Chapter 23 - The Gate of Intoxication

Even though Tarnael had crowned himself King of Angels on the very day of his father's funeral, the formal proclamation of his rule had yet to be organized. Such a declaration needed to be made in a grand, ceremonial manner, so that Tarnael could be recognized, beyond doubt, as the rightful sovereign of those heavenly beings. That special day had been announced by the cardinals, who waved their banners adorned with crosses throughout the Kingdom of Saint Zagra, to be held one week from today.

"Your Majesty... it was an extraordinary experience," came the breathless voice of a girl, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion. The room was shrouded in shadows, the bed veiled in heavy, dark curtains. Tarnael lay face-down beside the girl, his eyes fixed on the canopy above. He breathed. And breathed. And only breathed.

"Something troubles you, Majesty?" the girl asked as she leaned closer to him.

"I don't know if I am fit to be a king," Tarnael replied softly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her tone curious.

"Do you know that feeling, when you are so full of responsibilities that, in the end, you can no longer do anything at all? You fear that one day you will abandon them. I think about that often. I don't know if I truly have what it takes to be a leader. All my life I've lived in the shadow of my father, under the weight of his choices, his decisions. I've always remained closed off, trapped inside my own thoughts," Tarnael said, staring at the canopy as though lost in another world.

"If you feel trapped and burdened by responsibility, perhaps it is time to pause and reflect on what truly makes you happy. Changing your path isn't always easy, but it is a vital step toward finding yourself," the girl answered gently.

"So you think I could find myself... by not being myself?" Tarnael asked, still gazing upward.

"Yes. There are times when a person feels they have lost themselves, or are no longer in touch with who they truly are. That feeling can come for many reasons, some of which you may not even be fully conscious of," Igorus was saying, seated at a tavern table with Kaies, the place where they always met.

"The weight of work often makes me feel that way. It's strange to think you might identify yourself in such an irrational manner, by doing what you don't want to do. And you, Igorus? Have you ever known yourself through the role of a general?" Kaies asked.

"Yes, Kaies. I believe I have. But now... now I wish to hate myself," Igorus muttered to himself as he flew high above the forest of Guhojre, recalling this conversation he once shared with his brother.

He flew alone. Only flying, gliding above the trees of that forest. He watched the mythic beings that lived only in their wildness and freedom: nymphs, creatures resembling centaurs who lifted their gaze toward him, panthers with iridescent hides, unicorns, and countless others who animated the lifeblood of the woods. And yet, what Igorus saw most clearly was that the person closest to him would never again have the chance to witness such wonders. In every creature, he glimpsed fragments of the memories they had once shared.

But as he drifted his gaze over them, a faint red light caught his attention. It was so intense that it was impossible not to notice.

"What is that light? Let me see..." Igorus murmured as he descended toward it.

As he lowered himself among the trees and shrubs, the red glow suddenly extinguished.

"Hm?! Where did it go?" he muttered.

But in the wake of the light's disappearance, he noticed something strange clinging to a tree. The tree itself seemed to twist, as though struggling to communicate something to him. Igorus approached slowly, with quiet curiosity. And then—

"A key?" he whispered when he saw it: a key almost identical to the one he and Kaies had found days earlier. A Key of the Arch of Sizran. Unlike the first, however, this one bore only five iron rods. At his presence, the key began to glow once again. With hesitation, he stretched out his right hand to grasp it, when suddenly, a massive door appeared at his left. The entire forest was veiled in crimson mist. Igorus had not anticipated such a thing. Everything ceased to move. The clouds vanished. The leaves halted in their fall.

"Ah, so it's true. The doors can appear anywhere. The keys can be found anywhere. Keys call out to those who need them most. Yes... that seems to be the case," Igorus murmured as he gazed at the towering gate before him.

Slowly, the door began to open, though Igorus had not even placed the key in its lock. He watched as it creaked wide, its red glow nearly blinding him. Then he was pulled through. In the most casual of ways, he found himself standing in a chamber filled with beautiful, classic tables laden with fruits and every manner of drink: wine, beer, sake, whiskey, vodka, tequila, all overflowing. Grapes, apples, grains, rice, cactus fruits, oranges, avocados, all piled beneath. It was as though he had stepped into the middle of a medieval painting.

"What devilry is this? Who dares disturb my sacred massage session?" a voice, intimidating yet theatrical, rang from behind the gate.

Igorus froze, bewildered by the sudden voice that seemed to echo from all sides.

"Hmmm... so, a dra—what? What in heaven's name are you? Pfft! Of all times, you choose now to spoil my massage?"

Through the tables emerged Kindu Skorona, a young man with green curls cascading wildly, alabaster skin, and crimson predatory eyes. He wore a white cloak draped elegantly over his right shoulder, yellow spectacles tilted at an absurd angle, and fanned himself delicately with an ornate hand-fan.

"Why do you stand there like an owl? Have you been struck dumb by the beauty and charm of a true diva such as myself?" he cried, striking a pose atop the table where he had been sprawled moments before.

Igorus simply stared, confused, words deserting him. An awkward silence stretched between them.

"No? Ah, gone are the days when women swooned at the mere sight of me. Now I am left with a scarecrow such as you. Very well then, since you have entered unbidden, rub my leg at once! I do believe a cramp torments me—Tch! AUUU!!!" he wailed as his leg tensed.

"Um... Which Kindu might you be?" asked Igorus, still dazed.

Skorona shot him a sideways glare, lips curling.

"Do I look like the census registry to you? If you've come this far, then surely you know who I am, or so the other Kindus insist. I, however, could not care less." He cracked his knuckles languidly.

"I believe I gave you an order. Come, rub my leg. Tt itches abominably!"

Igorus glanced at the bottles scattered across the table. At that instant, he remembered his confrontation with the eleventh Kindu, Izidra, who had told him of a Kindu dwelling in the Guhojre forest. There, he was to find Skorona.

"Could it be... you are Kindu Skorona?" Igorus asked.

One of Skorona's brows arched in acknowledgment.

"My key summoned you a few minutes ago, right? Have you sought my audience?" Igorus pressed.

"My key, you claim? Pah! What care have I for the world beyond this gate? Oh, yes... perhaps we do have such keys, eleven in number. That trinket in your hand, ah, is that it?" Skorona's tone was airy, almost dismissive, though his crimson gaze flickered toward the object Igorus held.

"Y-yes," Igorus stammered.

"Hmmm... I had expected something more elegant, more refined. Leave it to Sizran to botch such a thing," Skorona sneered, face twisting in disdain.

"So you did summon me, then. It seems the truth," said Igorus evenly.

"I know not of what you prattle, boy. Perhaps I did, perhaps I did not. But alas! I am far too drunk for such solemnities. Ahhh, if only I could once more bask in the embrace of Amarine, Dorline, Sbestrine, Giorgine, Lumti—"

His eyes caught Igorus' deadpan expression.

"Mhm! MHMM! As I was saying, lad, perhaps I summoned you, perhaps not. Oh heavens, my wretched spine aches from reclining upon this grape cluster bestowed upon me in homage to my beauty. Cursed be these gates, that keep me imprisoned so long I grow into a fool!" He puffed his cheeks dramatically, like a pouting dolphin.

"Erm... Kindu Izidra said you might aid me with something," said Igorus, watching as Skorona half-heartedly massaged his own back.

At that name, Skorona's eyes burst open wide.

"Izidra!!!??? Izidra!!!???"

Igorus flinched at the sudden, passionate outburst that shook the air.

"Izidra, my heart! My saint! Though all of us bear green hair, yours alone illuminates the imperfections of my soul with its brilliance! Ah, how I long for your bosom, for the tender touch of your flawless skin. Forgive me, that I appear a sinner in your vision, nay, a dragon bereft of hope! You know not the torment I have suffered—"

Igorus shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to pity or fear this theatrical display.

"What are you staring at?" Skorona snapped.

"Ah, n-nothing. Merely... startled by your reaction," Igorus stammered.

"I must accept the cruel truth that I shall never see her again. Thus I drink, locked within this cursed gate, inebriated by boredom and solitude. Even my legs begin to mold with mildew! Wait, no, false alarm. Thank the stars! Now, to hell with it. Hand me that ale beside you, since you refuse to rub my leg!"

Still dazed, Igorus passed the bottle. Skorona seized it, draining the entire vessel in one barbaric gulp. Igorus could not help but gape.

"Have I (hiccup) impressed you? I am the Kindu of drink, by some wretched stroke of fate (hiccup)!" Skorona slurred, swaying with a grandiose flourish.

Igorus looked on, worried, clueless as to how one was supposed to converse with such a creature.

"And tell me, what says Izidra of late? Is she well? Hm? HmHahaha!" Skorona burst out, his mouth wide with drunken mirth.

"Sh-she seemed well, yes," Igorus answered cautiously.

"She is ever well! Her solemnity, her charisma, they inflame me with desire!!!" Skorona sang the final word as if on stage, his tone climbing absurdly high. "What would dear Alfons say of such ravings? A wine, a beer, a—urp—"

Igorus froze at the name.

"Wait! Did you just mention Alfons?"

"Eh? Ah, so I did," Skorona muttered, rolling across the tabletop like a tipsy acrobat.

"Kindu Izidra told me you could take me to him," Igorus said.

Skorona fixed his crimson eyes upon him, studying him with unsettling intensity. He stared, examined, stared again, until Igorus could no longer guess what response might come.

"It is not yet the time for you to meet him," said Skorona.

"What?"

"Tend first to your own wounds, and only then meddle with the wounds of others," Skorona declared, fixing Igorus with a rare, steady gaze.

"W-what do you mean?" Igorus stammered.

"Thy spirit is a storm, lad. It is written all over thee. And mark me well, these draughts I swallow grant me sight into what lies unseen by mortal eyes." His voice, once slurred and theatrical, sank into a weighty seriousness.

Igorus lowered his head, shaken by the gravity in Skorona's tone.

"Besides," Skorona went on, swirling the bottle, "thou must wait eight years. Or was it seven? Hmm... time, that fickle mistress! (And yet, hah! I could stride across Ladnoria's barriers with ease! Why in blazes do I mutter such things?)" His thoughts tangled drunkenly with his words.

"My brother... he died this morning," Igorus whispered, staring down at his open palms. "I do not know what to do. I know nothing."

Skorona toyed idly with the cork of his emptied bottle, listening.

"They say there is evidence, a sign of who may have done it. But nothing certain. An angel."

"An angel?" Skorona echoed, brows lifting. "The first I have heard of such... (Ah, unless he means those.)" His thought flickered inward.

"And the task given to me by Kindu Skorona" Igorus continued, "is to find who the Twelfth Kindu is... through Alfons."

"The Twelfth Kindu..." Skorona murmured, his crimson eyes drifting into the abyss of memory. "A name I have heard oft, long before a thousand years had their passing."

"At the very least, so that my brother Kaies did not die in vain, I must—"

"'Upon earth they fed, and beneath heaven they perished. In the darkness of loss, the light of justice shall repay the deeds of the wicked.'" Skorona's voice rose into declamation, half-sermon, half-theatrical oratory. "So was it spoken in my day. Thus, every living thing must meet death, be it insect, man, or godly being. Because I died, I languish behind this mournful gate. Because thy brother died, thou art cast into sorrow. And what remaineth at the end of this grim procession of deaths? Justice. Was it just that thy brother should perish so? Is it just that I suffer here beyond my end? Is it just that thou must bear such grief? This world is not just, thus it crowneth Death as its sovereign. For in death, all stand equal." He lifted his hands, pressing them against the rim of his golden spectacles as if to shield his burning eyes.

Igorus' eyes widened at the solemnity in his words.

"Y-you... You spoke totally different now. That was far out of character," he blurted.

"Heh! So it seems the ale hath at last struck home." Skorona laughed, though the mirth was hollow. "What I mean, boy, is this: Death is the one certainty thou canst not unmake. But the echoes it leaves behind, ah, those may yet be shaped. It is upon thee to decide what becomes of them. Thy soul is drowned in wailing and lamentation. I see it. I hear it." His gaze bored into Igorus like a piercing flame.

Igorus clenched his fists, shaken by every word.

"So thy brother hath died. And what shalt thou say, then, to the hundreds of thousands slain by thine own hand? Think'st thou they would pity thy grief? Each soul is its own universe, each life a crown of individuality. The divine most of all. Dragons destroyed themselves with naught but their greed for dominion. And thou, Igorus, thine own day shall come. The lust for power shall consume thee wholly. It is inexorable. Dost thou not wish to build a safer world for thy child?"

Igorus' eyes flew wide, shocked into silence by the revelation.

"Take me not for a fool," Skorona sneered, though the sneer trembled with drunken wisdom. "I see all that is within thee. Uanamangura. Aye... So it is real after all..."