Prince of Flames Chapter III: The Manacles of Shame

The Royal-Vizier as his formal title was supposed to be, departed the morning after Aganyú’s capture. He made off with a great company of servants and warriors, which left the citadel feeling barren in comparison to before the arrival of the second most important man in the kingdom. And made off was quite the correct terminology, for when he left it was also with a considerable amount of gold and silver. Part of it appropriated by the vizier as a gift to himself, for his troubles for visiting so backward a place as he described it, and with others genuine gifts from the lord of Puppata.

The lord himself left soon sent for the outlying region from whence Kolwé came from, curious to know if Aganyú had caused trouble there also. While he waited, he was to make preparation to visit the location also, determined to find out if Kolwé’s keep was truly barren now. If so, he mused that it might make a good secondary holding, from which to increase his own holdings and thus prevent the vizier from seizing it for himself.

His mistrust of the vizier was a sentiment that any other man might well have understood, even if most might not have been quite so quick to prepare for the journey a few mere hours after Tiwalade’s departure. Hardly the incompetent buffoon he was believed to be, Teleayo was to the contrary a loyal and efficient man who knew to whom he owed the greater part of his loyalty to; his people.

This was not entirely known to Aganyú, who knew only that the vizier had left and by then aware of the man being the one who ordered he be chained to the walls that surrounded the citadel. It was as he watched the vizier leave that the Prince had resorted to screaming after him, calling out to the departing man in purple.

“Let me down! You have no right to hang me here! You must let me at the least die a sword in hand! Come back you coward!” Aganyú shouted as he dangled from half way up the grand wall by his left-wrist which was manacled to a chain nailed near to the top.

“Listen to him scream, and beg,” Tiwalade remarked with a slight snigger as he rode away on his horse, enjoying the screams of the other man.

Rage twisted Aganyú’s face so that he howled once more at the old nobleman, just before he disappeared past the horizon, and away from the line of sight of the Prince. The men who rode away with the Vizier were in many cases no less pleased than their master, but those rather less cruel (but no less cowardly) men did not indulge in Aganyú’s suffering. They were rather more taken with the notion though, of returning soon back to the capital city of the kingdom.

His wrist numb after hours of dangling from it, as the manacle bit into it. He could hardly move and could not quite gain a foothold so smoothly built was the great wall behind him. The royal could not twist about either so that he could only stare out across the landscape.

Never before had he been so humiliated, or laid so low as this. The defeats he had endured over the years, in his many struggles to reclaim his crown, had never tasted so wretched as this. It was with a myriad of choice curses in the many tongues of east Ifriquya that he knew, and that which he had begun to learn now that he was in the west of the continent.

Quite how he had fallen so far was a mystery to him; he knew only that it was the fault of Nibilan and Kolwé, and also that of Loukas. Loukas who had stolen his intended from him, while claiming to be his friend.

The more he thought about it, it was also the fault of his cousin’s husband, Zawadi, whom he had trusted and relied upon before his banishment. The man had claimed not to want the throne, but when it was thrust upon him he had agreed all too readily.

“It was hardly my fault,” Aganyú told himself, since he first arrived in the west, convinced that it was not that he had made mistakes but rather that it was the cruelty of others that had led him here to this sorry state.

He might have been happy, had he been left alone with his newfound love in that oasis. He had not wished to combat with Kolwé, his bandits or with those who had stolen her from him. There was more he might have considered the fault of others, such as the suns’ that burnt him with their rays, which left him dizzied and barely able to think.

“I am royalty, they shan’t treat me in this manner,” He murmured after the first hour of hanging from his manacle, sweating profusely as the suns’ continued their cruel ascent.

The farmers stepped on out, to cater to their crops most singing a tune regardless of the heat of the day and the difficult labour that lay ahead for them. Few if any paid the royal the remotest attention, none cared for him.

“Wait! Wait! Let me down, you must let me down from this place!” Aganyú began to shriek after them, desperate to find a way down from where he had been chained, on the vizier’s orders.

None of them dared to answer him at first.

It was not until he began to shout a variety of choice curses at them, demonstrating a more thorough knowledge of their tongue than they had expected. It was for this reason that one of the older farmers stepped out from their midst, away from the fields ignoring the warnings and worried remarks from his friends and kinsmen.

“At last, one of you blasted peasants will heed my calls,” Aganyú said to him relieved, and if he was not so prideful he might have admitted to feeling grateful.

“I did not step forward to heed thy cowardly calls,” The farmer snapped at him, glaring with pure hatred that made even the Prince pause. None save Dragnar and his favourites had ever looked at him in such a manner, no peasant, nor noble of his own kingdom or this one had ever looked at him so. Save for maybe Yalla, and Abiodun.

“I am no coward!”

“Why then, do you cry out to us and beg?” The farmer retorted, for which Aganyú had no ready answer. “You who stole away the life of both of my sons, the life of my friend Osho’s son and his nephew whom he loved as one, along with their best friend. You stole their lives from them, and now you dare to beg?”

“It was battle,” Aganyú shot back, feeling indignant that this lowly farmer dared to cast judgement upon him. “If I did not strike them down, they would have struck me. They understood this, from the moment they picked up a blade they accepted this truth.”

“Truth though it was, who was it who began the quarrel? And who was in the wrong, when it first began?” The farmer growled back at him, glaring at him full of disdain still. “Now, I am without sons, and both had only a thought to protect us, their people and tribesmen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Compare yourself to any one of us, and the reason for which you wield the blade,” The farmer yelled at him, ere he turned away to return to yon fields.

Left to ruminate about the other man’s words, Aganyú at any other time would never have tolerated his tone. As it was, he attempted to shout after him, but as he did so the farmers took to singing so that they might better ignore his cries.

“I once knew a maid,

One who would ne’er fade,

Her name was Laulia

O how she made me squirm, O Laulia!

I still dream that maid,

O how we played,

I still miss you Laulia,

Thereabouts she would dance,

With a gay laugh, one no other could imitate,

She would prance,

And the acts she might initiate,

I have not forgotten her,

Sweet was she as a burr,

I still dream of her, especially since I am now married!

For no less than she, might I have tarried!”

It was the ultimate act of mockery, the ultimate rejection. Resolved to ignore him and cast him aside in favour of their own works, they had set their backs to him. Humiliated, the Prince was to shout for but a little longer, until his voice became hoarse so that he was forced to give up.

Throat scratchy, and skin burning from hours in the suns’, it happened that the warrior-royal was to at last fall quiet, with the worst of it being when his stomach began to rumble. Sweating profusely, he could only glare at the farmers, at the same time that he looked longingly at the fields of crops longingly.

If he only had his sword and was free. If only he was free, he might have by this time wrought his vengeance upon them all.

Kolwé had a problem. He had little in the way of coin left, after a day of celebrating the downfall of Aganyú. He had spent it all on drink, and had enjoyed himself in disreputable company, only for the woman he had spent his time with to steal from him, rather than curing him of his heartbreak over the loss of his lady love. Still full of jealousy for her rejection of him in favour of Aganyú, he was determined to indulge away his feelings of inadequacy.

When he first woke up, he was to discover that the woman in question a pretty young woman had made off with his money-pouch. Stricken by the loss of his coin, he was to search in his boots for what coin he had hidden there.

“How could it be gone also?” He demanded of himself, unable to believe how far his fortunes had fallen. “This is all Nibilan’s fault and that self-proclaimed Prince Aganyú’s doing!”

He might have said more, were he not distract at that moment by a sudden fist striking against the door to his room in the tavern. “Kolwé you filthy coward, come out and cover the tab you have accrued since you first arrived with that riff-raff murderer of yours!”

“Ulp!” Stricken with panic, Kolwé was to quickly gather together his clothes.

Throwing on his thin robes, given to him by his former Master from the Order of Sorcery, he was to look about for his staff in the room. It was messy and hardly fit for human (or beast-folk) habitation he mused, as he searched with ever increasing frenetic panic.

“It must be here! No? It must be there!” He hissed as he looked under the beds, between the straw, then near the wall in the tiny room. It was only as he moved towards the window that he located it when he moved to cross over his bed, tripping over it.

Realising that it had fallen between the straw at some time during the night, with his staff in hand he was to turn to the large window. At that moment, the door rusty and creaky as it was, and made of the poorest wood imaginable gave way to the large, plump tavern-Master who throwing himself forward with uncanny speed came near to throwing him to the ground.

Full of fear of being caught, the magi, was to leap towards the window as he had done countless times, just as the innkeeper came near to grabbing hold of him. The vulture-cloak worked its magic and soon he was aloft out the window and fluttering away with a loud squawk. The sound echoed for some distance all around him, he might have made it farther were it not for the sense of illness that rocked him.

Looking down, he had for the first time in years a sense of vertigo, and preferring not to go too far away, chose to move instead back down into the city. Selecting one particular alley between two nondescript mud-brick buildings, he landed and was quick to shed the transformative cloak ever so slightly. It still hung over him, but the hood which acted as the catalyst for its unnatural abilities was shed, and he was soon bent over.

When he had vomited his fill, he was to step on out from the alley-way rubbing at his head as he did so. “I must think,” He said to himself feeling as though his head might burst, “I am herein the middle of the city of Puppata and have no coin… I really must find that girl lest she spend all my coin!”

Kolwé though, was by no means a man of enormous resolve, having shed his commitments to the Order of Sorcery for momentary distractions, he was soon distracted from his new quest. The source of this new distraction, you may ask? It was none other than the Prince whom had tormented him so, and taken him on as a mixture of prisoner and hostage. Ruining his relations with all those he had striven years to establish himself with.

Seeing the humiliated Aganyú chained to the wall, for the second time (as he had kept close while he was being chained the day prior), he was struck with sudden glee. It was a sense of sadism that overcame him at that moment, so that he hurried on over to him, his earlier quarrel with the tavern forgotten.

“Aganyú! Are you dead or alive at present?” Kolwé demanded of the man he hated most, in the entire world (just after Nibilan).

Aganyú exhausted after hours of shouting and burning because of the light of day, barely stirred. This only worsened the irritation that Kolwé felt, for it had been his desire to mock and derive some measure of joy from the suffering of the other man. But how could he accomplish this, if the Prince did not stir and lose his temper?

It was at this time that he cursed, and noticing that nobody was paying him any mind, as the guards were absent and the farmers busy in the fields, he picked up a nearby rock. Throwing it up at the Prince, he missed the mark by a few feet.

Irritated with himself, and his poor aim, he adjusted his next shot and very great carefulness he adjusted his arm and fire off the rock. It was with considerable satisfaction that he struck the Prince’s left side just below the rib. “OW!”

“Ah you are awake at last, Aganyú the murderer and criminal,” Kolwé mocked pretending to not be annoyed at how he had been ignored a few minutes prior.

“You!” Aganyú hissed seized by fury.

He wished for naught more than to reach out and destroy, the mage who stood far below him. The mockery in the man’s gaze filled him with such rage that he once again kicked out and squirmed where he hung, froth and spittle pouring down from his mouth.

Kolwé pleased by this reaction chortled. It was even more enjoyable working up the Prince into a frenzy than he had thought. If he was this enraged, and reacted so it would not be long before he died due to the heat of the twin suns.

“Aganyú, if I may say so you appear rather distraught,” Kolwé sneered, struck by sudden inspiration he drew from his waist his water-pouch. It was almost empty, but it would do so that he drank it heartily with a snigger. “Woah, this is good I imagine you must be longing for but a single swig!”

Truth was that his tongue felt like a great dry lump, with Aganyú almost exhausted and desperate enough to beg by this time. Still pride was ever his master, and he would not give in so easily and preferred to summon up what little remained of it for one last act of defiance.

The sensation of spittle landing on his face startled Kolwé. He had not expected such an act, his sense of humiliation and embarrassment was only acerbated by the sudden sound of laughter behind him. Still working the fields all about the city and citadel, many of those tasked with this important duty were in the midst of returning after a long day’s work in time to see him spat upon. None of them were at all interested in who Kolwé was (a great many recognised him), as they chuckled loudly.

“Be glad he did not pee on you,” One man taunted with a chortle.

“Might you be kind enough, to stand a little closer to the so called Prince?” Another man joshed urging the mage forward, in response to his friend’s remark.

“Why taunt him? He is soon to die,” Another man remarked disapprovingly.

This last man was the man who had taunted Aganyú and had spoken of his sons’; he was to carry on back to his home, putting his back to those around him. A great many that had not lost their children or brothers in the violence brought on by Aganyú in the city, looked long after the grieving father and those who lumbered off back home, with considerable pity. There were those who had lost loved ones, who preferred to go to the temple of Osiris to pray there, their grief too overwhelming for them.

Watching them disperse, Aganyú almost swooned once again, when he heard Kolwé hurl a new insult, this one not directed at him but at Charáji. “I do wonder how Charáji is getting on with Nibilan, I imagine she must be relieved to no longer have thy company.” Kolwé stroked his bearded chin with a falsely thoughtful expression. “I imagine she must have already forgotten thee, given how swiftly she forgot myself in favour of yourself Aganyú.”

The implication that his beloved Charáji might well have given up on their love, was more than he could bear as he howled at Kolwé. “I will end you! You filthy worm, release me and I will kill you Kolwé! You may insult me, you may deride me but you shall never again insult Charáji!”

Kolwé only chortled all the louder. The joy of having reduced the Prince to impotent rage and wasting his last breaths was more than reward enough, for his lost coin, he told himself. Now what next should he do to him?

His moment of exultation though was short-lived, as there were those who had decided to take pity upon Aganyú. These were the men who chased him away, saying to him sharply, “He is dying now, what need is there to taunt and humiliate him? At present all that you have done, is prove that thou should be chained alongside him, Kolwé the Brigand!”

Stones were thrown, and shouts of a far grimmer nature were heard as these men and women gave chase after the sorcerer. The unhappy bandit was also given added reason to fear, when the tavern-master appeared amongst the throngs of people angry with him and gave chase. Speaking to the crowd of the thief’s debt to him, he soon turned their rage from one of an indignant nature to an almost murderous thing.

Seething the people chased him from the town, with the weary sorcerer turning once more to his vulture-cloak to give him the means to escape them.

When at last he returned to taunt the chained Prince darkness had long since fallen over the land, with Kolwé having snuck his way unseen back into the city. Shedding his cloak he was to long after the men had returned to their thatch and mud-brick homes, move back thither to stand before Aganyú.

By this time the wearied Prince, had fallen asleep and was no longer paying the exterior world much mind. His skin had been burnt by the suns’, his back hurt from hitting the wall several times and his arm had long since gone numb, even his eyes hurt and stung. It was for this reason that he welcomed the sweet release of sleep, with more than a little enthusiasm.

Once more irritated, it happened, that Kolwé impatient to torment him some more, muttered to himself, “How dare he sleep so? The purpose of having him chained there was to have him tormented not let him nap!”

Full of devious malice towards his former travelling companion, the bandit resolved to do something new to torment him. Quite what it was he should do, he did not know, but considered once more the throwing of rocks up at him only to reject this as too crude.

No new idea came to mind at once, and just as he felt on the cusp of discovering the idea he felt a sudden attack descend down upon him, and his malice. Though Kolwé might have been without mercy, it was evident that the gods had taken some measure of pity upon poor Aganyú.

“It appears that the gods have no intention, of allowing you to die of thirst,” Kolwé complained loudly as the few drops that fell piteously on his dark-haired head soon became a full downpour. It was a glorious thing for some, especially those whose existence hinged on the well-being of the local crops, but for one such as Kolwé it was an eyesore. “Quite why they should show such pity, is beyond me but I go now, until the morrow o glorious Prince!”

Awoken by the rain, Aganyú who had been cracked and beaten soundly by the rays of the twin-suns’ of the world responded to the rain with open gratitude. Under other circumstances, he might have given thanks or otherwise taken it as only natural that the rains should come, when he needed them most. But at this moment, beaten down and laid lower than he had ever been in all his life, even with regards to the desert crossing he reacted in the manner more contrary to his nature than he had ever done before.

He gave sincere thanks and almost wept.

Drinking the rain-waters as they fell, he was to gulp down what he could throughout the night, grateful for this small bounty from the gods.

It was as he once more fell into a deep sleep that, the Prince was to wonder pitifully if this was truly how it was meant to end. His last thought was to offer up a prayer to his father.

The following day saw rain pour down intermittently. At times the dark clouds seemed on the cusp of clearing away, at others they returned in force as though some other force needed them to fight a long battle with the day and the suns. It happened that most took refuge in their homes, having no wish to be caught in the rain and to catch their deaths out in the cold.

Only Aganyú remained outside.

Only Aganyú was left to suffer in the rain, and only he was to sorrow away. Occasionally he was conscious, most of the time he was not.

Those moments when he was conscious, he had begun to sink into delirium so that when Kolwé wandered back out to torment him, he found doing so to be utterly unsatisfying. Muttering to himself, grumbling and cursing even as he fell deeper into some internal world, Aganyú was unresponsive to the world and the people around him.

It was just as darkness fell ever more crushingly over the land, when the suns’ at last ceded even the vainest attempt to fight and struggle against the storm-clouds that change happened. At first Aganyú who had begun to sneeze and see flashing colours, and various mirages such as his old friends such as Loukas, Hamisi the Sorcerer and many others, could not believe his eyes. His mind suddenly seemed to clear, as the clouds had done many hours ago so that he saw a figure so dark that he blotted out even the clouds and seemed to suck light and darkness together.

The figure was dressed in ceremonial armour, and he bore himself in a regal manner that left none in any doubt of the majesty of his character and disposition. He was a man cut from a different clothe, from all who had ever stood in the dreaming West of Ifriquya.

This was a man from another age and time, a man of legend no less impressive than Aganyú’s distant ancestor Memnon, or the founder of his line, or even Aganyú’s illustrious grandfather.

The man wore not a crown on his head, but rather a war-helm in the style of a royal, from the distant east, it was ornate and could well have been mistaken for a crown. It was steely, and encrusted with enchanted emeralds that offered protection it was said, against the ill-intentions and curses of those who had opposed the kingdom since her inception.

“You! But you are dead! I know because I held your broken body, in my arms and bore you away to thy funerary pyre!” Aganyú gasped hardly able to believe his own eyes, as he stared in horror and hope at the figure who stood before him.

“Did I now? It seems I died more in your heart than in this world of means,” Aganyú’s father, Liyongo, retorted in a harsh voice, his eyes alighted with a sepulchral light and a disdain that made the youth’s heart shrivel up as much as his stomach already had.

“What? No, for in my heart and in my soul you live, you king and you lord over my destiny as much as our most distant ancestors have every member of our line!” Aganyú protested against his father’s harsh words.

“It has come about that you have cast aside honour, for little more than a chain Aganyú,” Liyongo replied coldly, “I have long watched over thee and nothing that you have done has escaped me. Long did I hold you in higher esteem, than any other… more than even my own father, and yet time and again you have lost your way, failed and fallen.”

Aganyú could not speak, his father’s esteem was all that he had ever wanted. To hear him speak so harshly, was akin to having his skin flayed from his bones.

“Why have you turned away from thy grandfather and I, Aganyú?” The dark figure demanded of him in that severe voice of his.

“It was not by choice, I was driven to this place as much by fate as it was by those who would oppose me!”

“And who was it who turned them upon thee, Aganyú?” His father sighed, full of the same cold rage as before, “Long did I suffer down in the bowels of the earth, long I kept to purgatorial lands. All in the hopes that I might witness thy hour of triumph, and see my heir achieve greater glory than any who had come before him. Such was my hope for you, and it has proven to be one long defeat, a series of disappointments that have left my heart cold, my soul empty and my dreams meaningless.”

Such was the hatred in his voice as he spoke, so that the son could only gape. His mouth opened and closed, as his father turned away once more.

“I shall never again visit thee, I leave thee with these words; you have forfeited the dignity of thy line and the glory of it. Dignity and glory, comes from valour and naught else, and not material triumphs!”

The darkened figure disappeared amidst shadow and horse-hooves that carried him away, with each time the hooves struck the ground the boom of thunder echoing throughout the land. The whole of Pupata shook, her people quaked and the lord of the locality trembled in his bed frightened by the great din that resounded throughout his territories.

Yet none squirmed or shrunk from this din more than Aganyú. What stunned the people, when the storm-clouds cleared and the suns’ arose was that the once proud, shouting Prince had now been reduced to heaving breaths and sobs.

Such was the wretchedness of his state, as he at last broke that even those who had lost children to his rage, felt their hearts tear with pity for him. So pitiful did he appear to their eyes that they could not help but look away, not a single one of them mocked him when they came out, to see to their daily work.

“Look at you, reduced to nothing more than a suns’ beaten figure covered in his own juices, broken flesh and resignation, how far thou hast fallen proud Aganyú!” Kolwé taunted later in the day, when at last he returned from where he had taken refuge.

His sneering remarks though, did not touch Aganyú nor did they seem to reach him. Broken by the previous night and beaten down as much by rain and heat, he had wilted visibly since last Kolwé had seen him. It was with a start that he realised, the Prince had not so much as noticed him.

This hurt his ego, and made him wish to lob a flaming ball at the other man, until he reminded himself that such an act might cost him more than it would Aganyú. Irritated by the taller man’s refusal to acknowledge him, he was however startled to discover mutterings and sounds escaping the lips of the Prince.

Curious, he made his way over with the aid of his vulture-cloak, so that he perched initially on the top of the wall to which the manacle’s chain was engraved into. Dropping down onto the metallic rod that had been hammered into the wall, so that he could perch himself on top of it. Kolwé listened raptly to the muttering of the warrior, with considerable curiosity.

“Father… father… father,” Muttered Aganyú over and over again, delirious and overtaken by illness.

Thinking this was the perfect moment to torment the Prince, Kolwé was to drop back down to the ground below Aganyú. Shrugging off his shoulders, his cloak he turned about to taunt the might warrior, saying to him, “Look at you Aganyú, the unworthy son of an unworthy father! A man who could not properly raise his son to care for his woman, and has thus disgraced himself in the eyes of all in history!”

There was no answer.

Kolwé repeated his taunt. Nothing happened, except that Aganyú’s stomach at last gave out with what remained of the last meal he had eaten, escaping him.

It happened that it came to decorate the sorcerer, who shrieked in horror and disgust as he now wore over his raiment the vomit, of his intended victim. Disgusted, he was to curse the Prince all the more, ere he departed for the nearby river that ran some distance away from the lands of Puppata. It was a thin trail of a river that was once far more glorious, and far wider but had in recent centuries begun to dry up under the oppressive heat of the suns’.

Hardly noticing his absence the Prince, was too focused inwardly as he continued to mutter to himself, “Failed… failed… failed… I failed…”

It was all he could focus upon, broken and crushed by the burden of his own calamitous failings, and inability to please his father he was to begin to weep once more. Broken, he submitted himself then to the inevitable death he longed for. The loss of his father’s approval had left him feeling wretched, small and without worth, such that he prayed minutely for a thunder bolt, or for the heat to at last tear what remained of his life.

Why, he asked himself barely able to speak, why was he born if not to be usurped, not once but thrice first by Dragnar, then by Loukas (in a manner of speaking) but then by his cousin’s husband Zawadi. Why had he been born, if it was just to lose first one woman then another, to another man?

He had failed his friend Halanus years ago, when he first attempted to seize the crown, in the east then he had lost Mubiru, his faithful comrade-in-arms in the second conflict. He had lost them all, and he had been helpless to prevent it, just as he had been helpless to prevent Charáji’s kidnapping.

It went beyond humiliation. Galled not only by others, it happened that now the great furnace of rage that had boiled and burnt all about him, had now turned inwards. Never before, had he sunk so low as he had in that moment.

If the world about him was not clouded, the world within him was all the dourer than the darkest of days in the ancient Elvish past.

Such was the piteous air about him that this was to be the last day of his humiliation. The vultures had begun to circle above him, with this serving to elevate Kolwé’s spirit, and it darkened that of Teleayo. Full of regret for the cruelty inflicted upon the Prince, even after he had learnt of the wicked misdeeds of Aganyú, it seemed a waste to him to discard so mighty a warrior. What was more was that though Aganyú had torn asunder the lives of the innocent, he had also purged the land of Kolwé’s brigands.

Guilt had followed him as he travelled the eastern boundaries of his lands, it was his wish that he return home to consult with his tender-hearted, wise wife. It was she who had earned the name of the ‘Great Dame of Puppata’, such was the good counsel she often gave her husband, so that all knew not a decision was made in Puppata without her input. It was also said that she was a lady of considerable beauty so that her husband had had her hidden away, fearful that she might capture Tiwalade’s roving eye. But as he had left, she had been left in command during her husband’s absence, so that it was she who had had to on this last day endure the shame of the chaining of Aganyú.

Far more hard-hearted against him, for she had counted many of the widows and sisters of those lost to his callous sword her friends, she did however feel pity for him. “If only we could decapitate him, and be done with the whole sordid affair,” She was wont to complain in the hours that followed, her sending someone to inspect him.

“Agreed milady,” One of her handmaidens agreed at once, with a shudder, “What is worse is that he reeks, and shakes with tears every few moments even as he mumbles strange words.”

“What is it he mutters about?”

“His father, and also a woman’s name; Charáji,” The handmaiden informed her, with a soft sigh of pity.

This tale of a love story melted the heart of the Great Lady. She had the fairer sex’s appreciation for such stories, and soon her own heart was as full of pity as that of her husband. What this lady who bore the honourable name of Yejide, felt was that some terrible wrong had been committed.

She was to say to her handmaiden as they sat within the outdoor garden in the middle of the citadel, which you might call the atrium, “My heart tells me that the crime is ours. Or rather it is that snake Tiwalade’s sin, and that to partake in this savagery is to wed ourselves to him. This shan’t go on, go give to this Aganyú water that he might be refreshed. He must not die under our watch.”

“But the Vizier ordered-”

“I am aware, however the destiny of this Aganyú lies elsewhere, this I sense and thus it must be,” Yejide commanded at her most imperious, her brow furrowed with thought. “I must thereafter go to the chapel and pray on this matter that the gods might reveal to me, their intentions.”

It was after the handmaiden had given to the Prince to drink, and wetted his brow that she exclaimed with shock. His brow was hot to the touch, and he had without a doubt caught some fever so that the handmaiden felt certain he was going to perish soon, if he did not receive assistance.

It was with a profound sense of consternation that she descended back down the ladder, at which time she was confronted by a travelling monk, and a merchant.

The monk was none other than Kayode, one of many monks sworn to Horus the Elder. He had journeyed far from the land of Deshret in the north-east of Ifriquya, and had come on a pilgrimage in the hopes to inspect those shrines that still stood in the kingdoms south of Orissia’s great walls, he was but newly arrived. The merchant for his part, had been met by the monk to the north-east, in the lands of Deshret, where he had met Olawale who along with his daughter had welcomed the company of Kayode. It was they who had paid for the rest of his venture, to his immense gratitude and they had done this out of sincere piety and admiration for the long journey they had undertaken.

“It truly is remarkable just how far you have come,” Olawale was saying as they arrived in the land of Puppata, “To have travelled so far from Thinis the White-City of Deshret, all to survey the shrines and monasteries.”

“It is nothing,” Kayode replied in a harsh voice, a stout man with a thin figure and a long beard and a shaved head he wore thick dark robes. It always amazed Olawale the most about him was how, even when the suns’ were at their worst he still did not complain or seem to sweat, quite so much as Olawale or his daughter.

As they ventured into the vicinity of the city, they were confronted by the sight of the dangling Aganyú, chained to the citadel-wall just a few meters from the gates. Confused, by this the three of them were to stare for a moment, with the daughter of Olawale a soft-hearted maiden, of some sixteen years exclaiming.

“Oh how awful!” She covered her eyes and turned away from the vision, in the hopes that it might disappear. “They chain men to walls in this place? I thought you had said father that Teleayo was a man of justice, and profound respect for his people!”
“He is, or it seems as though he was when last I met him,” Olawade stammered, no less stunned by the display of the criminal. “I assume there must be a reason for this.”

“Indeed,” Kayode replied quietly as he called out to the handmaiden in a stern voice, “You there, girl of the house of Teleayo, for what reason have you chained this man to the citadel?”

“He is a foreigner from across the desert, and a murderer,” She explained rather intimidated by the commanding presence of the monk, who studied her with dark eyes that could have pierced stone, as lightly as they might mountains. She set to explaining at the monk’s insistence, how it was that Aganyú had been chained to the wall, “He is a criminal and set about after he had butchered the bandits of Kolwé, to murdering more than fifteen men of our locality. This after he had murdered even more in a village to the east of here, which attacked him because when he had slain the bandits, there were some of their kinsmen amongst them.”

“I see,” Kayode muttered quietly, his voice still harsh, “Though the brigands doubtlessly treated them better than their own lords might have, they still ought not to have been there. This man, what was his reason for these vile acts?”

“Reason? Of that we know only that he has a lover by the name of Charáji, whom he cried out for during the attack and since his enchaining.” The handmaiden explained promptly, with more than two or three glances in the direction of the eastern warrior and the northern folk who stood before her.

Owalade was to remark to the monk, “A shame but it is the laws of the local people, I suppose.”

“But father, we shan’t do that! Look at him; if he truly calls out for his lover can you really turn away from him?” Uju, daughter of Owalade exclaimed in sincere disappointment with her beloved father. “What of mother? Would you have done any less for her?”

“Your daughter speaks purely from her heart,” Kayode commented eyes still fixated upon the Prince.

“Yes,” Owalade acknowledged thoughtfully.

“And with that, because she has spoken thus, you have set thy path,” the monk said to him impassively, “I shall inform the guards of thy decision.”

“What but-”

“I know what you have decided, and shall not protest.”

“But why?”

“Because, I too believe what was done here to be barbarous, but unlike thy daughter I sense that it was not chance that brought us here, at this hour.” Kayode pronounced with a great deal of carefulness, his eyes on the dangling figure.

Father and daughter exchanged a worried glance, neither of them ever certain what to make of the monk when he spoke thusly, in his gravest manner. Full of trepidation, they nonetheless held firm to their decision made in full pity for both of them were kindly people. They loved deeply, and did not have a single thought of hatred in their hearts or minds, and expected that all others must be the same this regardless of the countless dangers that stalked the land, and haunted this world.

Olawale went to inform the Great Dame of Puppata of his hope to pay for the release of the prisoner, while his daughter Uju continued to look on Aganyú with genuine compassion. She was intrigued by his story, and being spoiled and soft-hearted, could not imagine the cruelties inflicted on others by Aganyú.

Haunted still, by all that had happened to him, by his calamitous fall, it happened that Aganyú was utterly unconscious of the fact that his fate was being debated elsewhere. He had suffered such depredations because of the suns’, because of Kolwé and because of the rain that his mind had deteriorated extensively.

He knew only that he had failed his father. He was to die, and in that moment much as he craved death, he feared it. He feared it and trembled before it, because of his fear not of facing the wrath of Osiris and his ilk, but rather of seeing the disappointment on the face of his beloved father.

Why, why was I born if only to be usurped and humiliated so? Aganyú asked himself time and again, as he hung from that chain.

The flow of tears, that he had attempted to staunch out of pride, had flowed freely for a time yet they had of late dried due to the intense heat that bore down upon him. Consumed as he was by sorrow, by grief and by the shame of having failed his father, just as he had Mubiru the Wolfram who had perished for him, he was utterly unresponsive to the world around him.

It was why he was so completely taken by surprise, when there was a sudden down-pouring of water from up above him. The one responsible for this, was Kayode who had decided to mount the guard-towers to then move onto the wall, a task not made easy by his transportation of a bucket full of water.

“I shan’t believe you would waste water, in so callous a manner,” One of the guards complained to the monk.

“Bah, once you see the works that will be accomplished, by this mighty son of Kings you shall understand, it was not a waste of water but rather the investing of it.” Kayode retorted evenly, as he spoke authoritatively down to the Prince. “Prince Aganyú son of Liyongo, and heir of the mighty line of the distant east, I come to you with the proposal that you live.”

Aganyú did not answer at once. Nor did he truly stir, consumed as he was by grief and sorrow he was to barely glance upwards. Not that this gesture could possibly have helped him, no matter what he did he could not see his would be benefactor.

“Lower him,” Kayode commanded in his severest voice.

“But, we have orders not to, only the Lady and his lordship could command such a thing,” Protested the nearby guard.

“Lower him, for I wish to as it has been said give him the rod,” the monk growled furiously to the surprise of the duo of guards.

At once, one of them was sent to go inform the Lady of what the intentions of the monk were. Startled and bewildered as she was by the revelation that he wished to beat the warrior, the Great Dame was to acquiesce to his request. A fair-hearted lady, she had no wish to defy the monk, whom she had heard a great deal about, for he was the most famed of all the monks of Deshret in those lands. “I shall do so, on condition that a fee is to be paid by you Owalade to those who have lost loved ones, and that Kayode agree to stay here to meet my husband. I would have his blessings and his counsel for the foreseeable future.”

Despite his bowing to her wishes, Owalade was hardly pleased for he was due north, and had hoped for the company of the wise Kayode. Still though, as there was a life at risk, and he had no small amount of sympathy in his heart for those who had lost loved ones, so that he assented to parting with some of his precious coin. Never an easy thing to do for any merchant, but Owalade was no ordinary cloth-trader, a man who valued people far more than any material possession he was to forfeit the coin to those locals who had lost loved ones.

In this hour he earned their gratitude, even as he listened to the tales they had to say of those they had lost, doing so with a heavy heart. This was why a great many held him up, as high and in as great regard as they did Kayode himself.

While he passed his time listening to others, his daughter Uju and Kayode supervised the lowering of Aganyú down from his chain. His manacle was soon removed from his swollen wrist, while all they knelt to either side of him with the guards wrinkling their noses at the man’s stench. No less full of pity for him at that moment, as they stood over him they were to cast aside the chains into the guard-tower later.

But at present one of them was given over to muttering, “The stench could wake the dead! And how unsightly he looks!”

“In no small part to the severity of his punishment,” Kayode said shortly, never a man prone to saying more than he should. “Go draw some water, and also have food brought.”

“Can you save him, Brother Kayode?” Uju asked of him, distressed for the fallen Prince.

The monk shrugged his large shoulders, but did not answer in words. Only the gods knew what might become of Aganyú, he was to tell himself as he studied the Prince closely.

Broken by the rejection by his father, and with his dreams consumed by Mubiru his friend abandoning him, and of his death, Aganyú shivered and moaned in his sleep. Hardly able to keep awake in the broken state he now was in, so that he sighed deeply when at last water was brought to nurture his cracked, shattered lips.

Though, he was cared for personally, every hour of the day and night by the newly arrived travelers in a heavily guarded room in the citadel, it took Aganyú two weeks to recover from his punishment. Every hour was difficult, and for a time even Kayode gave him up for dead to his fever, and cursed the likes of Tiwalade for his barbarism. Yet in time, his fever broke and he was to begin eating to recover his muscular frame from before his trials at the hands of nature.

But one thing that did not at once recover, was his native fiery spirit. All throughout his time abed, he was to shiver and cry out for his father, Mubiru or even his beloved Charáji. Still in his dreams, his father glared at him and the other two turned away.