The Boy and The Man, Offer R [ereader for textbooks .txt] 📗

intervention, which some might've found to be to the dishonor of the prince, but he hadn't the strength to speak.

"Kill the prince now and you will have attained only half your revenge. You will be arrested, likely hanged, and remembered as a rogue avenger who found his only consolation in spreading his misery to others. But exchange the life of the prince, whom you've already defeated, disarmed, and nearly dismembered, for a duel with the man whose craftiness is the source of your misery. Spare the life of a prince whom you have a right to kill and whose dignity you've already bruised, and defeat the man- the boy- who outsmarted you once on the battlefield and who's yet to be punished for it. Now there's true revenge! And there is a man whose reputation will bounce back to its onetime heights, and whose memory history shall portray kindly."

Again a pall of silence reigned over the courtyard as the outrageous yet noble, daring yet fair proposal was weighed in the avenger's cooled mind.

"You will cross swords with me, knowing that five minutes from now you will be in the same spot your prince is right now?" He asked suspiciously.

"I will cross swords with you. Defeat me, and you will be entitled to do with me as you like, as is prescribed by the rules of the duel. And the prince, whatever the case me be, lives. There is no trick this time, my friend, but a challenge. I should warn you, however, that you might find in me a far fiercer enemy than my prince", said the man earnestly. Then, as though to further demonstrate the authenticity of his words, he thought to himself:

'I have no wild card hiding in my sleeve, Dansalot. I have only my life to offer, and I serve it to you on a golden plate.'

"If I were to accept your offer and spare your dear prince", Dansalot said with a certain measure of contempt for the man's act of unnecessary sacrifice, "How would I know that my victory was told of? Who's to say that I wouldn't be hanged the moment you fell to the ground and that the truth wouldn't be distorted by these biased witnesses?"

The man pondered this for a moment and responded with the same earnestness that was now ingrained in the very fiber of his being: "Your concern is valid, my friend. But I'm sure it would be allayed if you were given the prince's word that, be the result of our duel what it may, you will be allowed to leave this kingdom unharmed and unimpeded."

"It would. Prince?"

Our prince turned to face the avenger, slowly alternating his enervated glance between him and the man. He still couldn't speak loud enough to be heard, but in his eyes one could easily make out a thorough detestation for what he was requested to do. And truth be told, a word of honor delivered by a man in his state was hardly reassuring.

"Well, it seems the prince doesn't value his life as much as you do-" Dansalot began, but his proclivity to accept the man's offer was too valuable to let slip.

"I grant my endorsement to this man's proposal", rumbled the deep, authoritative voice that belonged to our king. "My son's life in exchange for yours, Dansalot!"

"Father, no!" The prince somehow managed to utter in a meek rasp.

"Quiet, son. The king has spoken."

"So even the king himself is on board. It seems the life of a poor boy isn't very valuable here. Very well, it's no different where I'm from", the avenger said caustically. And it was to the great relief of all the thousands that the exchange was made. There were only four people, four drops in the wide sea of spectators, whose relief was critically diluted by concern for the new challenger. Two were standing at the far end of the courtyard, positioned so badly that they came to know of the proceedings only through the murmurs of the audience that spread their way. The other two were the ones who the man, then a boy, had betrayed three years earlier. They both cast glances filled with gratitude and sorrow at him, and he simply smiled back and bowed gently.

This time there was no prelude to the duel. Dansalot, his tongue wearied by the battle of quips with the prince, saved his sarcasm for when he had the man on his knees. The man, on his part, was glad to leave the games aside and begin.

The man fought well. He was nearly equal to his rival, and several times even forced him back and seemed on the verge of victory before Dansalot regained ground and reprised with a binge of aggression. Knowing this man to be The Boy of the legend of the sword, the audience wasn't surprised by his transcendent performance. Knowing him to be but an amateur swordsman in disguise, our prince and in future wife were in awe. They even dared to begin to hope that the man would prevail against the odds and make that day an even greater celebration than planned.

Alas, hope is fickle and odds are quite stable. It took him at least ten minutes of fierce resistance, but eventually the man, like the prince before him, saw his time come.

It's no secret even to an amateur swordsman that even while on the offensive one must keep his defense up. It's no different in boxing, in a game of chess, or in any competition in which the aim of one party is to destroy the other. Needless to say, the avenger and the man practiced this basic principle exceptionally well. Until the last move of the duel.

It came at a point where the man knew that he'd given his best and sill had found no weakness in his adversary's stand. From this he could only conclude that his defeat was all but certain, and as a consequence that his death was near. He'd gone into battle knowing this to be a very realistic possibility, of course, and so had planned it in advance. He was going to accept his downfall, but he would take his adversary with him.

'It's time', he thought to himself between heavy gasps for air. Then he addressed his thoughts to his rival: 'Here, Dansalot. Look at my left side, which I'm leaving completely open for you. All you need to do is deliver a quick thrust, and I'm yours.' Barely had he finished transmitting these thoughts to the avenger that he saw the latter's blade cutting the air with the speed of a bullet, directed straight at his heart.

'Good move, Dansalot', thought the man. And instead of trying to parry the thrust or deflect it, the man mirrored the avenger's strike and thrust his own sword to the right part of his rival's chest.

"Oh, no!" Whimpered Aphrodite.

'Heavens, no!' Thought our severely wounded but still attentive prince.

Dansalot blade hit first, sinking straight through to the man's heart. But the man's counterstrike had been delivered so swiftly and with such strong impetus that his blade pierced the avenger's chest and came out through the back. Both men toppled to the ground at once, and a pool of their mixed blood formed around them.

There they were, two men fallen from grace, soon to be the victims of each other. Two men who through their own doing had lost that which they valued most. And they'd both taken heart and come to the courtyard in our little kingdom to redeem themselves. They'd both succeeded.

And yet for all their similarities they were set apart a great deal. You see, while Prince Dansalot's corpse lay forgotten in its own blood, our dying boy was wrapped in more love in his final moments than many men are graced with in a lifetime. First to arrive were our prince and his future wife. They knelt at either side of him (the prince with tremendous effort) and cried for him.

"Brother! You fought like a lion!" He whispered, squeezing the dying man's hand with the gentlest, feeblest squeeze a man has ever applied.

"I thought you couldn't fight. You told me you couldn’t fight", Aphrodite added, putting her hand against his cheek.

"I've learned many things in these last three years", the man responded so softly that if a wind had blown while he spoke he wouldn't have been heard. But God was kind to our boy and didn't deny him these last sweet moments.

"But why did you let him do this to you? I know you let him", the prince muttered.

The man smiled meekly. "I tested my strength at first, but I was no match for him. He would've gotten me eventually. I couldn't let him walk out of here with that proud smile of his after all he'd done." At this point the man felt that his quota of final words was drawing to an end, so he insisted on delivering his final message.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to redeem myself. But you two will be happy together. You will be a fine queen, my love", he rasped, almost suffocating in the process.

"But you have redeemed yourself", Aphrodite cried ardently. "Everything you've done has brought happiness to others. The defeat of the Capitals; our love finally breaking out; your loans- the poor people you loaned to have nobody to repay, while that greedy loaner you loaned from has no one to claim his debt from!; mother couldn't be happier with where her gold has gone to; the queen has promised us a journey to Ngoro; and you saved my husband. You see, everything you touch becomes gold! You have nothing more to redeem, my love! You're an angel and heaven awaits you."

At the end of his heartfelt words Aphrodite burst out in tears. The prince collapsed and was soon evacuated to have his wounds attended to. The man's parents arrived running from the back of the courtyard to find a smile of pure happiness on their son's face as he drew his last breaths underneath them. The man was buried that same day in the presence of a crowd no smaller than the one that had gathered for the royal wedding. Prince Dansalot was buried in the mountains, and we don't know where exactly since nobody has ever asked.

A week later the prince married Aphrodite, and in their vows they both mentioned their gratitude and their love for the man. It was, indeed, a fine day in fine times in the fine kingdom.

Since every story, even a bad one, must have a lesson to be learned from, let us offer this: one is never late to seek redemption, so long as he is willing to dig deep within himself.

 

 

 

 

 

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Publication Date: 01-13-2014

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