The mask of darkened night had passed-over and covered the face of the
land until, the rising sun, brought into play the motions of the
morning life. People's voice covered the singing poetry of the sparrow
and the cooing of the falcon-cranes, that glided on high, with the gods.
As the night progressed, Brook sat in his viewing room and pondered the
problems that he knew were destroying the unity of his beloved land.
This pretty land that had once surged with the majesty and splendour,
created by his father, descended from The Blue.
When the day broke, Brook emerged from his diversion of thought. His
mind and soul were determined to make strong his rightful rule in the
land.
With Lloyd at his house, knowing Dearborne was safe, he made his way to
Canon's Butte to the Halls Cathedral, and the ArchBishop.
The streets were crowded with people that morning, for the Week of
Jubilee began on that day.
Slowly, he trod on the walkways by the emporiums and through the
square, where he gave his 'good days!', to Empal and other loyal
friends who stepped aside, and let him pass without a struggle.
He spoke to his subjects during his walk, and offered some bits of
confidence to them and received some in return. Strength returned to
him and his apprehensions about his meeting with the ArchBishop
decreased in severity. With his faith in good and his will prepared to
conquer evil, through a show of strength, he replaced his insecurity.
But evil played the game well and the roles of strength were weighed in
a balance by patience and peace. Both were prodded and teased by
temptation and mistrust, and attempted to tip the scales in favour of
the incubation.
Brook stood in the confines of the cleric's office and looked out the
window at the water fountain below, where the vicars and novices pruned
the grass and floral scape, and had some fun. They bathed their white
skins on this day, allowed for this Week of Jubilee to be without their
habits when within the walled grounds of the Cathedral. Their abundant
loin-clothes flapped about in the slight breeze that blew off the ocean
nearby. So close, in fact, that one would be able to see it from the
windows of Halls' southern most parts.
Brook waited a long time. He was apprehensive about seeing the
ArchBishop. After all the times that Brook denied his own conference
to him, he was now himself being refused the immediate audience that he
demanded.
Brook became nerved and enraged but he knew that he'd dare not leave
now, for it would show defeat on his foe's ground and on his foe's
terms. He knew, that to choose the humility of his waiting for a
subordinate, would moreso be forgotten than if he were to retreat from
the stand-off with the ArchBishop, and his weapon of time and patience.
He brewed hateful thoughts within him mind. He cursed and prayed for
God's vengeance to be his, upon the entrance of his adversary. He was
aware of the ignoble egotism in the ArchBishop, with his delusions of
holiness and the calling of himself: "The Almighty". But Brook knew
what excrement this holy man really was and the utter evil that he
possessed, inherited directly from the ancient Canon Di'Vaticanus.
He waited and then waited some more, nearly reaching a point which
lacked a noble virtue. Brook waited until the ArchBishop bounded in
through his iron-twined door, as if he were a majesty himself.
They stood far apart and silent. The entire length of the room loomed
in silent space between them while they just glared at one another.
Finally, the ArchBishop's ill-meaning smile skirted his face as he sat
down behind his desk. He never took his eyes off his Lord and master
Scullion, until he was first to speak. Brook waited for the most
heartless sign of homage, if he was to receive one at all. He never.
"How are you, my ... brother?" mumbled the ArchBishop. His voice
carried overtones of mockery, intended to disturb.
Brook moved to the man's desk, his eyes fixed on his brow and the evil
smile, which looked as if painted onto his face, until he, too, finally
reverberated.
"You tread on soft ground, brother! Your delusions of grandeur have
carried your mind off into another space."
"I don't understand?" the ArchBishop's smile left his face momentarily.
Brook laid his palms on the surface of the grand cleric's desk top and
mocked him in turn. "What?" Brook laughed. "The Almighty not
understand something? Come now brother ... I was made to wait here too
long, and for you!" He lifted his hands from the desk and made his way
back towards the window. "Maybe I should have you tried. Made an
example of; should I not, my dearest brother?" He reached the window
and looked out of it to the fountain below. The same time, he slightly
grinned, knowing the effects that he caused to come over the
ArchBishop's mind. No sooner did Brook finish speaking, did the cleric
challenge him.
"Make yourself clear, Brook. State your business and take your
leave!" blurted the man in the holy garb.
Brook's grin left him as he swung around and poked his hand into the
air, in the direction of the religious leader, and stared right into
his now pale eyes.
"You are but a mere man -- and not even so -- and you can bleed!" He
ceased for a moment and saw a spark of fear flame over the ArchBishop's
face as he twitched in his chair.
"Yes, my brother ... You can bleed. Wouldn't a real god be immune to
bodily injury? A real god would not sit on his ... broad alter and
live off his people, growing fat from their love and their worship and
yet give them nothing in return. Not only that ... you had sent for me
-- so, unless you inform me as to what you want ... you may take your
leave!"
"Good speech. State your -- "
" -- Your tongue will be silenced either by my command or by my hand,
Manguino! I shall give you leave, if I care to, and for good."
Brook's words, the strength of their usage, greatly startled the great
ArchBishop who sat back in his chair and blinked aimlessly as the
sovereign continued, after some silence. "Word has reached me, that
you are starving several of the united districts, in the north, with an
embargo on their trade! As of this moment that will cease and with
that, extra trade will commence between Phoride and Besten. It has
been long enough, that you have had your petty vengeance on them."
"You agreed on that embargo!" Manguino advanced.
"Yes. Now I change my mind. Your 'will' be ... none!"
Brook turned his head and focused his eyes upon Manguino.
Silence clutched the room again. Brook stood majestic and powerful in
the presence of his brother. The evil high priest, Manguino, was now
totally disturbed by Brook's show of strength and power.
"It would not have made a difference!" Manguino said as he pushed
himself from his chair and moved over to where his brother stood.
"I will make the difference now! As of this moment." Brook shouted at
him. "You ... you may only follow. You will not be permitted to
exercise your power unwisely."
The sovereign's judgement had been made and the idea frightened
Manguino and choked the room with a silence that removed hope of the
existence of any breath.
Manguino turned back to his desk. The silence created a term of
indecision in him that he had not experienced since before Smith Blue
died.
As if against his will, Manguino found himself leafing through some
papers on the corner of his desk, desperately trying to formulate a
plan in his mind to rebuke Brook. Instead, however, he found himself
writing and signing a retraction to the trade embargo. He stretched
out his hand, holding the document in offering, to Brook.
"How do you mean this return of trade to take place? By the week,
month or year?" asked Manguino, his tone sounding significantly
defeated.
"By month. I suppose that this would be reasonable!" An expression of
shock came over the ArchBishop. He whined like a child, then took
control of himself and finally showed his anger.
"Reasonable? Treating them like our masters and that, you say, is
reasonable?" he stopped for a moment and wondered if Brook was indeed
sane, then laughed a little in a half-hearted manner.
Brook proceeded.
"Yes, I believe that a monthly caravan should suffice. They would
prove more profitable to us as our friends than as our enemies."
"Why don't we send them goods every day? mocked Manguino.
"Careful, Manguino! You tempt the wrong feelings in my heart. Anyway,
if Phoride could survive the strain, I would consider daily caravans.
And now onto another annoyance." He looked at Manguino with
contemptible eyes, intended as prejudgment on his brother. "I shall
not tolerate any further words between the Cardinal Allen and my wife.
If I learn that he speaks with her, or another other woman of my
household, just once more, I will have him arrested and whipped until
death." he turned to Manguino and sneered a grin suggesting a
pleasurable thought. "I might even do it myself!"
"I don't know what you are talking about!" defended Manguino,
seemingly innocent of the fact that the Cardinal Allen tried to force
his will on the Lord's spouse.
"Oh?" is the only response Brook made, then added, "Well, make
certain you do not continue with this ignorance, within your own ranks.
You would not appreciate the subsequent consequences!" Manguino
lowered his head and looked to the floor, but in realization of his
defeated mannerisms he quickly straightened and eyed Brook as he moved
towards the door of the office. He opened it and before making his
exit, he quickly turned to give him one last icy glare.
"You will never again keep me waiting." commanded the sovereign and
Manguino tipped his head with unwanted compliance, realizing this
meeting was a bounty in favour of his rival brother, Brook.
Manguino, the grand. The great ArchBishop of all Phoride and the
continent, slowly dragged himself back to his desk and sat in his
chair. Back in it all the way, he breathed heavily a few times and
contemplated the last few minutes that had elapsed and Brook's conquest
of wills. 'What to do?', was the only question that paraded about
Manguino's mind. Finally, the answer came to him. He would have his
revenge in a short fortnight, during the celebrations to commemorate
the wedding between Brook and his beloved Dearborne. Cardinal Allen
will have his pleasure on that night and so would the ArchBishop
entertain his satisfaction. He will have the triumph over his noble
brother, in the midst of the highest citizens of Pomperaque. He would
ruin his brother forever. He smiled to himself and mumbled under his
breath, and the gleam of a maybe victory flashed across his eyes.
"Yes, that would be perfect." he said and repeated it, then with this
he proceeded to scribble on some clean paper, a request for
accompaniment to some select cardinals, for that evening of
merry-making.
As the great keeper of Halls set his plans of abasement to honour his
brother, another man was alive as a loyal servant, keeping true his
word to his master.
Sitting in Brook's chair, in the viewing den, Lloyd leafed through the
large book. The night before, he sat up to all hours and listened to
the Lady Dearborne as she conveyed to him the circumstances surrounding
her husband's apparent meekness, and their son, Boyce. While he read
the great book he remembered what Brook had told him about his noble
heritage, and the emergence of the elite group of people, that followed
the global devastation long ago.
Lloyd observed the details of the colourful pictures that showed the
way of life in the age before the time of chaos. He read the ancient
lines which spoke of the great rulers of that time. Those men that
tried to prevent war at any cost, and others who wanted it, at any cost.
His eyes loomed across the words spoken by the great presidential
leader of this ancient land. His thoughts that were spoken the very
day that his life was taken from him by an assassin, hired by some
warmonger.
"We're called a civilized people.
Let us behave as civilized people.
Do not let war shatter our tiny planet
for the benefit of just a few, who would
profit from it -- become rich and powerful
from the death of those weaker than themselves.
Let us seek a world unity -- a brotherhood of love
-- before it is too late ... before we give our
all, for nothing!"
Lloyd sighed. The power and spirit behind those words still rang true,
even to this day. Where every land was under its own governing
directions, ruled by no central idea or council and indeed, being
nothing more than a communal feudalism.
He continued to turn the pages of the great book, THE HISTORY OF NORTH
AMERICA, and stared in amazement at its details, almost right up to the
very day of the holocaust. That detail was mainly in the last few
pages which appeared to have been put into the book, at a much later
time. He saw that someone did not want a noble life, a great
civilization, to die and be forgotten forever. How, to him, the book
began to take-on an almost holy aura that drew him deeper and deeper
into the words' strength, until a tear issued from his eye and slowly
meandered down his fleshy cheek.
He wiped the tear from his cheek, in one motion of the back of his
hand. Boyce rumbled into the den carrying a tray of food and drink,
and quietly set it on the table by Lloyd.
"I have brought you food, my Lord!" informed the boy.
Lloyd looked up from the book and smiled as he thanked the boy and
requested him to join in the eating. Hesitant, the boy suspiciously
looked at Lloyd with questions in his eyes. He nodded and smiled, then
boy finally moved to the corner and brought back a stool, and so sat by
him.
Lloyd motioned to Boyce to take some food and not knowing what else to
do in this circumstance, he took a piece of the roasted fowl and smiled
before he bit into it.
"Thank-you, my Lord!" the boy exclaimed.
"You are welcome." returned Lloyd, and continued. "Say, Boy. You
will call me Lloyd ... I have had enough people call me sir and Lord!"
"Thank-you ... Lloyd!" Boyce responded, startled by the show if
friendship offered to him by the injured man that he helped to carry
back to the Blue Mansion.
They ate the dinner.
They didn't say much to one another while they ate. Lloyd resumed his
reading of the great book and the boy looked-on at Lloyd's changing
expression, his eyes almost bursting into a fall of tears, throughout
it all.
Lloyd looked up from the book, at times, and caught the boy's eyes
locked onto him as he read. "My Lord Brook promised to teach me to
read that," Boyce stated, "but he has not found the time!" He looked
hollow for a moment and a feeling of loneliness seemed to hover over
him until Lloyd, with a compassionate voice, grabbed the boy's craving
for some adult rapport.
"Brook had asked me to teach you. Would you like that?"
"Yes." Boyce's answer was short and direct, and full of obvious
excitement. He continued to eat.
"I spoke to Lady Dearborne yesterday."
"She's a very nice lady!" added Boyce. He looked up at Lloyd and
smiled, and Lloyd just laughed.
"That she is, Boyce, and you are very fortunate that she and Brook are
your parents."
Boyce was astonished. He stopped eating, looked at the meat that he was
holding then slowly dropped it back onto the tray. He stood up and
aimlessly started to walk a few steps away from Lloyd.
Through the hush of the room could be heard the sounds of life
echoing-in from off the streets. There were short playful screams of
the little girls being teased by the boys. Boyce faced Lloyd. After
eyeing him for a time, he finally spoke.
"She told you? -- Why?" he said, as if in order.
Lloyd nodded.
"Will you tell my father?"
Lloyd's face showed apprehension, and he answered the boy.
"No, I won't. But I have a strong feeling that he may already know."
he ceased for a moment and grinned a little. "Afterall, you do look
more like him with each passing day."
Once again there was a short silence between them but it was broken up
by some sighs and a welcomed laugh from Boyce.
"Yes, that is true. Perhaps that is why he asked you to teach me?"
"I cannot begin to know what goes on in someone's mind, but that just
may be, my young friend."
With their confirming smile and nod, they acknowledged their new
friendship.
There was a powerful understanding which formed between them. The
presence of it could be felt within the room and it was then that Lloyd
made a suggestion.
"Shall we start the lessons?"
Excited, Boyce nodded that he would like that.
"Can you read?"
Boyce shrugged with an embarrassed grin.
"I know the old alphabet ... my grandfather taught me, but I can't
understand very much.
Lloyd showed his understanding with a nod, and begged Boyce to sit
again on the stool, and when he did, Lloyd handed him the book.
"I will do what I can to teach you, young Lord." Lloyd promised then
allowed Boyce to leaf through the pages to familiarize himself with the
contents. He turned to a large and colourful map and began to read
slowly:
"The North American continent stretches between two
oceans and from the northern icecaps to the southern
tropics. Its land varies from mountains and prairies,
to dense marches and arid deserts. The people of
North America are united under a political ideology
known as DEMOCRACY, which prime advantage
lies in the FREEDOMS given to each individual citizen."
Boyce finished his time consuming and irregular method of reading and
smiled as he looked up at Lloyd. He waited for a response.
"You did well, Boyce!"
"Tell me, Lloyd ... are we Americans?"
Lloyd quietly pondered the question for a moment then eased back in his
chair and tried to answer his anxious pupil.
"In some ways, yes! Every one of us cherish freedom and would like to
be proud of our land, rather than collect into small individual
districts and territories which are hostile to one another! Lloyd
finished, feeling that he had adequately answered the boy's question.
He waited for another question, which came quickly.
"I can't understand, how such a strong land could be destroyed?"
"Every living man wanted power. There was tension and there were wars
and the people lost faith in those who governed them. Then came the
final war. Those who were greedy and survived and those who were of
great intellect, took command of the land. Both called themselves
Kings, Queens and Lords. Both, to some extent, ruled with fear. We
still have this, but there are some men that are sore from this dark
heritage. Men like my father and your father."
"And I, also!" stated Boyce, his face lighting up with the spark of
freedom that touched his spirit.
"We all learn, my friend," said Lloyd. "you now learn about a once
hectic life and subdued value. We now have only these memories and
there are some men that would even deny us this."
Boyce shook his head, understanding what Lloyd meant and then followed
the motion of his hand that instructed him to continue reading. This
time he read the leaflets, added by some obscure person:
'... in the final decades of the Twentieth Century, there
came to power, in their world, men of questionable sanity.
These men called themselves THE SAVIOURS OF EARTH,
believing that they were sent by God to make Earth
into a second Eden. Yet, not a
single soul was saved. Millions died, and many
others had perished in the subsequent plagues that
spread throughout
the entire planet, after the scourging battles. The
only way for great nations to survive, was to wage war.
The final years saw the greatest of all wars, fought
in the ancient Holy Land called, the Middle-East.
It was God's will, at the beginning, that the war of
the end would be fought at that sacred place.
Armageddon heralded the end of mankind.