Jan 17, 2018 Original Flash Fiction, Original Short Story
The Shadow Who Wouldn’t Be King
(Edited with some additions and subtractions, and corrections – because I wasn’t satisfied)
(Edited with some additions and subtractions, and corrections – because I wasn’t satisfied)
(A Story Response to Laura Packer’s Prompt on Facebook)
©January 17th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
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(Laura‘s prompt: #storyseeds: The king considers her advisor. “But sir—” says the Minister of Pebbles. The king waves him to silence and watches the shadows skitter across the floor.)
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My response:
The shadows have come, unbidden, into her kingdom, and followed the sounds of people’s heartbeats until they’ve found the main one, and are drawn to the royal heart, whose artery reached all its subjects, and pulsed evenly and calmly through the flurry of daily activity.
The Minister of Pebbles is incensed. *His* heart beats more rapidly these days than usual, and visions of love from before have given way to visions of power which have held him in their thrall more than once in his sleeping and waking hours. He has seen the king, a stately man to whom he had sworn allegiance, go from being a man to a woman, and the transformation is shameful to him, for somewhere there is a large knot of love crushed by shame. He still insists on calling her, “Sir,” and the King doesn’t object. Nor does she object to being called the King.
At the moment, she is spellbound by the shadows.
“Look at this one,” she says, laughing, and points.
The Shadow skitter-dancing across the floor stops and looks at her, then turns, and looks at the Minister of Pebbles.
A cold hand steals across his heart, when he sees the face of the Shadow.
“Stop it from looking at me!” he exclaims.
The King, a sudden knowledge growing inside her, says, “Stop looking at him, Shadow.”
The Shadow looks away, and resumes skitter-dancing across the floor, but it seems to be larger, a little less harmless, a little more imposing.
The Minister of Pebbles says, “Sir, I have misgivings about these Shadows. We know not whence they’ve come, and we know not their purpose. If you have the power to bid them begone, please exercise it. The Pebbles await me. If you will excuse me.” And he backs away from the royal presence.
The King watches him thoughtfully, as he strides off after the correct amount of backing away from her royal presence.
The King calls the main Shadow to her, and it approaches.
“Follow the Minister,” she whispers.
The Shadow nods, and calls the others. They skitter away in the direction of the Minister’s departure.
The Minister has gone to the seashore, and is collecting pebbles, as well as ordering others to collect pebbles, because that is his job which the new she-King has bestowed upon him like a dubious honor.
If he collects enough pebbles, he is to be promoted to Minister of Stones, and after that to Minister of Boulders.
The King had had to create this job to keep him busy. Their land lies lower the the rising seas, and she has told him that he has to ensure the safety of their people by building levees all along the seashore. He’s assembled a task force of thousands. He enjoys lording it over them.
The King has known what he’s been planning ever since she ascended the throne, and, using all of her cleverness, she has distracted him from his fell purpose, which is to ascend the throne.
Now, as he collects pebbles, and shouts to his minions to keep up the hard work, he thinks to himself, “All I have to do is to make these men loyal to me. Then, I shall take over the throne.”
The Shadow comes up to him just as he thinks this.
“Drop that thought,” says the Shadow in his mind.
“Who speaks? Get away from me!” shouts the Minister, spinning away wildly from it, his face contorted in dread.
The men around him pause in their work, and stare, horror-struck.
“I cannot. You know I cannot,” whispers the Shadow, “You brought me and the others into existence.”
“I didn’t intend for you to come alive! I just thought of you – how did you emerge into the daylight? Can’t a man have his thoughts?” said the Minister.
“Yes, you did, but in the process, and we do not know how, you created us, and brought us before the King. We have seen the King’s heart, and it is pure. We have seen yours, and it is not. Yes, we are from you, but you have to be wiped out, for you do not toil for your people – you do everything with another motive. We are ashamed to be of your essence. We need to die, and you need to die with us.”
The Minister, drowning in terror, lashes out at the Shadows. He flails at them, yelling incomprehensible words. His workers look at him, thunder-struck. All they can see is a man shouting at Shadows, but they cannot hear anything except the shouts of the Minister of Pebbles.
The shadows shoot out ropes of light, and hold him tight, and march him down the street into the presence of the King.
Seeing them approach, the King says, “Ah, yes! It is as I thought, is it not?”
“Yes,” says the wretched man, hanging his head.
“You intended to assassinate me, and ascend the throne?” she asks coldly, quietly.
“Yes.”
“Why?” she asks. There is no anger in her expression. For she is, above all, curious about men and their motives.
“Because, because …” he splutters, and the King’s Courtiers sit still, waiting.
“Because you changed!”
“Because I went from being a man to a woman?” she asks.
Her heart is heavy. He lowers his head, shakes it, mute.
The King approaches the man. The Shadows, which have been holding him, release him.
“Do you see you couldn’t have done what you desired?” she asks, tenderly.
The Minister is still mute.
The King turns to the Shadows. The resume their skittering, their dancing. She raises her hands, and they stop. The main Shadow goes up to her, and bows. The others follow. Her face is impassive, carved from stone.
The Minister falls to the ground, weeping. Then, rising, he bows. The shadows turn, walk up to him, and lead him away to the shores of the sea. The people of the kingdom do not see him again. They assume he has died. No one grieves him. The King does not mention him again, but her heart is sore.
The years roll by, and she rules over her people with a calm assurance, and they accept her whole-heartedly. No one gives the Minister of Pebbles another thought, because of his treachery.
Sometimes, though, if the night-clouds are just right, and the shadows lengthen when the full moon’s light strikes the land, and if you happen to stand silently between two silver shafts of moonlight, you will see him there, still, collecting pebbles. He pauses in his labours, and falls to the ground in a paroxysm of sorrow and regret. A single Shadow lifts him up, and commands him to keep working.
And behind a large boulder, you will see the King standing still, tears glittering in her eyes.
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