Zev's Destiny
Kira Bacal
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Kira Bacal
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When he was nine years old, Zev was cursed by a seer. No one realized it at the time, nor did the seer herself wish the boy ill, but she was inexperienced and had not yet realized the wisdom behind Eldred’s Caution: “Never tell a mortal anything he does not need – or pay – to know.”
Zev’s future was ruined, as are a good many promising lives, by a good deed. He saw a tired young woman, clad in a seer’s orange robes, trudging down the road before his father’s modest farm, and his heart went out to the dusty form. Like the well brought up child that he was, he promptly fetched her refreshment, and she, touched by his generosity, sought to return the favor.
After she had quenched her thirst and hunger, she leaned back on her heels and turned a warm smile on the freckled face before her. “And what is your name, young sir?”
“Zev, my lady. Please, are you truly a seer?” he blurted.
“I am,” she averred. “Why do you ask?”
“Can you then see the future?” Zev replied in tones of awe. “Of anyone?”
The seer was still young enough to be touched by his admiration. In truth, she was but an apprentice, traveling to meet her master Feeg in the capital city where he was sleeping off one of his not-infrequent debauches. It was only because of her master’s inattention that she was unsupervised; had Feeg been present, Zev’s life would likely have been far different.
But Feeg was deep in a drunkard’s slumber, locked in a harlot’s arms while her partner happily picked through his belongings in search of valuables, and several leagues away, his apprentice proceeded without a single premonition of disaster…which shows how little she had yet learned.
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “Would you like a reading?”
Zev could only nod, speechless with delight.
She smiled and, leaning forward, brushed the tousled hair from his forehead. Looking deep into his eyes, she slipped into a brief trance, then spoke in a ringing voice quite different from her own. “I see a crown upon your brow, a sword upon your hip. You will grow to be a brave warrior – the savior of a princess. Your Destiny is to rule by her side.”
Then she blinked twice, shook her head, and beamed at the astonished boy before her. “Well!” she said brightly. “That was good news, wasn’t it?” And with that, she patted him on the head and continued on her way, never to realize that she had doomed her benefactor and blighted the lives of an entire kingdom.
Those innocent words were like a thunderclap to the boy’s ears. Like most children of that age, he dreamed of far off adventures and of an adulthood far removed from the mundane reality of his parents’ lives. Unfortunately for him, he now had irrefutable proof that his dreams could come true.
Naturally, he at once ran and told his parents of the seer’s words. At first, they were stunned, then thrilled. Before long, every neighbor in the vale knew of Zev’s Destiny, and the boy was, for a time, treated with a touching deference. But as time wore on, the novelty wore off, and Zev continued to be the same unremarkable freckle faced child, except that he never forgot – nor allowed others to forget – his foretold Destiny.
When his mother asked him to gather the eggs from the henhouse, he politely reminded her that he was destined for a throne and that kings do not gather eggs. When his father ordered him to help plow the fields, he gently pointed out that his Destiny was not to be a farmer. It was not that he was lazy; he rose before dawn and worked hard until well after sunset. But he spent his time teaching himself swordplay and horsemanship, skills he felt more appropriate to someone with his Destiny. When his parents remonstrated, he quoted the seer’s words and asked reproachfully if they wished him to fail to rescue his princess. Put like that, his parents could hardly argue that barnyard chores were more important than his swordcraft, but they and his siblings came to loathe the day Zev met the seer.
When Zev turned 18, local tradition declared him to be a grown man, free of his parents’ authority, and his parents offered to pay the bride-price on the local innkeeper’s pretty young daughter. She was a bit plump but had a good heart, a clever brain, and she was her father’s only heir. But Zev merely shook his head and said, “My Destiny is to marry a princess. What would I do with an innkeeper’s daughter?”
At that, his father’s long patience finally reached its end. “What would you do with her?” he shouted, his face reddening with frustration. “You’d marry her! You’d bed her! You’d make babies with her! You’d have a good life with her! What is wrong with being content with what you have?”
Zev did not grown angry in his turn. He knew his parents were simple peasants, trying to do what they thought best for him. He kissed his mother, quietly weeping in the corner, and turned loving eyes upon his father. “It is not my Destiny,” he said simply.
“Destiny, shmestiny!” his father roared, nearly driven mad by his son’s foolish intransigence. “Why won’t you snatch happiness where you find it?”
“Would you have me settle for a barmaid when I might have a queen?” Zev asked.
“I was a barmaid when I met your father!” His mother reminded him with a fresh flood of tears. “He made me his queen – the queen of his heart!”
Zev smiled at her with both love and pity. “But your Destiny was no greater than this farm. Mine is to rule a kingdom.”
“And what’s so great about that?” his father wanted to know. “A lot of headaches is what you’ll get! Kings are always thin and dyspeptic. Innkeepers are fat and jolly. Why be a king?”
“And the nobility! They’re mad, demanding, peculiar folk – why would you want to live among them?” his mother demanded, dashing the tears from her eyes. “Best to stay here among the simple people who love you. Why are you rushing off to be with those crazy nobles with all their nonsense? They aren’t like us!”
Zev looked around the small, cluttered farmyard, at his gathered brothers and sisters clad in homespun and garlanded for his birthday with simple flowers, at the chickens clucking around their bare feet and the spotted cow chewing her cud in the nearby meadow. His nostrils twitched as a breeze wafted past, carrying the odors of the pigsty and compost heap. He shook his head kindly but firmly, kissed everyone goodbye, climbed aboard his horse, and left his family forever.
He rode east, the direction balladeers traditionally associated with adventure, and traveled for many months. He had numerous adventures along the way, and his skills grew polished. He had many offers – from women and generals alike – but to all he made polite refusals and kept traveling east, always seeking his princess in distress.
Finally his dedication was rewarded. Far from the land of his birth, he heard the rumor of an enchanted princess, locked in a death-like slumber. He knew immediately, by the tingle in his bones, that this was his Destiny calling to him. He was tireless in his efforts to track down information about the unfortunate damsel, and he soon learned that the tale concerned the lovely Princess Lyrella who, having been cruelly ensorcelled by her own father, now languished behind the high walls of a secret fortress, awaiting only her hero’s kiss to arise and assume control of her kingdom.
Zev was by now a doughty and experienced warrior, but even he found it challenging to discover the location of the hidden castle walls behind which Lyrella lay. It then took him weeks to battle his way through dark swamps, high mountains, and treacherous canyons, but at last he and his trusty steed collapsed, exhausted, against the massive wooden gates of Castle Darkness. Each was bleeding from dozens of scratches, souvenirs of their struggle through the enormous thorn-filled thickets which surrounded the fortress and shielded it from view. It had been days since they had slept indoors and nearly as long since their last good meal.
Zev summoned the last of his strength and pounded on the door with the pommel of his sword. “Open! Open in the name of Destiny!”
“Go away!” A thin elderly voice could barely be heard coming from inside the castle.
“What?” Zev had been expecting a dragon to emerge, gouting flame, or at least a squad of elite guards, armed to the teeth. He had never imagined that the door would remain stubbornly closed.
“Go away!” the reedy voice piped again.
“Let me in!” Zev ordered.
“Shoo!”
Baffled, Zev looked up at the huge doors in impotent fury. There was no way he could force them. A low nicker caught his ear, and he turned to see his clever horse pawing at the ground. Stepping closer, he realized there was a hidden path through the brambles at the base of the walls. This must be how the castle’s denizens got in and out. He breathed a word of praise in his horse’s ear, then led the way down the narrow trail. It led to the far side of the castle and stopped at a seemingly blank wall.
Zev examined the walls closely, and his painstaking review paid off when he spotted a shallow depression at knee height. He pressed it and was rewarded by having a section of the wall pivot outwards. He quickly moved inside, his well-trained horse at his heels, and within moments found himself in the central courtyard. All was deserted – dead leaves blew about, the buildings on all sides were lifeless and decrepit. Not a soul stirred. Not even a whisper of sound could be heard, save Zev’s uneven breathing and the clip clop of his horse’s hooves.
There, in the center of the yard, Zev saw a central dais, with a crystal coffin upon it. Inside lay the motionless body of a beautiful young woman, her creamy skin lightly tinged with a rosy hue, her hair the color of spun gold. Zev’s breath caught in his chest. His heart skipped a beat: his Destiny was finally at hand! He managed to start forward, one hand outstretched, as if only by touching the casket could he believe in its reality.
His fingers had just brushed the crystal cover when a stooped, scrawny figure shot out from a broken-down building and barreled into him. “Get away!”
Zev stumbled, then recovered, raising his sword as he turned to face his opponent. The sword faltered as his eyes fell upon an elderly man, dressed in ragged finery with a tarnished crown upon his head.
“Begone!” the old man ordered, wheezing hard from his exertions. “I am King Ignarus – I order you to leave my realm at once!”
“Oh, unnatural father!” Zev cried angrily. “It was your black hearted evil which caused your fair daughter to be so foully enchanted! You have no authority here!” And with that, he thrust the king aside – but gently, because the man was frail and Zev had been raised to respect his elders – and knocked the lid off the coffin. It shattered upon the paving stones, drowning out Ignarus’ cry of defeat.
Zev bent over the princess’ still form and kissed her ruby lips. Within seconds, her delicate eyelids fluttered and opened, revealing eyes as clear and blue as the summer sky.
“My princess,” Zev breathed.
She blinked, a slight frown creasing her perfect brow. “Who are you?” she asked, her clear contralto voice rough with disuse.
“I am Zev, the hero who rescued you with a kiss,” he replied proudly, helping her out of the casket. Behind him, he heard Ignarus groan in despair. “It was my Destiny.”
Lyrella looked around the empty courtyard, her beautiful eyes narrowed. “Oh, really? Well, you certainly took your own sweet time about it, didn’t you? Look around, I must have been out of it for a while! What were you waiting for?”
Zev’s jaw dropped.
“Hmf.” Lyrella regarded him disdainfully. “I don’t suppose you’re of royal blood?”
“N – no. I come from humble –“
“I knew it! You can practically smell the pig poop on your boots. Oh, well!” she gestured dramatically. “I suppose I’ll have to marry you anyway. It’s tradition and all that nonsense. Still, it keeps the peasants happy, and a happy peasant pays more taxes.”
‘But – but I have fought through mountains and swamps to reach your side – “ Zev tried desperately.
“What do you want, a medal?” Lyrella snapped. “I already said I’d marry you. And besides, if you had something other than potatoes between your ears, you’d have realized that if you approached from the south, it’s an easy day’s sail from Keddala. You didn’t bother to look at a map, did you? Can you even read?”
“I – I – I set out on horseback from Elderbranch –“ Poor Zev began, only to be interrupted again.
“And a straight line between two points is always the fastest? Is that it? Oh, boy, did I strike it rich with this one,” Lyrella announced sarcastically. “Let’s hope the children get their brains from my side of the family. I can see you didn’t think it necessary to bring flowers and chocolate either. I suppose you didn’t think this was anything special?” Zev gulped and spread his hands helplessly. He had no idea what to say. “Typical. Why do I even bother? Father, stop that sniveling!”
Zev’s frantic eyes fell upon Ignarus, now sobbing on the steps of the dais. “I don’t understand,” he said piteously, offering the old man a hankie.
“Why do you think I had her enchanted and hidden here?” the king wept. “She made my life and the lives of our subjects a living hell! But what else could I do? She’s my daughter – I couldn’t harm her. So I had a wizard –“
“There he goes again! ‘Ooh, ooh, look at me. Aren’t I clever?’ “ Lyrella interrupted, marching over and poking Zev hard in the ribs. “Don’t encourage him! It was the old poisoned apple trick and I fell for it. Well, that’s not going to happen again, let me tell you. Good gods, Father, you really let this place become a pit! What’s wrong with you? You couldn’t bring along a few servants?”
“Er, maybe I could go and find –“ Zev offered hopefully.
“Not so fast, buster! If you think you’re going to go off adventuring and whoring while I stay home and raise a bunch of your brats, you’ve got another think coming! You’re not going anywhere. Even if you can’t find your way out of a box canyon, I know exactly where we are. This is the summer palace, you twit; the main court is just twelve leagues to the north. It won’t take us any time to get there. Hmmm.” She eyed Zev’s horse, who returned the look with alarm. “Is this old nag the best you could do? Well, the glue factory always needs new supplies. I never could stand grey horses – they make me look pale. I insist upon nothing but black horses in my kingdom. They always show off my lovely hair to its best advantage.” She glared at Zev. “I said, ‘my lovely hair’!”
“Oh! Er, yes, your hair is more beautiful than –“
“Blah blah blah. Too late, mister. You’d better be faster off the mark if you expect to get any kissy kissy in the bedchamber. Do you read me?” She looked around. “Where did that stupid horse go?”
Zev stared about wildly, but it was too late. His faithful steed, staunch ally in a hundred battles, had fled.
Ignarus elbowed him in the side. “See why I couldn’t get anyone to stay here with me? All these long years I languished here alone, guarding her tomb, but I was content, because I knew that my lands were at peace and my people were happy. But now, you destroyed all that! What were you thinking? Didn’t it occur to you to wonder why no one else had ever tried to rescue Lyrella? Didn’t you bother to ask why I would enchant my own flesh and blood? What did –“
“Put a cork in it, Father!” Lyrella barked. “No one wants to hear some old fossil bemoan the passage of time. A new day demands a new ruler. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Bev or Lev or whatever your name is, tell me you were bright enough to bring a carriage with you. You can’t possibly be stupid enough to expect me to walk out of here. Now then, here’s how it’s going to be: the wedding will be held in a week. That should give me enough time to have a gown made and hire the caterers and send out invitations… Oh, your parents won’t attend, of course. They would just be an embarrassing reminder of your unfortunate origins. We’ll have seven bridesmaids, and I think our color scheme will be – are you listening to me?”
And Zev finally understood the meaning of Destiny, finally realized what his parents had tried so hard to tell him. He thought longingly of his family’s farm, of the genial innkeeper’s daughter with whom he might have lived out his days, and the beautiful princess for whom he had spurned her. He bowed his head and, with a voice choked with tears, uttered the phrase by which he accepted forever the Destiny he had chosen for himself: “Yes, dear.”
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About the author:
Kira Bacal is a physician and scientist who has worked at NASA and the US Senate, among other odd and wonderful places. She currently lives among towering trees in New Zealand with her two children and a vandalism-prone Leonberger.