Emperor of Legendia

A conference for Elgenim’s development was held by the counsellors in the Great Hall. Marco wrapped it up before evening. He had promised Emma to meet at the pool of River Keto. Emma went into a trance when Marco proposed to her the following evening.

“Will you marry me?”, Marco asked the first thing when they met.

“That was... quick.”, Emma managed to say, startled.

Marco chuckled and waited. He noticed that Emma was hesitating. He scratched his head, a bit confused. “Do you... Is there someone else?”

“No.”, Emma said quickly, “It’s just that... I don’t match up to your standards. You could simply and with ease find a suitable princess for you and perhaps from any part of the world.”

Marco struggled to hide his frown, “Was it necessary to bring it up?”

Emma started to mumble, “I’m too poor for you, Marco.”

Marco held both of her arms and pulled her close, “I am also poor Emma... without you.”

Before she replied, Marco plunged forward and their lips met each other. With the setting of the sun, they also sank into the depths of nowhere; their minds clouded and their worlds spun around them.

“Hey...”, a voice shouted.

Marco and Emma jumped apart and saw a tiny kid gaping at them.

“Are you not the great king, Marco Hymes? I saw you the other day in the palace.”, the kid squeaked.

Marco raised an eyebrow.

“I will tell mummy that you were snogging ladies out in the grass!”, he hiccupped as he spoke.

“What’s your name kid? And what are you doing out here so late?”, Marco asked.

“I am Adam and I have come for a stroll with my lover there.”, he pointed across to a little girl sitting under a tree, “I know I am just six years old but we are pure and we do not snog like you. My mom says you are an example for Legendia. You must watch your actions. You must watch your castle and not waste your time with beautiful ladies!”

Marco and Emma laughed their hearts out that evening.

Marco sat upright on his throne with his front occupied by five men; First General, Marvelo Roy; Second General, Peter Lim and Third General, Yoyo Mathews. The other two were Marco’s newly appointed advisors from Hul.

“Lord Marco... what are your proceedings?”, one of the advisors asked.

“We are going to attack and capture Gobbut and Engeria.”

The two advisors were awestruck. Peter mouthed a wow.

“But... but, my lord... we have just settled down. It’s too early!”

Marco chuckled, “Which is why I am doing this? They will be under the impression that I have found the treasures and am ready to take them down.”

“But we are short of many warriors!”, the old advisor confronted.

“No, Mr. Dean, we are seven thousand... Is that enough?”

“Seven?”, Yoyo asked as lines etched on his forehead.

“Yes, we will use the captives of Dark Dume to fill the army. In return I shall minimize their imprisonment.”

One of the counsellors protested, “We have already minimized it to a great deal! Moreover our army comprises of people loyal to their mother land. How can these people be trusted? They are culprits!”

“They...”, Marco raised his voice, “...have remorsed and repented! We must never remind a wrong doer of his past of he has remorse for his doing.”

Dean shook his head and just when he was about to speak, Marco raised his hand, “Your significant advice has been noted. Thank you Mr. Dean. I stand firm on my decision.”

Dean bowed and pulled back in line, “My Lord!”

Now Marco understood why Zimon never burdened himself with counsellors and advisors.

Marco continued, “Half of their army had joined the Dark Lord, who are currently resting in Elgenim’s prison and since they now oppose Makhone loathingly, they will agree to take him down.”

Peter nodded with excitement.

“General Marvelo, please go to Elgenim, convey my proposal and win the hearts of the captive by releasing them.”, Marco ordered.

“Right on it, my Lord.”

“When they agree, fly them to Legendia and train them hard and strong.”

Marco walked up to his bedroom, dressed in a hooded grey robes; a combination of straps and belts padded with fur. Zulfain stood in the veranda grazing lazily from the small grown garden in the veranda. He has been living in the veranda since ages now.

“Sorry Zulfain. You have no idea how busy I’ve been.”, Marco said as he patted the flying horse. Marco slipped the letter and the black book in his travelling pouch. A sealed food pack and a bottle of water contained in the pouch. Eulbethra stood by the door way to see him off.

“I’ll be back soon mother.”, he said.

“Yes, dear, take care and be careful. Cromp Tyounts is a deserted place so just be careful.”

“Of course.”, he said as he climbed Zulfain’s back. “Oh boy. It’s been a long time since I rode you last!” He tightened his grip at noose around Zulfain’s neck. Marco never learned not to scream when Zulfain shot up into the stars.

After a while, they landed in Cromp Tyounts. They had just entered its reigns. The outskirts were nothing but a barren piece of land full of sand and stones, with no sign of life, not even trees. Marco found some tiny mesh of grasses scattered around. He walked for a while then rode Zulfain for a change and when it was noon, he decided to sway gently over the ground. After what seemed ages, they spotted a few trees ahead in the middle of nowhere. Marco remembered the words, “It’s not under a plain land... you will locate an old withered tree where you must approach and speak ...”, he said aloud stressing each word. “An old withered tree... not under a plain land... what does plain land mean...?”

Zulfain gave a low grunted neigh. Marco took that as a shrug.

“He must have meant that the entrance to the treasure is possibly not on a surface like land or rock. That’s why a withered tree is mentioned. So, the entrance is under or from inside a huge tree.”

Zulfain twitched an eye.

“ZULFAIN!”, Marco almost gave the horse a heart attack by his bellow, “Don’t tell me you don’t know the location to the entrance!!!” Zulfain swayed his head in rounds. Marco slapped his temple and said, “It’s what half a day already now.”

They stopped moving. Marco got down and sat under the shade of a tree, “No old dying tree either!”, he retorted.

He unpacked his lunch and ate the bread stuffed with lamb pieces. Just as he took his last bite, his eyes settled on a smoke rising in a far away land. “Zulfain... let’s move!”

Zulfain took Marco closer to the source of the smoke. It was a cottage; smoke rising from its chimney. Zulfain descended on the ground behind a huge boulder of rock. A young lady with a small child tied to her back, carrying some wood moved towards the cottage. “You stay here, Zulfain.”

The lady almost dropped the wood at Marco’s sight. An aged drunk man appeared at the open doorway. They wore a dusty single piece of cloth supported by a hole in the cloth; into which the head inserts. There sides were naked and extra visible due to the blowing wind.

“Umm... pardon me, but I’m searching for some place that is not exactly a plain land. Do I make any sense?”, the couple stared at each other and looked back at Marco blankly. The child giggled for no reason. The couple gazed at the sword hanging from the scabbard under his belt. The man grew worried and stammered, “No money... we poor... only water...”. He pointed to the clay pot filled with water kept beside the doorway.

“No no... I mean... ok never mind. Where is the next village?”

Marco waited. They didn’t seem to understand his language. Marco sighed, bowed to them and turned away and suddenly stopped dead on his track. He turned his head with a jolt and shouted, “THANK YOU! THANK YOU!”

Startled by Marco’s reaction, they reciprocated with the shutting of their door. Marco ran up to Zulfain and called aloud his name, “Zulfain! It is under a water! Not a plain land... under a water. We passed a pond on our way here, remember.” He didn’t wait for Zulfain’s reaction. Instead he jumped on his back and kicked him hard. He said, “What best place to hide an entrance? Nobody would imagine the location to be under a waterbed. Lord Zimon didn’t want to disclose it clearly as a precautionary measure... had the book landed into wrong hands.”

Zulfain was glad to hear that Marco was confident about this water thing. They traced back their way until they spotted the pond. It was not very small though; enough for ten elephants to accommodate. There was no life in the vicinity. Marco undressed and asked Zulfain to remain close to his belongings. Splash!! Marco dipped into the water. The water was unexpectedly cold judging from the heat and hour of the day. Marco gulped huge air and plunged down the bottom of the pond. He expected to spot a tree or a huge plant in the water, both none were sighted. He broke free from the water for some breath and dipped in again. He tried to speak the magic words that Zimon wrote but all came out was bubbles and nothing moved or opened beneath the water. Frustrated, Marco jumped up on the ground and panted vigorously. He hadn’t swum in years. Zulfain was even more frustrated. They circled the whole perimeter of Cromp Tyounts; at times quick, at times slow. But nothing like a withered tree and a non plain land flashed in view. The sun started to settle down behind the clouds. Marco asked Zulfain to retreat; ashamed in heart to fail Zimon’s expectations.

Next morning, havoc filled the castle when the counsellors and advisors came to know that Marco failed to retrieve the treasure.

“The treasure is still with us! I just need some time!”, Marco snapped, agitated at his counsellors and stomped out of the hall.

That night, he sat all the while in front of the letter, going through it again and again until it exhausted his eyes. Eulbethra suggested Marco to go back to the location mentioned in the letter and not to lose hope. Three days later, after Marco was content with the progress of the newly recruited warriors, he flew back to Cromp Tyounts. The result was the same. They circled every corner of the land and searched for every unique place. Even more dejected, they returned to Legenidia.

Next day, Marco met Peter on the field. “Look, it must be really there, if Lord Zimon has written it.”, Peter said, “Some things are not the way it seems. It must be somewhere hidden in his clue.”

Eulbethra sat by Marco that night and said, “Zimon believed in your instincts, your intelligence. Sort it out, my child. I know you can do it. I’m off to sleep now.”

Marco went across and sat by the table in his bedroom; opened the letter and placed a blank page besides it. He picked up a quill and stared at the letter. “Zimon was too intelligent for himself. He’s giving me a hard time.”, Marco sighed.

‘Now as I considered...’, he thought, ‘he must have been very cautious while writing this. It might have slipped into anybody’s hand. So when he wrote Cromp Tyounts...’. He jolted down CROMP TYOUNTS on the blank page with his quill. ‘...and remember it’s not under a plain land... okay forget the tree for now...’

The candle light flickered as the wind blew in through the open windows. Marco suddenly exclaimed, “HAH!”

He quickly sipped some water and said, “I don’t believe it.”

He parted the letters, leaving enough space between them:

C R O M P   T Y O U N T S

“...eleven... twelve, alright. Twelve letters.”, Marco said aloud. He pulled out the map and quickly scanned for places of twelve letters. He stopped when his finger loomed over Crypto Mounts. He counted the letters again. He called out each letter aloud and cancelled it from the separated letter he had written on the page. “They were jumbled words!”

Marco gave a smirk of triumph, “Ofcourse... It’s not under a plain land... It’s under the mountains!”

He stood up and flung the letter and the black book in his pouch. He didn’t care to change his night robes. “Zulfain! Wake up!”, he sprinted to the veranda, “I’ve found it.”

Zulfain showed no amusement.

“Oh, you’ll see...”

The icy breeze of the night pierced Marco’s skin. They flew above the huge mountains of Crypto. They seemed to stretch forever. People believed that these were home to dacoits and thieves. Some said that the mountains were cast by a curse by an ancient demon. Marco believed none; it was just the creepiness of the mounts that instigated fears among them.

“Lower, Zulfain...”, Marco’s voice was hoarse due to the cold air. With fewer struggles, they spotted a huge thick trunked, leave-less tree. The tree stood on a smaller sized mountain; rather a hill amidst all the tall peaked mountains. The branches were thin and hundreds of them spread out wide in all directions. It was indeed a marvel for it to be standing firm and upright. The tree seemed to be aged over five hundred years old. Marco did not wait to speak aloud, “Riboni Ribin, Firo si Firin, abinda Legendia, Sibo Li houn treazores”

The ground grumbled under his feet. An arched door appeared on the six feet wide bark of the tree.