Halendar
Lord of Altera
Hello everyone this is a story I had written about a year ago about a banshee, a tyrant and a little boy. I wanted to share it with the community, and see what everyone thought about it. Sorry it is a little long, but I hope that does not discourage anyone from reading it. Funny fact it was actually a school assignment my ninth grade English teacher was having us do last year.
Long ago in Northern Ireland there lived a tyrannical king of a city lost to the history books. The whole town despised the man yet lived in fear of him. He was malevolent, rude, and loved terrorizing his people. When bored or just felt like it, he would have a peasant executed for his own pleasure. The tyrant had everything he could want, but his greed knew no bounds. Every week he would force his peasants to make their way up the thousands of steps to his keep. They would bring their earnings for the week and give them to the king.
Today was no different. Beginning early in the morning hundreds of men, women, and children would climb the steps to drop off their coins. As he always did, the king watched from the balcony of his room as his people took the first steps. He smiled, excited for his next shipment. He turned to go get dressed, but as he entered his chamber, he saw a vision of a woman in white with pale locks flowing down her shoulders reaching the floor. She was washing his clothes that had been bloodied from last night’s execution.
Stopping her work she looked at him and began singing the lament sung by the women at funerals. After a few moments, she vanished into a gust of wind that blasted through him, sending chills throughout his body. Stunned and terrified, the King quickly dressed and ran to the throne room believing he had imagined it all.
* * * * *
Everything went smoothly, as it usually did. No one said a word as they bowed and set their offering in front of the throne with the king atop it. First came the men, then women, and lastly the children. As the men and women began returning to the town, they were halted by the wail of a women coming from the center of town. They rushed to the sound, all very curious, but only found a silver comb that no one dared to touch. The townspeople looked at one another knowing but not saying what had made that wail. A banshee was warning of a death in the land. But who?
Pretending not to hear the banshee’s cry, the king carried on.
Never had anyone dared to defy the terrible king. That
The Tyrant’s Lamentis, until the last child in line came to the throne that day.
With a yawn, the king spoke, “Place your offering on the floor and be off with you boy. I’ve more important matters to attend to.”
The boy said nothing as he stood in front of the throne looking up at him. “Are you daft boy? I said give me your offering!” This he said with much more force. The boy did nothing, as he stared at the king with pity in his eyes. Confused, not sure what to make of this, the king stared back.
“You have everything you could ever want, yet you still thirst for more. I wonder all the time why this is.” the boy said.
Stunned, the king had no words for this child. He felt no anger, annoyance, or frustration, only confusion and a loss of what to do. No one had ever openly defied him as this boy had done. In truth, he had no answer. He had
never been asked this question. The throne room was silent as the boy and king looked at one another.
It was only minutes, but it felt like an hour had gone by when the king had finally noticed the boy was holding a cup. “I’m sorry my lord,” the boy said breaking the silence. He presented the cup with his bony fingers wrapped around the handle. Placing it gently in front of the coins, he turned toward the exit and walked to the doorway. Pausing there he turned his head to look at the king with a face of mourning and shook his head. With that he left his lord in shock and with a mumbled phrase. “Please pass the test ... please.”
The king sat for a while after that trying to make sense of what happened. The room was filled with a sense of warning as the king stood up and walked across the mountains of coins to where the cup was left behind.
He thought to himself, So, this must be the boys offering then? Grabbing the cup, he inspected its contents. Some sort of wine maybe or ale from the boy’s house, he thought. He wanted to throw the cup out of the throne room doors, sending it rolling down the steps and forget what had just transpired. Instead, as always, he wanted more than what he already had. He ordered a servant to bring it to his chambers to be served with dinner and retired to his room.
* * * * *
The table in his room was set to perfection with candles in the middle of the round dining table. The servants had cleared out by the time he was prepared for supper. He sat down and began eating, not touching the wooden cup until he was finished with dinner.
Patting his stomach, stuffed, he pondered on what the boy had said. “I’ll find that boy tomorrow and string him up. I can’t imagine what stories he’s telling those simpletons down there.”
Then the king’s mind wandered off to the boy’s parting words. “Pass the test ... Pass the test ... what does it mean?” he spoke aloud.
Just then the window to his room swung open. Leaping out of his chair and spinning to react to the noise, he found nothing but the stars in the night sky. He then was hit by a gust of wind, same as the one he had felt that very morning. Deciding it was simply nothing, he turned back to his finished meal. He went to sit down, but to his surprise he found a shining silver comb in his seat.
He remembered the stories his father had told him as a child about the banshees. He had told himself they were stupid stories, as he continued to tell himself now. “ his comb has no curse. It’s just a comb. A servant must have brought it in here when I went to the window.”
He then went back to relaxing in his chair, holding the comb in one hand and the cup the boy had given him as an offering in the other. Placing the comb on the table, he further inspected the simple wooden cup. Thinking about how he wanted to toss it out the window, he could not find it in himself to throw out any of his wealth, no matter how small or insignificant.
Against his better judgment, he drank the contents of the cup. Oddly enough, it tasted like red wine from his personal vineyards.
“What am I worried about? There is no harm in drinking some wine.”
He got dressed for bed and called for his servants to clean up. He attempted to fall asleep, but he had suddenly acquired an excruciatingly painful headache that kept him awake.
He had been awake for an hour or two when he began throwing up. The horrid stomach pains that came after the headache became relentless. Finally, he had to urinate, so he went to the bucket kept in his room. As he urinated, he felt even worse.
Then as he finished, he realized the cause of his pain. There was blood in the bucket! At the sight of this, the king began panicking and raced out of his room in search of help. But he found no one in the keep. He raced back into his chambers alone, terrified, and helpless.
* * * * *
Weeping in the corner of his room, the king began hearing voices and seeing visions of the executions he had watched countless times before. Then, he saw the woman from earlier that morning sitting in his chair. She stroked her long, pale hair with the silver comb and sang softly to herself. The tune was the same as before, the lament sung at funerals.
It was then that he realized the truth behind the omens. This was a banshee, and she was singing for him. Then everything went black, and he saw only darkness. The pain had stopped, but only for a short while. There was a new pain he felt, but this one was not a headache or a stomach pain. No, it was far worse than anything he had felt before. It burned.
Long ago in Northern Ireland there lived a tyrannical king of a city lost to the history books. The whole town despised the man yet lived in fear of him. He was malevolent, rude, and loved terrorizing his people. When bored or just felt like it, he would have a peasant executed for his own pleasure. The tyrant had everything he could want, but his greed knew no bounds. Every week he would force his peasants to make their way up the thousands of steps to his keep. They would bring their earnings for the week and give them to the king.
Today was no different. Beginning early in the morning hundreds of men, women, and children would climb the steps to drop off their coins. As he always did, the king watched from the balcony of his room as his people took the first steps. He smiled, excited for his next shipment. He turned to go get dressed, but as he entered his chamber, he saw a vision of a woman in white with pale locks flowing down her shoulders reaching the floor. She was washing his clothes that had been bloodied from last night’s execution.
Stopping her work she looked at him and began singing the lament sung by the women at funerals. After a few moments, she vanished into a gust of wind that blasted through him, sending chills throughout his body. Stunned and terrified, the King quickly dressed and ran to the throne room believing he had imagined it all.
* * * * *
Everything went smoothly, as it usually did. No one said a word as they bowed and set their offering in front of the throne with the king atop it. First came the men, then women, and lastly the children. As the men and women began returning to the town, they were halted by the wail of a women coming from the center of town. They rushed to the sound, all very curious, but only found a silver comb that no one dared to touch. The townspeople looked at one another knowing but not saying what had made that wail. A banshee was warning of a death in the land. But who?
Pretending not to hear the banshee’s cry, the king carried on.
Never had anyone dared to defy the terrible king. That
The Tyrant’s Lamentis, until the last child in line came to the throne that day.
With a yawn, the king spoke, “Place your offering on the floor and be off with you boy. I’ve more important matters to attend to.”
The boy said nothing as he stood in front of the throne looking up at him. “Are you daft boy? I said give me your offering!” This he said with much more force. The boy did nothing, as he stared at the king with pity in his eyes. Confused, not sure what to make of this, the king stared back.
“You have everything you could ever want, yet you still thirst for more. I wonder all the time why this is.” the boy said.
Stunned, the king had no words for this child. He felt no anger, annoyance, or frustration, only confusion and a loss of what to do. No one had ever openly defied him as this boy had done. In truth, he had no answer. He had
never been asked this question. The throne room was silent as the boy and king looked at one another.
It was only minutes, but it felt like an hour had gone by when the king had finally noticed the boy was holding a cup. “I’m sorry my lord,” the boy said breaking the silence. He presented the cup with his bony fingers wrapped around the handle. Placing it gently in front of the coins, he turned toward the exit and walked to the doorway. Pausing there he turned his head to look at the king with a face of mourning and shook his head. With that he left his lord in shock and with a mumbled phrase. “Please pass the test ... please.”
The king sat for a while after that trying to make sense of what happened. The room was filled with a sense of warning as the king stood up and walked across the mountains of coins to where the cup was left behind.
He thought to himself, So, this must be the boys offering then? Grabbing the cup, he inspected its contents. Some sort of wine maybe or ale from the boy’s house, he thought. He wanted to throw the cup out of the throne room doors, sending it rolling down the steps and forget what had just transpired. Instead, as always, he wanted more than what he already had. He ordered a servant to bring it to his chambers to be served with dinner and retired to his room.
* * * * *
The table in his room was set to perfection with candles in the middle of the round dining table. The servants had cleared out by the time he was prepared for supper. He sat down and began eating, not touching the wooden cup until he was finished with dinner.
Patting his stomach, stuffed, he pondered on what the boy had said. “I’ll find that boy tomorrow and string him up. I can’t imagine what stories he’s telling those simpletons down there.”
Then the king’s mind wandered off to the boy’s parting words. “Pass the test ... Pass the test ... what does it mean?” he spoke aloud.
Just then the window to his room swung open. Leaping out of his chair and spinning to react to the noise, he found nothing but the stars in the night sky. He then was hit by a gust of wind, same as the one he had felt that very morning. Deciding it was simply nothing, he turned back to his finished meal. He went to sit down, but to his surprise he found a shining silver comb in his seat.
He remembered the stories his father had told him as a child about the banshees. He had told himself they were stupid stories, as he continued to tell himself now. “ his comb has no curse. It’s just a comb. A servant must have brought it in here when I went to the window.”
He then went back to relaxing in his chair, holding the comb in one hand and the cup the boy had given him as an offering in the other. Placing the comb on the table, he further inspected the simple wooden cup. Thinking about how he wanted to toss it out the window, he could not find it in himself to throw out any of his wealth, no matter how small or insignificant.
Against his better judgment, he drank the contents of the cup. Oddly enough, it tasted like red wine from his personal vineyards.
“What am I worried about? There is no harm in drinking some wine.”
He got dressed for bed and called for his servants to clean up. He attempted to fall asleep, but he had suddenly acquired an excruciatingly painful headache that kept him awake.
He had been awake for an hour or two when he began throwing up. The horrid stomach pains that came after the headache became relentless. Finally, he had to urinate, so he went to the bucket kept in his room. As he urinated, he felt even worse.
Then as he finished, he realized the cause of his pain. There was blood in the bucket! At the sight of this, the king began panicking and raced out of his room in search of help. But he found no one in the keep. He raced back into his chambers alone, terrified, and helpless.
* * * * *
Weeping in the corner of his room, the king began hearing voices and seeing visions of the executions he had watched countless times before. Then, he saw the woman from earlier that morning sitting in his chair. She stroked her long, pale hair with the silver comb and sang softly to herself. The tune was the same as before, the lament sung at funerals.
It was then that he realized the truth behind the omens. This was a banshee, and she was singing for him. Then everything went black, and he saw only darkness. The pain had stopped, but only for a short while. There was a new pain he felt, but this one was not a headache or a stomach pain. No, it was far worse than anything he had felt before. It burned.