XANDUR stood up to his feet, where he’d been contemplating at his city’s Garden of Honour. He was all restless and agitated by now.
He combed everywhere with his gaze, as he searched for a justification.
A strong excuse to sell the Father’s treasure in his care. And one strong enough to pacify his biting conscience.
Xandur looked round the vast Garden. He felt empty like the empty fields around him.
The old heirsen now felt that the garden there as well as his entire city, were just so vast and widespread for nothing at all.
Except perhaps to accommodate people attending the tidal Feasts of Remembrance, he reasoned.
Now the Glassfield prince could only see everything through his gold plated shield.
Everything appeared to Xandur like his coloured glass. And he just couldn’t help the emptiness on the inside.
Yet now that the old noble desperately wanted to hit at something. Now that he’d fruitlessly combed the entire realm for just anything to blame…
Indeed now… the Father’s priceless gift became Xandur’s hitbag.
And he blurted out to the crimson skies: ‘What have I to show for these?! What have I to show for the many heirsens I’ve won with this priceless gift? What, Father and King? What have I to show now?!’
He sat down now, bowed his head and sighed. He raised his gaze again and raged on.
‘What has been my reward for bastards won with a flaming tongue as mine? What glory, what reward? Only an empty city as this one!’ he protested, throwing his hands about.
‘What about the bastards turned heirsens? What have I to show for those converted by me? They all go settle down in other cities. Other princes and protectors’ cities!
‘And what of the heirsens I raise to become nobles? Indeed, they rule over cities bigger and vaster than mine!’ he lamented.
‘And why? Why did they all leave Xandur?’ queried the noble. ‘Why did they all leave and go away from me? Is it not because of this flaming tongue?
‘Who would bear to stay with me, when what you have given me is a tongue of fire?!’ he blurted out.
And then Xandur bowed his head over his knees, exhausted…. panting and gasping for breath in the small silence that followed.
The Glassfield prince had let out his frustrations, but nothing was the better after all. His angry outburst had only opened up an old scar.
It was a deep, hurting wound Xandur left undressed over many tides. A sour he’d told himself several times over that it didn’t exist.
Yet now… the rising moon looking over the fading sunset, was fast illuminating things hidden and buried under the cover of being.
And everything was coming out to the light of night.
Olde Glassfield wasn’t called so for nothing. Glassfield city was named after her functional place and role in the realm over the ages.
Also, her prince and protector’s responsibility had always been in tandem with the city’s founding essence.
Through the ages, the city of Olde Glassfield had been like a rich pasture where heirsens are groomed into noble princes. And nobles into nobler ones.
And this Prince Xandur knew so well.
Yes, the Feasts of Remembrance at Olde Glassfield was one of the channels of grooming in the city. And that solemn feast was known for its undiluted expositions from the realm’s Book of Ages.
Again, Protectors of Olde Glassfield had always been installed a warring knight by the Father-King.
To take battles of conquest to the Dungeon of Fears. And to plunder the dreaded dungeon and rescue captured bastards home.
Yes, Glassfield protectors over the ages had always been bestowed a tongue of flames and fire. Like Xandur was, when he became the protector.
And the flames of that gifted blessing. It was the refiner’s fire that transformed bastards into heirsens.
So then, Olde Glassfield was called the pasture field where broken bastards were transformed into heirsens of pure glass. And where heirsens of crystal bodies were translated into noble princes.
Yet again this knowledge was no hidden mystery to Prince Xandur of Olde Glassfield. He knew everything and remembered even now.
He knew things were meant to be just how they were. That the heirsens weren’t meant to stay with him, and all.
Xandur knew everything. But he needed something to throw a punch at.
Even if that hitbag was the truth.
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© July 2021 Kayode & Tola Olla