THE OLD KING IS DEAD

by Kynan Bhikki

For my sons

1

A haze of smoke wafted around the blacksmith’s cramped workshop in the basement from the fire blazing near Gotheus Goddard. Above the anvil, sparks flew in every direction, as he, standing tall, lean and alert like a lion stalking its prey, hammered away madly, fashioning raw steal into a glorious blade, when there came an abrasive holler from behind and up above him.

“HEY! WHORE’S BASTARD!”

Gotheus ground his teeth together and growled under his breath. His nostrils flared as a whiff of smoke entered his lungs, but he resisted the urge to cough. His hatred for his master, Anthio Midshite, was nothing but unadulterated contempt. “Kutmadamn fucker!” he hissed under his breath as he slowly and reluctantly turned to face the pig-like man.

“That sword should have been finished yesterday, you incompetent little bastard!” Anthio admonished him, placing his hands on the rolls of lard where his hips should have been as he planted his feet on the platform of the threshold.

Gotheus’ bowels erupted like a volcano. It was always the same story, but he had learned, from much experience, it was unwise to do anything other than bite his tongue.

“All you do is prattle about all day long, losing me money,” Anthio bitched, as he started waddling down the staircase mounted along the far wall down into the dungeon. “You’re good for nothing, you know that? Completely useless. You’re a fucking liability to me! I still don’t know why the Regent assigned you to be my apprentice. But I’m stuck with your little sissy ass now, aren’t I?”

For the hundredth time, Gotheus had had enough. He knew protesting only led in one direction: to the stocks. But he had his self-respect to honor and uphold; so, yet again, he decided to muster more courage and make his case in as calm a manner as his self-control would permit. His heart started hammering at his chest as he prepared to present it.

“How can you possibly say that?” he started, letting the hammer in his hand fall to his side. “You know Earl Donatello praised my craftsmanship just last week! He said it was the very best weapon he’s ever wielded!”

Anthio scoffed, as his feet landed on the ground level. “Donatello’s an idiot. He has shitty judgment. Don’t let the words of an ignorant old fool get to your head, boy. Your work is the absolute worst I’ve ever seen in all my days. You are utterly useless!”

Gotheus inhibited a flinch. The thought of another day in the stocks made him bite his tongue. He’d lost count of how many days he’d spent trapped inside the wretched things, being tormented and ridiculed all day long by the villagers who despised him; but he surely didn’t want to add another day to that number.

Anthio rounded the spot where Gotheus had stopped working and was now standing still, his gaze fixed in front of him, refusing to look his master in the eye; but out of the corner of his vision he observed Anthio inspecting the sword.

“Just look at this disaster, will you!?” Anthio squealed, pointing at the blade and drawing a line across it with a finger. “It’s a fucking nightmare. This is wrong. All wrong! No one would pay full price for this abomination. Haven’t you learned anything at all!?”

Gotheus tightened his grip around the hammer in his hand; he felt the blood drain from his knuckles. He knew his work was the best ever produced in the entire history of the village of Simpstein.

“Gimme that!” Anthio demanded, snatching the weapon out of Gotheus’ possession. Then he held it up and outward, craning what should have been his neck if it wasn’t completely concealed by fat, to inspect the blade. “Crooked! All crooked!” he shrieked, screwing up his face. “Look at this! It’ll go for one third of what it should. You’re utterly useless to me, whore’s spawn!”

Gotheus knew what was really going on, and he had known all along; but this time, he chose to make it known.

“You’re just envious of me!” he snapped, narrowing his eyes, his jaw set tight.

Anthio looked dumbfounded. “Me? Envy you? A whore’s bastard?”

Gotheus let go of his hammer: it fell to the dirt with a dull thud. “That’s right,” he asserted, straightening up and doing his best to keep his voice level. “I’ve only been metalworking for two years, and you’ve been at it half a century. And guess what? I’m already twice – no, three times as good as you’ll ever be!”

Anthio broke out into peels of laughter, his large belly jiggling. “You’re not only a bastard who’s father paid his mother a couple cents to fuck her, you’re a crazy, fucked up, delusional nutcase! You’re a braindead joke! Nothing but a fucking joke! You’re just as useless and worthless as your slut of a mother! You hear me, Gotheus!?”

Immediately, something snapped deep inside Gotheus. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO TALK ABOUT MY MOM!” he shouted, shaking a fist at Anthio, the rage swelling and swirling within him.

“All your whore of a mom was good for was ramming a dick inside her,” hissed Anthio, smiling sadistically. “She was an expert at taking cock. Over and over again! She loved it. But I’m glad she hung herself! She deserved to die. That worthless whore. And what I find funny is you actually think you’re going to win Divinia’s heart and marry her? You? A bastard? Of a slutty little bitch? The lady would never go for a total loser like you!”

“FUCK YOU!” Gotheus exploded at the top of his lungs. “FUCK YOU, YOU FAT FUCK!” He shot both middle fingers up, inches from Anthio’s face. “FUCK YOU, YOU LARDASS PRICK! FUCK YOU!”

Anthio burst into laughter yet again, as he yanked Gotheus’ hands down and shoved him backwards with his excessive weight. “Looks like you want another day in the stocks, huh?”

Gotheus stumbled backwards, but quickly regained his footing. “Oh, you’re going to threaten me again, you stupid, fat fuck? You’re so goddamn fat you sink into the ground to your knees with every single fucking step you take, dumbass loser! You’re probably too fat to fuck. Your little dick is probably buried in all that blubber that no woman could ever find it!”

A vapid expression instantly crossed Anthio’s chubby cheeks. “Lad!” he yelled at once in a shrill tone, darting his beady little eyes up at the threshold where a small blonde boy wearing a tunic appeared in mere moments. “Call the guards at once, and have them notify the Magistrate!”

“Yes, sir!” responded the lad, and then he disappeared again.

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” Gotheus raged, clenching his hands into fists and holding them up like a boxer. “YOU WANNA GO, YOU KutmaDAMN USELESS PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT! RIGHT NOW! COME ON! LET’S GO! YOU AND ME. I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU RETARDED CUNT!”

In a flash, Anthio had the tip of the sword brandishing Gotheus’ throat. “Not today, bastard! Not today. We’ll just wait a little for the guards to get here.” Then he threw back his head and cackled manically, the rolls in his chin wobbling. “I know you’re going to enjoy another day in the stocks, you shitstained asswipe! You’ve earned it.”

2

Down in the dungeon, a giant guard wearing a grimace on his face rounded on Gotheus, as he unhooked a pair of handcuffs from his belt while his partner, a robust guard, took Anthio’s statement and jotted his testimony down on a piece of parchment.

Towering over Gotheus, the giant looked him dead in the eye. “Funny, isn’t it? You made these, and now they’re being used to restrain you. Isn’t that what they call poetic justice?”

Gotheus scowled, but he complied in letting the giant snap the cuffs on him; he winced, feeling the steal pinch into his wrists with a sharp pain.

“All set there?” the robust guard called out. “We got the statement.”

The giant looked up and nodded. “Aye.”

The robust guard patted Anthio on the shoulder gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll see to it that the boy is punished for his crimes. We will have law and order in this village!”

Gotheus bit his lower lip; it tingled with a sharp pain. Was it any use arguing with a bunch of tools? So what was he to do but cooperate? Perhaps in court, the Magistrate would listen to reason, but Gotheus knew this was a false hope: he reckoned there was no way out of the damn stocks now.

“Alright then!” piped up the robust guard. “Let’s take him to the courthouse!”

The giant pushed Gotheus from behind, causing him to stumble forward.

“You won’t give us any trouble, will you?” grunted the giant, as the troop made there way toward the staircase.

Gotheus shook his head just as he mounted the steps. “My quarrel isn’t with you, sirs.”

The giant slapped him forcefully on the back, making Gotheus almost miss a step and trip on the stairs. “That’s a good lad.”

The two guards ushered Gotheus through the threshold and out of the blacksmith’s shop into the blinding sunshine. Grand mountains rose up all around in the far distance. On the street, folks were making their way about their business in front of a row of shops on either side of the street before they took notice, stopped in their tracks and gawked at him.

“Haha!” one of them roared. “Gotheus is going back home! Back to the stocks!”

The bystanders broke out into rings of laughter.

“Way to go, Gotheus!” another yelled, followed by a cackle.

“I bet you deserve it, bastard!” shouted another.

“You’re nothing but a rotten scoundrel!” shrieked yet another.

Gotheus bowed his head, as he approached the barred wagon, resenting the ill treatment, but this time making no protest. The robust guard was already manhandling the door; it swung open with a clank. He then kicked at a stand and a set of steps popped open and down to the ground, throwing up a puff of debris.

“In you go!” ordered the robust guard, motioning a hand at the transporter prison cell on wheels, which was led by a pair of black stallions hitched to it.

Gotheus sucked in a deep breath and let out a long, slow sigh. There was no way out of this, was there? He was sure to suffer yet another day in the stocks, being tormented and persecuted at the hands of the people of Simpstein. What could he do but climb up and into the barred box? So he did just that. Then when he was inside, the door slammed shut with a clank. He knew the cell well: other than him, it was empty; but there were two benches along both sides. He took a seat and tried to ignore the jeering mob outside, who were congregating around the wagon now. Then, the cart lurched into motion. They were off.

It was only a minute along in the journey, when she appeared on the street, gliding down the sidewalk with her best friend: Divinia, the love of his life. She was a youthful slender blonde. His eyes stuck to her like resin as the wagon rumbled past. Then, as if she sensed someone was watching her, she turned and looked Gotheus directly in the eye. Upon the sight of him in the wagon, he could see pity and sorrow fill her eyes.

“Oh shit!” me murmured to himself, as he ducked down out of sight. The last thing he wanted was for her to witness him like this, again, treated like a useless criminal. He waited a minute before he peered back up again: she was out of sight now. He let out a heavy, relieved sigh.

Abruptly, the cart came to a jarring halt, throwing Gotheus forward. He looked out: there it stood, the courthouse, which was one of the largest buildings in Simpstein.

In moments, the robust guard opened the door. “Out you go!” he ordered, rubbing his hands together like a greedy fly. “I hope you’ll behave yourself in front of the Magistrate. But we know otherwise, don’t we?” He gave the giant, who had joined him, a knowing look.

The giant grinned from ear to ear.

“Come along now!” commanded the burly guard. “We don’t have all day. The Magistrate is eager to see you yet again.”

3

In the courtroom, Gotheus stood in a wooden cubicle reaching up to his waist. The two guards positioned themselves on both sides of him. Gotheus faced the court just as the Magistrate, wearing a long scarlet robe with a matching hat, appeared from the wings and ascended to a large, elevated pulpit. He looked down at Gotheus, his face marked by disapproval.

“Well, well, isn’t it a surprise to see you, Gotheus?” he quipped with a queer half smirk. “When will we see the last time?”

Gotheus violently shrugged his shoulders, wrestling with his bound wrists. “I’ve had it up to here with Anthio’s bullshit!” he protested, glaring at the Magistrate with an overly intense gaze. “He started it – as usual. He provoked me!”

The Magistrate raised his eyebrows in mock shock. “You insulted your master, and you threatened your master. You know the law. And you know the penalty.”

“But he insulted me first!” Gotheus growled, the rage once again swelling inside him. “He threatened me first! What was I supposed to do?”

The Magistrate looked down and arranged some parchment in front of him. “That’s not what the report says.”

“Then it’s a lie!” Gotheus shouted.

The Magistrate slammed the gavel down on the docket. “How dare you accuse your master of bearing false witness!” He leered forward, looking under his now dropped brow. “Do you want to be held in contempt?”

Gotheus fought back the urge to argue anymore. Why the hell did he always get trapped and enmeshed in the law? Why didn’t the village pick on someone else for a change?

“Let me ask you this, Gotheus,” the Magistrate continued, “how should we deal with you this time?”

Gotheus tipped his head back. “Let me go. I’m innocent. Let me go!”

The Magistrate broke out into laughter as he raised an eyebrow. “Innocent? Is that so?”

Gotheus nodded staunchly.

“That’s always your plea, isn’t it?” said the Magistrate, leaning back in his chair and bringing his fingers together with both hands, so that the tips were touching each other. “You know what I think?”

“What?” retorted Gotheus with a little attitude.

“I think you are the liar!” bellowed the Magistrate.

Gotheus’ insides began to boil. It was always the same damn story! The village was always against him, always taking the side of anyone who opposed him; and he was so sick and tired of it.

“No!” he shrieked, glaring wildly. “Anthio’s the liar!”

“ONE DAY IN THE STOCKS!” the Magistrate thundered at once, shooting to his feet.

Gotheus glared at him in defiance, his insides burning up even more. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!”

“TWO DAYS IN THE STOCKS!” roared the Magistrate even louder than at first. “I DARE YOU TO MAKE IT THREE!”

Gotheus gritted his teeth and growled under his breath. He certainly didn’t want to make it three days, so he pursed his lips together and sealed them; but on the inside, he wanted to scream and yell.

The Magistrate sat and slammed the gavel down. “Guards! Seize him! Take him to the stocks! This court is adjourned.”

The guards took hold of Gotheus roughly and dragged him out of the courtroom.

4

The giant guard grabbed Gotheus by the back of the head with his massive hands and thrust it down toward the half hole in the open slate of wood below him. He fought and wrestled back against the giant’s forceful grip with all his might; but it was of no use.

“Make it easy on yourself, lad,” said the burly guard, who was manhandling Gotheus’ arms, trying to force them into the little holes for the wrists.

“THIS ISN’T FAIR!” yelled Gotheus, violently struggling against his oppressors. “LET ME GO! I’M INNOCENT!”

Already he was attracting attention and making a scene in the middle of market square. As passersby made their way about their morning, they frowned and scowled at him, shook their heads in disapproval and dismay, or hurled curses and insults at him as they went by.

Discouragement and frustration washing over him like a tidal wave, he felt like breaking down and crying out for mercy; but he vowed to himself never to show weakness in front of his tormentors.

At long last, the two guards succeeded at forcing and holding Gotheus’ neck and wrists in the stocks, before slamming the top wooden slate down into position, then locking and securing it into place with steel bolts. He was now stuck with his head and hands peeking out in front of the slates of wood, trapped and vulnerable to the whims of the villagers of Simpstein.

“Alright!” grunted the burly guard, standing tall, as he rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. “Our work here is done. Enjoy, Gotheus.”

And with that, the two guards left and disappeared completely.

Now Gotheus was stuck. But two days? He had to endure two days of being tormented and pestered in these damn stocks? Would he survive? He’d never done a two day stretch before and wondered if he could pull it off without collapsing under the strain and pressure. As he was bemoaning his fate, a young boy, the baker’s apprentice, approached him.

“Hey Gotheus, I have a bellyache,” he said with a snicker.

“What the fuck does that got to do with me?” Gotheus replied.

“This!” cried the young apprentice, and he turned around, bent over with his ass in Gotheus’ face and let rip a long, loud fart. Within seconds, a rotten stench like mouldy eggs entered Gotheus’ nostrils; he recoiled, trying to move his head out of range of the stench, but it was of no use. He sucked in a quick, deep breath, wincing, and held it, but this attempt didn’t save him; it only postponed the inevitable, so eventually he gasped for more air, sucking it in deep yet again, and once again being overtaken by the offensive smell.

The young apprentice let out a shrill little laugh. “You like that, you stupid dumbass bastard?”

“FUCK YOU!” Gotheus shouted bitterly, choking on his breath. “WHEN I’M OUT OF HERE, I’LL FIND YOU AND FUCKING TORTURE YOU, SHIT FOR BRAINS!”

The young apprentice laughed some more, put his hand on Gotheus’ head and haphazardly ruffled his hair. “Good luck with that,” he said, and then sauntered off into the crowd.

“FUCKING TWAT!” Gotheus yelled out after him. “FUCK YOU, LITTLE WORM!”

The smell dissipating now, Gotheus hung his head: there was not much else for him to do. He wondered who would come by next and what they would do. He was already familiar with the usual people who loved to torment him when he was in the stocks, and it didn’t take long before he found out.

“Hey, Gotheus!” came a shout.

He looked up, only for a cabbage to smack him square in the face; his entire body constricted from the force of the blow. “FUCK!” he screamed. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” But he already knew who it was, and when he recovered from the blow and looked up, he saw that he was right: it was the two nuns, one short and one tall, each dressed in black robes with white trim on them.

“You like that?” hollered the one who threw the cabbage.

“FUCK YOU, STUPID LITTLE CUNT!” Gotheus yelled at her, giving her both fingers through the stocks. “YOU MUST HAVE BECAME A NUN BECAUSE NO ONE WANTS TO FUCK YOU! YOU’RE SO GODDAMN UGLY NO MAN WOULD EVER TOUCH YOU WITH A WOODEN POLE!”

“Loser,” the short nun hissed, coming near and spitting on him. Gotheus contorted his face into awkward contours.

“Ooooh, let me go next!” squealed the tall nun. Then she wound up and began hurling eggs at him from her basket, rapid fire, one after the other. They smashed against the stocks – and Gotheus’ face!

Gotheus recoiled. “YOU SCUMBAG! FUCK YOU, BITCH!”

The nuns burst out into laughter, as Gotheus shook his head, trying to shake off the yolks that were now clinging to his face and dripping and oozing down to the ground.

“HEY! STOP THAT!” came a pleasant shout.

Gotheus, blinking and having shook the yolky mess out of his eyes, saw Divinia approaching the fray. His heart sank at once. He couldn’t take the humiliation: he was embarrassed to be seen like this in front of her.

“You’re supposed to be women of Kutma, aren’t you?” Divinia rebuked them, as she came to confront the three nuns. “Is this how your god would want you to treat your fellow humans?”

The nuns exchanged bewildered looks.

“That’s right,” stated Divinia firmly, planting her feet and mounting her fists on both hips. “Go on! Go beg your god for forgiveness ... and pray he shows you mercy!”

The nuns hung their heads and, without a word, they made their way off.

The passersby all pretended to ignore this, keeping their eyes locked straight in front of them like horses with blinders on. Gotheus’ knew the whole village had the utmost admiration and respect for Divinia, but he couldn’t help escape the feelings of littleness and resentment that it had to be her to come to his rescue.

Looking at him pitifully, Divinia started to open her mouth, when a gigantic black stallion speedily galloped into the market square. It bore the king’s red and blue colors and emblem on its saddle. Gotheus’ narrowed his eyes. Not often did the king’s men visit little old Simpstein. He wondered what was up, and it didn’t take long for him to find out.

The rider lifted a sword in the air, high above his head, as he charged around the square, shouting in a big, booming voice, “THE OLD KING IS DEAD! THE OLD KING IS DEAD! THE OLD KING IS DEAD!”

5

The rider reigned his stallion to a graceful halt, commanding the stead with unparalleled precision. “Gather ‘round, you townsfolk!” he bellowed, pulling out a piece of parchment from inside his cloak and unfurling it. “Gather ‘round, all of you!”

Gotheus watched as everyone in the square flocked to the rider; villagers emerged from shops as well the far regions of the square to join the crowd. Just as all this commotions was happening, a bald eagle swooped out of the sky and perched itself on the tip of the courthouse overlooking the square. But Divinia? She stayed loyally by his side.

“By royal decree,” the rider went on, “I bring you an important announcement! The last will of our dear, departed king!”

“What do you think this is all about, Gotheus?” Divinia asked, looking down at him pitifully, as she pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the eggs and saliva off his face. “The king dead? And and his final words?”

But before he could answer, there came a meek cry: “Gotheus, Gotheus – oh no, not again! I just heard.”

It was Flopus Sizemore, his long-haired redheaded, freckled best friend – his only friend, in fact. Flopus stole a quick glance at Divinia as he came to a stop, but nervously dropped his gaze to the ground the moment she looked at him.

“Forget it, Flopus,” Gotheus said, motioning at the rider with his head. “It’s not important now. Let’s hear what the messenger has to say.”

The rider noticed he had their attention back, and so he continued, reading from the parchment he held before his eyes. “The last will of the king is that there is to be held a competition to decide who will become our next king and marry the princess! All able-bodied youths are invited to enter and compete in the contests!”

Murmurs and chatter ebbed and flowed through the mob surrounding him, which had now grown to include most of the village.

“What kind of contest?” a villager asked.

“How do you win?” asked another.

“Is it true the princess is the most beautiful maiden in the whole kingdom?” came yet another.

“I shall tell you the first contest!” the rider replied, ignoring the questions, and then he cast his gaze to the back, centering his attention on Gotheus. He smiled ever so slightly before he continued. “We shall first test your endurance! Everyone who wishes to try their hand – or neck, as it were – to be out next royal king and make the princess his queen must be put in the stocks. The one who lasts the longest will come with me to the castle with a companion of his choice to be introduced to the other first round winners from each of the four realms! They will all compete, and the winner will be crowned king of the lands.”

Flopus’s mouth fell wide open, which made a kind of popping sound. “Holy shit! Gotheus! Holy fucking shit, man! Do you know what this means? You’re going to win this thing for sure! Who could possibly beat you? No one! You have so much experience for enduring these stupid stocks. You could be our next king! I could be the king’s best friend! Holy shit! Holy shit! This is awesome!”

Gotheus suddenly felt light as a feather and all the worries of the day vanished in a flash; but his heart was pounding like a large drum. He knew Flopus was right: he was sure to win this contest. He could finally escape this stupid village, actually go see the magnificent castle he’d heard so much about his entire life, and have a chance to rule over all the lands. But what of Divinia? Was he to marry another woman instead of her?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her watching his reaction. “He’s absolutely right, you know,” she affirmed, beaming. “You’ve got this. This is your chance, Gotheus. This is your big break! It’s almost fate, isn’t it, like you’ve been secretly preparing for this moment for years?”

“Raise your hand if you want to participate!” thundered the rider from the center of the square. “First five only! And I see we already have our first contestant getting a head start.” He winked at Gotheus.

Immediately, hands began shooting up toward the sky.

“You!” said the rider, pointing at the first hands that went up. “You. You. And you. All four of you make your way to the stocks, if you will.” He dismounted his horse and landed on solid ground. “Let all of you contestants be put in stocks too! And let the best man win! Good luck to you all!”

6

The other four contestants were locked in their own stocks, and the contest was on! The sun was starting to heat up now; it was nothing Gotheus wasn’t used to, but he wondered how the amateurs would take it. Already, each participant’s friends and family were rooting for them, urging them on. All Gotheus had were Divinia and Flopus in his corner, and he was sure the Earl Donatello must have been somewhere in the crowd too.

“Come on, Dinku! You can do it!”

“Go! Rastan, go!”

“Don’t let us down, Tippo!”

“Lino, our next king!”

And then it happened, fast, in the very first hour: the first contestant, Lino, broke.

“I’m done!” he wailed, heaving out sighs. “Sorry mom and dad, sorry, but I just can’t do this. Let me outta here! Let me out! Sorry for letting you down.”

The rider, who was lounging off to the side, spoke up. “Release him! One down. Three to go. Who will go next?”

The burly guard, who had been charged to oversee the event, approached the youth and released him. Gotheus knew this was going to a breeze.

Then, another hour later, the next youth cracked. He broke down into tears and started wailing like a baby. “Let me outta here! Let me outta here!”

Once again, the rider ordered him be removed. “Two down. Three left. Who’s it going to be, folks?”

Each contestant’s teams started yelling out their champion’s names in a mad frenzy, and offering shouts of encouragement.

“You can do it! Come on, Rastan!”

“Gotheus is a wimp! You can beat him!”

“Don’t give up, Dinku! You can do this!”

But it was to no avail for Dinku. High noon had approached, and the heat of the sun was blistering and beating down hard. “It’s too hot!” he shrieked with beads of sweat dripping down his face. “I need water! Let me out! I need water!”

And so, he too, was released. He pushed his way through the crowd toward the well and disappeared.

“We’re down to the crunch now, aren’t we, folks?” cooed the rider, standing erect and waltzing in front of Gotheus and the remaining youth now. But Gotheus was bothered; he was confident it was only a matter of time before the last one broke.

“Go Tippo! Go!”

“Yeah, come on, Tippo! You can beat a useless bastard!”

Tippo looked sideways at Gotheus. “How do you do this?”

Gotheus looked at him through the corner of his eye. “Not as easy as it looks, huh?” He smiled.

Tippo grimaced. “I just gotta fuck a princess. I’ve never wronged you, Gotheus. Won’t you out yourself? Come on, man. You have no future in this. Like a bastard would ever be king. You’re crazy.”

“Fuck you,” said Gotheus through the side of his mouth. He could smell his victory.

“Fine!” yelled Tippo at last. “I give up! I give up! I’m out!”

Silence came over the crowd in an instant. Everyone went still.

“Aha!” exclaimed the rider, as Tippo was released. “We have our winner! Could we be looking at our next king, folks?”

But the crowd started to boo and jeer and revile ever so aggressively.

“SILENCE!” thundered the rider at once, holding his hands up to bring quiet. “WHO ARE YOU TO DEFY THE OLD KING’S LAST WILL?”

With that, the crowd dispersed and went about their day without another word, leaving only Gotheus, Divinia, Flopus and the rider. The rider released Gotheus at once.

“Well done, son!” he said in a smooth voice. “Gotheus, was it?”

Gotheus nodded, beaming. This was the best day of his life! He had woken up like any other morning, practically a slave, expecting another shitty day; but instead, he got the biggest surprise of his entire life.

“Congratulations!” the rider exclaimed, extending a hand, which Gotheus took, and the rider gave it a firm shake. “Go home. Pack your things. We leave on our journey for the castle in two hours. That should give you enough time. In the meantime, I’ll get horses for the both of you. I take it you will be bringing this charming lad as your companion?”

Gotheus nodded, and Flopus smiled from ear to ear.

“The name’s Flopus,” he said, extending a hand.

The rider took it and shook it. “Pleasure. My name is Yulin. See you both in two hours.” And with that he departed their company.

Flopus started playfully punching Gotheus in the arm. “Good Kutma! You did it, Gotheus! You really did it! But I never doubted you for a second. I knew you would come through! And imagine, we’re off to see the castle. Never in a million years would I think I would ever do this.”

Though Gotheus felt like shouting for joy, he remained calm. “Go home. Back your things. See you tomorrow.”

“I’m happy for you Gotheus,” said Divinia, and she kissed him on the cheek before she made her way on with her day.

Gotheus looked up at the sky. “Praise be to you, Lord Kutma!”

7

Gotheus practically skipped along the path back to the blacksmith’s shop, whistling as he went. He was on cloud nine. But when he passed the baker’s shop, he stopped and retreated backwards, feeling a flood of ill will overtake him. A thought occurred to him: he was now under the crown’s protection, wasn’t he? What could the villagers do to a man who was a prospect to be the next king of all the lands? So he made his way around to the back of the shop, but before he rounded the corner, he heard some thumping sounds. He peeked around the corner, and there he was, the young baker’s apprentice who had farted in his face, tossing large sacks into a trash bin. With an air of confidence, Gotheus stepped into the apprentice’s sight.

“Hey!” he shouted, glaring at him. “How many times have you tormented me? You’ve farted in my face. You’ve ruffled my hair! You’ve smeared your boogers on my cheek! You’ve poured cups of your urine on my head! And you’ve insulted and humiliated me in over a thousand ways!”

The apprentice looked at him, his eyes freezing up, as he pulled his head down into his neck.

“Didn’t I tell you that you’d get what’s coming to you?” growled Gotheus, bringing his fists together level with his stomach and cracking his knuckles. “This is going to be fun!”

The apprentice looked terrified. “W-w-what are you going to do to me?” he stammered, stealing a few steps backwards, as Gotheus zoned in on him.

“You think it’s funny to torment helpless people?” he raged, scowling.

“No, no, no,” squeaked the apprentice, as his back collided with the trash bin. “I was just playing. I didn’t mean it. It was a joke – just a joke. It wasn’t personal, Gotheus. Surely you know that.”

“Not personal?” Gotheus grunted, throwing his head back and laughing. “A joke? Oh no, boy – it was no joke!” And with that, he charged at the apprentice, who, in trying to escape, tripped on the sacks at his feet and crumpled to the ground.

“I’m really going to enjoy this!” sneered Gotheus, as he reached down, clutched one the apprentice’s little hands in his own and began to twist a finger.

“Stop it!” cried the apprentice in horror. “You’re going to break it!”

Gotheus laughed. “Exactly!” Then with a sudden jolt, he snapped the boy’s finger.

The apprentice screamed, recoiling, and trying to pull his hand away from Gotheus, but it was of no use. Gotheus grip was as tight as a vice.

“How can I bake without my fingers?” the apprentice wailed.

“You tell me,” replied Gotheus, and then he took hold of another finger, applying pressure to it too.

“No, I’m sorry!” pleaded the boy. “Don’t. I’m sorry, Gotheus! Okay? Show mercy! Please don’t! Please, please! Forgive me!”

“Too late!” roared Gotheus, as he made a sharp twist of his hand, snapping yet another of the boy’s fingers before releasing his grip.

The boy shrieked in pain again, yanking his hand in and cradling it to his chest like a bird with a wounded wing.

Gotheus’ sides shook with laughter. “What goes around, comes around, eh? You’ll be out of work now, won’t you? And your master will have to work double time to keep up with the demand – all because of you! You brought this on yourself.”

Just then, there came a shriek. Gotheus followed the sound to see a bald eagle perched in the trees, watching him.

“What are you looking at?” he hissed, and then another thought occurred to him: the nuns! And then, Anthio! They would get what’s coming to them too! He knew what must be done; but before leaving his victory scene, he wound a leg backwards and then thrust a foot into the apprentice’s side.

The boy cried out in more pain, curling himself into a little ball at Gotheus’ feet, whimpering pathetically.

Showing no remorse, Gotehus simply cackled madly as he departed the scene.

8

After Gotheus stopped in at the farmer’s to buy some cabbage and eggs, he swiftly made his way to the monastery with nothing on his mind but payback: the nuns, too, would get what’s coming to them. When he reached the front steps, he glided up them and through the double doors into a lobby. He looked around. No one was to be seen, so he waltzed straight into the chapel. And there they were, loitering about and gossiping among themselves in high pitches, the two nuns.

“Hey!” he yelled, as he started whizzing up to them. “Your judgment has finally come!”

“You’re supposed to be in the stocks!” exclaimed the short nun. “How’d you get out?”

“I guess you didn’t hear the news,” said Gotheus, smiling broadly.

“What news?” inquired the short nun.

Gotheus laughed, as he came to a stop in front of them. That’s when the tall nun noticed the cabbage and eggs in his arms.

“What are you going to do with those?” she asked, leering at the contents he was holding.

Gotheus howled with laughter again. “Oh, you’re about to find out!”

“You don’t want back in the stocks, do you?” threatened the short nun, crossing her arms and shifting her weight onto one leg.

Quickly, Gotheus squatted and dropped his groceries, but he picked out the biggest egg. Then, in a flash, he whipped out a hand, clutching the short nun by the back of the neck, then rammed the egg into her mouth. It bulged out both her cheeks. He pulled a hand back in the air, before swiping it horizontally so that it connected with her cheek, cracking the egg open in her mouth.

She let out a choked shriek, as her expression twisted up into convolutions.

“Hey!” shouted the tall nun, and she made an attempt to fight Gotheus off the short nun. “Leave her alone!”

But Gotheus swiftly threw an elbow backwards which connected with her jaw. With a piercing cry, she reeled backwards and collapsed on the floor in a heap. Turning back to the short nun, who was practically choking on egg yolk and eggshell, he wound up and back-slapped her across the other cheek. “Maybe this will teach you!”

The short nun cried out in agony once again, her hands jumping to her cheeks as she dropped to her knees. “Gotheus!” she shrieked. “STOP!”

But Gotheus wasn’t finished yet. He horked up a big goober, then, with a flourish, spit in the short nun’s face.

Her face looked like it imploded. “Stop it, Gotheus!” she pleaded. “STOP IT!”

But he paid her no mind and spit on her again, before turning to the fat nun. “Your turn!” he sneered. “Judgment has come!”

The tall nun, floundering around on the floor, held out her hands in front of her like she was trying to keep him at bay. Gotheus picked up the cabbage and started peeling leaves off it as he took hold off the nuns head, yanked her jaw open, then started ramming the leaves down her throat. She made choking and gagging sounds.

“Is that enough?” Gotheus asked. “Or do you want more?”

“Mercy!” garbled the tall nun. “Mercy, Gotheus. Forgive us. We prayed to Kutma to forgive us all our wrongs against you.”

“Did he listen?” asked Gotheus, as he once again raised a hand and brought the back of his hand across the tall nun’s cheek, who screamed. Then he coughed up some more phlegm and spit in her face too.

At that exact moment, Gotheus heard the bald eagle cry again. He followed the sound to see the bird circling the air through the window. But he didn’t give it a second thought; he just shrugged, dropped the cabbage, knowing it was time for the final showdown with Anthio. That fat old blacksmith would get what was coming to him for a long time too, and him most of all! Gotheus had plans.

9

Gotheus burst into the blacksmith shop. “HEY, YOU FAT FUCK!” he called out, but it was empty, so he crossed the room past the counter to the door opposite, leading down into the dungeon.

Anthio appeared at the threshold just as Gotheus got there, a sick smile plastered across his face. “So you think you’re going to be the next –”

WHAM!

Gotheus slugged him with all his might right in the kisser. The porker reeled backwards several steps, then, as Gotheus charged after him, he fell backwards and tumbled all the way down the stairs, where he hit the ground with a thud.

“You like that shit, don’t you, you dumbass porker?” Gotheus laughed from above, then gracefully descended the steps after the blacksmith. When he reached the bottom, he wound a leg way back and then heaved it into the fat man’s side.

Anthio let out a grunt and groaned. Gotheus knew he was probably in extreme pain from his tumble, which only made him smile.

Gotheus began pacing around the workshop. “I’ve looked forward to this day for a long time. Finally, you’re going to get what’s been coming to you, lardass!”

Anthio moaned as he clutched his side. “You gonna give me the beating of my life, huh?” he groaned, hoisting his torso up and rolling onto his knees. “That’s it? That’s all you got?”

“STAY DOWN!” shouted Gotheus, as he booted him in the thigh.

The fat man cried out in pain, falling once again to the ground. “I-I-I h-have a s-s-secret,” he stuttered.

“I don’t care!” spat Gotheus, spitting on him, too, now.

“Oh, but you do,” replied Anthio, letting out a shrewd laugh. “I killed your mother, boy ... and I set it up to look like suicide.”

Gotheus immediately felt the blood drain from his face; he reckoned it must have flushed to ghost white. It felt like time stopped and all space was collapsing in on him, thrusting him into a vortex.

“YOU’RE LYING!” he shrieked at once. “YOU’RE A KutmaDAMN LIAR!”

“Oh, am I?” Anthio taunted, chuckling. “You wanna know why?”

Gotheus just stared at him, confused and disoriented, but he said nothing.

“I was in madly love with that stupid, useless whore,” Anthio started, still licking his wounds, as he rolled around on the floor. “But that dumb slut refused to leave the whorehouse for me. She didn’t wanna marry me and start a new life, an honest life. All that bitch wanted was cock – cock, cock, and more cock! She lived for dick! And then you came along and you weren’t mine! Imagine how I suffered! How she made me suffer. Your twat of a mother. She had to die. So after I found out you weren’t mine, I hung her and made it look like suicide.”

Something fierce and evil spawned itself inside Gotheus at once; he knew what must be done. It wasn’t just a beating this fat fucker was going to get; no he deserved a worse punishment: the fat man had to die! A life for a life, right? And Gotheus knew just how, the best way justice would be served!

In an instant, he whizzed over to his work station, grabbed two pieces rope and a canister of kerosene, then raced over to Anthio, and started tying his wrists together. “On your feet! Come one, you fat motherfucker!”

“I wanna die, boy,” confessed Anthio, not putting up any fight as he struggled to his feet. “This life has been nothing but misery to me. You’re doing me a favor, boy – you hear that?”

But the words went in Gotheus’ one ear and out the other. He was in a frenzy. He wasn’t thinking rationally. All he knew was that the fat man must die.

When he had finished tying Anthio’s wrists, he also tied the loose ends of it to a beam mounted on the wall, securing the fat man in place so he couldn’t move more than a foot. Then Gotheus went over to the fireplace where he splashed kerosene on everything near it, but not touching the fire, yet.

Anthio chuckled weakly. “I know what you’re doing, boy. So that’s how I go, huh?” He sighed, as if resolved to his fate. “That’s how I meet my maker.”

But Gotheus said nothing. He strung the other rope over a rafter beam, then tied the canister of the remaining kerosene to one end, which hung between the fire and the splashed kerosene around the workshop.

“Here!” he snapped, thrusting the other end of the rope into Anthio’s hand. “You let go, you burn, fuckface! Enjoy eternity in Sheol! Have fune drowning in that surfaceless ocean for! You will be tormented forever!” And with that, he climbed back up the stairs and left.

10

Gotheus darted out the back doors of the blacksmith shop, tears streaming down his face; his rib cage convulsed in a deep, disturbed rhythm so much that it started to ache. He threw himself on the ground, crying and sobbing, twisting his knuckles into his eye sockets; and that’s when he heard it: a bird wailing in the trees not too far in the distance, seemingly echoing him. His mother had been murdered – she didn’t kill herself as he had been told – and he felt torn as to which was worse. But then he imagined Anthio holding on for dear life, knowing it was inevitable the fat man would have to let go eventually. Then, justice would be served!

A sweet voice suddenly spoke, startling Gotheuse. “Gotheus?”

He immediately wiped the tears out of his eyes, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t see them, as he looked up to see Divinia standing a few feet off. Quickly, he contained his emotions and tried to appear unmoved while he straightened and sat up.

“M-my m-mother,” he confessed, his voice quivering. “S-she didn’t h-h-hang herself ... she was m-murdered.”

“I’m sorry,” said Divinia in a quiet, melodious voice, placing a hand on his shoulder. “That’s terrible. You’ve suffered greatly. But it’s okay to cry. Let it out, Gotheus. Let it out.”

Gotheus looked deep into her eyes, unable to speak, but he trusted her. He felt sorrow. He felt rage. But really, he felt conflicted and confused.

“It’s okay, Gotheus,” Divinia said, squeezing his shoulder gently now. “It’s all going to be okay. I’m here for you.”

Then, to his surprise, his eyes welled up again and he started weeping uncontrollably. Hot tears ran down his cheeks. Divinia knelt down beside him, wrapping her arms around him; and as if by instinct, he embraced her back, holding her tightly. All of a sudden, something Gothues wasn’t unexpecting happened: her chest started heaving too, convulsing in unison with his. And so they wept together for what seemed to him a whole day.

When, at last, Gotheus finally settled and quieted and the tears subsided, Divinia said, “I heard what you did to the baker’s apprentice and those two nuns. I want you to know that I don’t judge you for it. You’ve suffered more than anyone in this village, probably of anyone in the whole kingdom. Your rage is understandable. I know how unfair it’s been for you. But a rough patch isn’t a bad life, Gotheus. You’ll come through in the end. You have an opportunity now, and I know you’ll make good on it. It’ll make up for all the ways these people have tormented you, and the wasted years. The next time I kiss you, I will be kissing a king.” And with that, she pecked him on the forehead. “Good luck with the competition. You do have people on your side, rooting for you. You may not see it now, but trust me: you do! Don’t you forget that, Gotheus. Never forget that.”

Then she stood up and began walking away, gliding as she went while Gotheus watched her vanish into the night. He didn’t want to marry some stupid princess; as far as he was concerned, he had already met his princess.