Magina (Untitled)- Prologue 3/3

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Sean forgot about the white velvet box in his drawer. His friends invited him to play football after breakfast, and then they celebrated his birthday at a kopitiam. Later, they went to the movies. Almost night, Sean stopped by at an ice cream stand on his way back home. When he got back, it was already dark. The lamp at his front porch flickered when he was at the gate. His mother’s room light was on, he saw, and he went straight into the house, upstairs and showered.

He came out, dressed and refreshed. The day was no less than fun, that Sean did not want night to come or the day to end. Then out of a sudden, he saw his drawer lit momentarily. He did not believe his eyes; he rubbed them. Then it was gone. But it reminded him of the white velvet box from his mother, and father.

Sean called his mother, but there was no reply. He pulled the drawer open and retrieved the box. It was where he placed it; it did not move and it did not shine. Definitely, it was heavier than when he first lifted it. There was something inside, he knew, and his heart started to thump and his pulse raced. He took a deep breath, whispered at the exhale that he was prepared, and opened it.

Wrapped in layers of white, soft velvet was a key pendant.

He heard the front gate rustled but his attention was focused on the gift. He took the pendant from its case and to his surprise, a chain slowly formed. Again, he did not believe his eyes. It was illusion, or it was magic, and Sean immediately dropped it on the floor. He watched the chain slowly elongating, forming a loop that ran through the pendant until its ends met. He was stunned- what was his father thinking?

When it stopped, Sean inched closer, his eyes fixated on the, now, necklace like it was an insect, not sure if it was living or dead. He picked the necklace up from the floor and from its length Sean knew the necklace would fit nicely over him. But he dared not put it.

Was this what his mother, and father, meant for him, to be ready, when he chooses to open it?

Again, he stared at the pendant dangling at the middle of the necklace and courageously lifted it over his head and rested the pendant on his chest.

This was what he saw…

… since his father presented the dagger to him, Zesta felt his father was acting strangely. The question that lingered in his mind was: why now. What did his father mean when he said he was ready? What is going to happen? His father was silent the entire day and when Zesta went to chop more firewood outside the hut, he noticed his father staring at the fire on the stove below the cooking pot.

‘One of those days?’ his neighbour came and interrupted him.

‘Different. My father has been acting differently since morning. And he won’t speak to me.’

‘He will be alright,’ his neighbour said then turned to leave.

‘Mr Leestrong, do you know anything about daggers?’ His question made him freeze.

‘I am not at liberty to speak but if you must know, one who holds a dagger must never tell another, in this time, even to the closest being,’ he answered without turning.

‘What if you know one who holds the dagger?’

‘The Dark reads me. I am an Ordinary. The Dark hunts me and finds the person with the dagger.’

‘What will the Dark do?’

‘I have spoken much, Zesta, and you must attend to your father.’

‘Please, Mr Leestrong,’ Zesta plead.

‘I know you since young, Zesta, and you are destined for greatness. You will protect Magina in a way different from anyone of us or any other Light descendents.’

‘The Light descendents? I thought there is no more?’ Then there was a sound from his hut. His father dropped the cooking pot and stood in front of the stove. In his eyes, he saw the flames shaped into horses, galloping in circles.

‘Go to your father, Zesta,’ Leestrong said then turned to face him. ‘Remember what I told you. It forbids me to say but you are destined for greatness.’ A strong gust of wind blew across the village, shaking some huts and moved haystacks and barrels.

‘I have a dagger!’ Zesta uttered.

‘Then you must leave! Go to your father!’ the wind blew even stronger, distorting their speeches.

‘If the Dark is here, we will fight it!’ Zesta shouted.

‘Zesta!’ his father yelled.

‘No! This is not your fight!’

‘Then, make it mine!’ Zesta shouted back.

‘Zesta!’ his father yelled again.

‘Listen to me, Zesta, we have lived to protect you. You will help us in another way, and someone will help us! I may not live to see that day but for my children sake and the future of Magina, I thank you.’

‘Mr Leestrong,’ Zesta said and he felt his father’s hand at his shoulder.

‘Take your child with you, Vibea, and we will hold them!’ he shouted then left into his hut, took a blade, locked his hut and left in the direction like the other neighbours.

‘Father, tell me what is going on!’

‘Now is not a good time.’ They could hear explosions in the distance and Zesta felt the ground vibrating. ‘Come with me, now!’ Another explosion and now the wind carried an eerie whistle.

They rushed into the hut; his father locked the door and pushed the table to hold it. He repeatedly asked his son if the dagger was with him and every time he asked, Zesta nodded. His father kicked the back of his hut and ran through it. Zesta followed behind…

… Sean’s vision of the room returned. He watched what happened like it was a movie; the only difference was that he felt the characters, especially Zesta- he even remembered his name. He thought he was running; he wanted to know the ending to what he saw. Then he heard the pots and pans in the kitchen downstairs crinkling.

He got up and went out of his room. Someone was downstairs and it was definitely not his mother. He knew his mother would never play with her cooking utensils. It was someone else, a burglar, he thought.

Sean searched for a bat but what he got was a racquet. Good enough, he thought, and when he neared the stairs, his mother’s hand pulled him back.

‘Don’t go,’ his mother warned.

‘Mom, where were you?’

‘They are here.’

‘Who?’

‘People.’

‘What people?’

‘Dark people.’ Sean was stunned; he was speechless. He did not know what to respond. He remembered Zesta and like him too, he kept asking himself: what was going on.

‘Who are these Dark people?’

‘Where is the white velvet box?’

‘In my room.’

‘Take it with you,’ his mother said and they dashed into his room. His mother shut the door, locked it and looked to his son…

… Zesta and his father now heard growls and heavy footsteps. It was dark, the forest they ran into, trying to hide and disappear.

‘Did you take the dagger?’ his father asked again, feeling the pain growing in his leg as he tried to run.

‘Are you alright, father?’

‘Did you take the dagger?’ his father repeated.

‘Yes, father,’ Zesta replied.

‘Keep it tight,’ his father said then halted. ‘You need to go on your own.’

‘I’m not leaving you. We’ll fight this together.’

‘Listen to me this time. You need to go. I will stop him,’ his father said.

‘We stand together,’ Zesta insisted to stay.

‘You cannot stay with me,’ his father responded. Zesta didn’t know what to say. ‘We love you.’ He pushed Zesta away from him and dropped on his knees and looked where they came. ‘Go!’

Zesta turned towards the forest and followed his father’s instruction. But it was until he saw two large rocks that he hid behind quietly, and from the slit between the two rocks, he could see his father facing the dark clouds…

… ‘Through the window,’ his mother pointed. ‘Hurry!’

Sean climbed on his table and opened his room window.

‘Come, mom.’

‘You are on your own. Where is the box?’

‘I’m not leaving you!’ they could hear footsteps from the stairs, more than one man.

‘They want you, not me. There is nothing they will do to me.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I was told by your father that you will be a man of great story; that story is not here. You do well whenever you are, from the virtues of here.’ The footsteps now were heard coming towards his room. ‘Go! Go!’

Reluctantly, he ducked his head, then body, until he was fully outside the window on the rooftop. He turned to see his mother, now holding the door from the Dark people, and then on the ground where he would jump to…

… Moments afterwards, Zesta saw wolf-like creatures later he knew were shadowhounds, surrounding his father. The shadowhounds were gory with razor sharp teeth, black in colour, camouflaging in the darkness. He could not count exactly how many but he could make out at least five of them. Then, in front of his father stood a man and he spoke. Zesta tried to listen.

‘What do you want from me?’ his father asked.

‘What is wrong with you, the King Vibea?’ the man said. ‘Stand up and fight me. You are a Light, aren’t you?’ King? What was this man of darkness telling his father? A Light?

‘If I fight you and you win, what will it make you, Carc? A leader?’ his father replied.

‘It would make me king of this land. It would give me right to our blood, the throne. Do you know how long have I waited to find you?’

Guilt started running down Zesta’s spine. He knew it was his vengeance that called to the Dark’s attention. He reached for the dagger, scrutinizing at the carvings and the shiny spine.

‘I don’t know what happened to you, Carc, but the Dark is not the road you should choose,’ his father said.

The shadowhounds circled his father, bearing their teeth. ‘It’s because you have never been there. You won’t know what it holds. What power it possesses. Join me,’ he extended his hand. ‘Join me and we will-.’

‘Never,’ his father daringly pushed his hand aside. ‘There is no way for me to be with the Dark.’

‘Then you leave me no choice!’ he exclaimed and when the shadowhounds leaped, Zesta saw his father swung a light sword, out from nowhere, killing the shadowhounds.

Zesta kept the dagger, stood from the rocks and tried to climb down.

‘You’re injured, Vibea! You’re weak!’

‘The Dark is weak. I am not!’

His father exclaimed so loud that Zesta lost his footing and almost fell. A fallen rock unintentionally attracted Carc’s attention.

‘What was that?’ Carc asked.

‘Fight me!’

‘Shadowhounds!’ he called and the shadowhounds dashed and leaped their way towards the sound.

‘Run! Run!’ his father shouted and slain some of the shadowhounds.

‘You are pathetic!’ Carc poked his father’s leg and Zesta could hear his father cried aloud. ‘Who or what was that?’ he held his father up at his neck.

‘You will never be king, Carc. It was not yours, and never will be yours, to take.’…

… Sean landed hardly on the ground; he could feel his leg ached. But there was no time for him to rest and respite. He turned and saw through the windows from the living room, three men dressed entirely in black, and they saw him.

He climbed over the fence and sprinted across the neighbourhood. When he turned at one corner, he noticed another man covered in black outfit running towards him; he switched direction. There was no direction or aim for his escape. He kept on running, occasionally turning behind to see if anyone was following him, or if anyone was in front of him. The number of these men remained clueless to him. But there was a lot- like an organization that were hunting him down.

For what reason?

He continued to run, the white box in his pocket and the pendant bouncing against his chest, until he reached a bridge. There was no streetlight but in the darkness, he saw one man in front of him at the other end of the bridge, and another on his tail…

… Zesta ran as fast as he could but his father knew he could not outrun the shadowhounds that were chasing him.

‘The Dark never triumphs!’ his father said one last time before emitting a light so bright Carc had to release him from his grip to shield his eyes, and his father turned to the direction of his son. With a thrust of his hand, he could feel him pushing Zesta downhill, until he could see him falling off a cliff. The shadowhounds that chased Zesta stopped at the edge of the cliff, and then howled. Before Carc held Vibea up again, he prayed inside, ‘Shine, my son.’…

…Sean was in the middle of the bridge. He looked left, then right. They stopped running because they knew they had trapped him. Because they were tired.

But Sean was not easy on giving up.

He remembered what the day was, how he felt his life needed something more. This might just be it.

He climbed over the side of the bridge, looked at the murky water streaming below and turned to see the men now racing towards him.

Sean closed his eyes, put a foot forward, and changed his life.

Magina (Untitled)- Prologue 2/3

The smell of Chinese pancake rose from the pan on the stove in the kitchen; the smell travelled through the house and seeped into Sean’s room. His mother flipped the pancake to the other side as he rolled over in his bed. Just when the pancake almost browned, she flipped it again, and Sean no longer could resist the smell that invaded his room. He woke up with an appetite for breakfast.

When his mother plated the pancake, Sean was in the kitchen, startling her as she turned.

‘Sean, happy birthday!’ she wished him. ‘You’re right on time for your pancakes.’

‘I could smell them in my sleep, mom. Thank you,’ he replied and snatched a fork. No matter how old he would be, Sean knew he would never stop liking pancakes. It was his favourite and his mother knew it, for twenty one years. He ate as he watched his mother moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of honey. She turned to him and Sean shook his head. He never liked it with honey. Just, plain pancakes.

At twenty one, Sean realized his life had been stable and safe. He knew about his father- that he was gone when he was young, and his mother had taken the role of his father, became his friend and his confidant. Another bite and Sean felt now his life had more to offer, or he had more to offer to life itself. Either way, he felt something missing and incomplete, that there was a need of greater importance, waiting in the future for him to unlock. Like a loading game, he was waiting to start, on his kitchen chair, in front of his favourite breakfast.

‘Where is the white box I gave you last night?’ his mother asked.

‘It’s in the drawer in my room. Am I ready to open it?’ he told.

‘It depends on you. When you are ready, you can open it,’ his mother said.

‘Anytime of the day?’

‘Whenever you are ready.’

***

Zesta heard the table next to him moved and he woke up to see his father trying to lift it.

‘Father, what are you doing?’ he asked, removing the wool cloth covering his legs.

‘Lend me a hand in this,’ his father replied, panting.

‘You’re not well,’ he got up from bed, uttered then helped his father to carry the table. ‘Where do you want me to put this?’

‘By the door. The table is not important; it is what is underneath it,’ he said then kneeled where the table was and swept dust and hay covering the floor. The floor now revealed a wooden plank. His father reached for a hammer and broke the plank into two.

‘What are you finding for, father?’ Zesta asked but his father did not reply. Instead, he dug his hand into the hole and retrieved a piece of cloth.

That piece of cloth, his father slowly peeled, hid a dagger of a kind, one Zesta had never seen before but it felt familiar. Unlike his hunting dagger and similar to his father’s, the handle of the dagger was intricately carved, the blade curvy and its spine silver and shiny.

‘This dagger is for you,’ his father managed to utter. ‘It is an identity, our identity, your identity.’

‘Why now, father? What identity?’ he quickly asked, confused.

‘You are ready, my son,’ his father said. ‘This dagger is power, for you and for anyone who uses it with purity in his heart.’

‘Is there something going to happen, father? Are we in danger?’

‘Danger is always around us; this time, it is about us.’

... to be continued

Magina (Untitled)- Prologue 1/3

Prologue

After this, Zesta knew he would never, ever, be the same person he used to be.

‘Be still. It can hear you,’ his father whispered, pointing at the bushes. ‘Never underestimate the instincts of a creature.’ He watched his father tightened his grip, making the dagger in his hand appear deadlier than ever.

‘It’s a young, father,’ Zesta protested. They were known as hunters in their village, a silent and skilled profession. His father taught him basic hunting techniques when he was a child and Zesta could remember like it was yesterday his first successful hunt. His father and the villagers knew Zesta was many times better than his father- sharper, quicker and more focused. But Zesta had never hunted a young. He had never wanted to.

‘And we need to eat. The villagers need to eat,’ his father replied; his eyes fixated on the moving foliage. ‘In this circumstance, our hunt becomes a need, son, and what I am doing is not made by my choice.’ He knew his father meant well but as he turned to look at the young creature, now its body visible, he could not stomach the thought of killing and feeding on it. ‘I need you to imagine it as a creature bigger than it is.’ Zesta swallowed hard. ‘Are you ready, Zesta? If you are not, then I will not force it against your will. I am giving you a choice.’

He could feel the stare of his father and though the words were heavy, he uttered, ‘I am ready, father.’ He gingerly moved in separate ways from his father towards the young. He halted whenever he heard himself stepping on and breaking twigs or brushing against the branches because he knew any sound would cause the young to flee. The forest was quiet and he could hear the creature nibbling on the tiny leaves and occasionally snorting. He looked at his father who was waiting at the other end. Just before he leaped forward, Zesta took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was prepared for what was to happen.

But it happened so quickly and unexpectedly that he froze for seconds after the leap. He could hear his father shouting at him to run but Zesta knew he would never leave his father, in danger and in pain, alone. It was larger than him or his father. The dagger in his father’s hand was a few feet away from him. His father was on the ground, injured and vulnerable, like how the creature was. As his father warned him to escape, he could see his father carefully retreating. There was no shield or barrier or anything solid behind him that he could use to protect himself from the creature. Zesta ignored his father’s warnings and held his dagger close. The only thing that could protect his father from danger now was him.

Zesta rushed towards his father until he stood before the parent of the creature. He felt his hands trembling as he outlined the size of the creature. The creature moved forward, growling. It had long, sharp tusks, and when light reflected on its body, Zesta could see a mixture of black and brown colour of its skin. Zesta did not know what to do. He had never stood before a provoked and ferocious creature like this that the only thing he thought was right to do was to lower his dagger, surrendering himself to the might of this creature.

‘What are you doing?’ he heard his father but he did not reply. He looked the creature in the eyes as if he could communicate with it. Zesta raised his palm outwards slowly so the creature could see he was harmless now, and in an almost begging tone, he said, ‘Forgive us.’ The creature moved forward but Zesta remained unexpectedly calm. He raised and lowered his hand alternatively. ‘We are sorry.’

The parent wanted to charge at Zesta but its young came next to it and rubbed its nose. The parent retreated, turned and both the parent and the young fled into the bushes, lost from their sight.

He turned to look at his injured father and kneeled next to him.

‘That was incredible,’ his father said, almost speechlessly.

‘I thought it would attack,’ he tore part of his sleeve to wrap the wound at his father’s leg.

‘It was going to, Zesta. But it didn’t,’ his father said and then let out a cry as Zesta tightened the bandage on his leg. ‘There is something you need to know.’

‘Not now, father. You need to get healed,’ he replied. ‘We’ll have beans for dinner,’ Zesta teased. He threw his father’s arm over his shoulder and slowly lifted him off the ground, and he retrieved the dagger.

‘Get us back to our hut. There is something you need to know, there is something you need to have, fast.’

***

Sean was busy deriving a formula for continuity equation that he did not realize his mother was at the door.

‘An assignment?’ she asked, startling him.

‘Mom, I didn’t know you’re here,’ he replied.

‘The door was open and I saw you at the table. I came here to give you this.’ It was a tiny white velvet box.

‘Mom, what is this?’ he released the pencil in his grip, shifted his body towards his mother and reached for the box in her hand.

‘It is your birthday gift. I want you to keep it until tomorrow, when you officially turn 21.’

‘Thanks, mom,’ he replied and attempted to open the box before his mother stopped him.

‘Open it tomorrow. No cheating, no peeping. It’s the rule.’

‘Is it a game or something?’ Sean grinned, ogling at the box, intrigued by his mother’s playful act. ‘We’re not rich.’

‘It is from your father. He said that your life will never be the same again,’ a smile stretched across her face.

Sean could not understand what his father was trying to tell him. He wondered if it was a puzzle to solve or a code to decipher, but when he looked at his mother sitting across him, knowing something and not telling, Sean decided to quit those thoughts.

‘Dad must have his reasons,’ he said, shaking the box this time but there was no sound.

‘Come, dinner is ready,’ his mother changed topic, ‘and after dinner, finish whatever you are doing.’

When Sean wanted to reply, he noticed his mother had left the room and went downstairs to the kitchen. So, he drew his table drawer and placed the white velvet box inside, and then he exited the room to join his mother.

Little did Sean realize that the box then gleamed in white light; it shone brightly through the wooden table and the glass window panels, and then seconds later, the light dimmed and faded, leaving the white velvet box in the dark confines of his drawer.

***

Zesta chopped some firewood then tossed them into the fire while his father sat beside it and watched, outside their hut, warming his body and smiling to himself.

‘I’ve never spoken about your mother to you,’ his father said, breaking the silence. Zesta sat opposite his father and held his cup of beans. He did not reply his father. He did not know what to reply. He simply nodded. ‘What you did reminded me of only what your mother would do.’

Zesta knew his mother died when he was young but he never spoke of or heard about her from his father. In other words, he did not know what happened to his mother. ‘How was mother?’ Zesta said. ‘How was she like?’ He lowered his cup so he could see his father clearly.

‘She was… incredible,’ his father described in one word. ‘Your mother was the most beautiful person I have ever met and she was always there to support me, to support us, even till her dying breath.’

‘If only I could remember how she looked like,’ Zesta uttered.

‘I never forget a face, and you look like her.’

‘What happened to her, father?’ he asked and his father went silent. ‘Father, I am old enough to deal with grief, mature enough to understand the misfortune that befallen onto us. Tell me, father, what happened to mother?’

A lump began to build up at his father’s throat. He saw his son, grown up and wanting to know the truth, and he recalled the moment he and his wife fled the kingdom, Magina, the home of his and her ancestors that was at the brink of chaos and destruction, overruled by Darkness and betrayed by an ally. ‘There is a reason why we came and live in this village,’ he began to speak. ‘We came to hide from the Darkness, we ran to escape from falling together with Magina because in our early days, there was a prophecy of this land that tells of a stranger who will lead the rise and bring back the glory days of Magina. You will be part of the rise of Magina because it is in your blood.’

‘The Darkness brought nothing to this land but misery and gloom,’ Zesta responded. ‘Why has there been no fight against them?’

‘Constantly,’ his father replied. ‘Every moment we speak, a village fights for survival and freedom, and it is only a matter of time the Darkness finds us here in this village.’

‘Then we shall need to prepare for them,’ Zesta said.

‘Much is easier said than done, son. The Darkness feeds on the dark side of us and every time we move forward to gain back our land, we tend to get blinded by vengeance, power and greed, and these make them twice ahead of us. Your mother, she was a casualty in a fight.’

‘Mother was killed in a fight in the hands of the Darkness?’ Zesta stood and felt his body burning in anger, in confusion, and in desperation.

‘You have to calm down, son!’ his father exclaimed and attempted to stand. ‘You do not know what the Darkness is. You…’

‘The Darkness killed my mother, tortures the people and forces us to live in fear. That is all I need to know about the Darkness!’ He never felt such emotion in him before. He could already taste the sweetness of revenge in his mouth when he clenches the throat of the man behind his mother’s death.

‘Vengeance is dark. Discard whatever your thoughts are!’ His father shouted, limping towards his son.

Zesta felt his body was being taken over. He felt his surrounding was filled with gloom and dust, and in a corner of his heart, he liked the feeling. His mind went blank and the only thought that controlled his speech and movements were those of blood and revenge. He could hear voices, whispers, chatters around him, all at once.

‘Don’t succumb to the Dark, Zesta!’ his father reached him and placed his hand on his shoulder. His father’s hand lit and he felt a strong thrust that pushed him to the ground. Zesta’s vision of the night and the fire and the hut slowly returned, and when he scanned to see his father on the ground, he dashed towards his father.

‘I’m sorry, father.’ And he lifted his father carefully off the ground. His father was unconscious. He brought his father into the hut and pulled a blanket over him on his bed. The night became chilly and Zesta returned outside to the fire, hoping for its warmth to stop his shivers but the firewood was almost completely burnt. He could never forget, in the midst of being taken over, the voice that spoke to him. It was deep and hoarse, and when he shut his eyes, he knew who it was.

‘I found you,’ the voice said one last time.

...to be continued