Oh, My Son, My Son

By Daniel Santiago

Salem is a divided land. Civil War is a near constant, half of the nation starves while the other half lives in luxury. The people begin to cry out for a leader, a king to soothe their discontent. Many men desire the throne, but it takes more than a desire for power to make one worthy of it.

There is a very old prophecy that one day, a king will rise up and bring peace and balance, not just to Salem, but to the entire world. Some believe in it, others reject it as silly superstition. Only time will tell who is right and who is wrong, but what is beyond argument, is that the prophecy has brought Axel and his family nothing but pain.

His father was a mere farmer who rose to be the King of Salem. His uncles were warriors, his sister a princess, but Axel was an usurper, and an enemy the king, and God. This is not a tale about heroes and villains. This is about life, and life is not about good versus evil. This is a story about pain, betrayal, war, and hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Oct 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684707065

Daniel Santiago

Dr. Reinert is the proud mother of two boys, both of whom have inspired her writing. She teaches Marketing at both the undergraduate and graduate level. She enjoys homeschooling her children, spending time with her husband and family, and loves to write.

Book preview

Santiago

PROLOGUE

A xel’s forehead was glistening in the hot summer sun, the sweat beading from his hairline and dripping down into his eyes. He turned to look at the men standing behind him, more than three thousand of them now, all waiting for his command. In front of him, a hoard of stampeding men, some running on foot, others straddling the backs of fantastic beasts, animals which Axel had never even imagined existed in real life. Beasts with long horns extending from their jaws, which themselves, towered above any horse in Axel’s army.

Axel extended his right arm into the air and drew his sword with his left. He felt his feet sink into the mud beneath him. The ground had been softened by the downpours from the previous two nights. It rained so hard that Axel thought this battle might never happen. He entertained the possibility that God had intended to drown mankind again. But there was no rain today. Today the sun burned brightly in a cloudless sky. Axel and his men would have to fight, whether he wanted to or not.

If he felt any twinge of self-doubt, he certainly could not show it now, his men deserved more than to be led by a sniffling, insecure child. Still, the scene in front of him was a terrifying one. Angry men, warriors, with painted faces, riding animals taller than a house, carrying nothing but a sword or a spear. They charged at him by the hundreds with singular purpose, all of them, seeking to push back the invading enemy of sell swords and mercenaries. Axel brought his army of invaders to this place, and now it was time to make his name.

How did I get here? he thought to himself. Of course, he knew the answer to that already. He had led these men for over a year now. He promised them riches, and conquering nations like this and holding them for ransom is how he fulfilled that promise. He had been successful thus far. All of his men were getting richer with each conquest, and Axel was only seventeen.

Besides, it is much easier to be brave when you already know the outcome, and Axel did. This is not where, or how, he was going to die. He had already seen his death, and this was not it. This was neither where Axel’s story ended, nor where yours began…. Perhaps I should start from the beginning, then.

Your story actually began a very long time ago, in a world that you would not even recognize. It began in a world that I would not recognize either. The earth was much different then. It was filled with very powerful magic, and dragons that breathed fire. Wars were fought in the sky between titans and gods. Man was still young then, and the world still possessed such wonder that the only boundaries for humanity were the constructs and constraints of their own imagination.

It was a time of great beauty, when the sun still shined its incalescent rays through the clouds, kissing the earth with auroral love. The sea used to reflect the azure colored sky, painting the waters with a viridian shade, and the earth’s vegetation cast an emerald glow on the land. Mankind ruled over the earth with pride, and vision. It was a very different time.

When our world was born, all of mankind existed in, and came from the same sea. Over time though, seven formations of land began to appear, and the sea dwellers, from whom we all descended, began to make their homes on the land. We called the land masses continents, and each continent retained its own unique properties. The people that settled there had to adapt to their new home. Thus, the seven races of man were formed.

The Ice continent to the north is where the Inu live. They are a race of nomads that have adapted to the cold. On the continent of the Sun, to the south, the people are mainly wildlings. They are fierce warriors that mostly live in trees. There is one kingdom on the southern tip of the continent, but the king is content to keep his people in isolation. Angelynd is the only other unified continent. The kingdom is ruled over by an evil and petty man named Aeron. The last four continents are the Red Continent, Sia, the island continent of Oceana and finally, Salem, which is where your story begins.

CHAPTER

1

W e once lived in harmony with the earth, but that was a long time ago. The earth hates us now, and who could blame it after what we have done? But I am getting ahead of myself. This is not about the earth. It’s about the people who live on it, and the mistakes they make. You will find no heroes here, and very few villains. Because in real life, people are not good or evil. We are just human, capable of great generosities and great transgressions. More than anything else though, this is about your father, God forgive me, the best man I’ve ever known.

Today a different story is told. People say that Axel was a traitor to his country, a usurper, and an enemy of God. He was, I suppose, all of those things, but he was also benevolent, and soulful, and beloved. He was not a righteous man, but he was a good one. You are proof of that.

There is a draft today. The castle is always drafty. Still, thoughts of you warm my beleaguered heart. Soon, I know, death will be upon me. Even now, I feel it crouching at my entrance way, waiting to pounce like an angry lioness. It hungers for me, and yet, in the depths my heart, the feeling is mutual. I am old now, and my life has been lived. My loved ones are mostly dead, and I have mourned them longer than I ever had them to begin with. My body aches every day, and the cold tears through me like the steel of a sword cutting through silk. I long for my reward, whatever that may be.

When I was young, my days were filled with excitement, and wine, and love. There was much darkness too, but most of all, and best of all, love. Days seemed to come and go so quickly. Each day was a new adventure, and each night had a new story to tell and share. Now things are different. In place of love and laughter, I now have duty and loneliness.

Your sister still comes to visit me though, and that grants me a reprieve from my sadness. She reminds me of your father, although not in her appearance. Her big brown eyes and long curly hair belong to her mother. She is so tall and thin that I hardly recognize anything of your father in her. She is quite beautiful. When she stares at me, I feel as though her eyes pierce through my body, and gaze at my soul. I watch her as she listens to me quietly and intensely, as if she is extracting every drop of information, like a child drinking the nectar of a honeysuckle flower. Then, when she is certain that she has perceived my precise meaning, she responds sharply, and accurately, like a skilled warrior wielding a sword. Her blade is her tongue, and her shield is her mind. She wields both with precision and skill. Those qualities are owed to your father. She also shares his smile, and his laughter as well.

Your father had a way about him. When a person found Axel’s favor, he smiled, and it felt as though the sun had shined on you alone. Like you were chosen by God to be shielded from the cold, harsh world, and to enjoy the warmth of his love, just for you, and just for a moment. I miss that so much. I miss him so much, my dear Axel. Your sister is all I have left of him.

When the days get longer, and winter begins her retreat, Iris makes weekly visits. She comes mostly because she enjoys hearing stories about her father, but also, I know, out of obligation to an old woman whom she knows adores her. I spend my days writing down all that I can remember so that I have fresh pearls to share with her the next time she visits. I realize that I should have shared those pearls with you, much sooner than this.

There are those who tell us that we will be with our loved ones again. I hope that’s true. It has been many years since my father died, and even longer since your father did. I miss them both every day. The thought that I will be with them again one day pierces the barrier of hurt and pain that surrounds my heart and warms it, the way that a cup of tea cuts through the bitterness of winter and defrosts one’s bones.

The older I get, the more I long to see them again. Who can know for sure, though? It doesn’t matter anyway. I am not writing this to tell you about the things that I hope for. I am writing to tell you about the things that I know to be fact. I have withheld too much from you, and I must now disencumber my soul. I hope that knowing the truth will bring you solace. It has not done so for me. But then, this was never my story. It is yours. I am merely a vessel that has kept the secret safe from those that might use it with malicious intent.

Perhaps you will do that. I hope not, but even if you do, I suppose that is your right. This is your truth, and you may do with it as you please. Who am I to judge you? I have lived more lies than I care to recall, and for reasons that I no longer find coercive. Perhaps you will understand why I have done so, but whether you find my reasons coercive or not, this is still your story, and it is time that you know the truth of it.

CHAPTER

2

D uring her last visit, Iris brought me a basket of petunias. They filled my room with the smell of sweet flowery nectar, the deep red pedals imposing a vestige of color in my otherwise achromatic room. Their color reminded me of my father’s hair, so much so, that the image crept through my waking mind and into my dreams.

Two nights ago, I awakened with those dreams still lingering in my eyes. Through the fog I saw Iris’ petunias in the window, and for the briefest moment I imagined that it was my father’s bright red hair approaching my bed. The last time I saw my father, the color had already run from his head, like freshly dyed fabric left in the rain. By then, the brilliant, scarlet colored hue had been long ago replaced by a thinning white cotton field. But two nights ago, for one shimmering heartbeat, I was a little girl again, and my father’s bright red hair entered my room in the early morning to open the curtains and let the light from the pale sun seep slowly through the night drenched darkness that occupied my room while I slept.

It might surprise you to learn that we did not always live in a palace. My father was not always King Erasmus. He was not always king at all, except in my heart, and in the eyes of your father. For a time, he was just papa, just a father, and husband.

At that time, I slept in a space that was less of a room, and more like a closet in the rear of our home, that happened to contain a two by two-foot square window.

We were poor then. We lived on a farm, and your grandfather was just a shepherd of a small flock. Every morning, he opened the shutters of my room and it filled with both, light, and the putrid smell of sheep dung. It is funny how the mind works, how the foulest scents can sometimes attach to the happiest memories. And we were that… happy… all of us, mother, father, Axel, and I… happy… at least for a time.

For a blink of the eye, I was back at that time, and it was glorious. Unfortunately, like the last ray of light before night drops its adumbral curtain, the moment faded. And so, fully awakened, I saw that the red came from a plant on my windowsill, and not from my doting father’s hair. How I wish I could travel back to that time in my life, when the sight of my father in my room marked the beginning of a new day to be excited about. But that was a very long time ago.

We all had jobs to do, and the farm provided us with all that we needed to live, and very little excess. Even so, we had more than most. Back then, the kingdom was not nearly as prosperous as it is today. It was not even a kingdom at all.

Long before I was born, people were organized into makeshift towns, which they formed mainly to keep the wildlings away. The wildlings claimed that this land belonged to their ancestors, and that we’re trespassing. But our people have been settled here for as long as any of us can remember, and we have no intention of leaving.

Before Salem was a nation, our people were vulnerable to the natives. The wildlings would wait until nightfall and invade our homes, steal our gold and food, sometimes even take slaves for themselves. Living a life of isolation meant that a family had no nearby neighbors to look out for them, no allies to support them in an attack, and no community upon which to rely. So, villages began to form. Over the next few hundred years, the villages grew into towns, and they required some level of government to impose law and order. The older men of each town became leaders, who ruled by committee. They imposed their will on the town people. Eventually, their preferences became laws and traditions. Thus, what were at one time just communities, formed for convenience and protection, became formal clans that each had unique cultures.

Tristan was the first actual king of Salem. Before his reign, the clans despised each other and mostly fought amongst themselves. Because of the more temperate climate, which was ideal for farming, the southern clans were able to build a strong economy. The clans to the north, however, had to stave off starvation by over farming during the warm, spring, and summer months.

The disparity between the northern and southern economies, grew so profound that the northern clans began raiding the south. War between the north and south became a staple of town life. The people began to cry out for a leader; a strong arm to enforce order among our people, and under which foreign nations would cower. They wanted a man with a single vision, to bring balance to the clans, and peace to the continent. Tristan filled that role for a time, but the people eventually lost faith that he was the savior they were hoping for.

There is a very old prophecy that a man will one day rise, to bring wealth, peace, and justice to the earth. People believe what they want to believe. Some thought Tristan was that man; after him, many thought my father was the chosen one. Now a new king reigns, and some believe he will put an end to the outcry of our people. Unfortunately, like me, he is old, and he has no children to give the crown to. Besides that, the crown is not his to give away. He is a usurper. He is a just, and kind usurper, but, a usurper, nonetheless. When he dies, people will call out for a new man to fulfill the prophecy. I have seen too much suffering in my life for fairy tales and superstitions to bring me inner peace, but I can’t begrudge anyone for wanting to believe.

Before Tristan, Eliana was the closest thing we had to a ruler. She was a strange old woman, who lived alone deep in the north forest. I call her old, but I did not learn her actual age for a very long time, and by then, I was an old woman myself. Even as the years past though, Eliana’s appearance did not change much. Her austere confidence betrayed a depth of experience that simultaneously, fixed her countenance with a venerable facade, and obscured her actual age.

She wore a leather gown made of dried sheepskin. Her hair was in a constant state of dishevel, and her skin was dark from years spent in the sun. It is rare for a woman to see fifty years, and yet Eliana lived for an unnaturally long time. She might even still be alive today, if not for me, but we will get to that later.

She was a dirty, frightful creature, yet she was respected by all. She claimed to hear the voice of God, and she carried herself with dignity, as if she had been granted great authority by an irrefutable, and supernatural power. Even in her old age, she walked with her shoulders back, and her head tipped upward. She was a strange juxtaposition of strength and peculiarity. She had deep green eyes, and stringy grey hair. She knew my father ever since he was a boy, and she took a liking to him even then.

Eliana sometimes visited our farm in the autumn. Although she was a fierce creature, as a child, I always believed that she possessed a kindness about her. When she visited, she often brought cakes, or toys for Axel and me. After our chores were complete, Eliana told us stories of the ancient people, and how God rescued our ancestors with great, and powerful feats. Then she had supper with us, and father sent us off to bed. My mother tucked us in while Erasmus and Eliana discussed private matters. I didn’t understand why a person like Eliana paid attention to our tiny family, or what matters of importance the spiritual leader of our country could have to discuss with my father, a farmer.

One evening I crept out of bed and hid, so that I could listen to my father’s conversation with her. He sat in a wooden chair facing the hearth, which was still burning the evening’s fire.

When I close my eyes, I can still picture the scene. The smell of burning applewood filled the cottage with a sweet smoke, which danced through the house in plumes of greyish white heat that made the air feel soft and inviting. The fire from the logs gave off just enough warmth to cut through the nip that was natural for that time of year. If I stood far enough away from the hearth, I could see my breath form faint clouds outside of my mouth. The heat from the fire was tempting, but I dared not get too close and reveal my position. So, from a slight distance, I shivered while I watched.

My father sat with his head laying delicately in both hands. His elbows were pressed against his knees, and his back was hunched over. Eliana stood over him with her eyebrows furrowed. Her lids were nearly completely closed over her emerald eyes, which burned with either anger, or frustration. There was silence until Eliana began to speak. Her voice rumbled with passion, in a near whisper.

You must take your rightful place in this world Erasmus. You were born for greatness, not to farm some insignificant plot of land at the edge of our territory. You have been chosen to lead this people. It is God’s will that your life have purpose!

My father lifted his head slightly to respond.

My life does have purpose, Eliana. My family gives me purpose. My wife has given me two beautiful children, and more happiness then any man can ever deserve. I am not a leader. I am not what you want me to be. I am a farmer, a husband, and a father. This land is not insignificant, not to me. It feeds my family and provides shelter from the storms of this world. It is where my children sleep and play. It’s where I make love to my perfect wife. This plot of land, that you consider insignificant, is my palace, and it is all that I will ever want, or need.

Eliana paused to release an exasperated sigh. Maybe so, but it is not all that God wants for you, and it is certainly not all that he demands of you. It is his will that you be king, and you cannot defy the will of God without consequence. The people demand a leader, and God has chosen you. You must accept your call. The nation is restless, and if I do not appoint a king soon, I fear they will tear each other apart.

Tomorrow, when the sun is at its highest point, I will ascend Mount Dei, and appoint a king. It is God’s will that it be you. If you do not appear, then, for the sake of the people, I shall choose another. But know this, God will make his displeasure manifest. Perhaps then, you will rethink your position.

My father listened intently but remained firm in his resolve. Eliana, I love you. You have been like a mother to me for my entire life, and there is no one that I respect more. But my decision is final. I will not be there tomorrow, nor any other day. I choose my wife. I choose my children. I choose this insignificant plot of land. I am not a king, and I do not need a kingdom beyond the boundaries of this farm.

Eliana walked slowly to the chair where my father was sitting and touched his face. I now saw tears in her eyes, as she spoke softly.

My dear child, the choice is not yours to make. Who is man that he may choose a different path than God demands? You cannot only think of your own desires. You have to consider the welfare of this nation, and all of humanity, including the family that you love so dearly. If night falls tomorrow, and another man is chosen to lead, a curse will befall your family and tumult will enter your home like a plague. No more will you have peace. No more will there be joy. It is not for you to guide your steps, Erasmus. Your path is already chosen. It has been foretold. You read it for yourself, and now you must simply walk by faith. Yield to the will of God; or face a pox on your home. That is the choice laid before you.

Eliana then turned and looked in my direction. I felt the weight of her gaze overtake me. It felt like a curtain had been pulled back to expose me in my mischief. But without betraying my presence, she turned fully towards the front door, and left. As the door slammed ominously behind her, the flame from the hearth blew out, and smoke from the fireplace began to fill the room, which contributed to her mystique.

The next morning my father woke up as he did on any other day. He left the cottage before the sun greeted the night sky. He tilled the soul and fed the animals. He completed his chores, and ours, before the first rays of sunlight met my groggy eyes. That morning we had breakfast as a family. Mother made eggs accompanied with dried mutton that father brought home from his last hunt.

My father was an excellent hunter. My grandfather taught all his children to be experts with a bow and a blade. That is probably why all five of my uncles became warriors. Father was the only one of his siblings to choose a domestic life. It was, his choice, though; it was not thrust upon him by default. Anyone who doubted that, needed only to go on a hunt with him. He was able to hit a moving animal with his bow from seven hundred feet, and he could hit a stagnant target from nearly a thousand. He was a mere five feet nine inches tall and weighed approximately one hundred and eighty pounds. His arms were sinewy and strong. He had green eyes and red fiery hair, although, by the time you met him, life had already pitched his hair white like a cloud.

Erasmus was exceptionally strong. That was owed in no small part to his legs and thighs which were thick with muscles, and hairy like a moss covered tree trunk. His powerful legs also gave him exceptional speed.

One afternoon, Axel and I were playing in the far end of the farm, when a bear found its way onto our land. His fur was dark brown, and his claws looked like sharp knives. He was growling and showing his teeth. Axel stepped in front of me. He placed his left hand out, in a half-closed fist, and his right hand extended behind him, pressed firmly against my chest. His stance created maximum distance between the bear and me, with him in the middle. I was terrified, but Axel seemed confident. Even his tone felt reassuring somehow, although he must have been scared as well.

In a moment, he will rise on his hind legs, Axel whispered to me in as calm a voice as a child can, when confronted with an angry bear.

As soon as he rises, I will charge at him as fast as I can. When I do, you run toward the cottage as quickly as you can and scream for father. I will hold the bear off to give you time, but that will not be long, so be quick sister. I love you.

I turned my head toward the cottage and realized that our father must have already seen what was happening, because he was carrying his bow and charging toward us as fast as I have ever seen a man move. When I glanced back, the bear had begun his rise. When he was fully upright and his claws extended toward us, Axel pulled a knife from his boot, pushed me away, and then charged the beast. I turned and ran toward my father. He was still too far away to close the gap between him and Axel. Tears began to form and stream down the sides of my face. I knew that father could not reach the beast before it attacked Axel. I believed in my heart that I had spent my last day with my brother. I was sure that he had sacrificed his life for mine.

Just then, I saw my father kneel on his right knee and pull an arrow from his quiver. As I turned back to look at my brother, I felt an arrow race past me and graze my hair. It landed squarely in the animal’s chest. Father rose and charged another several steps before kneeling again and firing a second arrow. This time the arrow struck the beast in his snarling face. After that, the bear crashed to the ground. His left claw caught Axel’s right arm, knocking him on his back. Father raced toward Axel, picked the boy up into his arms, and carried him back to the cottage.

Father stayed with Axel all day and all night. He did not even allow our mother to dress the wounds. Your grandfather wrapped the wounds himself. Axel soaked up the attention. I still believe that he feigned more suffering than he actually felt, but for those few days, he had his father’s exclusive attention, and he rarely seemed happier. That was only a few months before Eliana’s last visit. Just before our lives were turned upside down.

The morning after Eliana left, my father asked Axel and me to purchase supplies and grain from the market. Remembering his conversation with Eliana the night before, I jumped at the opportunity. The market was just a mile or so from Mount Dei. Leaving shortly after breakfast meant that Axel and I were able to get to the market, purchase father’s supplies, and still have time to witness the coronation. I was not certain who Eliana would choose to lead Salem, but I hoped that my father would appear and instantly make me a princess.

The sun was hotter than usual that morning, but by the time we arrived at the market, a cool autumn breeze set in, and the air began to feel heavy. At the market, we saw Staephon, a young boy who lived on the neighboring farm. Staephon was tall for his age. He had long blond hair and kind blue eyes. His jaw was strong and square. He was Axel’s best friend. He may have been Axel’s only friend. Staephon was a simple boy, but also a responsible one. His father died a few years prior from a disease of the heart. Since then, he ran his father’s farm, and raised his sister as his own. He and Axel knew each other ever since they were infants. They referred to each other as brother and embraced whenever they were together. They eventually became brothers by law, a fact that neither of them was aware of at the time, but I always knew would happen.