Rokkoh and the Final Year, Chapter 5, Part 2

This is part 2 for the fifth chapter of the current Rokkoh novella. If you have not read part 1, please click HERE to catch up!

The sconces along the walls turn low, the flames shrinking and dimming the place. The audience quiets with the growing darkness, reduced to only a few hushed conversations floating amongst the otherwise silence. A solitary hum rings out from behind the curtain. Confident and bold, yet subtle and foreboding, the low note stretches for a long moment. The red cloth like a giant’s blanket separates at the middle and pulls to each side. A cityscape is painted in the background, its details so precise that it almost looks real. Banners hang to and fro, little triangular flags spanning the spectrum of colors pointing to the ground from their curved line. Tables are set with a smorgasbord, and though their scent does not carry from the stage I wonder how much of the food is clever prop work.

Standing alone, adorned in a black gown and mourner’s veil, a woman stares at her feet. As the curtain disappears, the long note dances slow into a funeral song. Her head raises gradually; she takes her time before her eyes fall upon the full theatre. Red lips part within the veil, eyes sparkling with genuine tears. A melancholic melody escapes the Mourner, soft and somber, but she sings in some elven tongue I cannot understand. Based on my limited operatic knowledge and the name of the performance, I imagine she is delivering the prologue, the introduction to the story. Her eyes scan throughout the audience, connecting with a few there. She soon finds me, and she lingers as a word hangs in the air. My heart goes cold, sending a chill throughout my body. Is this some sort of magic meant to charm me into liking her song, or the whole act, more? Did any of the others get hit with this mysterious wave, or was it reserved for whoever she landed on for that last note that fades back into the music?

The Mourner’s gaze breaks from me as the cello cuts. I take in a gulp of air, unaware that I had been holding my breath. Kym nudges my arm, silent eyes worrying. As the Mourner strides to the side of the stage and disappears there, I offer Kym a faint smirk. She returns it, relieved, and takes my hand. I can’t deny that it does make me feel better. 

Blaring horns hit us hard with their bright calling. The cadence, reminiscent of regal trumpets, signals the entrance of a tall man. Long, elegant robes of red and black trail him as he comes in from the right, a rough hand twirling the pitch hairs on his chin. Built strong, yet wearing a look of worry, he paces amongst the food tables. Atop his head, nestled amongst the obsidian hair that hovers above his collar is a crown looking to be made of dark volcanic glass, rubies shining from the band. The points of his elven ears pierce through the black ocean, and his fair skin strikes bold amongst the surrounding dark colors. King Gallo Strand of Eastfall, in all his strength and glory before his inevitable demise. The history books claim him to have been a good king, but ultimately unlucky. Will this production be loyal to those stories or paint him in a different light? Or will it focus on that unluckiness?

Excited voices come from the left, and soon a man and a woman appear. The man sports a well-fitted suit of greens and greys, as well as a golden crown studded with dazzling diamonds. Like the other man, his hair is black, though King Raghnall Thorne’s style is trimmed short and beardless. The points of his ears do not hide. The woman at his side is draped in white, the train of her dress a long silk. Golden hair that covers the ends of her ears flows far past her shoulders, part from each side braided into one thick weaving. Both glow with warm and radiant tan skin. A colorful bouquet clutched close to her breast, Marina beams at King Gallo from across the stage. Their eyes meet, and in an instant his anxiety is replaced by such a pure awe. In a way, it reminds me of myself when I see Kym after a hard day sometimes.

The horns quell, giving room for the strings to breathe life into a sweet romantic melody. King Gallo, marveling at her beauty, sings in a clear baritone. Nothing but elation lights his face, which Marina mirrors as she joins in. The two take slow steps toward each other, their voices intertwining and playing off each other to form a heartwarming ballad. Her impressive bright soprano lifts high while his baritone keeps them grounded. Words of love, I’m sure. King Raghnall smiles quietly to himself, arms crossed over his chest in pride and delight. For a moment, his eyes go to a bowl of fruit. As the others remain focused on each other, he plucks a couple grapes from a bunch and pops them into his mouth.

From behind the grape-thief comes an older man clad in a plain orange robe tied at the waist with a thin rope. Sewn into the front his robe is a silver symbol: two figures hold each other close, their torsos crossing over one another to form a point. The symbol of Dalogbe, Novhina of Love. I’ve only ever seen it in books before. Bald-headed but with a long white beard, wrinkles grace his warm russet face. The Priest’s ears are longer than all the others’ and curl downward at the ends. His jovial expression grows brighter at King Raghnall’s surprised jump after a quick clap on the shoulder. The couple step apart, allowing the Priest of Dalogbe space as he sings what I imagine is a congratulatory speech in a high tenor. His hands wave far out to his sides, and a dozen people arrive from both sides of the stage. Every one of them showcases their glee, and all but the couple fill the theatre with a happy song. 

The Priest waves his hands once more, cutting their voices and sending the tune into a quieter and more graceful one. He looks to the couple for a moment, and they close the gap once more. Marina’s hands slip into those of her betrothed as the holy man sings to the crowd, his eyes searching for someone. King Raghnall raises his hand and chimes in with a low bass. As soon as the onlookers’ attention is off him, he sneaks more grapes. The Priest returns to the couple, singing to each of them for a brief moment. They respond, eyes aglow with nothing but ecstasy and love. They don’t even look at the old man, either not able or unwilling to break away from each other. 

The Priest calls to King Raghnall once more, beckoning with a curling of his outstretched fingers. With a cheerful call back, he steps forth. Passing through the crowd, he digs into his pockets for something. As he reaches the clergyman and the lovebirds, he holds an open hand out to them. King Gallo and Marina each reach into his palm and lift a ring to the light; Marina holds a simple gold band, and King Gallo lets the diamond set on a silver band shimmer in the light. King Raghnall returns to his position, catching eyes with a redheaded wedding guest on his way. 

The Priest’s hands lower to rest on the bride’s and groom’s shoulders. They take turns sliding the little round metal hoops onto each other’s fingers, singing something sweet and presumably binding. The choir and the characters let loose a string of joyful noises. The music builds up a powerful chord with them. The Priest raises his hands to the heavens once more as the couple turns to face the crowd. I know they’re only actors, and none of this is real, but the exhilarating exultation pulls on my heartstrings. For a moment, I envy them, their unlimited bliss. One day, maybe that feeling and freedom could be mine.

The final note rings out, the onlookers’ arms raised high as if to praise the newlyweds. King Raghnall, however, eyes that same redhead. With a cool smirk and an easy hand, he pulls her to his side. She looks up at him, bites her lip, and follows as he sneaks off the stage. Those remaining break into cheers as the tune concludes, and the red curtain closes. The audience’s applause fills in the gap of the performers as their voices fade.

The velvet recedes once more, and we quiet ourselves before the stage is fully revealed. The tables of food are gone, replaced by a desk whose top is littered with bits of parchment and rolled up scrolls. Peaking through the windows of the stone wall backdrop is the sprawling cityscape so real that for a moment I wonder if it is some sort of illusion. Hung up all around are portraits of elden rulers, six in total. Each man in the paintings hosts dark hair and the glistening black crown set with rubies. Three panels stand along the wall, each holding a large map: one of Eastfall with its cities and topography; another shows Eastfall’s neighbors, Everglow to the north and Elkenrast to the west; the last displays the whole of the continent.

Sitting behind the desk, mulling over the various bits of paperwork, is King Gallo. Dressed down to plain clothes, his crown still sits proud atop his head. Three loud knocks accompany quiet staccato strings and even quieter dark woodwind notes that stretch and fill the void. King Gallo hits hard on two consecutive notes, landing on the rhythm of the strings as they flare up for just a moment, and bids someone to enter.

The music softens and turns light as Queen Marina skips in with a smirk. A simple dress, made of lace in shades of pink and white, flows with every bouncy step. Flutes chimes in with a dancing birdlike melody as she advances across the stage. Her voice comes bright and happy, a springtime bird flitting about the room. She lands on the edge of his desk, curious eyes glancing over the papers there. King Gallo looks up from the piece in his hand, and the grave focus in his face washes away. The two, settling into an easy flirtation, go back and forth with what feels like a guessing game. After a few wrong answers, King Gallo rests back against his chair and admits defeat. Queen Marina beckons him with a curling finger, and he obeys. Rising to his feet, he steps around the desk. When he comes near enough, she pauses her playful melody and takes hold of his hand. She presses it to her stomach, holding it loosely yet dearly. It takes King Gallo a moment for the realization to hit. Wide eyes flash from her stomach to her eager face, his own surprise filling his entire being. He pulls her into a tight overjoyed squeeze, lifting his Queen off her feet as they spin in glee. The emotion escapes through his mouth when they stabilize, ringing high. She joins back in, her voice going lower so they sing in unison. The music underneath them flutters from one note to the next and so on. 

Their celebration almost drowns out another round of knocking. King Gallo allows them entry nonetheless, this time with enthusiasm. A figure clad in black chain armor marches in, his helmet tucked under his arm. Dark orange hair is cut short, the last hues of a sunset giving in to the night. A stern look glows in his eyes, a scowl turning his pale and clean face sour. Like the others, the tips of his ears come to a point. The profile of a great angry horned reptile is outlined in crimson across his breastplate, the sigil for the now-lost country of Eastfall. According to the cast list, this must be General Severin Bloodwood.

The music goes dark once more, serious and punctuated with rolling snare drums. A gruff baritone escapes him as he approaches, stopping a few feet away from the happy couple. The light melody turns sharp, accented by minor chords and unease. For a moment, the King’s and Queen’s faces flicker with worry and confusion. As the General utters one final word with a dramatic pause, the other two break from the brief caution and return to their smiles. They deliver a synchronized laugh that leaves the General puzzled. He doubles down on his concern, his voice growing stronger and adamant. A pointed finger takes aim at the regional map and focuses on a stretch of the Eastfall-Elkenrast border dotted with tree symbols. He is met with the same carefree sound. King Gallo steps away from his wife, clapping a gentle hand on the General’s shoulder with words of assurance. They seem to bring little comfort to the General, but with a sigh and a downcast look he concedes.

More knocks come, calling King Gallo’s attention. He gives the General another soft insistence, likely telling him not to worry, before going to the left edge of the stage. He opens the imaginary door there, and roars with excitement when King Raghnall appears. The latter gives the former a jubilant hug as he steps onto the stage, and Queen Marina sings a pleasant hello. General Bloodwood, however, backs toward the wall. He steals a distrustful glance at the guest before turning an unfocused attention to the maps. The music transitions back into an upbeat tune as King Raghnall crosses the room to greet Queen Marina with a kiss on the cheek and a hug. The two exchange words while General Bloodwood shoots a wide-eyed look of warning to his majesty. With a silent wave of his hand, King Gallo dismisses the General from the room. The man in black obeys, but not without one last pleading look of caution. He gives a final subtle bow and is gone. King Gallo watches the door for a long moment, his own worry setting in as his gaze returns to his wife and their friend. He wipes it away with a stroke of his black beard.

Queen Marina calls to her husband with a cheery sound that brings a small smile to his lips. Her long golden locks bounce as she strides toward him. He meets her halfway, taking her into his arms as they twirl with a playful little dialogue. King Raghnall leans against the desk, his hand reaching back toward the pile of papers and scrolls. Once such scribbling slips into his fingers and is swiftly pocketed as the couple do their little dance. King Gallo, with a hand on the small of her back, dips the woman and gives her a sweet before straightening them again. Queen Marina beams to their regal neighbor, and as she sings her hand goes to her stomach once more. King Raghnall’s face lights up when he understands. The three of them, singing altogether, meet in the center of the stage where the Kings shake hands and hugs are shared all around.

The velvet closes once more, the voices and instruments fading until only a quiet and simple monotone rhythm remains. Our applause, as before, drowns it out. As before, when the red pulls apart once more the crowd settles back into its silent awe and wonder.

The stage opens to the same scenery, though now the map containing the Eastfall-Elkenrast border is marred by red x’s along their shared woodland edge. The punctuated snare drum rolls in again, nestled amongst the ominous strings. General Bloodwood stands there once more. King Gallo has returned to his chair at the desk, head in his hands and covering his eyes. The General marks another X on the map, making it a total of four. He sings his irritation in an aggressive tone as he marches toward the desk. Angry eyes bear down on the sovereign. When the General comes near, only a few steps away from the desk, King Gallo raises his head and looks upon his General with a pained exasperation. He roars something back, overtaking the onslaught of words and silencing the ginger-haired man. Dark curls hang around his face as he rises to his feet, a snarl on his lips and bitterness on his tongue.

My heart races at the argument, part of my brain tricked into thinking the heated bickering to be genuine. Perhaps emotions off-stage are what fuels the exchange, both of them taking out personal grievances on the other. Or, maybe, they are both just that amazing in their craft. I’m inclined to believe the latter.

Queen Marina rushes in, not bothering to knock before intruding. She carries a bundle in her arms and a folded square of parchment between her fingers. The men quell their fight upon her arrival, though both still burn hot. The Queen holds out the note to her husband, tears in her eyes as she pleads with him. King Gallo takes the note, and for a moment all goes quiet. The strings hum barely more than a whisper. The crowd holds its breath. The color in his face drains to grey. General Bloodwood’s anger slips out of his grasp and fear soon takes over. Queen Marina looks between the two of them, holding the bundle close to her chest. She rocks it in her arms, a slow soothing motion. 

King Gallo’s words come laced with mournful morbid melancholy. Queen Marina’s tears break the dam and cascade in a flood down her cheeks. General Bloodwood stumbles back a step, his gaze aimless as his hand goes to the hilt of the sword at his side. King Gallo, after a long moment, clears his throat. He beckons his beloved, who rushes to him. The music builds behind them, bittersweet and somber. He holds her face with a loving touch, and she leans into it. He sings softly to her, his voice daring to break. Yet he holds strong, not allowing his own tears to go beyond his eyes. The two share a kiss, a parting gift, before he turns his attention to the bundle. He lifts it out of her arms, cradling it carefully. His strength weakens as shaky and tearful words escape him; tears soon fall. He places a sweet kiss upon the bundle and hands it back to his wife. Queen Marina makes her way to the door, pausing only to look upon her husband one last time, and disappears.

 King Gallo lets out an uneasy sigh as his eyes remain on the door, but reclaims his composure. He calls to the General, who snaps to attention at the sound. The King, wiping away the wetness on his face, gives a command and signals for the door. Determined with a new fire in him, General Bloodwood nods and obeys. Drawing his sword, he exits.

King Gallo turns back to his desk and rests his palms on the surface. That wavering voice returns, weak and subdued, with his soliloquy. In a burst of energy accompanied by a heavy thrashing line, he flings the papers and other items atop the desk to wherever they may land. He glances around the room, drenched in his lonely frenzy, pleading to the Novhina. He finds the portraits hanging from the stone wall and stands before the one on the far right. His fingers caress the oil paint, stretching but unable to stroke the man’s face there. King Gallo fades into a whisper, shaking, and collapses back onto his knees. He kneels before us, desperate eyes searching for something. He crawls toward the stage’s edge and stops in the center. Blue eyes reddened by the knowledge of what the future holds find me, and as with the Mourner my body runs cold. 

King Gallo reaches out a trembling hand. Everything in me tells me to take that hand, to help calm him somehow, to offer words of comfort I have read in books. I want to get up on that stage and hold him. I don’t want him to cry anymore. I want to help him stave off what’s about to come. I want to fight for him, with him. I want us to find the General and the Queen so we can all escape Eastfall and be safe. 

But none of it is real. I have to remind myself of that. Despite the strange magic that sinks its hooks into me, he’s a performer, an entertainer, an actor. He is not the real King Gallo. That was not the real Queen Marina. The history books have told me the ending of their tale. These elves are just reenacting it. They weren’t there, just reciting lines written by a bard. The emotion, the pleading, it’s all part of the act. 

He weeps. 

Pulling into himself, he rests back on his heels. The music cuts entirely, and only the sounds of his sobbing fill the theatre. Guilt seeps into my skin, courses through my veins. I should have done something, anything, to help. But what is there to do but watch and appreciate an actor’s brilliant performance? Surely there are rules to prevent audience participation, especially in productions such as this.

The clatter of armor wakes him from his reverie. Timid strings and horns follow soon after, and once again I’m able to breathe. Getting back to his feet, he turns to find the General falling backwards into the room. Arrows stick out from various parts of the black chain, less than half a dozen in total. King Gallo hurries to the General and catches him in time before the armored one hits the floor. Blood trickles out of the corner of the General’s mouth as he tries to say something, but the words come difficult and broken. King Gallo soothes the man as best as he can, wipes the blood from his mouth and chin.

Footsteps approach. A dozen men clad in steel armor and green cloaks enter the room, weapons out and eager to spill blood. They part down the middle and allow someone to walk through. With a golden crown adorned with diamonds atop his head and polished gilded steel armor emblazoned by the image of an eagle sitting on a tree branch, King Raghnall enters. A vile, vicious, victorious smirk darkens his face. He stops in front of the other two men, sneering down at them. His low, villainous bass resonates as he taunts them, mocks them. With a snicker and a wave of his hand, he summons one of his men. The soldier rounds on King Gallo and General Bloodwood and separates them. With a tight grip on the ruler’s arm, the soldier drags King Gallo forward and releases him at King Raghnall’s feet. General Bloodwood falls to the floor, motionless and struggling to breathe.

King Raghnall takes his foe’s chin in his hand, making the unarmed man meet him in the eyes. King Gallo wrenches himself out of the light grasp and spits on the gilded steel armor, issuing a curse upon his former friend. King Raghnall offers a chuckle in return, a slow and disturbing thing. Taking a step back, he unsheathes the sword at his side. The music crescendos and scales into a shrill and terrifying sound. The blade swings high and makes its descent. The lights go out and the instruments go silent. My heart stops and I clench tight to Kym’s hand. I can feel her gaze on me, but my eyes are glued to the stage.

A short moment later, the scones reignite and light fills the theatre once more. The strings and horns return, this time carrying a light-hearted melody. The cast lines up across the width of the stage. The audience bursts into uproarious applause, giving an enthusiastic standing ovation. Though all the energy feels to have drained out of me, I find myself on my feet and clapping along with the admiration. After a simultaneous bow, the curtain closes one final time. As the scarlet velvet comes together, I feel the Mourner’s eyes on me as they had been at the beginning of the performance. Kym takes my hand again, shaking loose the cold in me with her sweet warmth. Her dark eyes ask if I’m okay, but I have no answer this time. Any response is wiped away by the dizzy feeling in my head, and soon her face fades to black.

Continue to Chapter Six