Hole-Hearted

"He is that and more, Holiness," said the woman before him. Her long hair was tied into a ponytail, as black as a waterfall of night, as the skies outside of the temple. Even in his dimly lit office and the restricted vision he had due to his hood, the druid saw that the woman was beautiful. Her skin was fair and smooth, untainted by the sun. "Everyone he knew loved him and those who don't, they respected him very much."

"Well…" the druid smiled a reassuring smile. "I wish you all the best in your search for him."

"More than our family needs him back. He has been gone for far too long."

Her eyes shifted from the druid to the study desk next to him. On it were opened parchments, an opened bottle of ink, an ink-soaked brush and a lit candle. "What is the news for today, Holiness?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary." The stationeries on the desk represented the druid's post-midnight duties. Every midnight, he would receive parchments containing news from various contributors. He would collate them and prepare the script for the town crier to read aloud in the market the next morning. "King Frederick is still missing. His Majesty's son-in-law and nephew are both claiming that he is dead and both are vying for the throne. Civil war, rightful claims, etc. It's all repetitive news. Oh, and Princess Elizabeth has gone missing too. That's the only new item."

"The king will return, I'm sure," the woman replied, seemingly ignoring the news of the princess' disappearance. "He is a good king and I doubt that he will leave his kingdom headless. It will undo all of his great work."

"The king has been a great ruler. After generations of war under his predecessors, he has managed to bring peace and prosperity under his rule. It would be catastrophic for war to return. But whatever the outcome of this power struggle, I am sure it is all part of the Almighty's plan for greater prosperity. None of His plans are for our harm."

The woman grinned but her eyes were doubtful. "If you say so, Holiness. Well, I should be going now."

The druid grabbed the lit candle from the desk and led the woman out of his office. They emerged from the side of the altar in the temple's large prayer hall. A large hall, no matter its location, looks ominous in the dark of night. Every step they took echoed. Their eyes couldn't see past the darkness beyond the candlelight, save for some spots that the moonlight shone through the high, narrow windows.

They walked down the paths between the long pews before the altar. Something caught the druid's eyes. Basking in the moonlight, sitting on a pew, unmoved, with his head resting on the back of the pew in front of him, was a traveler. He was the only other person in the temple. Usually, at this time post-midnight, no one would come to the temple. Tonight, there were two unexpected visitors.

After he bade farewell to his first visitor, the druid approached the second. He looked like a typical traveler: ragged clothing, ragged hair, the stench of the road all over him and a packed satchel resting next to him with its strap around his shoulders. But one feature was not that of a typical traveler: on his left forefinger, he wore a ruby-encrusted gold ring that reflected the moonlight.

"Do you have a sin that you wish to confess?" the druid asked. Through the opening of his hood, his eyes focused solely on the ragged traveler. After decades of guiding the Almighty's people, the druid had acquired the ability to sense a person troubled by sins.

The man raised his head and looked at the druid. His eyes were dry but his face embraced sadness. His hair was white as snow and heavy except for some balding patches. The wrinkles on his face and the sun brown skin further evidenced that he was a traveler. His heavy eyes and frowning lips indicated that he was tired. After a moment of thought, the man nodded. The druid sat next to him and placed the candle between them.

"Whatever you tell me, I will not tell anyone. If you wish, we may move to a more secluded place."

The man scanned the temple. It was still dark outside and there was a few more hours until dawn. Temple-goers would not come until at least dawn. They were already pretty secluded. "Here would be fine, Holiness." He exhaled and paused pensively before commencing. "I have been in league with evil, Holiness. I fear I may be beyond redemption."

"Forgiveness is for the Lord to grant. You will not truly know unless you ask. Tell me your tale."

"Very well. My name is Martin. I was… no… am a person of important station within this kingdom's government. I am not a lord or a sir. I do my work in the court's shadows. My duty has always been the safety and welfare of this kingdom. Recently, my duties require that I travel more frequently. It was all due to this sorcerer who has recently made his residence near the Alto Mountains. You may have heard of him, although only as a rumour. I had managed to keep this matter at that state so as not to cause panic here in the capital.

"When we first heard of this sorcerer, the stories said that he was preaching the words and teachings of Myvar."

"The Chief Demon of Hell?"

"Yes, Holiness, according to our beliefs. But this sorcerer teaches it differently. He preached that Myvar is the true benevolent god and that our Almighty is a fraud, the true demon."

"Such blasphemy! I thank you in advance, good sir, that you are working to strengthen the Almighty's truth."

"As I mentioned earlier, Holiness, I am not a sir. I work for the good of the kingdom and our king, who is the Almighty's representative in our world.

"This sorcerer, he burns the towns and villages of those who would not embrace Myvar's teachings. He turned farm animals into carnivorous beasts, made crops wither and unfruitful, turned water in wells into poisons. He showed power and he claimed that they were Myvar's. This kingdom and our neighbouring kingdoms are of the Almighty and having a powerful sorcerer demonstrating his strength in the name of a heathen god does not bode well at all. Hence, any threat whatsoever to His sovereignty must be addressed.

"So, I volunteered to take the burden with open arms.

"But I couldn't do it by myself and I didn't want to do it on a grand scale. Knights and mercenaries are too noisy, so I turned down their offers to help. Noise is the antithesis of the shadows, the medium within which I work. Instead, I ventured into the criminal underworld. My intent wasn't to hire criminals. No, I was interested in one particular young man whom I had met through contacts in the criminal community.

"His name was Matthew, a young farmer. His father had been taken by the reaper three years back and young Matthew had to support six younger sisters, a mother and a grandmother. As you might recall, Holiness, we had a famine seven years ago and our farmlands haven't been very productive since. Matthew felt the financial burden and to counter it, in addition to working the farm, he took up illegal cage fighting; hence his presence in the criminal underworld.

"Matthew was a very adept fighter. He was good with both his fists and with weapons. He won many matches and made a lot of money for many powerful crime lords, which in turn made him a popular figure. But criminals are not benevolent. Matthew was still not making enough money to support his large family."

The traveller's story was familiar to the druid. "I know this Matthew you speak of," he interjected. "He truly is a good man, one of my closest friends."

But he hadn't seen his close friend in over two months. The last time they saw each other, Matthew bade him farewell, telling him that he was off on an adventure with a warrior from King Frederick's court. The druid was happy for him. Matthew had always wanted to be an adventurer.

When he was a boy, Matthew would play with wooden swords with the other children after the sermons. Although he would not always emerge victorious, he was the only the druid noticed who was constantly improving. Many of the temple-goers and bystanders had tipped Matthew for a strong career in the military. Matthew himself had aspirations to become a soldier.

Sadly, Matthew did not have the blessings of the Almighty's Fates. When the drought brought the famine seven years ago, Matthew had to stop practising with wooden swords as he had to help his father work harder on their farm. Three years ago, when the reaper took his father, he had to work the farm on his own to support his large family. The druid remembered how miserable Matthew was then. The young farmer had confided in him that he hated working the farm that bore no fruits. Matthew missed the wooden swords. He felt that his chance at a soldier's life was slowly diminishing. The closest he got was illegal cage fighting, which he abhorred. The druid had prayed for Matthew.

But when the druid heard that Matthew had been recruited by a warrior of King Frederick's court, he was ecstatic. Not only did Matthew get to live his dream, but the warrior had also made arrangements for his sisters, mother and grandmother to work in the king's castle. Proud, the druid blessed the young adventurer-to-be before he embarked on his quest.

"You are the warrior who recruited him? Pray tell me, how is young Matthew?"

"I will get to that, Holiness. And no, I am no warrior. I merely work in the shadows for the betterment of the kingdom."

"I was very much impressed with young Matthew. He was a polite boy. A good boy. I don't think I've met anyone else who embodied 'goodness' as much as he does. I believe he was the only 'pure good' person I had ever met."

"Perhaps, other than yourself, Holiness?"

The druid remained unmoved. He was glad that his hood hid his face. He didn't want to convey any emotions for this confession session was about the traveler, not about him.

"You are the famed druid, Francis of Onilam?" the traveler asked. "The truest servant of the Almighty? The one who knows all His scriptures by heart and preaches His words so sweetly that even the most devout unbeliever would convert?"

"They are merely over-generous descriptions of myself, Martin. I cannot claim to be the Almighty's truest servant. And although I know His scriptures well and have converted many, the same could be said of other druids."

"But the other druids do not have the blood of Peter the Prophet flowing through their veins. You are the direct descendent of the man who first brought the Almighty's words and teachings to this world."

Druid Francis of Onilam looked at the man. "No person chooses his or her parentage."

The man nodded. "You are very humble, Holiness. That itself is a virtue."

"Please, sir, continue your confession."

"Matthew and I, we travelled to the Alto Mountains to meet this sorcerer.

"I don't think I have mentioned his name before. He was called Enyamek. Enyamek lived in a cave. From the outside, no one would think that there was a sorcerer living there. The grass was green and so were the leaves on the trees. The sky wasn't ominously dark with lightning striking at random moments. There wasn't even any fire burning anywhere. It was a summer paradise.

"But the cave's inside was a different picture. It was so hot within that we were constantly sweating and the air was always distorted. Fires burned at every corner of the cavern giving the air an orange appearance. There were even bones scattered in a particular pattern on the floor at one area. I recognized some human bones and horse bones, but there were also some bones that I didn't recognize. The walls were filled with carvings of runes, like it was a curse that had been spread throughout the cavern.

"I imagine that hell must look something like that.

"I was scared. My heart was beating rapidly, as if it wanted to run away. My senses were so heightened by fear that even the smallest creak would make me jump. But I had faced things like this before. I was more worried for Matthew. I could never forget the look on his face. The young man's steps were too slow, too cautioned. I could hear the shortness of his breath, each inhalation and exhalation a cry for help. He had his sword drawn but his hands shook as he held it.

"And eventually, we came face to face with Enyamek. The sorcerer's appearance was one of a kind. His skin was white but tainted with grey, like the white of ashes. His hair was of a purer white, straight and long, flowing all the way to his waist. His eyes were green like leaves reflecting the sunshine and they glowed. And he only wore a pair of breeches, nothing clothed around his torso or shoulders. Enyamek was scrawny. His bones looked like they were pushing to escape through his ash-white skin. But it was his skin that was the most ominous of all. It was like a page in a book. There were text-like writings all over his body. They looked very much like the runes on the cave walls, curses ready to be casted.

"With his glowing green eyes, Enyamek glared directly at me. He spoke my name and asked me who the boy was."

"The sorcerer knew your name, but not Matthew's? If he could discover your name by magic, I presume, then by the same magic he would know Matthew's name."

"An astute observation, Holiness. I must have failed to mention this earlier: I have met Enyamek before, but I will recount that tale later.

"I introduced the sorcerer to Matthew. I told Enyamek all about the farmer. Matthew couldn't understand what was going on. He kept asking me what was happening and I would tell him to be quiet as I spoke with the sorcerer."

"'I am pleased,' Enyamek said when I was done.

"Suddenly, I heard Matthew screaming. He was levitating and he was struggling. 'What's happening? Let me go! Help!' were the sort of things he yelled. But all the struggling and screaming came to naught as he continued to ascend.

"Enyamek's eyes were glowing brighter and they were glaring directly at Matthew. The runes on his skin and the runes all over the cave's walls began to glow and suddenly, a chant could be heard. Despite all the fires within the cavern, it became icy cold. I could even see my own breath.

"The collection of bones started to levitate and they encircled Matthew, who was still screaming and struggling hysterically, and then, he burst.

"His blood splattered all over the floor like water thrown from a pail, but his bones remained floating. Attached to his bones was a bright white light. I believed that it was Matthew's soul. It was shaped like a human and its face had Matthew's features.

"Eventually, what I thought was Matthew's soul was separated from his bones and it floated towards Enyamek. Then, the sorcerer breathed it into himself.

"He was pleased with me. He told me that I had done well. He gave me my reward."

Druid Francis' hands were trembling. His eyes had become as round as eggs. A shiver crawled up his spine to his shoulders. In his mind, he couldn't stop seeing the images the traveler had painted. Young Matthew levitating as bones circled him. A scrawny sorcerer with curses embedded upon his skin, the words glowing ominously brightly. His mind could even here Matthew's screams and the sound of his blood splashing onto the floor. Worst of all, the druid feared for Matthew's soul, which the sorcerer had inhaled. Now, he belonged to evil.

"Wuh… why?" he croaked, then he cleared his throat. "Why did you do it?"

"It's… it's a terrible thing, Holiness. I know. But I had no choice." The man scanned the temple. It was still dark outside and dawn was not yet approaching. There was no one else around except for him and the druid. "It's for the good of my kingdom."

The man twisted his body quicker than lightning. His right arm connected with the druid's chest. Druid Francis felt a jolt of sharp pain. He found it hard to breathe. The shirt beneath his robes were beginning to wet. It felt warm.

The druid coughed. He spat. Some of his saliva drooled down his chin. The druid touched his chin and looked at his fingers. The saliva was crimson. He inhaled but the air wouldn't go down his throat. He stared at the man, shocked. His mind began to cloud. His vision was blurry, scope narrowing. Everything faded to black.

The druid fell off the pew. The man knelt beside the corpse. He reached into his coat and pulled out several phials. He filled each phial with the druid's blood. Once he was done, he left the temple and left the druid's corpse in a pool of his own blood.

The king-in-disguise walked for several blocks after leaving the temple. He went into an inn. That was one of the benefits of being in a city: there was always an inn open in the dead of night. He paid the innkeeper for a room and he paid extra for use of the bathhouse at the back of the inn.

The warm bathwater soothed him, as if its heat was burning away all the dirt and sins off his skin, but not off his mind. Talking to the druid had helped lift a heavy burden off his heart only to be replaced by another. Young Matthew and Druid Francis were both men with pure hearts and the druid also had pure blood. It was a well-known fact that Druid Francis of Onilam was the direct descendant of Peter the Prophet. It was unfortunate for them that their pure hearts, and the druid's pure blood, were the currency for his trade with Enyamek.

Trades always had receipts. Theirs was the king's own body. As he lay in the bathtub, his hands caressed his torso slowly. His right fingers made their way up to the left of his chest. There was a hole there. It was where his heart should be. His fingers felt the inside of the hole. It felt just like his skin. He traced its half-circle outline. It was only a half-circle now because his dealing with Enyamek was only half done. When he delivers the druid's pure blood, the hole in his chest would be three-quarter complete.

His fingers removed itself from the hole. He rested his hands on the sides of the bathtub. The king lay there for an hour. The water cooled and he called for more hot water. The renewed heat felt like another wave of cleansing, a penance of sorts.

THWOP! The bathwater made a splash. The king noticed something out of place in the bathtub. Something was protruding from the hole in his chest. He pulled it out.

It was an arrow.

He looked at the direction the arrow came from. A hooded person emerged from the shadows. The person wore a form-fitting light brown outfit. The form showed that she was a woman. She held a bow in her hands, an arrow aimed at King Frederick's chest.

They remained in their positions, staring at each other, quietly. The woman was taking in short breaths. Her hands trembled a little. The king remained calm. He stared at her with cool eyes.

"You… you," she croaked, voice barely audible.

"You were in the temple," the king spoke nonchalantly.

"And so were you." Her voice wasn't as firm as she would have liked it to be.

"You are searching for your father." The king grinned. "Well…" He pulled the arrow from the whole in his chest. "Now you've found me."

"Your Majesty." She swallowed her spit, hoping to suppress her nerves. "Father."

"Put that arrow down, Elizabeth. It isn't very princess-like to point it at me."

"I… I won't. Father, I… I won't let you do it."

"Incorrect, dear. You will let me do it."

"I won't let you do this! My husband is your heir. It's Reginald's turn on the throne."

"The throne has been mine for thirty-four years. I have been a great king. The kingdom has not been this prosperous in centuries and it was all my work. Your husband would plunge it into a civil war."

"You don't know that."

"His claim isn't strong. He is my son only in-law. And he has too many enemies, Elizabeth. They will never support him if he ascends. His enemies will unite under your cousin Edward. And I cannot allow Edward to be king either. He is too weak, too easily influenced. His supporters are all greedy and they will feast on his naivety. The kingdom will be ruined."

"That may not happen." Her voice betrayed the conviction she wanted to show. "Reginald's enemies could unite under him. You know that's a possibility."

"But it isn't, is it?" Her father's voice sounded caring. "Reginald's fist is of iron. He sees the world in black and white and he sees all black things as injustice of which to be rid. He has no flexibility… no diplomacy. If he can't win over his enemies now, he will never win them. Ever."

A glint of tears could be seen in Elizabeth's eyes. "Father, please…"

"I won't apologize, Elizabeth. I am the only one fit to be king."

"But must you do it this way? Must you trade with a demon for immortality? It's unnatural, Father. It's… it's blasphemous."

"It is necessary, dear."

"No." She shook her head. Her voice was starting to sound like cries. "I'm sorry, Father. I won't let you destroy your soul for the kingdom."

THWACK! Elizabeth released the arrow. It lodged itself in the king's left eye. His head hung backwards, lifelessly. Sprays of his blood tainted the bathtub and the floor surrounding it.

Elizabeth cried. She wiped the tears off her eyes and turned around to walk away.

"I'm sorry, Father," she whimpered. "I'm so sorry."

Suddenly, a sharp pain burst at her throat. Elizabeth felt some fluid flowing down her neck and onto her breasts. The fluid was warm. She looked down at her chest and saw that the fluid was blood. An arrow protruded from her neck. She coughed and blood blurted out. Two hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. Her eyes widened in fear.

Her father stood before her. His left eye was unwounded. Elizabeth looked at her father's chest. There was a hole where his heart should be.

THE END

Bio: H.Y. Hill  is a budding storyteller currently trapped in the body of a budding lawyer. He is in his mid-twenties and is trying his hardest to fulfill his quest of overpowering the lawyer's body so that he can achieve his true destiny and spread stories to readers worldwide. Mr. Hill's story, "The Sound Lord Clarke," was recently published by Doctor Fantastique's Show of Wonders. His last appearance in Aphelion was "Desired Lives" in the May, 2013 issue.

E-mail: H.Y. Hill

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