NationStates Jolt Archive

Pitter-patter…pitter-patter… the rain poured heavily outside the palace and the raindrops continuously pelted the window to a synchronized beat. Outside, the clouds were darkening more and more and more to the point where nothing could be seen. Occasional flashes of lightning would light up the city. Thunder roared only seconds after the lightning flash. The winds were quite harsh and some trees were blown over.

The Imperial Palace was silent and all were asleep at this hour except perhaps a servant or slave. It was quite dark inside the palace, too, and the where it was lighted – the lights flickered on and off.

Hecuba was nowhere to be seen, however, and had been missing for at least seven days. Thus, the great king of the Imperial Kingdom slept alone in complete solitude. The past weeks had been harsh on his well-being and the stress generated by the Imperial Kingdom’s recent reemergence into the international community had only worsened his health even more. Sleep had been hard to attain for dear old Priam.

He slept only in his Royal nightgown, a red cloak fashioned with many designs of tigers, lion, dragons, and an eagle. Priam’s body was withering; age had caught up with him. He was perspiring heavily and the rain outside cascaded down the window like a waterfall.

Then, the door to the Royal Bedroom creaked.

Priam sprung up from his bed, almost instaneously; he was drenched in perspiration. Panting heavily, obviously frightened, he scanned the room for any intruders. He saw no one, although the darkness impaired his waning eyesight.

“Who’s there?” said he nervously, “Show yourselves, now!”

“I come to this place to deliver an important message from the powerful one, great Cronion,” said a soft, mysterious, feminine voice.

“Speak,” said Priam as his eyes continued to scour the room, still searching from where the voice was coming from.

“Cronion has called for an end to the offense to His name by a certain people. You know of whom I speak of?” said she.

“The Flock of Shepherd?” Priam replied timidly, still searching for whom was speaking to him.

“Indeed,” she said, “And here is what Cronion asks of you, dear Priam. Do you follow? Please say yes, I do not have much time to explain to you what must be done as it must be done soon.”

“Yes milady,” Priam said.

“A boy of this cult, perhaps in his tenth year, must be brought to the your Citadel. Give him a room and bed. Feed him well and cater to his wants for the next three days. I shall visit you each night at this time and give you further instructions. It is your obligation to write to him what I speak to you and to give the young lad the note when the clock strikes seven past six. Refer to me as the Dark Lady; I require no name.”

“When, more specifically what day, do I carry this out, Dark Lady?” Priam asked inquisitively.

“Please do not address me as that. I am the Rainbow and you will call me that henceforth until further instructions are given to you.”

Priam was perplexed, “The Rainbow, milady?” he said. “That’s a bit awkward.”

“It is not up to you to decide what fate has been chosen for you! Call me Rainbow and be done with it! It is what he told to me to say and I intend to do what he says; it is my duty to do so!”

“Again, milady, I ask when?”

“When the clock strikes seven past six on the sixth day of the sixth month of the current year,” she responded.

“I shall serve ye, dear Rainbow, if Zeus so wills it!” Priam exclaimed before blacking out.

Shades of every color whirled and a slurred voice bombarded him with nonsensical gibberish (it seemed to echo itself as well while another string of gibberish was rambling). The voices stopped, the whirls of color were sucked into the center, leaving Priam with a setting of black and white whirls. Three thumps followed.

“You have accepted His Majesty’s command. Obey it and a place high upon my throne you shall have!” the slurred voice bellowed understandably.

Immediately, the colors were absorbed the whirls and the rambling continued for another three minutes. The voices and colors then suddenly ceased to whirl and bombard and Priam awoke with blood stained on his cloak. His wrists had been cut, as had his feet and his lower abdomen.

“My head,” Priam groaned. “The pain is unbearable.” He ran his hand over his forehead, feeling tiny grooves all along it. He stumbled about before calling for a servant, “Bring me some breakfast now and a young whelp, one whom bears the Cross!”

“What is your name, young lad?” said Priam in a cool and calm manner.

“G…G…Gaius, sir,” responded the young boy, Gaius Iulius.

Gaius was a very young boy indeed, only nine or ten years old. Priam heeded to the Voice’s command and now the boy and he stood face-to-face in the Imperial Throne Room.

“Now, dear Gaius,” Priam said, “would you mind telling me where ye was born and furthermore the name of thy father?”

“Born in a suburb to the east of Smyrna to Publius, son of Cornelius, sir,” replied Gaius.

“Interesting, interesting. Now, dear boy, has anyone told you why I have summoned you to me?”

“Now, your Majesty. They just came to my home and told my mum and pa that I was to go to Troy to see his Majesty. They said, ‘King Priam requests that young Gaius come to Troy to dine with dear Priam himself for the next three days and three nights. Do you accept?’ My mum and pa said, ‘Of course we accept! Of course! Now, Gaius, you go on make your parents proud, will you please!’ And I to them, ‘Yes dear mum and pa, I promise!’ And so that’s what happened, but no reason was given to why I was a-called to your presence, your Highness,” replied Gaius.

“Well then!” said Priam, “I suppose I shall tell you!”

“If you wouldn’t mind, dear sir, please do,” Gaius said coyly. He had never been in the presence of such a magnificent palace. The walls laced with many colors and shapes and the columns with their many carvings of Trojan dominance. He could only have dreamed of seeing a place of such brilliance. “It would be an honor, yes it would be, for me to be spoken to by such a great man as yourself.”

“Ah, dear boy! No need to be flattering now!” Priam said in a light-hearted manner.

“Why, I’m dreadfully sorry, your Majesty. Please, please forgive me!” Gaius cried.

“No forgiveness is needed, dear boy! It’s all well. Now. To my explanation. I was informed by, erm, an anonymous agent of mine of a boy of great expectations living a-nearby Smyrna. He told me that the boy’s name was Gaius and that he was a respectable young lad; he paid respect to the state on a regular basis and was poised to make himself the next Aeneas! So, I said to myself, ‘Why, if this boy is to be the next Aeneas – the greatest Trojan of them all – then I am to see him immediately!’ And that is why I have called you up to Troy. Now, we have servants all over the palace who will readily cater to your needs. If you want something, ask for it and you shall receive it. Don’t feel timid. They will fetch for you what you want. Also, over the next three days, you will be receiving a note from me. Lock the doors and read the note ALONE. Speak nothing of what is said. It is a private matter.”

“I will, your Majesty,” said Gaius.

Two servants goaded the young boy out of the Imperial Throne Room and led him to his room downstairs. There was a great mattress where could sleep on, a large brass dresser and desk, and his own private bathroom. Gaius was overwhelmed.

“Dear me!” he said.

“Now,” said the first servant, “is there anything you would like to do?”