The Curse of the House of Gelo
Blood is what it looks like, he thought, crimson and fresh. Xosu's Arrow the people were calling it. Word abounded that the Bright god had loosed his arrow from the heavens to streak across the sky and signal the ending of this age and the coming of a new Dawn. Others were claiming it signalled the end of days, a new Dusk falling on the world.
Kunkolpil, Prince of Gelodun, no, king it was now, he supposed, looked down at his blood-soaked hands, like those of a priest after a sacrifice. Turning them slowly over, almost in disbelief. The drying blood felt sticky and made his movements slow. Then his eyes were pulled back to the heavens, to the cosmos that encapsulated all. A strange light had gripped the sky ever since the Arrow had appeared, but now he was almost comforted as dusk came on and the day was nearing its end. Maybe the people were right, something was coming to a close, he could believe that much.
He found his attention drawn across the landscape around him, unwilling to contemplate yet what lay in the palace rooms behind. The sea surrounded the royal estate of the kings of Gelodun on three sides, built as it was high on a peninsula jutting out into the water so that it looked as though it rested in the great expanse of the heavens. Just like the golden palace of Dzottgelon where the gods themselves resided. Gelo's Gallows, the common people morbidly called the palace though, the glittering cage where its builder lived out his days in fear of the gods revenge.
In the strange atmosphere that the Arrow brought and the crimson hue of the only light that came with it, the sea looked otherworldly, so much so that none of what had happened seemed real. Then the swaying forest rustled in the wind, demanding his attention. He gazed out at the green ocean of conifers and pine, from which his people depended for their trade. Then his eyes found the cityscape of pearl white marble that was the metropolis of Dzottun, the seat of his ancestor Gelo and the capital of his kingdom.
The city was just beginning to settle down for the night, the call of hunger pulling people to their evening meals before the lure of sleep drew them to their beds. A kingdom built in exile, he thought, and hostage to the curse that had driven Gelo into that exile in the first place. He felt the anger that had so consumed him that day begin to be subsumed by a wave of sorrow. His mind began to feed him words to rationalise his actions and smoother the feeling.
"An argument over a cow is what led us here, you know that don't you mother?" he said loudly as he finally found the courage to walk back from the balcony and toward the throne room once more.
"Of course, you don't care about that." he muttered to himself as he caught a glimpse of the cliff at the eastern end of the peninsula. He felt a twinge through his aching arms as the memory of scaling its sheer face in a burning fury as the dawn sun rose, flashed back through his mind.
"The gods cursed Gelo for his betrayal." he said loudly again, as if telling the story could justify his actions, "This was before the Dusk that fell on the old kingdoms and the fall of old Kolbos. Dunsun himself, Lord of the Cosmos, trusted Gelo and his brother, Dono, famous shepherds as they were, to watch over his herd and keep them safe within their paddocks. A score of night dark creatures, and the pride of the herd, the great moon white cow Gunsup, first and greatest of beasts. But Gelo grew greedy, like so many of our ancestors it seems." he paused and muttered to himself, "The lot of man I suppose." he raised his voice once more, "Although there are some that argue that it was the Kinsolsun who drove him to it. The wizards of the sea whispering in his ear.
How ever it happened, he opened the paddock, and the night dark cows were released. Except for Gunsup, for he killed the beast, like a priest would a sacrifice, to get a taste of what the gods supped upon. But that was not his only crime, for he slaughtered his brother as well, to hide his transgressions from the gods before they came to visit him.
Foolish man should have known he could not conceal such things from the all-knowing divinities. They cursed him of course, as he fled into exile. Leaving his younger brother Tul to take up the kingship of his people and with it the mantle of war to fight back against the chaos he had unleashed. Ever since our family has feuded, and murdered, and betrayed each other, and man has been forced to offer the greatest of his herds to the gods as recompense." he stopped to draw breath, "Some even claim that the Dusk only fell because of Gelo's actions. Even so, he built his kingdom as a refuge for those of the Xosu people fleeing the fall of old Kolbos. Out of guilt for his actions I suppose."
He had walked back under the many columns which held up the throne room of the palace now, loosing his words like arrows as cover for his approach. There was an eerie silence in the room and the air seemed to hang limp, though it smelt as thick as the incense of the priesthood. Inside though he might be, his unconscious mind would not allow him to face the northern end of the room. Instead, he turned toward the golden throne and paced his way towards it. As he did, he could hear faint shouts begin to echo from the palace beyond. As if to cover this noise, words came to him again, although he did not know why,
"Anyhow mother, that is not the story of your family, but it is what you married into, and it seems even those without Gelo's blood are not immune to the curse." he continued the tale of his ancestors, the words pouring out of him, "Gelo himself was finally caught out by it, dying a brutal death at the hands of those he saved. His son, Rinthil, his reign was not glorious, but the kingdom survived and even grew. No mean feat in the wake of the Dusk, but even he felt the hand of betrayal on his back, nevertheless. Even Kisobul, the greatest man ever to sit the throne, was undone by the curse."
The shouting was growing louder now and increasingly frenzied. He took a seat on the throne. Only as he lifted his hands from the arm rests did he notice the smear of blood he left there.
"I suppose we can add my brother to that list now. Rosos, king for half a year, but the first of a new era perhaps. A victim of my crime...but necessary. And you as well mother, the curse does not care, man or woman." he said with a sigh, finally finding the courage to raise his eyes.
His mother was propped up against the wall, her moon pale dress blood soaked, her face deathly white but smothered with red. Her eyes had glazed over, like a prize cow after it had been brought to the sacrificial knife of a priest. On the floor next to her, in an ever-growing pool of crimson blood, lay the white gold zilthum forged knife. An heirloom from the time of Gelo, eagerly drinking his mother's life essence.
"I never wanted any of this. You forced it upon me. My father and I had gone to war, and you sullied this kingdom and this throne, all to grasp at power, more than you could ever need. Or was it vengeance you were after? Father was not the most agreeable man I know." Kunkolpil sighed again and fell into a moments silence. The shouting in the palace had grown to a fever pitch, and then the inevitable knock on the door came. Fortunately, he had still had the presence of mind when he first entered to place the great wooden bar across the bronze doors of the throne room.
"The gods mock us, a curse on all of us. They have given us the freedom, to think and to choose, but not the power to be the master of those choices. No, we sit at the top of the pyramid of existence, but only to be helplessly driven by the forces below us. The universal order some call it. The bounds of the cosmos constraining all. The earth upon which we live dictates to us how and where we can survive, the rivers and hills and great oceans shaping the boundaries of our existence. But more than that, our mortal bodies require sustenance, so we cannot choose to go without the hard work that we need to obtain it, neither can we choose to step beyond the bounds of the organised kingdom for it is upon that collective organisation that we all depend."
He found he was gripping the arms of the throne tightly now, his knuckles turning white. Yet still he directed his thoughts towards his mother, though he did not know why. There was hammering at the door, as if those outside were trying to break it down. His words became rapid and angry now.
"More than that, our bodies make demands of us. Emotions, not just hunger, but fear and love and want. Ambition, oh that is the best and worst of them. All of it an irrational surge of desire. We all possess a rational mind that sits atop of it all, but how can we possibly hope to fathom all of that, never mind shape events in a way that is entirely of our choice? Especially as each one of us faces the same dilemma and so we must act against or in concert with each other. Thus, our actions are further restrained and dictated by external events and men so often fall victim to their base wants and needs."
The door was shaking now with each strike and beyond it sounded as though a besieging army were gathered.
"The wandering philosopher, Kunpit of Thelonigul had the right of it. Only a god-king could sit atop that pyramid and hope to mould events to their design. But the god-kings are all gone, the Dusk swept them away, if they were ever more than just a nostalgia for a glorious past long since turned to dust. It is how we got here mother. My wants, your desires, and the ambitions of men and kings. None of us could have what we wanted, none of us possess the power to shape events even though we see so clearly. My House may suffer a curse, but so does all of humanity. To be able to see so clearly, so rationally, and yet we are all merely passengers on this journey."
The door rattled, and for a moment he saw a glimpse of what lay beyond. The bronze, feather plumed, helmets of the palace guards and the glint of spears. He felt a determination swell in him and a surety.
"There is one choice I can make, although events may have forced me to this point as well. But I can break the curse upon my House, I will not fall to the hand of betrayal. My cousin, Posoa may be but a child, but he is already as fierce as a warrior, and I am sure he will make a much better king than I." he got up and strode back toward the balcony with a new sense of purpose. "Maybe it is this that the Arrow presages." he said and then laughed uncontrollably at himself, "Typical of man, we give ourselves such titles as king and think it gives us a divine power. I just tried to claim the signal in the heavens as my own, even at this low point."
Wiping his bloody hands into his green tunic, he looked out again across the pearl white city, sitting in the red glow of Xosu's Arrow. In that moment he hoped that his arrogance was right, that the Arrow in the sky did foretell a new dawn for his people, free from this curse of chaos, conflict, and betrayal.
He looked down towards the raging, roiling sea. A great crash behind him echoed as a large wave careened into the cliff below. Shouts and the sound of footsteps came spinning past his ears. He placed his hands upon the pearl marble of the balcony's edge and lifted himself over, catching a glimpse of the setting sun as the wind rushed past his ears.
