Here’s a story that’s yet to find another home.

 

Griffin stared at the long, purple, strangely luminescent blades of grass as he dragged the final words to the story from his lips. The tiny flower heads that were there and not there nodded at him, absently prodding him with the polite attention of strangers.

The court jester sprang abruptly from lying supine. “And this is why you come here every day, wanting to be dead?”

Griffin grunted a yes, his face a picture of exhausted centuries, breathless, pale.

Beyond the tight carpet of grass, there was nothing. Together they looked toward the bluish expanse of sky and water from far away. They sat side by side, half a foot in between, too intimate for human standards of acquaintances’ personal spaces. A moment later, the cry of eagles resonated from below the gorge.

“Interesting,” the jester said finally. “But it is a weak premise to want to die. There is a world of worse things than not knowing what you’re here for.”

Griffin responded, “I disagree. Aimless wandering is the most dismal occupation.”

There was a faint sound of rocks crumbling.

“Listen. I have a story.”
*  *  *  *  *

And this was how the story went, according to the court jester:

The Small Constituency of Kirtstalt, in the dark and raw days of pagan incantations, rogue alchemists and magical dusts, was governed by a simple, free-spirited young man named Julian. Julian had been orphaned by parents who died defending the region’s crops and had been put to the throne when the monarch before him instituted the democracy. The townspeople, already hailing him a legend, had unanimously decided he be next in line.

Julian was sixteen.

He ruled Kirtstalt with the fiery passion characteristic of his youth. He respected the wisdom of his advisers but stuck close to unwavering moral principles that glistened with strangely perfect logic. He held town games that had everybody talking for days. He held town meetings that had everybody applauding for weeks.

One day, Julian’s greatness reached the ears of the neighboring constituency. The people there employed his assistance in convincing their king that the newly-imposed tributes and taxes were too steep for their agricultural lifestyles. Julian arranged a meeting with Demetrius, leader of the neighboring kingdom, and tried to talk him out of inflicting the unnecessary onus of paying for Demetrius’ multiple wives and golden elephants guarding the castle gates on the innocent townspeople.

Demetrius did not appreciate the concern. He acted civilly in front of Julian, but in his heart a hatred so fundamental to his being began to fester. When Julian left, Demetrius consulted his team of mages for a plan of action to dispose of the other king.

“We will give him evil gifts,” they said.

Once Julian turned twenty-one, three sprightly human-sized faeries made themselves guests of the court and conferred upon him spells designed to cause him ruin.

He did not know this, of course. He welcomed the three ladies with a smile to beat fresh sunrise and bade them sit at his dining table to eat.

*  *  *  *  *

“That’s pretty dark. Julian hadn’t done anything even remotely incriminating,” Griffin interrupted.

“In the juries of mortal men, yes, it’s probably cruel. But who blames God for the misplaced storms?”

Griffin rolled his eyes and snorted. “Only everybody.”

The jester looked at him, reconsidering. “I keep forgetting about your one-track brains.”

“So what were the gifts?” Griffin prodded, as the sound of crumbling rocks grew imperceptibly louder.

*  *  *  *  *

The jester continued.

There was little to say about the two gifts. They were both failures. One was the gift of time, which was meant to allow Julian to stretch his minutes into hours at will. Expecting Julian to think like the normal man, the first wizard figured he would have abused the power to have so much time in his hands. He was supposed to age faster than was usual, speeding up his death eventually.

But Julian found little use for extra time. He had all the time he needed, all the plans he could execute right on schedule, using normal, human time spans. The potency of the spell waned from non-use, the Small Kingdom of Kirtstalt grew more prosperous, and Demetrius reported having nightmares about Julian’s imminent take-over.

The second gift took effect almost immediately. It was the gift of opulence. Through it Julian could have anything his heart desired, a prospect that could easily spell his doom. Men have been known to wish for a score of silly things: legions of women-in-waiting, tubs and tubs of miracle medicine or unimaginable wealth. One way or the other, it was almost a sure-fire end to Julian’s reign.

But there was one thing they didn’t count on.

That King Julian, in the midst of all worldly riches and opportunities to acquire so much for himself, was still utterly guileless. Deep inside his heart he had been wishing for only one thing: that was to rule his kingdom with integrity and wisdom.

Which did not translate to material wealth, so the spell eventually lost its effect.

It was the third gift, however, that ultimately destroyed him.

Continue reading Death in Little Doses, Part 2 of 2.