The Chronicles of Ki
Book 1: In The Beginning
© Copyright 2024 Frank Walters Clark ~ All Rights Reserved
To one side of his royal chamber, King Dal rests on the settee, face to the floor, holding his head in his hands. Lord Xib has just delivered a dictum of death, and the king is tongue-tied.
Groaning deep, he stands to face his son, but indecisive, quickly turns away saying, “This cannot be!”
Terror crosses his face, then drains it. He rushes to the cut-crystal decanter of wine resting on the wickwood stand to one side of his work table, then pours himself a four-finger draft of the sacred, amber liquid.
Downing it in one gulp, he pours another. Drinks it. Pours a third. Potency be damned, right now, he needs this.
Waving his crystal cup in Lord Xib’s face, he sways and sloshes wine. His eyes are glazed and unfocused, his words slurred. “My son you may be, but you had best speak of nothing less than a solution!”
Lord Xib draws a deep breath and steps back. He feels the cold fingers of his father’s fears reaching in to caress his heart. “My lead scientist, RLS FelBok, informs me that RLA JimKas has marshaled a solution of sorts, my lord.”
The king wanders about, peering at the furnishings, the walls, the ceiling. Unable to focus on anything in particular, his words become loose and garbled.
“Yes… the great wunderkind…child, I am told. What… say our… amazing star performers?”
Lord Xib finger combs his beard for a few moments, then activates his compad. He taps several keys on the compad, then directs the king’s attention to the vidplay, floating at the bulkhead over the royal worktable.
Two molecular arrays appear, side by side: One for gold, one for silver.
Lord Xib speaks without trepidation, “If I may, my lord? Neither of these two elements is subject to decay. Both make excellent substratum for chemical bonds of the type needed to create the atmospheric grid.”
Unsteady on his feet. King Dal leans against the edge of a wickwood table at his side. “So. What?”
“At the present time, my lord, we do not have enough gold to meet our needs. We do have ample silver ores.”
King Dal uses an erratic circular motion with his hand. Flops down half-asleep on the black, izibear fur-covered settee.
Lord Xib sits down next to his king, and tenderly drapes an arm around his shoulders. More than his brutality, his father’s discipline has made him what he is.
“Please, father. Just a few moments more…”
King Dal raises a finger and nods. His eyes close and his head drops, then he snaps wide awake.
Trembling, Lord Xib speaks in a low voice, “The errors in the formulations have at long last been corrected, my lord. Silver has proven to be the lesser of the two bonding agents, but we have a means by which to use it in place of gold.”
Under a powerful sense of obligation, more to his species than to his king, Lord Xib continues. His words, he knows, are automatically e-filed by the ever-present, royal security channels—video and audio. “The lattice will require constant replenishment of the bonds, my lord.”
Eyes wet with tears, Lord Xib utters his final devastating words. “The dangers are very real, my king. Many of our soldier’s lives will be sacrificed in the rendering.”
Lord Xib looks back at his king from the doorway, shakes his head one last time and leaves.