Episode 49 - Demise Part 3

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  Welcome to a podcast of regrets. That’s what this has become. Even it was never supposed to be that, which I don’t think you’re going to believe. It was genuinely supposed to be a story about a friend. Or (in quotes) “friend.” The difference is slight, but if you know it, you know it. And I suppose, by some standards, either version is accurate. In terms of which is more appropriate, it would have to depend on how much you exalt the idea of friendship or how important a sort of objective goodness is within your conception. As in, how important is it that your friends are good and stay good, even and especially to you. And as a related question that will not seem like it, are the means justified by the ends? Is what they do okay because they are there for you, they support you, even if their tactics are objectively terrible?

In any other context, my answer to all of those things would be more clear. In any other situation, I would have had answers to those questions, and if someone came to me with the same uncertainty or the same justifications for objectively bad actions that I have, I would tell them that those are not their real friends. I would be concerned. I would be quick to act, even if I didn’t know what sort of ‘acting’ that situation really required. While I would know there was a chance that I would make mistakes, I wouldn’t be so deterred or frightened by the possibility of said mistakes. I wouldn’t be thinking about that. I would know that there was no time for that. 

It’s me. The problem is me. And while it hasn’t always been that way, it has been at rather critical moments. I just can’t seem to do any better.

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The weight of royal adornments did not sit right on Vernin’s shoulders. He didn’t think it would be such a problem. He was a strong man, used to carrying any number of bags or weapons, but this was a different weight entirely. The duke’s crown in particular was heavy. His neck stiffened to support the weight, but that strategy was not without its own problems. In front of him, the king and queen showed no signs of discomfort or difficulty. They held fast beneath their adornments far heavier than what Vernin was wearing. And for a moment, he wondered if his critiques of them were so valid. Perhaps there was strength and use to those who sat on the throne. But then he thought about where the weight was coming from. It was from the heavy jewels and metals those jewels were set within, material that provided no use until sold and could have been sold or never bought up to free up funds that would have helped all those beneath the shadow of their fortifications. 

And there was something naive about that, Vernin knew. But his reasonings for wanting to pull back still stood. It was not wise for him to be distracted or persuaded by things that did not matter, by things that made so many other lives worse simply for the appearance of utility. Things like his title. And this ceremony. 

Vernin felt the king’s sword brush against his shoulders, sealing the royal decree that defined his claim of ownership to the land he had grown up upon and had always been dangled over his head, sealing the royal decree that made him a duke. But that was just a distraction, Vernin knew. He could not lose sight of his goal. 

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I regret that I couldn’t give the Haunted Void any sort of real eulogy. It wasn’t my place to do so, I know. And let me make that abundantly clear. But there was a reason we–as a collective or species or concept–created these things in the first place. And by some accounts it was for the dead but by others it was for the living. Eulogies were made to ensure the memory of the dead was properly preserved and sealed, but it also gave a chance for the living to be seen and cleansed from whatever regrets they might have had. 

Or that’s what I would have used it for. And like I said, I had no right to ask for or demand the opportunity. It just would have been nice for me and me alone. 

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Despite her age, the young princess was accustomed to royal duties. And everyone at court would fawn over her publicly, and privately they would say that they were so relieved that the heir to their kingdom’s throne had taken on the role so well. They did not remember the Princess Eathebel taking it that way. They remember her being difficult, her being overactive, and her being so quick to speak out of turn. These were memories that they eagerly shared with each other behind the backs of their hands where such things can easily grow, twisting and turning into things with a new life all of their own. A new story, entirely from the scraps of a more forgiving one. 

A more objective memory keeper would remember the young princess Eathebel differently. They would tell a different story entirely. Perhaps they would point out the child’s age and how unfair it was to hold her to standards that this princess should not have been able to meet into but somehow did. They would say the Princess Eathebel was not as they remembered her. A stray comment or two would slip from the young girl’s mouth as it would for any child so small, but she did have the poise of her niece. She had the same dignity her niece now showed. She was not the monster they remember. 

And if she was now, it is because she was made to be that way. 

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I don’t know what I would have said had I been given the opportunity. Maybe I would have just said that he was a good guy. Maybe I would have assured everyone that he just wanted justice for his brother and to stop looking for any underlying meaning in what he did or who he hung around. It wasn’t like that. It was never like that. 

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“I thank the king for his generosity,” Vernin recited. 

They were not his words. They were written out for him by both tradition and a member of the court who had an ounce of sympathy for him. Wane, he had introduced himself as along with some title that Vernin could not remember. Titles hardly mattered to him, and Wane had taken no offense to Vernin’s disinterest in it all. 

Vernin went on, “You have lifted me up far beyond my merits would justify, and I am grateful.”

King Ezin bowed his head in acknowledgment. The space for a response on his part passed over the room. The king hardly ever spoke on occasions like this. The queen would less so. And the princess would just stand at her mother’s side, eyes wide and watching. 

“And I have a small gift for her grace the young princess, if I should be permitted to give it.”

At that, the king straightened up with a jolt and tried to mask the worst of his surprise. He glanced towards the queen who was just as still and frozen as she always was. It was just her way, the court assumed. Her people were just that way, the courtiers would also say, as if they understood what they were saying. 

The young princess turned to her father, waiting for instruction. There was a clear mixture of desire, curiosity, and intrigue in her eyes. As a child, she did like presents. She wanted this one, even if she didn’t know what it was. 

King Ezin looked to his daughter before turning back to Vernin. “Very well,” the king declared. “You may present your gift.”

Vernin reached into the pocket of his trousers for a small bundle. 

“It is not much, Your Grace. But it belonged to my mother, and in the absence of a daughter of my own to give this necklace to, I offer it to you.”

Carefully, Vernin pulled on a thin golden chain and revealed a small but carefully cut and polished sapphire. As he was told to do by Wane, he offered the small treasure’s history. But alas, there was not much to say. 

“My father gave it to her, but I will admit I’m not sure when or why or how. But it is the most dear thing I have.”

At that, the queen flinched.

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I don’t wear jewelry, but I do hoard it, I admit. And I am not proud to do so. Because adornment like that is not… Okay. I don’t mean to be judgmental. I’m sure there is a reason to wear jewelry, and I’m sure it makes people happy or something like that. And maybe pretty things do serve a purpose all of their own, but if I just keep them in a drawer, out of sight and out of everyone’s mind but mine, that’s when it seems pointless. But the alternative is a malicious coding or context or something, or so I came to understand the world. I shouldn’t wear jewelry, I’ve decided. Nothing good will come of it if it’s me. I hope I’m wrong. I want to be wrong. But I really don’t have a reason to think I’m wrong.

The blue ones are my favorites, for what is worth. But that was also not necessarily a conscious decision. The first piece of jewelry that I ever got that really felt like something distinct or something like mine was blue. A sapphire I think it is, but I’ve never gotten it check.

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The queen felt herself being consumed in a way she had never known before. This was the power of rage, a hotly unfamiliar rage. She had so carefully kept the fires back all of her life. She kept the kindling swept away and the fields carefully manicured, but that necklace was the lightning bolt that sent everything a blaze. Her daughter was in danger. Why was the king not doing anything, she wanted to ask, but he avoided her presence. He kept too far for a whisper, and the risk of anything else was far too high. 

But there was someone she could talk to, though. There was someone she could run to. 

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I think a eulogy is also a declaration of loyalty. And that’s an idea that I’ve never really been able to articulate, but I want to throw it out now. I can’t help but toss it gently out into whatever void this podcast episode ends up falling into. But I think when you give a eulogy, you are professing a connection to that person and their values. You are demonstrating that commitment by committing their memory into some record that lasts beyond them. You are doing what you can to keep their memory alive while others would benefit from it washing away. 

It’s just the scrap of something that might have otherwise been useful, but in and of itself means next to nothing. In and of itself, it is nothing. I know we’re taught to value loyalty, but unless you can actually do something with it, then what is it for? Genuine question. I would love to know the answer.

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Princess Eathebel received her sister-in-law with some enthusiasm. The bitterness of days gone by was lost between them. It had melted away into irrelevance. But even still, the sight of the queen’s anger took the other woman aback. 

“I gave him what he needed already,” she hissed. “What is with the delay?”

Queen Evanora’s voice was low, but she spat it with a sharp edge that Princess Eathebel had not expected. It caught against her skin, and she struggled to not flinch. 

“I believe, Sister…”

Princess Eathebel was surprised at how difficult she found it to speak. She had taken pride in her voice. And words had always come easily to her. But right then, some instinct urged her to back down and lower herself away from the storm that was coming. However, her pride told her not to. And it was always her pride that won battles such as that one.

“I believe it was the king’s choice.”

In exasperation, the queen closed her eyes. “Of course it was the king’s choice. But it’s not the king’s doing, now is it?”

Princess Eathebel paused. She weighed every single word she heard, but the final total still did not add up. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

“Get your dog to do something. Or I will.”

The color drained from the princess’s face. The ghost of her infant daughter had never really left. It lingered in the chambers of the mother who tried so hard to escape her own grief. But the threat gave the ghost great power and a mission all its own. 

“Of course,” the princess stammered, but even she was not sure if she meant it. She did not know if she had the resolve anymore or if that too had fled to some deep recess of her soul like her blood had. 

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You might be wondering when this season will end, right? I’ve gone so far past my normal cut off. I went beyond what you might expect. I went beyond my original plan. But the Haunted Void… Well, once I said his name again I could not leave his story alone and abandoned it in some far flung place when I owed it to him to pick it up again and at least try to breathe some life into it. 

But there was so much to that story. It was a story seemingly defined by the details. Or not defined by the details. Or not defined by the details, but the details are the key to the larger figure. I have to include them. I have to make sure the map is out there, somewhere. I cannot piece the story together myself, but I have to do something to make it possible for someone else to find those pieces. For you to find those pieces. 

I haven’t forgotten about you. I haven’t been so consumed by my own grief and self-loathing that I did not remember that you were there, lurking and waiting for just the right moment to make yourself known. I haven’t forgotten your questions. But you seemingly have forgotten the reason why I couldn’t answer them. The reason why we’re here. 

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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.