The Ordinary Boy Who Ruled

Silver mist, rose mist, gold

Three curses one must hold

A girl dead, a boy bold

Finding oneself is a soul sold

---

Curious little thing, he was. The boy, merely 27 years of age, wore a borrowed sword, a bow and quiver, and a hidden pair of twin throwing knives. A ragged, old crack adorned his left cheek, frown lines marred his forehead, and his eyes were a muddied umber. Ordinary. That’s the word I chose as he stumbled on the fallen branches.

He adjusted his sword. It did not suit him. It was too large, and he was too small. Still, he intrigued me. I commanded the tides of time to momentarily stop, and pulled on his thread of self from afar; a wisp of current zapped him—goosebumps raised, pupils dilated, and slight ache settled in his chest for a sliver of a moment he would not miss. In it, I saw the knots of hardships he endured, the fraying of his hopes, and the weight of his desperation. I knew men who came with grand desires like his; once, I would help them. The swashbuckling hero, the knight in shining armor—but he was no knight, and I had long given up on heroes.

With a swirl of the fog, I summoned a predator. Deep, reverberating growls interrupted the quiet stillness that settled on the forest floor. The boy's breaths shallowed and his heartbeat crescendoed. He reached for the throwing knives in his boots and began whispering the hymns his kind used to call for me.

Annoyance shot through me; silver mist enveloped his sight. He stopped reciting. I smiled.

The spotted cat approached its prey ensnared in my trap. The boy tucked his left knife in his sword belt and reached forward with his palm to feel his surroundings. His hand brushed across the trunk of a maripa palm tree, and he turned so his back pressed against it. His left hand remained out in front of him. Odd, perhaps it was an offering to the crouching jaguar.

The boy listened carefully for susurrating leaves, but the cat had years of mastery on him in the dance of survival. The boy steeled himself; his lips were pursed in determination, shoulders tight, brows furrowed. I recalled the mist surrounding him as the jaguar leapt into the air, jaws open, flashing its sharp daggers. The boy gulped air and jumped away from the tree, his right hand jutting forward and streaking a thin trail of red across the jaguar’s neck—a small graze. The animal rolled, claws out, and shredded the space in front of it. It managed to swipe the flesh of the boy’s arm just before he stabbed the underbelly of it—a fatal blow. The jaguar roared and swung aimlessly, its movements turning frantic.

The boy scurried backwards, right hand covering the wound, eyes fixed on the dying animal. Its sounds shifted from threatening growls to a pained whine. The boy stopped and observed it, just as I did him.

He gathered himself off the ground, limped to the Brazil nut tree on his right, and began climbing. His features scrunched up every time the bark kissed his injured arm, but he continued his ascent until he was 15 feet high. He wrapped his legs tightly around the trunk to hold his weight and drew his bow and an arrow from his quiver. Aiming for the jaguar’s chest, he pulled the bowstring taut and let his arrow fly straight for its heart. The jaguar stopped struggling and released a few huffs before its final breath. Interesting.

I spread my silver mist again, and the dead jaguar transformed into a girl. Orange curls scattered on the ground. She had a sharp nose, textured skin, a galaxy of freckles, and a subtle bump to her stomach. He would find her breathtaking. The boy stumbled to his feet, eyes wide with horror. “No!” He shouted, aghast, and rushed to the now dead girl. Her blood flowed freely from the gash in her chest, his arrow buried deep.

“Spirit of guidance, I command you! I beg you! I call you! Please help me!”

The boy certainly had audacity. A scoff escaped me as I materialized in my human form. I find it is easiest to deal with men wearing the least confusing shape. “So, Azarus of Yune, you dare demand something of me. Tell me, what do you love the most?”

He sputtered nonsense; shock rendered his words useless. This was not surprising. Humans carry only a limited capacity for competence, after all. His hands slid across the woman’s shoulders and he brought her close to his chest, the arrow nock away him by an inch. His fingers tingled with the touch of lost promises. He hadn’t met her before, but the bond of soulmates are a forever, universal, deeply etched truth—yearning, unrelenting without need of introduction. “Please, save her.”

“Azarus, would you have me save a woman you do not yet know, or would you have me save the men who rely on you?” He squeezed his eyes shut, rattled with despair. “You have the power to do both. Why make me choose?” “A king who does not make tough decisions cannot rule. A man who stands for nothing, falls for all. Here, let me help you choose.”

Gold mist glittered brilliantly as it waltzed, shifting the scene to a room—humble and comforting. The woman with orange hair entered, and a symphony of humming angels followed. She wore a chain with a water lily bloom pendant and carried a basket of yam propped on her hip. On her left, a little boy with soft, brown eyes hopped in excitement and yelled, “Papa! Papa! Mama let me have some candy from Mr. Hugh!” The woman smiled widely at her husband; little lines embellished her eyes, and she leaned forward to kiss him. She ran her fingers through his hair and whispered, “I also got some candy just for us to share later, don’t let Alister know.” She winked at him, and he was sure his heart had never before experienced such pure joy.

Rose dust speckled the air, and when the scene fractured, Azarus felt a sharp stab at his loss. A roundtable came into view, one with ten chairs. Seven occupied by friends of his and two by men he did not know. His brother, Irian, said, “King, the eastern village townsfolk have asked that we stop these so-called ‘good steal-from-the-rich’ bandits. Their crimes are actually hindering positive change now that all the corrupt leaders have been removed.” Yasmin added, “Given that the eastern village was one of the most tormented by His Highness Prick’s rule, I think it would be worthwhile to visit them. Show them you’re here to work for them, not the other way around. Earning their trust has been hard, but it’ll be worth it.” Azarus looked around the room, and his friends’ faces still wore the burden of responsibility and the courage of hope as they had before he embarked on this perilous journey.

Silver mist morphed reality once more. He returned to the forest and faced me. “So, tell me, Azarus of Yune, what do you love the most?”

He smiled ruefully. “I don’t have the luxury to love, Spirit. I’m always expected to sacrifice. A means of provision for my family, a rock to my peers, and a hope for my neighbors- I take these roles willingly, but I hoped that my soulmate would be my salvation, regardless of the outcome of the war. Now, you dangle her in front of me, and you take that peace away from me, too! You tell me, do you enjoy torturing the men who come to you for help?”

“Ah, but you do love, don’t you? You love the horse your dad gifted you before he left for war. You love the friends you’ve left behind for their safety. You love the purpose you’ve chosen for yourself- a savior of the land. You love the idea of a just kingdom under your rule. And now, you love this girl you don’t yet know. You cannot live life without compromises, without choices. Answer carefully, what do you love the most?”

I watched him chew on my words—bitter but true. I knew his answer, but he needed to arrive at it himself. I lowered the temperature and fog surrounded us. Magic tallied the seconds as mist clung to his lungs, narrowing his airways. He shivered and gasped. I waited. ‘M-m-my p-pur-r-pose. I choose my p-purpose. I-if I d-don’t become k-king, the p-people will d-die. The woman I l-love wouldn’t love m-me if I d-don’t do the r-right thing. I wouldn’t love me.” “So, you give up your future with your soulmate for the good of the people?” “Y-yes.”

I smiled. I decided I liked this man, the one who felt sympathy for the animal that attacked him, the one who realized the best future is the one where he could live with himself after the excitement wears off.

I cleared the air of my magic. The jaguar-turned-girl vanished. Fireflies lit the canopy, and warmth flooded it. I watched him sway, and a pillow of cotton caught his fall to the ground. I whispered the words of the prophecy only I knew:

Silver mist, rose mist, gold

Three curses one must hold

A girl dead, a boy bold

Finding oneself is a soul sold

“I gift you with magic to overthrow King Lajus. He is unfit to rule. Beware, Azarus of Yune, this gift I grant you is a mere drop of mine. Should you misuse it or choose unwisely, I will leave this forest and take it all back. I will unmake you. ” With ice coating my voice, I added, “Your people have remained because I leave your wrongdoings to yourselves. If I come to your homes, you won’t survive, and like many kingdoms of the past, your history will cease to exist. I take this vow seriously.”

His eyes widened, and he took a shuddering breath before he nodded. Gentler, I added, “Go, save your people.”

His shoulders drooped with the weight of his choice when he left the forest. The birds sang a song of sadness and hope. I wove the invisible thread of time once more, and reset his future. The deed was done.

Azarus of Yune will rise to be a mighty king. He will have the curse of power, the curse of love, and the curse of time. For all three were gifts that I bestowed upon him. He will meet his soulmate, Hunairah of Gasalt, while searching for the bandits who secretly plotted anarchy. Her orange hair will glow in the sunlight, and instantly, his days will be brighter with her in them. She will bear him two sons and one daughter. He will lose them in a fire, an act of arson, that will ravage his castle.

The mystery remains if he will make the same choices he once did with me, but I watch him from afar, sometimes with a twinge of regret—the man who is oblivious to his story whole, the ordinary man who left me a morsel of his soul.