking heavily, fortifying himself for a tryst arranged for him by his closest advisor, Yosl. A recent affair has left him distrustful and full of doubt. Strong women are his downfall, the queen as prime example, and he makes his feelings known.
“You had best not be wrong again, Yosl,” he says. “The last one you brought me lied, told everyone she knew I could not get it up for her. She won’t be running her mouth ever again, you hear me?”
Yosl understands the implied threat. Yet, despite the peril and his growing disinclination, once again he helps the king prepare for another in his ongoing series of secret rendezvous.
He and King Dal are at the king’s castle at Shine’r, in a bedroom of opulent furnishings. The castle is one of the king’s many luxurious mansions and villas scattered all across the globe.
After all, he reasons, the king is the supreme ruler, with a fawning majority of the Council of Twelve to grant his every request. Therefore, all royal luxuries are funded by tax revenues, collected from unwitting Nibiruans and secretly funneled through various subterfuges to meet his master’s every need.
“She’s a service girl, my lord,” Yosl says. “Chosen by you from among the highest class of on-call women available anywhere in the world. Flown in on your royal skyship from Nidr just a few hours ago.”
King Dal reviews her e-file on his compad and realizes she is only sixteen. He smiles, then licks his lips lasciviously and says, “She will do, Yosl. This time.”
“Your happiness is my command, my lord ” Yosl replies, then quickly leaves to fetch the girl for his master. Yosl is unsettled; for him, subservience isn’t only a state of being, it is a survival tactic.
Knowing of an abuser is one thing, and doing something about it, are two different things, Yosl reminds himself. Especially when you are an advisor and the person you serve is the most powerful man in the world.
***
Early the next morning and hung over, King Dal rushes about, pulling off his nightgown and donning his royal uniform. “Get her out of here, Yosl,” he says. “She was supposed to be gone by now and the queen will be here any minute.”
A honey-eyed beauty, the naked young girl has been badly brutalized and cowers in a corner, sobbing into the folds of a blanket. Cast aside, she now turns to remuneration and a quick escape.
“My lord,” she cries out. “From whom shall I seek recompense?”
A black fog suddenly overtakes King Dal, and he spins, then draws a blue steel mist dagger from a sheath at his belt. “I will give you recompense,” he growls.
Lunging at her, he slashes her upraised arms and then buries the blade in her neck. He smirks, withdrawing the dagger as her hot blood gushes across his hand.
In shock, Yosl is speechless. Not for the first time he stands helpless, witness to a horrible act by his so-called leader and king.
“I told you to get her out of here,” the king says. “Now, clean up this mess.”
Slowly walking toward his bedchamber’s door as if nothing unusual has happened, King Dal cleans his hands and the knife with the girl’s dress. His thoughts are only on the two thousand talens he saved himself; her death is a minor detail, to be dealt with by Yosl and other advisors like him.
In the vestibule just outside his bedroom, the queen, Lady Dal, waits patiently at the king’s beck and call. When he emerges, he passes next to her and drops the bloody gown in her lap.
Laughing, he says, “This is what I think of pushy women.”
As he leaves, Queen Dal disgustedly picks up the stained gown between thumb and finger, then stands and walks to an armoire nearby. Pushing aside stacks of the king’s silk underwear on the top shelf, she shoves the dress far to the rear, then moves everything back in place and cleans her hands on his underwear.
Queen Dal is a patient woman and has plans for her husband and his ongoing peccadillos. Her son, Lord Dalu will benefit the greatest from her restraint.
Every kingly misstep serves as a building block for her son’s rise to the throne. Every building block brings her closer to the title of regency she so desires and which her son will grant, she is sure.
Lady Dal touches her temple and activates her com set, then keys Dalu’s private code on her compad. He answers after the first bell tone.
“I am busy, mother,” Lord Dalu says.
“He has done it again,” Lady Dal says. “This is the second.”
“What am I supposed to do?” he says. “Take it to the council, mother.”
“I pray you are not like him when you are on the throne,” she says. “I could not bear it.”
“According to the ancient tablatures,” Lord Dalu says. “He is no different than his father, and his father before him and all the way back. Judging by my own creative bloodletting as a boy, I will probably be just the same when I am on the throne. It is in our blood.”
Queen Dal shudders at the thought. What Dalu suggests borders on insanity; an ancient line of kings, sworn by blood oath to protect and serve the people, not kill them and bury the evidence.
“He only gets abusive when he is drunk,” she says.
“Which anymore is all the time,” Dalu replies. “He used to make Xib and me drink wine when we were little. Part of the royal ceremony, he called it.”
“I remember a lot of things he used to do to you boys,” the queen says. “Evil things no man has the right to do to children.”
Things I would sooner forget, Lord Dalu thinks.
“I will talk to him, but I do not think it will do any good,” he says. “He is never shown any interest in my affairs, much less in my person. Except when he needed me to do something for his benefit, that is.”
Lord Dalu links off, and Queen Dal shakes her head. She feels like she is standing on the edge of a dark abyss, whose depths are slowly pulling her in.