Behind the Curtain - Elizabeth J. D. (interesting books to read in english .txt) 📗

ground, amazed at its warmth, then nodded to the elderly, blue-robed Gnorbu, a sign for him to start his story. I have my doubts as to whether he could see my nod or not; however, he started nonetheless. And as I obediently listened, I felt myself get swept away on a cool molten tide. This was no longer a story. It was a vision, a hallucination, a first-row view to an event that took place one thousand years before my birth.

Shenkuu (*similar to Asia)

"Strange things have been known to happen in strange, far-off lands," the elderly Gnorbu began, his hands flitting here and there as he spoke. "They have been known to happen with warning and without it. They have been known to happen to those who are talented, to those who are not. To those who are indolent, and to those who are industrious. To those who are weak, and to those who are strong. The strange ocurance my tale will unfold to you was to happen without warning; it was to happen to all. This is the legend of the creation of Moltera...

Flowers were dropping from the cherry trees, the blossoms falling...falling. It was strange, really, how they fell. Some fell lazily, and some fell as if their entire goal in life was to reach the unlikely destination that was the ground below them. They seemed to understand that no matter where they were, they would show beauty. It was a strange observation, but Tikyl had never been known to be normal. He pondered often on the meaning of life, which now is a typical question but which in his day was not. You were a warrior, or you were a farmer, or you were a merchant. Your life was to work, to sell, to buy, to eat, to use the nutrition to work some more; to cycle and cycle and never complete they cycle until you were six feet under. And then your son would take over. Tikyl had been born into a warrior family. Which was unfortunate for him, as he had no intention of harming another living being. For that matter, he revered even the plants. They may not speak, but they were alive in his eyes. He had always felt a connection to the earth. A strange sort of thing, especially for a warrior. Usually it was farmers who spoke to their crops as they harvested them. It was the farmers who loved their tended fields as if they were children. Tikyl's connection went deeper even than this. It was almost as if he WAS the earth.

Thoughts of this nature flitted through his mind like flurries of snowflakes - melting as soon as one was grasped - as he sat beneath a cherry tree, catching and observing the blossoms as they fell. He sighed, leaning his head against the tree and closing his blue-scaled eyes. Scaled, of course, because he was part of the warrior clan; all of them were Grarrls (*T-rex type creatures) or Chombies ("long-neck" type creatures), some variation of what the elders called 'Dinosaurs.' At that moment, Tikyl wished very much that he were not scaled. He wished he could close his eyes and be in no danger of anyone finding him, telling him to train, commanding him to lift boulders, dig trenches, build walls. It was exhausting, more mentally than physically. But there were rumors going around...

As this thought crossed his mind, his brows creased in concern. The rumors were that there was a terrible disaster about to erupt, about to be unleashed upon their entire nation. Some said it signified the beginnings of a new nation, not the end of the world. Some took it even further and said that their people were destined for higher things, and the impending disaster would bring them closer to it. Whatever it was, it was almost bound to happen, simply because the calendars said it was so. Even though Tikyl was by no means a superstitious person, he did put a certain amount of stock into the elders' calendars. All the villagers did. The calendars were always right when they predicted the crops' outputs, the attacks from other nations, the rainfall. At times Tikyl thought that some day they might be punished for all this knowledge. It didn't seem quite right that a mortal know so much. He only hoped tha --- ...he never completed his train of thought, before the winds and the blossoms lulled him into a sleep.

Suddenly, with a jerk, Tikyl's eyes flew open and his head was no longer leaning against the trunk of the tree.

The Promise

Bleary from having been asleep, he at first thought it was because he had lifted his head from it. Glancing behind himself, he stared in wide-eyed horror. Between himself and the tree was nothing. No ground. The earth itself had split into two, leaving a rift nearly twice Tikyl's entire length from head to tail. Something rang in his ears, like a siren or alarm. It took him a moment to realize it was screaming. From farmers, from warriors, from merchants. From the young. From the old. From the teenagers, the ones Tikyl had known all his life. And with startled realization, he felt his own throat sending vibrations through the air in a scream of his own. Suddenly, as if a top had been dropped on the ground and spun, a shapeless whirlwind gusted and blustered around him. His head, his ears, his eyes. He saw nothing, he felt nothing. He heard...a voice.

Trust me

, it whispered soothingly. And somehow, Tikyl knew that there was no malice in the voice. You and yours are meant for a greater purpose,

the whisper continued, seemingly excited. Now is the time. The legend is about to begin. I'm so sorry for the inconvenient way of doing things here, but you see, there was no other way,

it reasoned with him. Smiling and suddenly tired, Tikyl nodded...and nodded off, as the whirlwind ran its course, comforting the others around him in their descent to the cores of the earth, far below Shenkuu, turning a little left, perhaps a little right. No one was awake to tell. They were asleep as their bodies were lowered towards the magma, asleep when they became part of it. It did not wake them, for it did not cause pain. They were unaware of the buildings, the houses, the fortifications which the mysterious wind chipped out of the half-molten rock walls. Seeming satisfied with its work, the whirlwind sent comforting dreams to the minds of the dreamers. Do not worry,

it whispered to them. Your stories are just beginning. Your nation will do great and wondrous things. Made of molten stone, you, the Molterans, will be the things of legends. When the time is right.

With that, the whirlwind was gone. What it had said was a statement. It was a fact. It was a promise...


The Legend

For now, Tikyl would rest and be transformed, as they all would, to suit the conditions of their new home. But little did he know that a decade later, when their transformation was complete, he would be the great leader, the Founding Father, of the Newly-Awoken Molterans. Little did he know that far into the future, ballads, songs, and poems would be written of his life.


In Honor Of -

Hypnotic eyes of flame
Lapping tongue of molten fire
Strange recesses in thy flesh,
Formed of ancient cinders blazed.
Belonging to thee; strength of brutes.
Yet thy compassion takes the stead of troops.
Residing inside thee; thine Stonehenge heart.
Regal, brave, living inside our molten hearth,
Long before the light, while 'twas yet dark.

Chikabruce

Transforming from a trusting, innocent young princess into someone who must be by cause of circumstance always on guard is not typically something that happens overnight. But then, when has my life been typical? Being born into a royal family is not a typical way to start a life. Being born into the most loved royal family that this side of the century has known is even less typical yet. Growing up being known as a beauty and going to endless dances of all sorts is also not typical. Meeting a stranger in a masquerader's mask was, strangely, very typical. I was, of course, at a masquerade, thus it was only to be expected. What was not expected was what an intrinsic part of my life this stranger behind the mask would become.

At the masquerade is where the weaver started weaving and wove not neat patterns but knots. It is where the puzzle pieces were torn one from another and scattered abroad to the four winds and, if possible, beyond. The winds blew so harshly until it bewildered me as to whether or not I was even trying to collect pieces for the same puzzle anymore.

In little over a year, I had gotten to know what had been a stranger on a first-name basis. I had learned to trust him. I trusted him with my thoughts. I trusted him with my secrets. He did not know it, but I had come to trust him with my heart. I should not have, because I had no knowledge of who he trusted. And being a part of royalty, you must know not only whether or not you trust a person, but also know who that person trusts. For with trust comes a babbling mouth. And in cases of kingdom security, a babbling mouth is not something that it is recommended to have.

I babbled to him, and he babbled to one of the Underground Anarchists, who really are not anarchists at all, for they have a leader. His name is Urkensito, and he is the only outright antagonist against my father. Many times we have tried to send him away, but somehow one of the Anarchists always finds a way to cover his tracks. Thus every illegal act, every threat, has had to be tolerated by my father. It wore on him greatly, but did not destroy his courage of heart. However, I now worry about how much longer Daddy's heart can possibly go on in these circumstances. He is almost 70 years old, without a male heir, coping with the possibility of military attack by a now-small but ever-growing band of Anarchists, and with a daughter who is being eaten from the inside out by the fangs of guilt.


It was my fault.

I trusted Tenakha far beyond reasonable bounds, given my birth. It was Tenakha's fault, too, for betraying us. He had no right to snoop through documents. He had no right to be in my father's office, and he had no right to speak of what he found. The night before my father removed me from the palace to keep me safe in a land far removed from the kingdom, Tenakha told me to meet him in the garden. Part of me feared for my safety, and yet the note seemed so sincere....so I went. He tried to explain that he hadn't meant for this to happen, that Urkensito had always treated him like a son and so he trusted him. He spoke of some promise that Urkensito had given him, some deal they had made, if only he would deliver a certain folder, without reading the documents which were stored inside. Had Urkensito kept his promise, Tenakha said, then it would have been worth giving him the documents. That is, if they were the documents that he had thought they were, and not the military tactics folder. When I asked him what the documents were supposed to have been, he would not look me in the eye. Dropping his head, he simply whispered, "It does not matter now," and