The Tale of Yawe’S Son

By Philama Ductan

In the planet of Minerva, Fatra Kadosh was born to Atremis, the virgin daughter of King Christobal, ruler of the Northern Empire. A proclaimed son of Yawe, Fatra is destined to rule over one empire but only, it is declared, after he experiences suffering and deep-rooted humiliation. For a decade, his life is just like any other teenagers until his present and future become a grave concern to King Fag, one of the rulers of the four empires. Fearful of the rumor that Fatra might rule over his empire someday, Fag enlists his commanders to kidnap Fatra. But since Fag has no son, he adopts and trains Fatra to be a great thinker. Fags spiritual leader is envious and poisons that relationship until Fatra is given to King Tubal as a goodwill gesture.

So begins Fatras descent into slavery, rebellion, war, imprisonment, and betrayal.

In a story that spans four empires and thirty-five years, Fatra is finally crowned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543414141

Philama Ductan

Terror, adventure, and discovery for those who like surprise. In fact, we all do. This novel' as short as it is, reflects the trough reality of Hispaniola's life in terms of its people in regard to the voodoo's practice and any more. In often time, Dominicans and Haitians who co-habit this Tainos's land have been so resilient and generous on earth but, the externals forces make it impossible to break the dark cycle of poverty...this book explain these circumstances and many more...

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Copyright © 2017 by Philama Ductan.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2017905426

ISBN:                   Hardcover                     978-1-5434-1416-5

                             Softcover                       978-1-5434-1415-8

                             eBook                            978-1-5434-1414-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 01/19/2018

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1     The Birth of a Prince

Chapter 2     The Prince’s Early Life

Chapter 3     The Plot

Chapter 4     The Prince as a gift

Chapter 5     The Transfer

Chapter 6     The Promotion

Chapter 7     The Loss of the Promotion

Chapter 8     The Love Affair

Chapter 9     The Mission

Chapter 10   The Pursuit and the Escape

Chapter 11   The Sellout

Chapter 12   Yawe Retaliates

Glossary

PROLOGUE

S INCE THE BEGINNING of time – some million years after the extinction of the dinosaurs, to be precise - we have strived to get an answer about the meaning of our existence, the real purpose of our life, the effectiveness of our faith, and the consequence of our death. The simplest thing is a challenge to us inasmuch as we challenge everything we learn. We use our brain, science, and technology to make things better and more efficient for us. Not always! We try to solve puzzles and problems, to be error-free, and we travel in space for reasons well above curiosity. While scientists, mathematicians, and conspiracy theorists evince a litany of hypotheses to make their point; historians, however, looked for facts, hard compelling facts, veracity within a half-truth. Whether scientist or historian, no one finds yet the answer to our problem. That said, the dilemma and the quandary linger on while mistakes are made, corrected, and repeated. There is something we haven’t done to guide us along the path of truth - and whatever that is - will become disputable because it is ingrained in us to attempt to go beyond our intellectual boundary, imagination and perception.

Let’s step back for a minute.

We study the universe, have a thorough understanding of its complexity and challenge, and propose ways to respond to natural disasters or cause majeure if you will. But, despite our progress, science and technology still fail us. Why?

Perhaps is it because we reject Mother Nature’s command? Or is it because every star in the sky, every planet closest to us, every galaxy deemed reachable, and every breath we take, is a sign indicative of securing our existence?

The truth shall set you free, The wise said.

That line of reasoning is meant to make us think and perpetually seek for the truth.

Whether or not our views are correct, we will have to weigh all sides of the arguments and get as close to a factually based and objective assessment as is humanly possible. This is knowledge.

Naturally, since this knowledge becomes the air that we breathe and the water in which we swim, we assume that our discovery is the norm. Rather, it is an outlier.

Let’s step forward briefly.

The challenge ahead concerns us all. The world changes very rapidly, as does the challenge of changing the world itself. We have yet to hear a single voice with the courage to explain what might be on the other side of our universe in simplistic terms and to demystify our expectations.

There is currently a monumental shift in technology. With the future of everything at stake, what has traditionally separated progress and regress is a lot less defined — and perhaps even irrelevant. We feel the world of science is coming to rescue the technology.

But there are those who promote bias. It’s the intellectual fallacy; the difference between life and death, the difference between man and a tiger, and the corruption of our mind. The philosophy is that facts can’t substantiate value judgments. Science is perhaps the last frontier of neutrality, especially in today’s polarized society.

Well, this is what this book is all about. It is a story about a young prince’s life in four different empires from a planet only we know through our imagination. Pay particular attention to our protagonist, Fatra, and you’ll discover what destiny reserved for him.

1

The Birth of a Prince

O VER THE MOUNTAINTOP At Dawn…

… The thickness of clouds gave way to loud thunder and the rainbows seemed to cover the empire known as Athalis. It was very windy, taking down trees and power lines. Such event was rare, causing stress and speculation that Athalis was being menaced and its survival at stake. Given its size and location, Athalis was in fact the largest empire in Minerva, a planet in faraway Galaxy III.

But that seemed about right- Minerva was strange and deceptive, it had to be struggled for, against the flow of the everyday.

That was exactly what everyone would have expected, and of course the transcending power of Yawe was never announced with hiss and fanfare.

Christobal, the ruler of this empire, woke up by a phenomenal braying of donkeys and hurling of dogs which seemed to echo right under his window. The volume and quality of the howling were unusually odd. A sharp and very brief thunderstorm, which seemed to strike somewhere near the bank of the mountain, was adding more fuel into the disturbance. Strange and unpleasant odors, probably from the fish tanks in his palace yard could be linked with this incident, and may have had their share in exciting the donkeys.

He stepped out of his brisk palace to assess the situation. He got the feeling that something terrible was going to happen and he had to use his common sense to understand what that would be. He was concerned, and rightly so, that his empire would suffer a major blow and if that were to occur now there would surely be a shortage of food supply. But again that would be hard on Athalians.

Yes, of course, the king had a bad feeling about this – a feeling that was all too justified.

The deity receiving the prayers in Athalis, and to whom the shrine was dedicated, was Yawe. Christobal, a portly old man, was a religious fanatic who customarily invoked Yawe, the only god he and his people worshipped. He built his empire with acts of valor and his words of encouragement turned the daily cycle of violence into a blank canvas. He liked to be reminded of the actions he had taken to simplify life, the wars he had fought and won, and the victory he had shared with a few elite members of his army. He became emperor, thanks to Yawe’s order. That was just the first task. He took everything at heart and ultimately consolidated his power by putting his three sons in charge of the biggest States. When he appointed his youngest son, Dilus, as governor, there was no escaping the fact he continued to abhor ill feelings towards his commanding officers. But that appointment sure brought forth jealousy and resentment among siblings. For good measure!

The northern state was on the coast of the ocean, so there was an abundance of water supply to farm the arable land. His oldest son, Petibien, was installed as governor in the south where production was efficient, of course Estimabe would be in command of the Eastern’s region.

Together he and his three sons controlled vast resources of farm productions, swaths of gold and diamonds. Christobal himself was loved and revered for his bravado but his sons exploited Athalis like it belonged to them. Nepotism was endemic. They subtly encouraged their friends to be corrupt. Together, they owned or controlled everything, even airspace, so no one dared speak up, and when they did, arbitrary detentions and forced disappearances tended to follow.

Every chance he got, everywhere he went, Christobal would do things to please his closest friends and convince his foes wrong. Such amiable qualities were rare in a king but now they spoke for themselves. He was looked at with great admiration for everything he proposed, for every major policy decision he made, and every time he vetoed one of his governors’ bills.

Christobal was discovered to be proud, to be above the law because attorneys allowed him to, and above being unworthy to be compared with well-known magicians and historians whose career he had funded. He was the proudest, most agreeable man in Athalis, and hoped that his legacy would change things around, the changes that would make the miners and farmers proud again and speak occasionally about the contrast between him and his sons, the particular resentments of their general behavior would flutter away – until their manners gave a disgust which would normally turn the tide of his popularity.

Christobal himself had once travelled throughout Athalis and found himself mesmerized by the customs and languages. No one really knew how that happened. He sort of convinced himself that there might have been a large number of settlers way before him.

Christobal seemed a real-life caricature of a despot. He wore a priceless diamond watch and a glittery wedding ring and ferried in private sailboats. Very rarely he picked a new virgin sidekick and kept it secret.

He somehow believed that was how Yawe had wished it to be.

There was speculation that a giant asteroid had collided with Minerva and pierced through it in a foursquare shape, and that had caused the axis to move the empires away from each other, so far away that their understanding and purpose of life had remained distinct. The only thing they had shared was the solar system named SuperLit but, for reasons not yet known, it was mostly shining during its rotation on the periphery of Athalis. Almost every Athalian historian, be they schooled or autodidact, said repeatedly that it was a group of aliens from an unknown galaxy who had done all that caustic damage.

Gibolis was the second largest empire and the closest to Athalis. King Fag ruled Gibolis and imposed an adopted Supreme Being named Damballa on his people.

Adonalis, ruled by King Tubal who strongly believed in Massia as god, was the smallest but had the best trained medical personnel.

Leonalis was a bit far but its ruler, King Guakana, minced no words. He chose Zemi as his own god, so did everyone else.

When Christobal built a bunker in his palace, it became the envy of the rich and the opulent estate retained an unmistakable allure. He handpicked his many butlers, all of whom were hardcore Royalists. Chefs and gardeners were plenty. All was to impress his wife, Dezilyn and for his own security. Now he was aging, he began to wonder about his successor.

If it had not been for the woman with the rainbow hair, Dezilyn, Christobal wouldn’t be here. Before he became king, he had been betrayed, broken, belligerent; his heart demolished by another woman whose faithfulness had been fabricated. They were both young when he and Dezilyn got married; full of energy, purpose and life. They had their entire life to spend with one another. When Dezilyn was diagnosed with breast cancer, Christobal’s world descended into everlasting night. Life became dark; day became dusk and soon was transformed into a full-fledged nighthawk.

He and Dezilyn stood outside of the balcony, constantly looking up.

We’ve never seen a storm like this. Are we prepared? She asked in a feeble and reserved voice.

No, we’re not my dear. No one is, He replied.

Have the governors reached out to you yet? She asked in a sarcastic tone to indicate she was mad at her sons.

Christobal looked puzzled. He didn’t think he should be the one to do that. He was much larger than his sons. He couldn’t do what he was asked even if he wanted to: the power lines went down and his most favorite horse stable was in repair.

It couldn’t be anything to do with the storm, for Christobal took this as a serious threat to his kingdom. It was a novel experience, a miserable and frightened one.

Christobal was a very odd type of tyrant — the magnanimous one. He loved to see his portrait everywhere, and when he was among his peers and relatives, he preferred to be called Chris because that in comparison made him a savior with a remarkable sense of integrity. He ruled out any outside influence and refused to loosen the tight bureaucratic clutch around the major industries he controlled. It took him a while to consolidate his power, except that his track record of human rights was jaw-dropping.

This is going out of hand. I don’t know if there’s something we can do. We just got to let it pass, that’s all I’m saying. Dezilyn said.

You know I can’t stay here doing nothing. What good would that do us? He replied.

She turned pale and began to tremble. I don’t know how I can help you, my dear. You know I love you but I’m not going to get killed by this raging storm.

Christobal, who was sincere in considering himself an envoy of Yawe, was now feeling exasperation and despair. Doing nothing would expose him to trolling and vitriol.

What truly gave him a sense of being was the glow in her eyes, the knowing glance of the dark-haired woman in a tight black dress, and the smile that showed below her crisp white fedora as she laid her hand on his. She highly approved her forbearance, and they had leisure for a full discussion of it, and for all the commendation with which they could civilly bestow upon each other.

Dezilyn began to fear that her husband would make a big deal out of this situation, a no-brainer that would bring stress and poor health, and she would be the one to take care of him.

Please don’t jeopardize what we have here. All this, you’ve earned on your own.

She made it exceptionally explicit to him that he was taking a big risk.

I will tell you what my worries are if you truly would like to know, He said.

Well, it appeared that Christobal had a lot to worry about. The man who had once persuaded millions of people to use camel and donkey as their mode of transportation was shrewd. Part of his allegiance was to load those animals into bins for long-distance travel and that turned out a success. Only the decorated members of his troops could be seen riding camels and they rarely missed their final destination.

He had treated his prisoners of war very well, not tortured them, and afforded them good clothing and a daily dose of succulent meal.

This was now a new era. The survival of Athalis was at stake, and the king seemed to lose grips of his war machine. He hated the fact that his legacy was being threatened by external forces. To him that was an affront to Yawe.

It’s not about Atremis, is it? Dezilyn asked.

He paused briefly, reveling at the thought. They had four beautiful daughters, three of whom had ever shown interest in running state affairs. They were Sincina, Dicinette, and Loriza. Princess Atremis was the youngest, and without question the most loyal.