[Novnarwen]

Tarkan

Calmly, he descended the stairs. From behind, he could hear several pairs of feet following. When reaching the bottom, a rush of memories seemed to penetrate his mind. He had been so young at the time; he’d been proud to finally be acknowledged as a priest, especially amongst the elder, and did not question the meaning with the secret rituals. Why should he? He’d striven to be become a priest; surely, he was not interested in ruining everything he’d worked for. Later, he had given thought to this, whether these rituals really were in favour of the people, but not regretting any of it, he had let it be. He breathed heavily. The smell of rot and earth was exactly how he remembered it, as well as the damp air. The room itself seemed smaller than what it had been, but then again, it had been more than ten years ago since he had last been here.

As the company, consisting of the former Priestess, the prince, three of his servants and Pelin arrived, Tarkan lit a torch. He took a short walk around in the room, and lit the other ones that were hanging on each of the four walls. Tarkan took a moment to look at them. The now illuminated room revealed their expressions, which were filled with surprise and wonder. It was obvious that none of them knew that the Temple had a cellar underground.

“You have brought us here on very little information, expecting us to take you on faith. You did not tell, nay, refused to tell your purposes for calling this meeting; the only reason you gave us for coming was an apparent threat that you knew somehow where Zamara was hiding. We have come; now, is it too much to ask for some information?”

It was the prince who spoke first. Immediately, the priest wanted to reply. Instead, however, he waited. With a movement, he urged Pelin forwards. “Go upstairs and keep watch. If anything is out of the ordinary, stamp your feet three times on the floor above us. Now, go,” the priest whispered. He didn’t know why he wanted to keep Pelin’s task secret, but he concluded it was for the best. He didn’t want anyone panicking now, not when he was so close. Besides, this would probably be the only chance he and Zamara got to talk; it would be the only chance to try save the Kingdom from ruin.

Pelin didn’t at all seem satisfied by the task he had been given. He objected, but Tarkan insisted. “You must do as I say,” he said. “Go.” At last, Pelin took his leave. Seeing him take off, climbing the stairs, Pelin cast Tarkan one last glance; the priest could have sworn he saw hatred in the young man’s eyes. Could this really be the case? Shaking his head, he convinced himself that this was not so. Furthermore, he had to focus on the most important thing; he had a story to tell.

“Information ...” he began. “Why do you think I wanted to meet you, Zamara?”

The former priestess stood motionless in the somewhat dim light. Looking at her, he could see that she was thinking. He was sure she had an idea, but for some reason she did not answer.

“To make a long tale short, I will start with saying that some time after the former King’s successor was born….” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Prince smiling. When seeing this, he felt angry by the injustice he had suffered. Why should he, as the son of a King, live as a simple Priest? The old hatred towards his brother, Faroz, and the prince flared up as it had hundred of times before. Gjeelea, he could not hate, regardless of her relations. The priest had to put great effort into hiding his true feelings, but not letting go of his hatresd he watched the prince standing unprotected before him. Within a second, the prince could be history. No, no, it was dangerous; he had to control himself.

“the Queen gave birth to yet another, who was named Faroz,” he continued, well aware of having left out Faroz’s official title. This seemed to have stirred the young heart of the Prince.

“King Faroz,” Zamara said, as if reminding him.

Turning to Siamak, he said slowly:” He, Faroz, might be your father, but he is not King, and he has, in truth, never been.”¨


**

On the floor above the Priest and his guests, Pelin stood waiting impatiently. The feeling of being excluded felt as being torn open, turned inside out. It wasn’t the first time he was being left out of secret meeting or other such events, but it hardly seemed just in this case. It was after all he who had managed to arrange this meeting in the first place. The Prince's three servants were allowed to stay. He, an educated soon-to-be priest was not to. Did he not deserve to be present?

A distant sound made him shiver. For an instant he managed to suppress his hatred towards the priest, who again had regarded him as subordinate, as he knew that this was about to change.

**

In the cellar a gasp of surprise ran though the company. Offended, the prince stepped forwards, but with a strict tone Tarkan said:” Please, you wanted information. You’ll have your turn. Now let me continue.” It seemed rather odd that the priest’s words could have such an effect on his listeners; his words had silenced them, but as he was touching a very sensitive topic, he thought it would be harder to keep them quiet. Questioning the King, his position, even his Royal birth, was after all not just an everyday conversation. In fact, Tarkan had crossed the line, and if ever reported he could be accused of treachery. He raised an eyebrow realising that this, in some way, was treachery.

“The questioning of Faroz’s true birth, reminds me of the question that I’m sure you’re eager to ask. Who, if not Faroz, is King?”

“You?!?" One could make no mistake; Gjeelea's mocking voice rang through the room. “This is pointless, nonsense,” she called out. “I’m not going to stand here listening to this mad man, who’s trying to convince us that the King is any other than our father. Siamak, Priestess, let us leave.”

For an instant, the situation seemed to get out of control. The Priest stood motionless watching Gjeelea’s outburst. He hadn't even known she had been present. Instantly, the situation had got out of hand. She, he thought, would be the hardest to convince. “My dear Princess, this is exactly where you come in,” he started. All of a sudden, it was clear to him that she too had a certain role in this, maybe the most important of all.

“Come in where?” she said. Her voice was anything but calm; she looked rather frustrated. Whether it was about the Priest’s last claim, or the fact that the Prince and the Priestess appeared to be eager to listen further, he did not know. Anyhow, while he had her attention, he decided to go for it. It was now or never.

“A great noble in Pasthia possesses the evidence; the evidence that proves Faroz’s falseness. It proves that he is not King, and is indeed not the flesh of the former King. There is proof, and you’re the only one who has the power to gain it. You are the only one who can make this right.”

Tarkan didn’t wait for the word the question ‘how?’. Taking a step closer, he looked with penetrating eyes at the princess. “The Lord Korak, your husband, has it. He has the former King’s will. He has the letter he gave to me, his son, on his deathbed, where he acknowledges me as heir and King!”

He watched the horror in their eyes as he spoke and finished. None of them moved. The three servants seemed to have stopped breathing.

“But… but.. how do you know Korak has it?” It was Zamara who spoke.

The priest was rather surprised, but satisfied, to have the priestess on his wavelength. He was glad he had reached out; maybe the ‘Royal’ Children would come along as well.

“A vision. A vision, sent from the Gods.”

“A vision? You tell us a vision has made you believe you’re the former King’s heir? You tell us a vision has made you believe that Lord Korak has evidence to support your belief?” Shaking his head, the prince sighed. It was obvious that neither the Prince, nor the Princess could take much more of this. Their faces and body language revealed more than their words; they were sorry for ever having agreed to this meeting, apparently thinking it pointless, as being under the impression that this was a tale of a lunatic, but most of all however, there was fear in their eyes. What if Tarkan spoke the truth?

“It seems that I have much to explain still.” The priest paused. “A vision yes. In fact, the same vision that told me the priestess here was alive. Where could I possibly get this information, if not sent by the Gods? After all, no one, except you, knew.” he cast a glance at Siamak and Gjeelea and the servants behind them. “Now, the rest of the story is just obvious. Korak wants to be King, isn’t that correct?” He didn’t wait for a reply or a movement, he just carried on. ”If he came forth with the secret information he beholds, he would never be King. Now, married to the daughter of the man who is believed to be King, he has still the chance to achieve his goal. He has no reason for revealing his little secret. You, Gjeelea, are the only one who can trick Korak. The prince, I have no doubt, will help you. So, this leaves me to the ultimate question; we have the power to stop the insanity of the King, we have the power to put an end to the Emissary’s influence and we have the power to make Pasthia as it once was, are you willing to grasp this chance?”

Silence.

“And… what exactly is my role in this?” Zamara asked, seeming confused.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious; uniting the religions of Pasthia…. With me, you will rule.”