Episode 32 - Reluctant Alliances

(Music fades in)

Welcome back to whatever this podcast is supposed to be. (Pause) I know I’ve gone off the rails a time or two. You don’t have to remind me. And I can say that stepping back from marketing the show has… Well, it’s made the issue a bit less relevant. But I still wonder if you come to this show with any preconceived notions of what you’ll hear. There’s still the show description or past episodes to think about. Past seasons, if you will. And that’s my fault, I know. I never meant for this show to last so long. And I never meant for this story to be the way it is. 

And I’m sure that’s a very questionable statement. This is my podcast, after all. I’ve always been in control of it, you might say. And this idea of control is why I wanted to tell this story at all. Podcasting just seemed like the best medium for it. But I’ll never be in full control, will I?

I know you can’t answer that. I made it so you can’t. I just don’t know what to say. I worry that I let so many people down. With this podcast, I mean. Obviously.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

The royal midwife had her suspicions since the birth. While she was confident in them, it was fear that held her tongue in place. There was a risk in presenting bad news to the throne, whether or not you had a hand in crafting it. And though she–young as she was–knew that she did not have a hand in crafting it, it would be an easy thing to blame her for such a misfortune as it was under her watch that the cards of fate had fallen so poorly, but such a thing does happen with women, in a way that is unfortunately inexplicable. Some blame the deities above for it or other forces of that kind, and from there stems disagreement about how to interpret such a thing. Is it just punishment for unknown crimes or an unfair torture, they debate, though the midwife herself hardly thinks that that would matter. 

In any event, there can be no such talk of divine favors in and around royalty. The conclusion is already set by virtue of their birth. The royal midwife tried not concern herself with such things. She did not have the patience for it. And the young bebe looked to be a promising heir. She seemed strong even in her early days when even those babies that would become the strongest of warriors may flounder a bit. And really, the naive woman thought, a king only needs one good heir. Perhaps the current king’s problem lay in having a second child to deal with.

But those were just the musings of a young laborerer, as it were. Her profession was noble, and she had bought status for herself, but her blood was seen as lesser than those she ministered too. And so, her opinion hardly mattered much at all. But the Duchess Evanora had taken the news well, it must be said. And for that, the royal midwife took consolation and comfort, though the daughter in law was quite different from the queen. It was a reason for hope, at least. The daughter in law was the one who would have to carry the weight of whatever spoiled dreams she may have had for the older children she might have born. The queen had little more than an inconvenience in this. Did she not?

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

And maybe it’s just as misleading to try to pinpoint all of these issues on one problem when I do have multiple problems in the same way that we all do. But in this particular matter, I do think my problem is that I still don’t know who I am exactly. And I’ve said before. But without the help of external tools, I doubt I would ever be able to figure it out. And therein lies a different issue. Not all tools are created equal, are they? You couldn’t say a funhouse mirror is as accurate as the standard one. Or could you? Because the picture might be different, but is it really just about interpretation? If you knew how the bends and twists in the glass worked, you could discern what the image might have been or should have been by another name. But that’s more work, you might be saying. And you are not wrong for that. But that isn’t where my mind was going. My mind is going to the context of it all, that you could know where you are and what that mirror might be doing. Maybe there’s even a rhyme or reason to where or how you place each mirror, like an established pattern that could help you discern what one you’re staring into. That might be speculation though.

But lately I’ve been thinking more and more about how the context of your life shapes not necessarily who you are but how you fit into the world around you. And there’s implications to that fit, but I would be getting ahead of myself if I jumped to that point. For now, I want you to think about context and fit. I want you to think about a puzzle. All the pieces are cut in different ways, and they each have their own distinct look thanks to the picture printed on what had been a slab before the break up. Each is unique and only has one place where they truly fit. Sure, you might want to force it. Or there could be temptation to force it into place, after you’ve been working on the puzzle for too long, but it wouldn’t work, would it? You would break the piece if you tried. That’s the conclusion I didn’t want to jump to, even if it hardly ever seems like anything now that I’ve said it. There’s a place for every piece and a piece for every place and serious damage can be done if things are improperly arranged. 

And I wonder if that damage is hard to describe because I’ve seen it for myself. I’ve lived in the aftermath, but I can’t describe it to you. That might just be a failure on my part, I’ll admit. Or maybe words just don’t work sometimes. Actually, I’ve experienced that too.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

Prince Ezin had never meant to be a distant brother, it must be said. He had not been taught to love his sister, but the impulse was there. She was his kin, and no matter what she had done, she was the only one who truly understood what it meant to be born in that castle, to suffer the way only children of royalty can truly suffer. Their lives are gilded, covered in jewels but the light that shines off those jewels can burn the eye if it shines too bright. Prince Ezin suspected that he did not have the love of his parents, not in the way that a son should have it. They loved the idea of a son, not so much the one they had. But could they be faulted for it? They did not know how to love. He knew love once, but that woman was gone. He wondered if he had a different version of it now with this wife but certainly with his daughter. He did not doubt that he loved his daughter. The baby was so small and yet so fierce that he was in awe of her already. And he wanted to provide all he could for her while he could still do so before she surpassed him in might. And that day was coming. 

He had already sent for the best tutors across the kingdom, telling them that in a few years time they would be working for the palace or executed if they refused. In the face of such a demand, they were willing to agree, wholeheartedly. And so the young child would be studying philosophy, art, music, mathematics and more very soon There would be no child in the world more educated than his. 

And yet, he was worried he was forgetting something. He had a nagging feeling that there were subjects he had not thought of. His new bride did not seem to share his concerns. Or rather, she had others. And she refused to tell him what any of them were. Consequently, he would need to talk to someone else. He would need to look elsewhere for guidance. And–frankly–his sister seemed like a better resource. She herself was a princess. Certainly she knew better than anyone what it was like and all the parts that a prince would not know. 

And so, one day, he sought her out with a list of questions in his hand and a flawed picture in his head.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

Honestly, I think this inability to fit properly wherever I was placed explains why I was drawn to tell you about Aishi, whether or not I have done so. Aishi was the closest thing to a friend that I ever had. And I know that that should not have been the chase, but I struggled with in person friendships because nothing fit. Or I didn’t fit anywhere. Or in any physical place with people who should have been my peers. And no, it wasn’t just because I moved around so often. After all, there are some people that enter a room full of strangers and leave–after a short period of time–with a room full of friends in their wake. And there were similar opportunities for that, sure, but I never managed it. Maybe I was supposed to. Maybe I was the sort of piece whose cut fit in that space, but the picture was wrong. 

And no, I don’t mean that in the racial makeup sense. I’m sure that there were times when my ethnicity did not help anything, but considering how often I moved, it couldn’t have always hurt either. But it was a family thing, yes. So similar and different, I think you can call it. Worse, I would say. But no, I can’t clarify.

I will say that my family was never much better. In fact, they might have been the archetype for all the dysfunctions that came later in my life. I really don’t like having that conversation though because inevitably, I will get caught up in why it all happened. And I don’t want to do that. Because I do understand how they got to be the way they were. I just wish I wasn’t a part of it. But once you start playing with my empathy, I feel like I’m doomed.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

King Roget was not all that concerned with his daughter. He had never been. But he would have to deal with her. It was the responsibility of the father to sort out his daughter’s life and that responsibility was all the more important when the father was a king and his daughter the princess. There was the stability of so many lives to think about was there not? An entire kingdom’s worth. But who would take used goods, the king thought, scornfully. For he did not care to see his daughter as anything but that. He had never been one to hold her in high esteem at all, but the baby did present additional complications. The story the palace had told surrounding the recently deceased baby covered certain bases, but another king could see through it, certainly. And what an insult it would be to have their son offered a bride with that history. 

Queen Asha had not pushed for a prince, though. And the king took comfort in that. All she said was that she wanted more grandchildren, even if they came from a lesser family line, as she put it. 

“Your Majesty, if I may be so bold,” an advisor said, “A nobleman, loyal to your family, of course, would be able to satisfy the queen’s demands.”

There was no man more trusted by the King than Lord Hicket. He was a commoner that had risen through the ranks so quickly that no one could clearly tell his story. And he liked it that way. Being a man of secrets served his purposes, not that anyone knew what those purposes were, per say. 

The king sighed. “If only you had a son, Hicket. I would happily make the match.”

“Well, Your Majesty, I would need a wife for that.”

Now, Hicket was a man only a few years younger than the king. There was a chance that those familial years were not behind him, but they might have been. They might have been cast aside in haste or in service to the crown. It was probably the latter now that the king thought about it. For no man had ever been as loyal to him as Lord Hicket had. And that was not without reward, some lands and titles. They weren’t nothing. But they weren’t a wife and child either. Or multiple children, better yet. But the King had always thought he could not give his faithful servant any of that. But now, it seemed, he could.

What the king did not know was that Lord Hicket’s comment had been meant in a certain way. It was a seed really. A small thing planted in King Roget’s head that would blossom and blend in with all that was already there. Lord Hicket hid a smirk beneath a stoic facade. It was all within reach now, he knew. And he could be patient.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

Is that why this story has gone off the rails, you may want to ask. Am I trying to tell you about my life despite not knowing the central character or what any of it means? I fully admit that I don’t really know who I am or where I fit within it all or what the larger picture is? But I know what this story should be. I just struggle to tell it. On a technical level, yes, I have no formal training in creative writing, which isn’t always a bad thing. I think we can’t emphasize formal training or any sort of formality if we want the medium to grow and thrive. But I know I’ve picked up a lot of what many would call bad habits from the venues I did write in for so long. 

But I don’t think I have the most common one which would [probably be ego-related, sure. There are a lot of former internet writers who hit the mainstream who really don’t take constructive criticism well. And I’m sure you’ve heard about some of their habits, so I won’t include them here. But the things that they are often criticized for are more what I’m thinking of,  Especially the grammar related ones. Not so much the subject matter ones. I like to think I handle all issues with respect or avoid the one that I don’t know so well or would unintentionally sensationalize. Not that things might not slip out, but I do the best I can.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

“I’ve never had an education,” she had said. The words echoed in Prince Ezin’s head. What did she mean by that, he wondered. Certainly she had something. He tried to pick apart her story, but he could not remember the tutors ever coming for her. He could not remember her ever being trapped inside with said tutors when the day outside was too beautiful for such things. He could not remember her with a book or with their parents. Or really much at all.

The wheels in his mind started to turn albeit slowly at first. The world around him began to shift. And so did his understanding of the king and queen. He had never thought them above reproach. What adult child does not have grievances with their parents. But this was beyond that. This was growing beyond such a scope now. And it couldn’t be helped.

But he wanted it to be helped. He certainly wanted to be wrong about this. It would be better to be wrong than right. And so he sought out his father, passing Lord Hicket on his way. Instinctively, the hair on the back of the prince’s neck shot up as he grew close to the man. How he hated the man and his leering eyes. That would be the first expulsion he made when he became king, he vowed. And he would burn the man’s chambers for good measure, releasing the palace from the memories of so much misery and woe. 

Or that’s what the prince thought he would be doing. He did not understand the plight of women, after all.

(Music gradually fades out)

Aishi Online is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, produced, performed, and edited by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please leave a review, tell a friend, or donate to the show’s Ko-Fi account.