Tales Of Good and Evil Volume one: The Banished Cryptids: Tales of Good and Evil, #1

By Laura Jean Lysander

The magical Dream Realm was immersed within 14 seasoned years of peace and enchanted prosperity, with the leadership and love of Partnered Provincial Knights Shraden and Ivy; yet the troubling news of two long, banished, thought for dead young, still alive heirs who had been heinously cursed by an unknown, looming nemesis from their distant past suddenly turns the once-calmed era to a tumultuous close, and the two valiant lover Knights along with their trusty companions in brotherhood Knight Kren and the Shapeshifting Dragon Hayden, along with another unknown, hidden sibling of his Nedyah risk it all to save and secretly rescue the Royal progeny heirs. Cryptid North prince Bismuth Caliburn, rescued from the North Dungeons, who beforehand for ten years was Apprentice to the mysterious, most surprising Hermit High Wizard Wolfrom who is revealed with a very interesting secret lineage, and sequestered at the frightening Skull's Revenge in the Forbidden Forest. Afflicted with the oddest, cursed extreme outward skin deformity anyone had ever laid eyes upon in the magic Realm, Bismuth had since youth covered himself from head to toe; and South Princess Lumonyx Nimue, secretly sequestered within a magic Coveness of womanly virtues of sorcery and priestesses, who in utmost, halved bizarre countenance of physicality as well cursed and Cryptid, has wisely hidden her opposite harlequin appearance and high power from all; both young heirs are ultimately linked in destiny, fate, and love, yet need to surmount their circumstances and fears of their cursed fates, as well as odd affinity to the Other Tyme world, our world, to create what everyone so dearly in their chosen bond would need from them. Their hexed outcome is also symbiotic to the harrowed fate of the orphaned Royal Twins of the West Realm, Prince Ryu and Princess Tastu, who also are rescued by the Fabled four Knights; little do they all know the tangled web of villainy that encapsulated their curses all lead back to the horrid obsession of one soul traced back to Ivy's childhood. These two unlikely cursed, Cryptid Royals, befriended by Shraden and Ivy's progeny, twin Squires at the Academy of Honah Lee, children Cobbe and Penn, and their friends and crushes twin Squires from the South Realm who join in to aid them, the valiant Lisah and Mawu, altogether in doubled divergent diddled fun and camaraderie hatch a forthcoming plan, a quest with the Cryptid Royals and the West Orphaned Royal twins, all now Squires at the Honah Lee Academy, attempting to be inducted within Knighthood to start the change of surmounting the nefarious new Dark Queen's upcoming, ongoing evil Reign, Kwystal Shar…who seems to be unstoppable; would this triad of dryads surmount this vile femme fatale with the help of the two fated Royal Cryptids? Read on, and be enchanted…
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lysander's Literaries
• Release date: Feb 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393914563

Book preview

Dedication~

Enjoy the Fairy tale,

and for those who believe in dreams that come true,

with humor, music, madrigals, mummery, and mystic magic,

you are most blessed indeed...

for they do;

Just believe...in yourself~

Prologue

"I hear Uncle again. He’s singing warbling love songs in the Family room, in the library..." A small, whispered, youthful female voice remarked in the bedroom's darkened silence.

"I hear him too; and playing the piano along with it, every night now; Mummy and Daddy must have had a long work day again for something, and asked him to keep us here tonight. We’ve been here every day for a month now. Maybe they brought Galahad with them? I don’t hear him around. He hasn’t come home. He wouldn’t stay at the London flat alone, they wouldn’t let him, they’d bring him back here, and he’s still not back either from wherever he stopped off after that half-day of school. It’s rather late now. Whatever it was, must’ve been important, another young voice whispered back, a young boy. Uncle’s trying to make us fall asleep early. It’s not happening, especially if he’s going to sing like that. He thought bringing us to the park today would wear us out; nope. Not even the ice cream worked." He laughed out, in mirthful secret.

"His voice, it’s so... beautiful, another sad love song. He’s melancholy and lamenting. I heard Galahad say those two big words yesterday! I’m learning lots and lots of new big words! And he’s been all alone for so long, spending his time here mostly, just with us, and all those charity drives and donation functions he drags us to with him, with whomever asks him to donate and he just does it, mostly for kids and animals. It keeps him busy at least. Besides that, just a complete hermit; he’s too young for that, Galahad said he’s in his early to mid-twenties. That was the only thing he recalled intact of his memory, of what he could do from... what Galahad had told us and never to reveal, the big secret! Uncle remembers the music, the horseback riding, the fencing, and some EMT training, not much else; Nothing of what could help us. But he’s not... as jittery or ill anymore, he’s calmed down, and more sure of himself since he started taking care of us full-time. Galahad said it’s taking five years for him to remember just little tiny bits... it’s just the way it had to be; he says it was a trade-off for something so very dear to all of them; Uncle just recently remembered something important though; he hit his head playing ball with us; he said something about his dreams, his strange dreams, so that’s a start, and Galahad said for us to watch him, keep a close eye on him, but he told us not to ever let him know what we all know. Uncle’s had total amnesia... of everything, Galahad said, just up until a few days ago, when that ball we were playing with bonked him on the noggin and he uttered a few things Galahad said were really important memories, and then couldn’t understand why he said them, something about being a-a-quake buttock, whatever that means, and some sovereign quest, the name Nimue, Lumonyx, the pearl of his heart, or something; Then he cried, he wept, inconsolably, that new word Galahad told me and didn’t understand why he said it and that his heart still hurt, like after the operation, he said. He ...if we told him about it all I’m sure he might never believe it. The girl mumbled. No one would if we did, they’d think we’re quacks and loons, so that’s why we can’t. Uncle needs sure-fire evidence. Some kind of blend of genuine in-your-hands document papers to show it, and magic, a true-blue genuine miracle. I don’t know if we can get that for him. But he’s gotta believe it or we’ll all be stuck here. We were even born here and we shouldn’t have been. We have a claim to Other Tyme birth! And that’s pretty rad mint cool brilliant, even if it isn’t where we should be, as Galahad would say." The young girl blabbed enthusiastically, quietly.

"He has to believe it. We have to make Uncle believe it, the boy urgently low-voiced. I sorta bonked him with that ball on his noggin on purpose."

You did not! The girl gasped.

I heard sometimes if you hit your head on something it helps, knocks things back in place...Void told me to do it, with his eyes. He whispered, as a pure-black, Regal-looking, half-rough long-haired collie half husky, large muscled maned, male dog jumped up, into the little boy’s bed, staring at him lovingly with his piercing blue larimar eyes, snuggling with them both, then jumping upon both beds back and forth like a trampoline, making fun with a gentle bark, not at all sounding like the huge, dangerous wolfish creature he was...

I simply can’t believe that you did that, but I do believe Void had egged, and incited you to do it. The little girl chided.

It’s true! Void picked up the ball and handed it to me and kept racing back and forth to me and Uncle, egging me to throw it at him while in the park yesterday; can’t help it if it hit its mark perfectly.

The piano keys of music down the bend of the old hall tinkled, to an old 70’s torch song sung by Elvis Presley, Just Pretend...and a lovely voice singing it so soulfully...

"OH, JUST listen to his voice...it gives you chills, I wish I could sing that way. Galahad can. Uncle taught him how. I’m going to ask him to teach me too..." the little boy insisted.

"Let’s try to make him happy tonight. Let’s try to... help him. He’s always so sad, alone, even with us around. He never says no when they ask him to watch us, or sit for us when mum and dad are busy; he even seems relieved by it. We are always here. We live here now, not in the flat. Uncle even teaches us, and home-schools us now. He loves to have us here with him, and it gives Mum and Daddy time to get things in order ‘cause there’s too much going on right now. Something might happen soon, very soon. Even Galahad stays here on weekends and days off his school. Uncle drops him off just like us, and wants us all here all the time...but you know mum and daddy, they’d keep on being heroes, working up until the last minute if there is one before we...will or...do leave, and serving the public until the very end of it, working, working...can’t say I mind it here! Maybe I’ll miss the Telly and video games but most likely not; We all decided it was the best thing to do, move in here, and even if we do have the entire huge estate, the stables, the pool, and farmland plots, barn, chickens, the acres of grounds, Uncle decides to drive two hours almost every other day or bring us on the overground and tube just to take us to St. James park; that particular park and no other. He’s obsessed with it; he just did it again today, for hours, wandering around the big fat trees and near the Blue Bridge, staring at the swans and flowers and fauna, feeding those two black and white fish in the lake as he does every time we go, in some kind of daze, as if he remembered something but didn’t know what it was; so sad. We still have what you and I found in that park, inside there, wedged in that wide crack right next to the Blue bridge in that weird, waterproof velvet covering. You know we took it, stuck it in my pack, told no one we found it there, and brought it home... I think... I know I overheard Mum and Dad speak of it, couldn’t believe it that we were the ones to finally find it for them, and said to just please leave it be...not to touch it again till they get back tonight; they both had to attend to something to do yesterday and even today, with Galahad’s school, a meeting, something with dropping off photos to an old friend of the family, to try to leave some urgent letter to a doctor who can help us out. Daddy’s on shift at the Firehouse in London, and Mum is entering, drawing up paperwork over there too, to retire Void from his canine service; they said they’re all tied up have to get this done quickly, now, as fast as possible to be ready for anything, and would be back later the next day and they placed it, what we found in that velvet cover high up, but I know where it is and took the other items in it out, gave them to you; you still have them? " She asked her brother, anxiously

"Yes! I still have it, but... what we found inside of it... I didn’t tell any of them about that; that’s now in my pajama pockets!"

"Good; We must somehow show Uncle. We didn’t let him know we found them. We’d get in dreadful trouble if we did... if Mum and Dad found out we did it, showed him our discovery before they knew and talked to him."

They both heard some shuffling outside the open bedroom door.

"Hey...you two twinkle stars, Colt, Filly, my twin Pegasus Niblings; I hear whispering whinnies. Anyone who’s in here, raise your hands if you’re asleep!" A fine, deep resonant voice broke to them from the hallway.

Two small, wriggling hands flew up from their beds in the dark, waving up.

The two tiny hands were snatched by two bigger ones, and their owners squealed in fake fright.

Aha! Gotcha by the hoofs!

There were two tiny groans.

"Only kidding...you both still up? You aren’t supposed to be. Your mum and dad sure aren’t going to like it if I have to tell them when they get back. You’re supposed to go to bed early tonight. I guess that isn’t happening. More like just a nap."

Then don’t tell them, Uncle! The two youngsters threw back, edgy.

What’s wrong with you two this eve? Can’t sleep? Have a kip? He asked them, gently.

"No, we can’t; Something’s strange. I feel something somehow antsy, something dark and dreadful," The first one said, Colt.

"Ohhhh? Well, that only usually happens if you’re harboring hmmm; a...most deep secret no one knows about, not being truthful about it, and you feel guilty about it," The Uncle softly said.

"Um, we-it’s as if something’s...not right, the other added, Filly, worried. We need you to make us feel better. We love your songs, we listen all the time! How about a-um a Tale...a fairy tale you can read to us. That might do it!"

"Oh; well thanks. Hmph; I didn’t know you listened to me when I ...well, let’s see if I can help with that; ... a fairy tale? You want me just to read a fairy tale to you? Right; I’m sure then, right, you’ll finally fall asleep if I do." He started to pull his smartphone from his back pocket and reach for the iPad next to their beds. They groaned again.

"We mean from a real book, like the ones way up on the shelves we can’t reach in the study, the family room near the piano and the band instruments? The older books, the huge ones that have all the dust on them? No iPad or phone," Filly urged.

The Uncle laughed which was a rarity for him, and turned on a small night light between their beds.

"All right, anything you say; No iPad or Phone for now, but I’m sure those books you are talking of aren’t Fairy tales, those books that are way up on the top shelves in there. Most of them came along with this antiquated Estate, collected from my ancestors, my relatives that never threw anything away, pack-rats they were and those up there are falling apart, moth-eaten or most likely just old  crumbly encyclopedias, or business binder records or-

"I saw one. I saw one called the Tales of Good and Evil up there!" The first one, the young boy Colt, insisted.

And I saw it too! We were playing with a-um, a ball in the house yesterday, the one  that-um, bonked you by mistake, and it flew up and hit it, and now it’s-it kinda shoved it out, way up there it's hanging loose! Filly revealed, flinging off her bed covers and shooting out the bedroom door towards the shelves in the Family Library study everything you call it music room. She ran down the stairs and halfway through the large, stately house. The other one, Colt, did the same, as the Uncle followed them from behind, sighing sadly, knowing he was at their command, shaking his head.

The Uncle made his way through the centuries-old, fine estate house, filled with antiques and striking woodwork, old hearths, nooks, and crannies...he entered the Library/music entertainment room just as the two were pointing up to the book in question sticking out as they said, it was way up on the top shelf of the middle of their ancient home library shelves, between stacks of very old disc records in paper sleeves. The first one took a brolly from a tin basket and attempted to poke it and tried to hit it down.

"Well look at that! A big ol’ dusty dirt-encrusted anthology one up there, a book. Here, give me that thing." The Uncle grabbed some antique handling gloves of his upon the tea table, placed them on, then took the brolly and nudged at the huge, fat, dusty dirt-covered hardcover. It was big and fat and looked ancient, had intricate silvery metallic medieval or ancient antiqued scrollwork on the outside as well, decorating it masterfully, incredibly done. He kept those ‘gauntlets’ he called them there to handle much of the items in the library for many of them were so old and brittle, delicate, and rare, collections of them which he carefully tended. He didn’t want to break them or ruin them if they were rare copies, for many in the library were. He nudged it just so and it smack dab dropped into his gloved hands with a big cloud of poofy, decrepit, sprayed dust.

"Ugh; guess I sure better remind myself to dust up there more often. I honestly thought I had just done it. Hmmm, a heavyweight eh? Looks like this thing has been through the wringer; naffed, all the mire and dross over it, some pages inside even all ripped out; truly a one-off, though. The Tales... of Good and Evil," he spoke aloud, gently and with care wiping the cover of the book with the cuff of his wrist sleeve, with a small grin, examining the binding and appearance. It seemed like it was not a recent edition or publication at all. It seemed like it was as old as the dust he just wiped off of it, even older, far older, and out of place there in the Library as if it should be more in a collectible museum. He did have lots of rare pieces, but this one was truly out of the ordinary. He didn’t remember seeing it there before when he would catalog the lot of them, or when he had dusted up there earlier in the week. The lettering on the binding was sparkling, golden, and very old-fashioned in Font, medieval, just as the coverings, just like a genuine Fairy Tale book should appear to be.

C’mon, read it! Colt insisted.

Read it to us! Filly asserted, longingly.

"You honestly want me to read-

YES! The two little ones demanded, nestling in on the comfy, large couch in front of him, grabbing a quilt, and innocently waiting, well-behaved.

The Uncle chuckled and dragged over an antique armchair, turned off the overhead light, and turned on a small, stained-glass Tiffany one, dimming it, now in a semi-dark, night-lighted room. He knew they wouldn’t budge till he read something of it. He shrugged, and opened the oversized, seemingly rare artisan fat book, wiping it still, and cleared his throat.

"I don’t even know if this is appropriate to read to young ones, for I might get in trouble if I-

READ IT! The two begged him.

The Uncle sighed, then nodded.

"Okay. The...uh-oh-Tales of Good and Evil? Well, look at this-it’s shmancy fancy, even handwritten, too? It looks like a medieval Monk transcribed this thing. It even looks like it’s all in secret code, like undecipherable. What is this thing? This is-ummm-? Weird. I-I can’t-Oh, Providence, no, I don’t think- why did I say Providence? Good thing I put my gloves on for this, it’s rather dry-mud caked filthy."

Hey, it’s got illustrations, too!  Hold them up for us to see! Colt happily asked.

It’s just a fairy tale book! Filly gently commented, smiling at him.

The Uncle recollected himself and half-smiled, then nodded.

"Well, maybe it is indeed. Ok, I’ll read some of it, if I honestly can, like I said this language, I mean the script looks wonky odd, old English? Only for you two, shan’t do any harm I guess. Just an old, swollen, porcine, mucky book. If you don’t fall asleep, that is. Here we go; Chapter One; The...Cryptid?

The Cryptid

1

Rap rap rap! Rap rap rap! There was a quick, rapid pounding, jerkily pulsing uponst the royal waiting room chamber door; the two royal pages astride it bolted and swiftly whipped their heads to its insanity, as did the other richly dressed reigning occupant of the palace room.

Open it! The Monarch demanded, huffed, testily grabbing a ripe, rich, just washed purple grape from the shining tray on the nearby elaborate table, and popping it into his royal trembling mouth. He missed his lips totally and bit down upon his tongue, grunting.

The pages rambunctiously did as told, fighting each other for the huge, clanking knobbed lock, shoving it so hard they stumbled.

In rushed a young lady, a servant chambermaid, ruffled, sweated, blanched but in very fancy attire. Trembling in fear for her life, she knelt quickly, in sobbed shock. She...would not show her face, but stayed there, shakily on her knees.

"Well, is it done?" The royal occupant impatiently questioned.

My lord, my lord, m-my l-lord and my Majesty, the rumpled woman wailed, in dire shock and subservience.

"DO I HAVE A SON? Just tell me, don’t just kneel there woman servant! Is it done?!" He exasperated, throwing another grape towards his gaping mouth, only to have it bounce to the floor.

Behind the maid then, slowly entered the...Head palace physician. His face was aghast, just as the maids’. His arms... were empty.

"Your Majesty...you...you-

I have a SON?  He eagerly proclaimed, throwing his arms into the air in triumph. My firstborn!

"My lord, ’tis honestly better if you never have had him... at all," was the physician’s short, stark, dark, and quickened reply.

"What do you mean? I HAVE A SON! An heir to myne glorious kingdom!"  The Monarch snarled back.

His royal highness then started to bolt out the door, over to the other bedchamber entrance across the stoned walkway hall, thrusting it aside and open and stopping affront the immense, tapestry-draped, canopied bed which held his spent, just birthed, young wilted queen, moaning and softly crying as her other ladies-in-waiting and ladies of the bedchamber, maids were, in odd, lamented unison.

The physician followed behind him in terror, and forcibly stopped him from approaching any further towards the bed, which held his young lovely queen, and a muddled little bundle to the right of her; it was un-cradled... untouched.

"What is this? This caterwauling?" His majesty questioned. "Why is-

"Your Majesty, stop; he, the heir scion, is... Cryptid."

The King winced, displeased at that word and wondered why in the world it was uttered, and glared at the doctor, eyes with livid fury.

WHAT? What dost thou mean? He bellowed, incredulously.

"He... the scion, is Cryptid... the heir, he is-"

The King brutishly pushed his way through the crowd of fainting court females, and the ladies and chambermaids all backed off, wailing and weeping and screaming in fright. His lovely young Queen was... alive, but had now just passed out unconscious from the revelation of what had told to her and been seen, and utter shock exhaustion.

The handsome, yet older King then gently pushed aside the lacy, clump of swaddling upon the rich coverlet, the royal insignia-covered mattress duvet, and revealed... its truth.

The young Queen had already gently placed and locked the royal seal, talisman-enchanted protection necklace upon the male, tiny newborn’s neck in trepidation; a noblest, beautifully formed, robustly healthy boy infant, peacefully now napping and cooing; yet... his outward skin, and hair, it was metallic, pewter toned, chimeric, changing, and morphing iridescently, in patterns and colors alike a...chameleon, an iridescent strobe-light, oddly prismatic, as his just newly heartfelt emotions revealed in its incredible display; as a cuttlefish or octopus’s outside skin could transform, mutate, switch and change colors and patterns to its surroundings as well as any other color or pattern, so did he,...eerily pulsating, in all colors and patterns of the rainbow never seen on any alive infant, or such human born skin ever before, radiating its spectrum and patterned glow from beneath the royal swaddling that had been pushed aside.

What in all the Worlds...?

The King gasped and choked in heinous horror, almost gagging at him, the nefarious sight petrifying his scowl, at the never before seen in this kingdom nor any Realm sight of his newborn son, abruptly stepping back, reeling, and then falling quickly to his knees, in howling despair, prostrating his face to the chamber floor, then growling furiously, pounding, banging the floor with his fists in violent rage, as he pulled himself back up, his strong, stately shoulders now slumped in cowering agony.

"A Spelled, cursed, bewitched Cryptid! A Category 2020 beast oft our humanity! If you can even call him that! Who... hath done this to us?! This...THAT corrupt, vile desecration; He, it- can never be of our blood, our line, our reign! He-it can never be... KING; I know it was not befallen from myne royal lady! Not my Queen’s seed, Nor I who issued this-this disgusted deranged deformity! I wilt spare the virtuous Queen; she is not to blame, nor I; she canst remain ast Queen, though thy wilt never touch her again to bear another Scion, lest it be the same heinous, hellish, deformed result! This is the work of dark, decrepit monstrous forces, an insane, spiteful hex whammy against us all, to destroy myne honored lineage and Kingdom! That be it! This monstrosity is of mine evil enemies! Who did this? Who dare desecrate myne lineage?"

The Royal High Physician knelt, hunched in fear, words stumbling from his numbed lips.

"M-maybe the Magi, your dear highness, the o-ones from the f-forbidden woods, the secret druid coven of hermits or Sorceresses can reverse it, the spell, helpeth the cryptid? If you s-summon them to the North palace, have the guards round them up, maybe they know how, to ah, reverse the vile curse, can reveal its demon maker? Or better yet, the heralded, most high mystic Provincial Knights, they of all the veins of Magi, maybe they can-

"NO! Noooo! Remove the Cryptid! It must be removed!"

The Kingly Ruler started rapidly pacing as he, without sympathy, nor compassionate heart for his newborn son, nor one drop of care, blurted out vile orders, rambling...

"Either...secretly, viciously spare him, shove him to the dungeons to wet nurse with a lowly, rancid, wicked servant likened to himself if there be one who decides to even touch it, the creature of demons, to live out his newly if short, anonymously wretched days in baneful, plundering slaving servitude, never to be seen, ever out of our depths and anonymous, or just-just for Hell’s divine sake leave the cryptid cursed soul to die, drop ransom him in a pounded shut bucket or paint tin or peasant basket all locked, trussed up in, to suffer its fate deep in the dark heart of the Forbidden forest; better yet leave it at Skull’s Revenge, the end will come even sooner for the wretched monster! even the magi coven wizards, warlocks, sorceresses, or druids of that clandestine off-limits place will not touch him I know it! Even if that enchanted dark forest land is on my Kingdom and of my own property! Nor will they even step foot in here...those magicals unless I canst force them with myne knighted guards without telling them why and for a steep price; this changeling cryptid is not worth any magic attempted for it! I’m sure they, any Magi would end their lives before wasting thyne power to attempt summoning a cure for it! That infernal yet innocent beast deserves nothing more but abandoned banishment; there, inst the Forbidden forest hist unhappy end will come with even more swiftness. This voodoo-ridden, filthy, doomed creature wilst never again be seen here in myne palace or as myne Royal heir, or any spoken acknowledged son of mine! Such a Damnation canst never rule or sit on my throne! OFF WITH HIM! Tell them all, tell all the Kingdoms andst the other Realms the scion...the Queen’s labor result wast stillborn and we shalt, must forget to try for another in time, ast the labor hast made her unable to bear anymore! That wilt do to tell them to quench their gossip! Tell them all the Queen now ist barren but still oft health; Never another from her or the same might beget us! OFF WITH HIM! SPEAK OF IT NO MORE!" He vehemently spat to the Physician and his attendees, as they bowed and nodded in a trembled stupor, backing off, grabbing the fancy bundle swaddle off the bed, hiding it under another towel, the young queen not awake to even say goodbye to the snatched, banished newborn, nor stop the action, as the Monarch barreled back out the bedchamber door and into his private chamber, the harsh, angered echo of a wild slam bouncing, vibrating the entire floor of the enormous palace of the  Castle...

"AND THAT... was how the Cryptid soon  to be named Bismuth came to be..."

"Tell me more, My precious Guardian; oh please, tell me more..." Lumonyx begged, with an entranced whisper.

Tomorrow night; for now, to bed.

Lumonyx nodded, honoring her guardian’s wishes, then sighed, and put out the lantern with a wave of her right, snow-white brilliant hand and arm, then tucked the covers down over herself with the dark as onyx left one... as her bedchamber door slowly, softly clanked shut.

2

In the inky, still mid of that same night of the Royal boy’s cryptid’s cursed birth, off galloped a male, knighted missive, an emissary of secrecy of his Royal Majesty upon his steed, one that had been taught how to deftly ride deep, deep into the forbidden forest without being tracked, unknown, and unseen by any from the palace or villages he had passed through; he was just doing his paid, pledged duty, or have his head or limbs most likely cut off, he knew; he knew not what exactly was in the breadbasket tin he was carrying, but it felt warm. Was it some healthy bread for the degenerate lepers? But they told him to not stop until he was almost lost within the thickened depths of the woods, near the cave of Skulls’ Revenge. Why they had asked him to leave it right there out in the open to him was a complete puzzlement. Only the Ogres and dregs of the kingdom met there to be pardoned, paged, or saved by any gifted Magi Wizard sorcerer or coven sorceress who might be passing by who needed a servant from time to time, who just might choose to mentor them or give them the grace of a slaved servant’s life; if not, they were doomed to live their lives in their banished outcasted misery, most likely killed and eaten by beasts or the riff-raff that inhabited there. He mused the King must have had a new recipe from his bakers for enchanted bread that might cure one of those poor souls; he couldn’t be more misguided or wrong...

As he approached the mouth of the cave, encircled by jagged, hanging boulders of some kind of crystalline rock forms that gave the appearance of a yawning skull of blackened, dirty teeth, he dismounted and unhooked a small candled glass and metal lantern hanging up from his horse’s saddle on a pole, quietly and carefully placing the tin upon the rocky, mossy entrance platform, reminding him of a stony green tongue, at the mysterious Skull’s Revenge, just as a robed, hooded figure was seen oddly, as if floating, walking towards him; it gave the missive messenger an unsettled chill, for the figure he felt it, emanated such an enigmatic, wisened presence of power and authority even more than his North Majesty himself, one of spirit and soul, and not of inherited glory or might of seized power, and he didn’t know how to process it; how or why would this lone Warlock Sorcerer Magi even be here at this time,  and...right at this moment?

Do you have... something for me? A most tenured, crafty voice whispered towards him, in the silence of the night.

The missive emissary Knight, secret messenger warily held his lantern up to try to get a look at the voice’s owner, yet the entirety of this persona was shrouded in a most velvet, indigo-dyed cape, down to the toes and over it’s countenance. It was a richly high-made piece, unusual. Wizard sorcerers can own some very beautiful garments, especially if gifted to them for their alliances with Royalty and sought-after aid. This one must have done a great service to someone of high station.

"I know not If it is indeed for you, but as my sworn duty and alliance to the North King of this Realm and Forbidden forest, this was to be taken and left here, and I have fulfilled my Majesty’s orders."

From the King, and on this very night his successor Prince was born?

I... know not of such glorious sought-for news, if so; the Queen I know though has been birthing for hours. If a Prince be born it would be a wish come true for all the Realm. I have done my oath, and left this loaf.

The shrouded figure strangely chuckled at the missive’s choice of rhyme and joke.

So...you think this is a loaf of bread, my Grace, messenger of the King?

That’s what it seems to be, Hermit Warlock sorcerer Magi. I have no reason to think anything else would be in a bread tin. He curiously responded, wondering why the Wizard was even asking him, a lowly missive knight stranger, such questions or still conversing. Sorcerers, such as druids, rarely speak to anyone in this way, especially those who just relay and fulfill orders.

Have you smelt the pungent aroma of such a freshly made baked delicacy whilst riding with it?

I...have not. The missive uneasily answered, in confounded thought, now questioning his own resolve. Yet I found the parcel to be warmed.

The Shrouded figure took a long, sniffed breath in, then out, as the palace rider moved a bit backward, also trying to secretly sniff the air to smell... to smell the- there was no smell of...?

I humbly thank his revered Majesty for this loaf of warmed enchanted bread" on the night of his successors’ Princely birth; I am sure what is inside... will feed those whom most urgently, and righteously need its mystic, rare sustenance, and Princely pure-hearted love for ages to come, for it will come, for it was left at Skull’s Revenge, befitting its namesake; for that which is given in, towards Revenge, will be taken away as well in it, when the time is so for it," The cryptic, hooded druid Wizard proclaimed, as he reached down to carefully scoop up the bread tin, then turned slowly, to walk back into the Jaw-like mouth of the cave.

There was the sound of an innocent little coo...or babble gurgle from the tin as he, the  Magi opened it, and noiselessly disappeared.

The missive messenger Knight flinched and shuddered... for he had heard it.

"If you value your life, you had better not eat that fresh chunk of cheese bread they gave you to stave off your appetite on your ride back to the North palace; better yet, also never return. They don’t expect you to do that. Move on, to the other Realm, continue to the South," the shrouded figure sharply whispered from the darkness of the jagged-toothed rocky black mouth.

The knighted missive gasped and dug the large portion of cheese bread given to him wrapped up in expensive waxed linen out of his palace uniform and glared at it; he threw it down to the forest dirt floor, mounted his steed, and mumbled a pardon and tearful Thank you as he galloped away...but not from whence he came; he kept riding furiously, until he arrived to the South Realm, where...you, dear one, had heralded from, and this rider still works now there. Do you know who he is?"

"He...was the one who-whom had brought me here?" Lumonyx asked, quiet.

Yes; Only a couple of small seasons, months after that high Sorcerer Warlock Druid from Skull’s Revenge saved that other young, innocent life, almost to the very same exact day, and on a full moon eclipse, he, the same emissary Knight missive now in the South Realm was charged to do the very same actual thing for the King of the South Realm, unknowingly once more, and ordered back to Skull’s Revenge to drop off the rejected, forsaken bundle of female royalty to the very same place; only this time he knew what must be in the basket," and he bravely peeked in and found what was in it so rare and lovely he could never go through with his orders, for his life had already been spared by that High Wizard’s Sorcerer Druid’s warning omen, so... he was instructed by that same High Sorcerer Wizard Warlock Druid who was waiting there once again, to bring...you here, where no one can ever harm you, to be taught to embrace your power and spirit as well you deserved to, just as the other heir, Prince Bismuth deserved, only it was how you both appeared in eye’s sight, to everyone’s ignorant, ego-full eyes whom had seen you, just the ones in the birth chamber, especially the High Rulers, the South King’s eyes which unrighteously judged you, and frightened him horribly; that changed it all for the both of you; There is no one in all the Realms who can and will show all of the people, from the lowliest banished soul to the Kings and Queens themselves, not even the Rulers and sovereigns... what you can and will show them, just by your own outward forms, your forbearance, your will to survive and surmount; it will teach them how much someone’s outward appearance should never matter in their station, life or birthright; and with this birth-given, fated appearance you will also have the teachings and powers of the wisened Sorceresses, Druids and Priestesses Magi, and in the future possibly even the Circle Order, and once again gain back in fated future what was unrightfully stolen and taken away from you; an exalted life, and a sovereign Royal reign.

There is no mistaking your features so alike your mother, the Southern Queen, even if you are not as a human’s skin should think you to appear; and, you are still too young; you might not understand what I am revealing to you, or even remember, my special one. And till you are of age to young womanhood, which will be just a few months more forthcoming it  will spring forth quick and you will blossom, it will be soon, I am sure you will bloom, you will stay here, have many wonderful times to learn and grow, even play and frolic and be safe with us, The  secret high Coven Sorceress and Priestess Druids of the South. Over ten years so far safe and taught. You do understand, though, that there is no one in all the Realms alike you? If you had been left in a village you would have most likely been put to death, murdered out of ignorant fright of your countenance, or sold for much greed of money to work in a dungeon, or as a private slave to other’s awful whims, just as...Bismuth... has been forced to for a while, stolen in vengeance and insanity, so young from the Wizard, the High Warlock Druid Magi, until once again to be found after almost four years he will be founded finally, and re-cloistered. He bears many scars upon his soul from such dregs-dross-slag as he was re-named while there, in slave treatment, in the North dungeons, forcing him to believe he was not worthy of anything, of his special given name by the Sorcerer Wizard High Druid. It is unsure... how his fate will turn due to it. We vowed and worked very laboriously and secretly to not have it ever done as well to you.

"I- understand. I will remember, everything you tell me, my precious Guardian. I know I have so much to learn.  Please, oh please, is there time for more?"

Tomorrow night; sleep well, dear one. Blessings till the sun rises on the morrow.

The lantern was nixed, and it grew dark.

Had he honestly met him? Lumonyx whispered, urgently, from the shadows. "Had that knighted emissary missive messenger who spared my life... did he ever once again cross paths, to also possibly see, meet again, the Cryptid Bismuth, by fate’s chance spend some time with him, after he had unknowingly taken him from the palace?"

"He... had. For he, that same missive Knight who had to do his awful duty... was once me, just as I relayed him of your tale of woe after I was instructed to bring you here; after I told him, the Wizard, after I rode back to foretell that I did as he had told, the Wizard Warlock High druid Magi Sorcerer at Skull’s Revenge with his high magic enchanted me into a female, and trained me specifically as well, to save my life again, for I once again could not return to the  Kingdom I had come from, the South Kingdom, for they had plans to do away with me as well after I was to banish the female cryptid royal secret I had dropped off; the High Wizard did this, changed my form permanently to secretly aid me, give me a new life without thought of consequence of the deeds I was forced to do, and now I live my life as a Guardian, a Coven sorceress, a she-druid, no longer a missive knight, to help care for you. I knew you would one day curiously ask, it is only natural for you in fate to do so; a fine, fine life you and I now have had together; so sleep safe, my precious dear one."

The chamber door softly closed, as a surprised gasp entailed the shocking truths unveiled...

"You’ve met Bismuth," Lumonyx mumbled.

3

Where is he? Dreggs ! Dreeeeegggs! Slaggy! Hey, you scum-rabble good-for-nothing by-product of lowest humanity lucky you have a dank smelly cavern over your head and scraps to eat dirty sewer rat! I need him, NOW!" The dungeon guard shifts master spit out to the lying lumps of just respited, resting banished slave workers. He snapped his whip a few times on a jutted craggy stone to emphasize his superiority.

I think...I last saw him making warm tea for that decrepit, dying, ornery hag worker over yonder, a wavering, fearful, double-crossing voice sounded within the sea of grumbling wretches.

Hush! Shush! Don’t tell him! Why did you-

"Making tea? What the- and HOW did he get TEA? Yonder Where?"

A sea of shaking, wavering hands flew up, and pointed in a certain direction.

Out of the way, vermin! The Guard started stomping around and through the mass of bodies, or rather they all tried to part out of his way as his boots scraped hastily upon the dungeon rocky floor, approaching a huddled, covered from head to toe figure in dark, awful rags, a tight hood, and scarf over his entire upper face and neck, with just jagged slits for his eyes to blink through; in his gloved hands and arms ...was an old, worn, chipped teacup, one belonging to the Royal set but thrown to the refuse heaps, holding it to the mouth of yes, a dying, wheezing old woman, on her last breaths almost, if it wasn’t for the natural mushroom herb tea concoction he had created. He had found the botany ingredients within the cracks of the cave growing in the dungeons’ lairs, and the throw-out garbage pile from the castle’s kitchens, and warmed it quickly for her on a small fire used for their meager meals. She might last a few more days due to it; he had remembered what had been taught to him, those first decade-long, pined-for, younger years with Master Wolfrom, his special savior friend, and guardian, and kept whatever knowledge of it he remembered to help any he could. His memories were waning due to his downhill health and a broken heart. He remembered Master Wolfrom so fondly he would cry at night for him, and his warning advice echoed in his mind always; if he was ever taken from him, stolen out of the forbidden woods, for many are... and ransomed, or sold to slavery, for it was a money-making, dark practice in this particular Realm and a big contention, and a slick way of living for the degenerates who lingered there, he told him, "Just survive... just survive, do whatever you have to, whatever you can to keep alive until someone finds you to help you, and someone...will. Just survive." The old porcelain fancy teacup he had dug from the waste bin was also a dungeon find. Lots of stuff to find that others, the guards and visitors just carelessly drop along the pathways and bleak corridors. If he couldn’t help himself, he could at the very least give what he had learned to those who needed it most.

What a waste of tea! Disgusting putrid  germ-ridden hag! The guard boomed.

He snapped his huge pole-whip and knocked the teacup out of Dreggs gauntleted, gloved hands, smashing it into the dungeon wall. He snapped his whip-like lightning once more, hideously slicing the throat of the hold hag wide open and in two... within a second, she was dead and perished, doubled over, blood streaming and trickling to the floor. Yet another of the helpless humanity unjustly murdered in front of him.

"There! Saved you the trouble and me the time of feeding her! You like cooking so much you can burn to a crisp in the boiler rooms throwing coal into the fires and wood for the palace feasts! They placed you in there for a whole week before and you survived! Not one singed burnt finger! I heard you’re real good at resisting heat, eh? Is that true, Slag-face? Dreggs of society? I wanna see it for myself! I got orders to take you outa this hellhole and into another!"

The slaves about all moaned and wailed at the now sudden death of their languishing matriarch comrade, a woman older than anyone there, who had been ‘dungeoned’ longer than all of them, who had rallied them every day and night to be strong, to carry on...little did anyone know (and nobody did) it was honestly one of the former Genuine crowned North Queens, Dregg’s Unknown Grandmother, thrown away when she had done her duty and bore the Former King a son; the son which was now the present King; so much for love and respect. 

Dreggs sighed softly as well, gasped in a painful agonized mumble, jumping away from the snap of the whip, the broken teacup all over his lap falling in pieces to his feet, and now sprayed blood upon his waxed rags.

"Don’t think I care about the fact that yer only ten or so seasoned years old; age means nuthin’ here! Yer old ‘nuff now to go to hotter hell. I didn’t care how old that old bag hag crone was she was past her time here, I won’t care about you either, only that you seem to get larger and growin’ bigger every day, the total opposite of what ye should be, and we’re gonna use that, use you up till you die here unless you wanna end up like yer slain useless grandma-ma hag! An’ always wearin’ that hangman’s hood an’ garments all’s over ya so’s we can’t see how filthy ugly you are, you must be the worst lookin’ slave we ever had, boils and pimples busting out probably yer so embarrassed to show yer skin! Yer gonna go through puberty here too, doin’ us a favor, an’ wipin’ all that charcoal dusty grey sludge over yer face an’ limbs like sum tarnished ghost too, hidin’ yer uglies, don’t care one bit, saves us bathwater you young scum slag. Get up, get moving! Off to the boilers with you!"

Whoops...the guard slipped up on the Grandparent part; no one figured it out anyways, not even Dreggs.

Cries of indignant protest filled the stagnant, fogged with waste part of the dungeon.

You can’t take our Slag!

You can’t take Dreggs! He helps us!

Leave that Dark Angel Dreggs be!

"SHATUP ALLS A YOU! NEXT ONE WHO SAYS HIS CURSED RAGGY WRETCH OF A DUNGHEAP MAGGOT NAME IS GONNA END UP LIKE THAT OLD HAG! Bad enough I gave you all a ten-minute break time! Get over here, Slag! Get over here, Dreggs of humanity, or everyone who just spoke up fer you gets it Gets the whip or the noose!"

Dreggs slowly stood, and tentative, approached the dungeon guard, silent. He held out his gloved arms and hands which were manacled, and chained together, to the metal neck collar he had on. The Dungeon shift guard slapped another heavy chain on them and to the chained bulky neck collar that was attached to it and locked them tight, attaching that long chain from them to his metal pole whip, jerkily pulling him closer.

"Say goodbye to yer oh so helpful favorite stinkin’ slave buddy boy of your hellish rotten Dungeon Kingdom! Miserable louses of the Realm, he’s not worthy to even be with you now, rebel renegade bleeding heart! Breakin’ rules and tryin’ to save a damned banished criminal crony soul! I wonder how much that slave grabber hunter got fer stealin’ ya from the forbidden north woods those years ago? Did a good job of clonking yer grandpa Druid Uncle whomever over the head with his maces didn’t he? Did you boo hoo for weeks ‘cause of it? Tough luck! Just sacked you up full o’ blood an’ rode you into the dungeons. Away you go! That’s what ya get fer bein’ in the Forbidden Forest! What were ya both doing around there, no one lives near Skull’s Revenge! A ha the