THE HAUNTED KINGDOM 3 by CHARLES E.J. MOULTON (ereader that reads to you .txt) 📕

panicked
Someone in here was chasing her down the hall.
Again.
Someone with a black dress and fangs.
Someone that had appeared behind that wax candle next to the firestones after she had crashed down into the bed thinking herself dead, back in her bridal chamber. It used to be her bridal chamber. It had been her bridal bedroom for the past forty years or so.
She had almost no breath left when she realized, half way down the hall, her foot was bleeding, her dress caught in the crack of an open doorway.
Above her a man with fur on his face was smiling, watching a mouse like creature named Sieglinde running through a labyrinth with absolutely no exit.
Sieglinde felt like a mouse. Squeaking and squealing, she ran through what she thought was the palace hoping that she would wake up from this endless, waking terror.

§

Who had taken away his freedom in the first place?
Lucinda.
The freedom he had had before being catapulted into the orphan world of sibling less rivalry, where had it gone?
Down to hell?
Yes, he was going back to hell to reclaim himself.
So, she had taken away his freedom by having him live under a threat for thirty damn years and even having him thank her for it by claiming it a good lesson. Such crap.
How had she done so?
By imposing something on him that never was his in the first place and then blaming him for being the culprit. It was about time that he reclaimed his freedom and stopped living as if someone was controlling his destiny. If God was, then fine. But another human being? No, forget it.
No more tears spilled over someone that was not worth it. He was better and stronger than her.
He was also out to prove that now.
The light had led him down the road now to a small hut, no bigger than twelve by twenty five feet. Its length was bit longer and outside, as if he had been awaited, there was a small trough full of fresh grass and bread for Mercutio.
He stepped off the horse and tied him to the post and at once the stallion began munching on the fresh bread. With love in his heart, Alexander stroked his friend on his back and walked to the small dark brown hut with its thatched roof just at the side of the road.
There was a valley just opposite the house that Alexander felt was the most marvellous he had seen. A large river lead to what seemed to be a small lake and a waterfall. The mountains he had seen from the hill towered over his head and were covered with trees almost to the top, where the stony climax ended in grey granite.
It was still dark, but all along the way he was lead by the four small dancing lights that he had remembered being a product of what? The lights from the houses, the hermit’s teeth, the ravens and the robins. The dancing little lights bounced to the door and settled over a small figurine of a man stretching out his arms and smiling.
It was obviously late Roman art sculpturing, the kind that later would transcend into the early Wandiffian and pre-Prosperanian antique. Perfection in anatomy with flowing robes.
The man above the door was Jesus and he had been painted in a blue robe and brown flowing hair with beige sandals and a very healthy skin colour.
The statue above the door was no bigger than two and a half feet.
What made Alex so happy was the fact that smoke was emerging from the chimney.
Someone was at home.
The hermit had spoken of evangelists.
Was this the first one?
In that case it was Matthew, whose symbol of symbols, of course, was the human being or the angel. The statue above the door was the Son of Man resembling Love.
But were these the actual evangelists?
Who would he meet?
He was sure that who ever was responsible for the smoke coming out of the chimney was the metaphor of some humane quality that he was to find there inside the hut.
Alex sighed and walked up to the door, feeling rather good about receiving a gift so valuable from Julian, grabbed the handle and opened the door.
Inside the hut, the first thing he saw was a grey fireplace and a man leaning over a black kettle and tasting the soup that obviously was boiling inside it.
The man was dressed in a long, thick robe of rough clothing. A white rope was tied around his waist and the man’s hair was brown and turning grey.
There was a table to Alexander’s left and four candles burned in their holders upon it. There was a simple rag strip-carpet in the middle of the room. There were two windows on each side of the room with two candles standing on the windowsill burning and reflecting in the green lead glass.
On each side of the door there was a window and a candle burning by each of them.
He saw an altar with a large cross and a bed in the right bottom corner.
There was a door next to the fireplace, leading to a back room, Alex supposed.
This was a cosy hut, whose wood was of a warm, dark beige colour.
He had seen camels in Mustafus’ stables once and they had this colour.
What was amazing was that the room was so light in spite of only of only being lit by eight candles. He could not place the origin of the light but he supposed the hut itself was the light.
The man turned around, the soup ladle still in his hand and gaily
smiled at Alex, his face wrinkling like a familiar old treaty parchment from his royal and official throne room archives.
His skin was brown and old. The skin of a man who had spent many years wandering from town to town, preaching the mission and teaching people the thoughts of Jesus Christ. The man wore sandals that had walked miles and the feet inside them were worn out and old, but his hand were still young, his lips uncapped and the gleam in his eye still there.
“You must be Alexander” the man exclaimed in a soft baritone and put down the soup ladle next to the fire. He walked up to Alex, who closed the door behind him, really feeling as young as he was looking now, and took the old man’s hand.
“So pleased to meet you, Sire” Alex said, returning the favour.
“The hermit told you of the four visits you have to have to make tonight, eh?”
The man smiled a bit mischieviously and it made Alex laugh a bit.
“Yes, he did.” Alex rubbed his face and stretched. “Oh, yes. He told me I will find something lost in each one.”
The man didn’t listen to this, but gestured to the table and saw a sheep wool blanket on the chair next to the window and a soup bowl on the table. Two things he could swear not having seen before.
“You want some soup?”
“Oh, yes. Please!”
“Then sit down, my very good man!”
The man took the bowl and dished up some thick soup that looked like vegetable soup, carrots, sellery, peas and beans, and handed it to Alex with a wooden spoon. Then he dished some up for himself and sat down opposite him.
“There you go. My speciality!”
The man had that happy look on his face again and it made Alex smiled.
“I call it Family Tree Soup!”
Alex shook his head. “What? Why on Earth such a strange name?”
“I call it so because every one of my ancestors has added an ingredient to this soup! It has
become what it is only because many people have contributed their soul to this dish” the man said. “In a way one can say that hundreds of hearts are swimming in this bowl. Eat up.”
He felt at home with this man. He was nice.
Alex smiled and took a spoonful of delicious.
It was delicious, rich gravy, tasting of all kinds of meats, and with so many rich flavours to the vegetables that he felt full by the first spoonful.
The man smiled.
“Good, isn’t it? Home cooking’s the best. Beats inn food, right?”
Alexander nodded.
“Beats royal food, too, Sire! And I should know.”
The man nodded. “So you should.” He took a deep breath and continued, matter-of-fact. “The name stems from Early Wandiffia, right after Rome’s fall, and I think very few people know of this cooking. The early kings used to serve this to their sons and daughters for centuries until one day they had realized they had served this splendid soup to five generations, to the entire family tree. Hmm, thereby the name. Like it?”
”Love it. Funny name.”
They both laughed heartily.
“Oh, Sir Alexander. I like you already.”
There was a very pleasant silence between two people who really enjoyed each other’s company.
“Had a good trip?”
He spoke so matter-of-fact about this matter, as if he was talking about a normal every day journey from Clurafar to Alliland.
Alex shrugged. “I have been a long time on the road now, Sire. A long time. It feels like an eternity. Almost an eternity.”
There was a pause. Thoughtfully, Alex ate some more soup. The kind man kept him company by eating. There was a feeling of this man being beyond eating as a means of living since he most probably was a spiritual being. No, eating was a friendly gesture. He had not introduced himself. He did not need to. He was an old friend newly met.
“Tell me your story, Alex.” His words were whispered and calm. What he said was said so profoundly and with such understanding that Alexander had to sigh a sigh of relief. It was as if thousands of pounds of pain had been lifted off his shoulders and sent into the stars of heaven to be retransformed into light.
“It took thirty years for my sister’s prophesy to be fulfilled.” Alex spoke slowly, put another spoonful of soup into his mouth and swallowed. “Three years for her visit to manifest itself and two years for my country to deteriorate under her supervision.” The kind man nodded, caringly. “Now I have been a traveller for almost a year, I think.”
“I know when you left.”
Alex smiled. “I am certain you do.”
”It is almost exactly a year. Tomorrow, in fact, it is exactly a year since you left your palace.
And tomorrow what you feel is your training will be complete and you enter the last phase: the journey toward the cave.” The man smiled, bitterly. “Please do not ask me how I know this. We cannot make believe all the time.”
”Make believe?”
“Pretend that this is a social call” he grinned. “Only know that I am your friend. Probably one of your best friends.”
Alex nodded. “I believe you.”
The man took another spoonful of soup and continued. Alex did the same.
“Believe me also when I say that your journey the last years has been virtually and more or less three, two, one, go.”
Alex shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“You had to wait thirty years for your sister to return and three years for the visit, as you put it, to manifest itself. Very safe of you, I must say, to put this that way. Then it was two