The Skeleton King

We speak for the many, we speak for the few.

Not a word misplaced.

No event altered or disgraced. 

Allow us to tell you the story of our king.

Who fell from grace many moons ago.

________________________________________________

His name was Ion. Killer of monsters far and wide. Some inhuman, some as mortal as he. All Ion wanted was to conquer the western world and expand our kingdom from sea to sea. He traveled with the promise of everlasting salvation. You see, he never saw it as taking the world, rather he was saving it. In his quest along nations young and old, he’d come across beasts and armies who would not bend their knee to his promise of a new life. It was then, he would unleash the unholy wrath of our defenses, equipped with the most advanced weaponry the world had ever seen. Our kingdom was the leader in trade, and therefore, the most lucrative. He had the capital, the steel, and most of all, fear. Ion was not a tyrant; far from it. He only unleashed Hell upon the ones who stood in his way. For those under his wing, he treated them like his own children. His promises were better and more credible than any who reigned before. The world was his for the taking, and there was more than enough to take.

Ion always encouraged new tactics of warfare. He enjoyed the mysticism surrounding his persona. The people loved the ability to live a life where poverty and opportunity were never an issue. Honestly, they never batted an eye towards anything else. They were happy, and that was most important.

One day, the news of a rebellion was roaming around the city. One ear to another, the word of a possible mutiny stretched until it was heard by the king himself. Ion’s response wasn’t a grand show to ensure the loyalty of his subjects. What he did was simply hang the source of the rumor and all who spread it in front of the palace for all passers by to see. They were to hang until the smell of the rotting corpses reached a mile’s end. 

Frequent parties were held within the palace in celebration of Ion and his victories across oceans and worlds beyond. His quest wasn’t completed as there was much more to explore. What was different about this particular party than any other, was a certain guest that changed the course of Ion’s fate forever. An old haggard witch crept through the palace doors and into the dining hall. Where everyone became sick by her smell and appearance. She lured to the altar, where Ion sat with his arms crossed at his chest. A smile on his face, and a crown dazzling with the finest jewels from the Earth. The witch fell to her knees before Ion. She began to speak in a voice so high, so pitched, it was almost like she was singing. 

“Doomed, Sire. You are doomed! Upon admission to my request, you shall be saved from your fate!” The crowd began to murmur upon hearing those words. Ion put his hand to the air, silencing all. 

“What is it you bring me,” replied the king. 

“My sisters and I have spoken to the Gods. They are not happy, Your Majesty! Not happy indeed! You’ve challenged them and now they send me to bring you their word.”

“I am not here to bid the will of anyone who hasn’t come to me face to face,” the king said as he puffed his chest at the shaking woman.

“They’ve been there, Sire! Everywhere! All throughout your conquests. They’ve tried to warn you to not go too far! Heed my request and my warnings to stop! No need to conquer more! No need to take lands unknown! You’re loved here. Don’t burn at the will of your quest for power!”

The crowd gasped.

“You seem to be questioning my methods.”

“No. My son was the one who questioned them. He didn’t get the chance to act until you strung him up like an animal!” 

The fires in the lanterns all went out at once. A ghostly wind flew through the windows and cast shadows over the crowd of party goers, who screamed and exited the dining hall in a panic. The woman stood up, higher than the king, who stayed planted in his chair. Her voice grew more angry, monstrous and echoed through the halls. 

“You will not leave this palace! Your days of stealing blood and land are over! What you have taken is yours, but your conquest is no more. Leave the unknown lands unknown. Leave the stones unturned. It is time you lead your people, and stop taking credit for their success. We thrive on our own. With our king taking all he can, we were left for ourselves, and we made it work. You understand, it was us, not you! You will see how much you are needed within the confines of these walls.”

“And what if I choose to leave,” the king asked with a stern brow.

“I warn you, my sisters will not be as generous as I. They will come for you, and they will tear you apart.”

The woman screamed with a voice so sharp it shattered the glasses and windows. Ion threw himself under the table to avoid being impaled by falling glass. The woman vanished as quick as the breeze itself. The king, now alone, gathered himself and remained still until the fires reignited once again. He took the time to contemplate everything that the haggard witch said.

Oh how that vile creature is ignorant to think she has put fear into my heart. She was wrong. I am respected, I am their king! For God’s sakes I am their king! I gave them everything! I’ve built this kingdom and they are the ones who think they could sustain it without me? How dare they. They will see. In time, they will fall apart. The world will fall apart.

The king retreated to his chambers, where he closed the door and did not open it for an entire month.

The world as he knew it had not changed a bit. In fact, the people didn’t even know he was gone. In his frequent travels from region to region, our ancestors perfected the trade routes, created new forms of currency, and established a fairly decent world order. They paid their taxes, did their dues and never caused a fuss. The king’s guard enforced the laws Ion had implemented. So what changed? Not a thing, that’s for certain. The kingdom wasn’t broken, it was flourishing. Ion learned the good news from spies from the royal guard to survey his subjects all over the world. Some of them didn’t even have any idea he was banished to his own chamber. Day after day, he would receive an eventless report from the same trusting lord. It is quite ironic, the king was unfulfilled to hear of a kingdom that is running successfully. He pitied himself, and began to go mad with jealousy.

They need me, oh by God they do! They lie to protect my heart. I’m bound by these walls to live a life of solitude. A kingdom is empty without a king! This time, they will learn. I will leave this place and be a king again!

Ion made a plan to escape his own palace. He dressed himself under a black cloak over the darkest of clothes. It was that very night he snuck through his nighttime guards, who were paid to make sure that wouldn’t happen. He left the palace and walked through the city. Ion made his way to the park, where an evening celebration was being held. Men, women and children alike, dancing to music and sharing moments of laughter and joy. Ion stayed hidden behind a tree, with a boiling jealousy running through his veins. How dare they, he thought. The king fueled with rage at the sight of civilians enjoying a peaceful evening of celebration. The problem was, he didn’t even know what the occasion was. All he could see was ale, food, sparkling lights and dancers charming the likes of all. The music, oh the music sounded like pins to his ears. The flutists and drummers pranced around the crowds, dancing for joy. While Ion stayed hidden in the dark cover of branches and hate.

It was time, he would surprise the party goers with a special appearance they would not even expect. How would they react if he just waltzed into the crowd and joined the festivities? There was one way to find out, he did just that. He joined the party and made his way to the ale. He drank, sang, danced and laughed with a park full of people who didn’t suspect they were even joined by the king. His appearance was unfamiliar to all, even after the month of solitude. He smiled, and found himself happy to be a part of something. It was a joyous scene.

“More ale, gentlemen! More ale for all,” Ion shouted. 

Met with thunderous applause he never heard before, Ion felt overwhelmed with glee. As the ale passed around, the women and children kept dancing to the unending symphonies of old and new.

Ion drank, drank, and drank. Forgetting about the pettiness and the nobilities of leadership. Ion then stood on top of the table and pounded his feet to gather the attention of the guests. Whilst dancing and prancing along, Ion came across a flier that had been thrown onto the grass. He examined it closely and picked it up. It was the very drawing of a crown with a red X colored over it. Ion felt that rage again, even more so than before. He gripped the drawing and brought himself to stand on top of the table. He stomped his feet to gather the attention of all.

“Hear me! What is the meaning of this drawing” he asked with a drunken slur. 

“Out with the crown, we say!” The crowd cheered in repetition of a chant unfamiliar to Ion. 

“Out with the crown?” Ion asked with confused eyes glaring at everyone.

“OUT WITH THE CROWN!” The guests screamed. 

The music continued, everyone danced around the table like Ion is the leader of the ceremony. They circled him, unknowing that he was the one they rallied against. He stood defeated and naive to his own people. A king? What does it even mean? To not have the respect of his own people, nor even their slightest bit of recognition sent him into despair. 

“Enough!” The king screamed, silencing the festival. Everyone looked at him, confused and slightly alarmed. “You all have broken your king’s heart! Have you no compassion? No decency? Is this what you choose to celebrate?”

“The king has never cared for us, so why should we care for him,” asked a crowd member.

“Because I came to celebrate this evening with you all, and this is my payment for it,” Ion replied. The crowd murmured, then gasped as they removed their drunken lenses to behold the man who is no longer unfamiliar. 

“Is that the king?”

“Impossible he never shows his face!”

“It is, it is the king!”

“Get out of here!”

“We don’t want you here!” 

The crowd grew angry. Throwing fruit and splashing ale all over his body. Soaked, he was surrounded by his own people in a mob of anger and resentment. Someone threw the bucket of ale that poured all over his head, another threw an apple that shattered in his face. Ion was broken and defeated. The mob stood over the poor sap, and before they could pounce, the winds howled and the fires went out. The park darkened, and grew much colder. Something was coming. The festival goers parted ways for a new group stomping towards the king. Four women in black crept towards their prey. Shrieks and hisses came from their mouths. Ion made no attempt to run, for he knew who these women were. They circled around him, and joined hand and hand. 

“You were warned,” one whispered, “now you must pay your debt.” 

“I have nothing to give,” responded the king.

The demons stayed silent, they opened their mouths to reveal razor sharp teeth. They crept closer, and closer. In these moments, feeling like an eternity, Ion watched his people shield their eyes at what was about to happen. “My people! Help me! Please help your king!!” Ion shrieked in terror.

They made no attempt to help him, but none of them ran away. They stayed to watch their king be massacred by four witches of the night. Before they closed in completely, one spoke in a soft childlike voice. 

“Long live your king.”

The utterance was met with the ferocious bites from each of the women. Ion screamed an awful, painful scream. Some members of the crowd looked away, some watched every moment. Sounds of flesh being ripped apart like paper hit the ears like nails on a chalkboard. The witches shrieked in ecstasy as the debt was paid in blood. Their tongues coiled around their red lips. With skin as pale as the moon, they were rejuvenated in this moment. After their meal, the witches stood and made their way back to the shadows, leaving only bones behind. The people couldn’t bear to witness the skeleton of a man who longed for their attention. 

It was then the fires were lit once more. Brighter and hotter than ever. The crinkling flames were a much softer tone. The group of witnesses decided to gather the bones of their king and place them on a pyre in the middle of the park. They circled around and watched the bones turn to dust. There was no celebration, no music, just silence. Eventually, the king’s guard arrived with the shining crown on a velvet cushion. 

“Our king had no heir, his crown must burn with him,” a member of the guard said. He was met with silent voices of acknowledgment. They placed the crown on the skull of the burning king. However, it would never burn. The crown would remain in that very spot for centuries. It would be untouched, its diamonds would still sparkle, despite being kissed by the fires of Hell. It remained a symbol, an important piece of our history. We are our kings and queens. The world thrives because of our past. And of the witches, they remain the great equalizers hidden in the shadows. We’ve yet to see them since, but know that they are out there.

Listen to the wind, you will hear them sing.