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The Shadow of His Thoughts page
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The Shadow of his Thoughts
by J. Michael Straczynski
page
2
informed, or I have suddenly gone senile and should be
taken
out and shot. Which of those possiilities are you suggesting is the
case here?"
Vole's hands moved faster, "I
meant no offense, Excellency, because certainly Your Excellency's
memory
is in perfect condition, the whole world is confident
in
Your Excellency's magnificent abilities and --"
"Vole?" twelve hundred years earlier, during the
reign of Emperor Morell, as a gift for his wife Celina. Not long
thereafter, she went mad and hanged herself from the
highest of
the palace's four towers. Londo wondered
if there
was a cause-and-effect relationship there, given
the
garish bad taste that had gone into the design of the carriage, the almost
grotesque indulgence of encrusting it
end to end with every
gemstone to be found on Centauri Prime.
If
I had to ride in this thing every day, I'd probably
kill
myself, too.
"Is this really
necessary?" Londo asked resignedly, already suspecting the answer.
Minister Vole nodded. Londo stared at the
minister's hands. Vole whipped them behind his back and continued
nodding. "It's tradition, Your Excellancy."
"I know the tradition," Londo said, and
sighed. He wondered absently which of the four towers in the palace
was, in fact, the highest.
One never knew
when that sort of information could come in handy.
He knew the tradition. And the
story. He had
grown up with both. And now he was
about to enter
into the tradition himself.
So it came to pass that in the third year of his
reign, Emperor Morell was returning to the royal palace with
his soldiers, after winning the Battle of Scoria Plains
against those who would rend the people of the land in
two. He stopped by the river Tuwain to water his dromes and
rest his soldiers after the long march from the sea.
There he found the woman Malia, who the
villagers
said was a prophetess. For twenty and
four years she
had lived in a cave at the mouth of the
Tuwain, surviving on the kindness of those in the village. She was brought
before the emperor and asked to foretell the story of his rule.
Malia prophesied that a great danger lay ahead
of Emperor
Morell, that a dagger would strike to his
heart from near
his heart, and that his life would be
forfeit unless he
heeded her warning. When the
emperor asked how he
could avoid this death, Malia
spoke only of the crescent moon
hidden in darkness. Asked to put a price on her prophecy, she asked
for
nothing save the emperor's good wishes, for she was
his
loyal and steadfast servant.
|
Upon his return to the royal palace, a great
dinner
was held in honor of Emperor Morell. There
his family
gathered, including his nephew Elfeni, whose
name was
dear to him. As Elfeni rose to toast the
health of his
uncle, the emperor cried out and the
Imperial Guard seized Elfeni, stopping him as he drew back a blade to
strike down the emperor. Elfeni later fonfessed to a
secret alliance with those who had attempted to bring about a civil
war in which he would be made emperor.
His
life saved by prophecy, the emperor returned to Tuwain, where he gave the
prophetess Malia a tenth
share of his fortune. He pledged
that for as long as an emperor sat upon the throne of Centauri Prime,
there would always be a prophetess in Tuwain, that she would ever be in
royal favor, her needs and wants attended to, her name revered.
And so it was that over the years, with the
passing of
each prophetess, another came to take her
place in Tuwain. On that day, each emperor would travel by the same
carriage and the same road taken by Morell to Tuwain, to personally
oversee her enshrinement as prophetess supreme.
The last prophetess in the line that began
with Malia
had died in the bombardment; another now had to
take
her place, and Londo had to be there for the
ceremony.
He could not justify it. There was
work to be done, temples to be rebuilt, wounded to heal--
--grudges to nourish, rage to fuel--
--so that he could hardly justify being away from the royal palace for
that long.
And yet...
And yet what was the purpose of rebuilding if it
was
not part of the process of healing the wounds that his
people had suffered? And was not part of that process restoring a
sense of stability?
That was the
purpose of tradition, to give people something to hold onto in times of
trouble.
And was there any trouble
greater than the bombard-
ment and savaging of Centauri
Prime...and the other trouble that Londa knew was biding its time beneath
the royal palace?
Londo sighed again, knowing
his decision was inescapable, as most of his decisions lately had
been.
He would go to Tuwain.
As was required, they set out before dawn,
the
royal carriage in the middle of a long procession of other
ceremonial carriages and drome-pulls. Crowds lined the streets and
waved as they passed, faces lined with worry
and the dirt of
rebuilding momentarily eclipsed by smiles. Londo nodded back at them
through the open window,
even more sure now that his decision
was the proper one.
Once outside the capitol
city, they turned to the old roads,
|
Page 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Glass Tattoo
The Shadow of His Thoughts page
This is G o o g l e's cache of http://www.glasstattoo.net/TSofHTpage2.htm.
G o o g l e's cache is
the snapshot that we took of the page as we crawled the web.
The
page may have changed since that time. Click here for the current page without
highlighting.
Google is not affiliated with
the authors of this page nor responsible for its
content. | |
The Shadow of his Thoughts
by J. Michael Straczynski
page
2
informed, or I have suddenly gone senile and should be
taken
out and shot. Which of those possiilities are you suggesting is the
case here?"
Vole's hands moved faster, "I
meant no offense, Excellency, because certainly Your Excellency's
memory
is in perfect condition, the whole world is confident
in
Your Excellency's magnificent abilities and --"
"Vole?" twelve hundred years earlier, during the
reign of Emperor Morell, as a gift for his wife Celina. Not long
thereafter, she went mad and hanged herself from the
highest of
the palace's four towers. Londo wondered
if there
was a cause-and-effect relationship there, given
the
garish bad taste that had gone into the design of the carriage, the almost
grotesque indulgence of encrusting it
end to end with every
gemstone to be found on Centauri Prime.
If
I had to ride in this thing every day, I'd probably
kill
myself, too.
"Is this really
necessary?" Londo asked resignedly, already suspecting the answer.
Minister Vole nodded. Londo stared at the
minister's hands. Vole whipped them behind his back and continued
nodding. "It's tradition, Your Excellancy."
"I know the tradition," Londo said, and
sighed. He wondered absently which of the four towers in the palace
was, in fact, the highest.
One never knew
when that sort of information could come in handy.
He knew the tradition. And the
story. He had
grown up with both. And now he was
about to enter
into the tradition himself.
So it came to pass that in the third year of his
reign, Emperor Morell was returning to the royal palace with
his soldiers, after winning the Battle of Scoria Plains
against those who would rend the people of the land in
two. He stopped by the river Tuwain to water his dromes and
rest his soldiers after the long march from the sea.
There he found the woman Malia, who the
villagers
said was a prophetess. For twenty and
four years she
had lived in a cave at the mouth of the
Tuwain, surviving on the kindness of those in the village. She was brought
before the emperor and asked to foretell the story of his rule.
Malia prophesied that a great danger lay ahead
of Emperor
Morell, that a dagger would strike to his
heart from near
his heart, and that his life would be
forfeit unless he
heeded her warning. When the
emperor asked how he
could avoid this death, Malia
spoke only of the crescent moon
hidden in darkness. Asked to put a price on her prophecy, she asked
for
nothing save the emperor's good wishes, for she was
his
loyal and steadfast servant.
|
Upon his return to the royal palace, a great
dinner
was held in honor of Emperor Morell. There
his family
gathered, including his nephew Elfeni, whose
name was
dear to him. As Elfeni rose to toast the
health of his
uncle, the emperor cried out and the
Imperial Guard seized Elfeni, stopping him as he drew back a blade to
strike down the emperor. Elfeni later fonfessed to a
secret alliance with those who had attempted to bring about a civil
war in which he would be made emperor.
His
life saved by prophecy, the emperor returned to Tuwain, where he gave the
prophetess Malia a tenth
share of his fortune. He pledged
that for as long as an emperor sat upon the throne of Centauri Prime,
there would always be a prophetess in Tuwain, that she would ever be in
royal favor, her needs and wants attended to, her name revered.
And so it was that over the years, with the
passing of
each prophetess, another came to take her
place in Tuwain. On that day, each emperor would travel by the same
carriage and the same road taken by Morell to Tuwain, to personally
oversee her enshrinement as prophetess supreme.
The last prophetess in the line that began
with Malia
had died in the bombardment; another now had to
take
her place, and Londo had to be there for the
ceremony.
He could not justify it. There was
work to be done, temples to be rebuilt, wounded to heal--
--grudges to nourish, rage to fuel--
--so that he could hardly justify being away from the royal palace for
that long.
And yet...
And yet what was the purpose of rebuilding if it
was
not part of the process of healing the wounds that his
people had suffered? And was not part of that process restoring a
sense of stability?
That was the
purpose of tradition, to give people something to hold onto in times of
trouble.
And was there any trouble
greater than the bombard-
ment and savaging of Centauri
Prime...and the other trouble that Londa knew was biding its time beneath
the royal palace?
Londo sighed again, knowing
his decision was inescapable, as most of his decisions lately had
been.
He would go to Tuwain.
As was required, they set out before dawn,
the
royal carriage in the middle of a long procession of other
ceremonial carriages and drome-pulls. Crowds lined the streets and
waved as they passed, faces lined with worry
and the dirt of
rebuilding momentarily eclipsed by smiles. Londo nodded back at them
through the open window,
even more sure now that his decision
was the proper one.
Once outside the capitol
city, they turned to the old roads,
|
Page 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Glass Tattoo
|