THE HAUNTED KINGDOM 2, Charles E.J. Moulton [free children's ebooks online .TXT] 📗

the hallways. “Half of the citizens are dead and we are passing laws for no one. What had she said? She had claimed that the first curse would be ‘one for the weapon’. That has come true. One for the health or the nearest friend’s deceit. That means the breakdown of status and royal life. Obviously, Lucinda means the breakdown of the health of the kingdom.” She shook her head. “There is something else at stake here. If I could only remember what she said.”
She strolled down the staircase down from the first landing to the small entrance beside the kitchen. There she stood for a while watching the birch trees and the roses before she walked down the corridor to the main entrance. She supposed everyone was working or resting. No one was out and about and she gathered that no one wanted to. It had been a depressing service.
Belinda came to the main entrance hallway with its eighty foot dome and black and white floor. The marble staircase leading to the first floor seemed empty and deserted.
Walking to the large entry door, she saw that it had been opened ajar. There were voices outside. A baritone voice and a high voice were chattering outside.
It was Steven and Alfred. They were talking. That brought a smile to her face.
She rushed out onto the porch and saw them wandering toward the Poseidon statue.
For the first time in a long while, at least since the war, she felt something close to happiness. Yes, the sun was shining just as before- Yes, she was alive and well. Her country, however, was dying.
Seeing her two men just chatting away made her feel as if thing were alright. No curse. No Lucinda. No Nomed. No Nina Ray. No Fraytollah, just love and family.
She strode down the steps and stepped onto the gravel, following them inconspicuously.
Alfred was piggyback riding Steven.
Belinda watched Steven happily, lute swung up on back and telling his son witty tales.
“Father” the little boy chirped. “What did you do then?”
“Well” Steven answered. “I just felt it was time to leave. When Cretan tells you that you embarrass the Senate by speaking of older people as elderly prunes, which I did, then you must bow and slowly tip toe out.” Steven made little tip-toe movements across the graveled path in between the roses and lilies and orchids.
Alfred laughed. “Why did you have to leave?”
“Well, son” Steven chuckled. “Most of the senators are old prunes.”
Alfred chuckled happily. “Tell me another story.”
Belinda felt it was time to intervene.
“You should’ve never done that, Steven” she said. “You insulted the prunes.”
Steven turned around, displaying a very unshaven grin.
“Hello there” Steven sang. “Look who is here!”
Alfred waved with both hands in the air. “Mother!”
Steven let his son down, who toddled insecurely across the path to Belinda.
She picked him up and swung him around. She groaned as she held him on her left arm.
“What have we been feeding you, young man?” She shook her royal head. “You are heavy.”
Alfred looked at his father and said: “Prunes!”
All three of them laughed.
Alfred looked at his mother. “What are prunes?”
Belinda nodded. “Geena makes pork pie with prunes. You know that. They taste sweet. They look like figs only they are more crumpled.”
“Oh, you mean like Sir Cretan. Only that they are brown.”
They all laughed again very heartily.
Steven came up to them and kissed them. He ruffled Alfred’s hair.
“Exactly like that” Steven snickered amused and made a funny face, sticking out his tongue.
They quietly strolled down toward the fountain of the twenty foot statue, the splashing and sparkling water soothing their souls. Steven had a small wooden box with him that he picked out of his shirt pocket. It held some nuts and raisins. The three Winsletenna family members began chewing on the nibbles as they ambled down toward Neptune, Alfred in Belinda’s arms.
“Are you feeling better now, dear?” Steven asked.
She nodded and looked at her husband. She smiled and caressed his cheek.
“Of course” she said and sighed happily. “With both of you near me I always do.”
“Were you feeling bad, mother?” Alfred asked surprised.
Belinda nodded. “Alfred, mother is sad about what is happening to the kingdom. She cannot sleep nights and she ...” Belinda had to control herself in order not to cry. She smiled at her son. “No problem, child of light. I am fine. We are all fine.”
“I don’t want you to be sad, mother” Alfred said. “I want you to be happy all of the time.”
Belinda kissed the boy tenderly. “For a boy of three, you are remarkably wise.”
Steven shook his head. “Darling, I think it is time to tell him.”
Belinda looked at Steven with wide-open eyes. She looked at her husband as if he had bit her.
“Tell him what?”
Steven bit his lip. “Well, you know. Lucinda. We can’t keep it from him forever. You read him the tales of the breadcrumbs. If she ever appears, he should know what to do. Getting lost is one thing, but Lucinda does more than confuse her family.”
Alfred looked at his mother. “Who is Lucinda?”
They arrived at the statue and sat down on the edge of the fountain.
Belinda did not know how to begin.
So much was going through her mind.
“Alfred” she began. “Your grandfather has a sister. Her name is Lucinda. She is a princess just like I am a princess. But this princess is very wild tempered. She does things one should not do.”
“What things?” Alfred inquired curiously.
“She gets really mad sometimes. She only thinks about herself. Pretends to be someone else and then tries to convince people she is right. She has hurt mother many times.”
“What has she done to you?” Alfred asked.
“She used your mother and made her feel bad” Belinda said.
Alfred looked down. “I hate Lucinda.”
Steven caressed his son’s face. “We all do, son.”
Belinda took her hand and put it under his chin. She pushed his face upward tenderly, so that the boy was looking into her eyes. “My son, listen to mother” Belinda said. “If you ever see a long and thin woman with flowing black hair, then run like the wind. Is that understood? Run to mother or father. Don’t wait. Run.”
Alfred nodded. “Yes.”
Steven continued. “If you see anyone suspicious even, someone that you think might want to harm you, then don’t let them harm you. If we are not near you, then find us or someone in the palace. Any grown up will do. Patrick, Erica, grandfather, grandmother, Rolf, Geena, Ruby, Patricia. Run.”
Alfred nodded intensely. “I will run.”
Steven laughed. “Good.”
They all hugged, listening to splashing of the fountain.
Belinda was nervous now. She found the old red heart that she had received in the cathedral in a side pocket in her morning toga. She felt the inscription “Love and Family” adorned in its surface.
Somewhere inside her soul, she knew that this was a way too early a matter for Alfred.
She did not want to scare the boy.
God knows that she had been frightened as a child.
Alfred deserved better.

Wednesday, January 1st, 1427 A.D.

The war ended that day. All through the fall of that year it had raged on and went into the first month of the year. The Nocturanian militia had been responsible for the attacks by the harbor that much had been clear. Adnicul had obviously given the orders. They had now raged so much over the entire country that most of the land was in shambles.
There was a very strange rumor spreading across the country. Adnicul was not the one with the decisions. Someone else was holding the strings. The Nocturanian army had been pushed back from most of the townships and most of the large counties. This did not help. The land was empty and corpses lay in the street in such numbers they clerics and gravediggers could not keep up. There were no ships raiding the harbor anymore. In fact, there was not even a harbor. It lay deserted and empty. John Lyghort had been seen wandering around aimlessly by the harbor one day. The next morning had been found with three arrows in his back floating in the water near the Channel Senate. Ulfaas had joined the army of the rebellion. They were bureaucrats who had decided to do something on their own, but it was clear that they could do little when half of them died in the first attack. Only Ulfaas survived, along with his first officer.
Ulfaas was nursing a broken leg in his home in Daneland. That day, Steven and Mustafus and Alexander were riding the plains near the capital and watching the dead. A few soldiers were pacing the area on their horses. Those who were not dead, on either side, were gone. There was a cold fog that day. There was a wind and a penetrating screaming silence that could wake up the dead. None of the three men could speak to each other.
Yes, the enemy had been beaten. They were gone. What had happened to their country?
The promised golden age for Alliland had not commenced as Mustafus had planned. He had entered this war in hope of making his country rich. Virtually every Medatlantian country’s royal leadership had some sort of hand in this war. Mormidar was finally gone from Clurafar all together. He had taken the twins and his wife and left for his home. He left with the words that he could not afford to be friends with Alex any longer. Alliland? Well, Sieglinde’s parents were dying and there were no messages at all from them any more.
The war had been a way of life for over a year now. Prosperania was the winner of this war. Its countrymen, nonetheless, had been killed and there was only a small percentage left of what had been called the greatest land in history. Wandiffia was no more, replaced by glum solitude.
It was early evening when the men returned back to the battle field of the once so peaceful valley of the last conquest. They had returned from their depressing ride around the countryside to see rows of old weapons and men in armor lay still on wet snow. The flurry lay deep in drifts along every road side and yet they had gone out in furs to meet anyone and find someone to talk to.
Now that there were no people to talk to that found it worth the effort to speak to the broken king, the men did not want to talk to each other. Instead of talking to the others, Alexander spoke to his horse. It seemed he had never owned a horse. He owned the stables and he rode all the horses. A different one every week was his own for a short instant in reality. A king without a personal horse was like a man without land, nameless.
“What is your name?” the king suddenly said when dismounting the steed.
The two men, the prince regent and the Allilandian king, looked at the king speak to the horse.
“Alexander, my noble and utmost radiant king” Mustafus said. “Your horse can’t speak.”
“I have no personal horse, Mustafus. My stables are full of horses and I ride them every day, but none of them is really my own. What kind of life is that? A man’s soul is like a stallion. If he has no personal animal within him he is useless.” He walked up to a dead man lying in the mud