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smackenzieTwo days later, the goat had healed and was back to its normal self (ie, no longer inclined to chew on people), Hay’s arm was also on the mend, and Marcus had an idea.
But not just any idea. No. He had realized Hazel’s true destiny – find the prince and restore him to the throne.
This would make more sense, Hazel told him, if there was a prince who needed to be found, which there wasn’t, and if the king was in any danger of keeling over dead any time soon, which he wasn’t either. The crown prince had been successfully married off and was ensconced in the castle with his future queen and his own heir, and he was, as far as anyone knew, as prepared as he could be to take over the throne one day. He didn’t need any help.
“No, not that prince,” Marcus said, a little irritably. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone could follow his thought processes. “He won’t last a month with the crown. His brother will likewise die a premature death, and their sister will die in childbirth. Do not question me,” he said, staving off Hazel’s inevitable question of How do you know all this? His answers varied but he used the same ones – “I heard it in the wind” or “I saw it in the stars” or “I read it in the bones” – but she’d never learned not to ask. She was curious, mostly. She tended to believe him, because he was right more often than not, and she usually did just want to learn how he knew. Marcus usually thought she was doubting him and his methods.
“There are seven princes and princesses,” Hazel said. “Even if the first three die, there are still four coming up behind them. The throne’s in no danger. Besides, rumor has it that the king is trying to pass over the crown prince for the twins, because he loves the queen that much.”
“They will never sit the throne. You must go to the king’s city and find the missing prince and restore him to the court so he may take the crown when his day is come. This is your destiny.” He’d adopted what Hazel liked to call his storyteller voice, which was actually very much like his farseeing voice and meant that he thought what he was saying was of great importance. It didn’t make her doubt him any less, but it did make her giggle. “Do not laugh at me.” He glowered, which was more amusing than entertaining. Marcus did not have a very convincing glower.
“I’m sorry. But I don’t understand. Who am I looking for, and if he’s already in the city why do I have to find him? Can’t the king find him? He can go home on his own.”
“He does not want to be found.”
“How do you know he’s even missing? How do you lose a prince?”
“The wind told me.”
“And why do I have to find him?”
“Because it is your destiny.”
“What do I do with him when I find him?”
“Return him to the court.”
“Marcus, how do I know it’s him? I’ve never seen any of the royal family, I don’t know what any of the princes look like.”
“You will know him by his scent and his hands and the birthmark on his ass.”
Hazel quirked an eyebrow. That was just absurd. She wasn’t going to go around asking strange men to drop their pants so she could look at their butts.
“I’m not going to ask strange men to let me look at their butts,” she said. “And what do you mean, I’ll know him by his scent? I’m not going to sniff them either.” Toast might, though. He was a big sniffer of strange crotches. That and jumping on people to lick them was how he made friends.
“You will know,” Marcus insisted. “You will know him when you see him, for he is your destiny.”
He was definitely intoning now. He sounded like he was declaiming from a stage, like those itinerant priests of some of the more depressive saints, the guys who sometimes came through the village and set up for a few days to impress the villagers with all the torments that awaited them (in life as well as after death) if they did not pay proper homage to the god and goddess and whichever particular saints the priests followed. Hazel didn’t listen to them much, although they all had impressively deep and carrying voices.
But there was a big difference between a priest declaiming his beliefs and Marcus telling you that your destiny lay with somehow finding a strange man you’d never seen before, and who you’d recognize by the birthmark on his rear end.
Hay, who had the usual complement of farmer’s superstitions and generally listened to stories about destiny and fate, thought Marcus was full of bullcrap, especially when he used the voice. This time at least Hazel was inclined to agree.
“That’s silly,” she said. Marcus only glowered more. “Really, Marcus, how am I going to find someone I’ve never met? The city’s huge – they say it takes three days just to walk across it. I wouldn’t know where to start. And you said he doesn’t want to be found, so how am I going to convince him to go back to the castle? Which one are you talking about, anyway?”
“Prince Derek Lysander. The second son of the second queen. His brother and his half-brothers and his half-sister will all be dead within a month of the king’s passing, and he must be prepared to take the crown. You must find him.”
“Why me? I mean, why now, and... why me? Why not someone who knows him or at least knows what he looks like?”
“It was foretold at your birth,” Marcus said. The voice was getting worse. Hazel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was hard to take him seriously when he sounded like a soothsayer from a badly-acted play. “There was a great shooting star the night you were born. Did your aunt never tell you this?”
“All she told me was that my mother died giving birth to me, and because she died in Aunt Adymary’s house, she and Uncle Vine could take me right away before I was sent to some home for orphaned babies. She never told me about the weather.”
“It was more than mere weather, Hazel. It was a sign. A portent.”
Admittedly, most of the villagers would have said the same thing. Even Hazel, who wasn’t that superstitious, all things considered – even she believed a shooting star was a sign of something. She’d just never thought it would be a sign for her.
“Ok,” she said now. “It was a sign. How do you know – “
“Will you stop questioning me!” Marcus snapped in his normal voice. “You were fated for great things, Hazel, and I as your teacher am fated for great things as well. I will send you off to find the missing prince, I will give you instruction and direction, and when you find him you will return him to court so he may prepare himself for the throne. He will offer you rich rewards for your service. We will be history, Hazel Vine.”
Oh, so that’s what he was up to. Hazel had thought for a while now that Marcus thought highly of himself and wished he was something greater than a mere village hedgewitch, and here was her proof. History, indeed. She resisted the urge to snort.
“What if he tells me to fuck off?” she asked curiously. Marcus shrugged.
“He won’t. Who would turn down a chance to be king?”
“Well, if he went missing on his own, and you did say they hadn’t found him because he didn’t want them to, he probably doesn’t want to be king. Or at least he didn’t want to be in court any more.”
“He will change his mind, or you will change it for him.”
“What if I don’t? What if I don’t want to go to the king’s city for some silly mission that you say is my destiny? If it’s my destiny, why don’t I want to do it?”
“Great deeds are not always done by willing men,” Marcus intoned. The words sounded like he thought he’d just given Hazel a quote to remember, so future generations could repeat the phrase with reverence for his wisdom. Hazel thought he had a point, although she knew he was just trying to get her to do what he wanted.
“I’m not entirely unwilling,” she conceded. “But I’m not sure either. It sounds simple, but I can’t imagine it really is that easy.”
“Find the prince and return him to his future. It should not be difficult.”
“Except that I’ve never been to the city, in fact I’ve been away from Redhill exactly once, and I have no idea what he looks like, how old he is, where he’d be, or even what he’s calling himself. Because I can’t believe he’d have gone missing from the castle, kept himself unfound, and still answer to ‘Prince Derek.’ The wind didn’t tell you his name, did it?”
“I only know he is in the city and must be returned to court to train for the kingship before it is too late and the country is torn by civil war for the lack of a royal heir.”
“There are a lot of royal heirs, Marcus. Besides Prince Derek Lysander’s half-siblings. The king had a brother and a sister, the queen has two sisters, they all have children and some of their children have children. Not to mention all the cousins they must have. Even if all seven of the king’s direct heirs are killed or die, there are still people in the line of succession.”
“All of whom will be fighting for the crown.”
Now Hazel did roll her eyes. “It’s not the end of the world, Marcus.”
“Do you presume to tell me what I saw?” Oh, now he was genuinely pissed off. Oops.
“No, of course not. I just don’t understand how I’m supposed to find this guy and take him back to court without a fight. And soon. I guess you want me to leave now, right?”
“As soon as you are able, yes. You must go. Your destiny awaits, yours and his.”
“But – “
“No buts. You will find him in the capital. You will know him when you see him, and if you doubt it is him, you will recognize him for the birthmark shaped like a chicken on his ass.” Hazel stifled a giggle. A birthmark shaped like a chicken? Where was the sanity in this? “I cannot tell you how else to find him, or where to look once you get inside the city. He is not much older than you are, and he will not be living under any of the names his parents have given him. Once you find him you must convince him that he will one day be king and must return to court. This is what fate has decreed for you, Hazel Vine. This is what you must do.”
Hazel still thought he was talking out his ass, farseer voice or no. But if he said it long enough, This is your destiny, she had a good idea that she’d cave and Marcus would get what he wanted. She wondered if Toast would like the city.
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But not just any idea. No. He had realized Hazel’s true destiny – find the prince and restore him to the throne.
This would make more sense, Hazel told him, if there was a prince who needed to be found, which there wasn’t, and if the king was in any danger of keeling over dead any time soon, which he wasn’t either. The crown prince had been successfully married off and was ensconced in the castle with his future queen and his own heir, and he was, as far as anyone knew, as prepared as he could be to take over the throne one day. He didn’t need any help.
“No, not that prince,” Marcus said, a little irritably. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone could follow his thought processes. “He won’t last a month with the crown. His brother will likewise die a premature death, and their sister will die in childbirth. Do not question me,” he said, staving off Hazel’s inevitable question of How do you know all this? His answers varied but he used the same ones – “I heard it in the wind” or “I saw it in the stars” or “I read it in the bones” – but she’d never learned not to ask. She was curious, mostly. She tended to believe him, because he was right more often than not, and she usually did just want to learn how he knew. Marcus usually thought she was doubting him and his methods.
“There are seven princes and princesses,” Hazel said. “Even if the first three die, there are still four coming up behind them. The throne’s in no danger. Besides, rumor has it that the king is trying to pass over the crown prince for the twins, because he loves the queen that much.”
“They will never sit the throne. You must go to the king’s city and find the missing prince and restore him to the court so he may take the crown when his day is come. This is your destiny.” He’d adopted what Hazel liked to call his storyteller voice, which was actually very much like his farseeing voice and meant that he thought what he was saying was of great importance. It didn’t make her doubt him any less, but it did make her giggle. “Do not laugh at me.” He glowered, which was more amusing than entertaining. Marcus did not have a very convincing glower.
“I’m sorry. But I don’t understand. Who am I looking for, and if he’s already in the city why do I have to find him? Can’t the king find him? He can go home on his own.”
“He does not want to be found.”
“How do you know he’s even missing? How do you lose a prince?”
“The wind told me.”
“And why do I have to find him?”
“Because it is your destiny.”
“What do I do with him when I find him?”
“Return him to the court.”
“Marcus, how do I know it’s him? I’ve never seen any of the royal family, I don’t know what any of the princes look like.”
“You will know him by his scent and his hands and the birthmark on his ass.”
Hazel quirked an eyebrow. That was just absurd. She wasn’t going to go around asking strange men to drop their pants so she could look at their butts.
“I’m not going to ask strange men to let me look at their butts,” she said. “And what do you mean, I’ll know him by his scent? I’m not going to sniff them either.” Toast might, though. He was a big sniffer of strange crotches. That and jumping on people to lick them was how he made friends.
“You will know,” Marcus insisted. “You will know him when you see him, for he is your destiny.”
He was definitely intoning now. He sounded like he was declaiming from a stage, like those itinerant priests of some of the more depressive saints, the guys who sometimes came through the village and set up for a few days to impress the villagers with all the torments that awaited them (in life as well as after death) if they did not pay proper homage to the god and goddess and whichever particular saints the priests followed. Hazel didn’t listen to them much, although they all had impressively deep and carrying voices.
But there was a big difference between a priest declaiming his beliefs and Marcus telling you that your destiny lay with somehow finding a strange man you’d never seen before, and who you’d recognize by the birthmark on his rear end.
Hay, who had the usual complement of farmer’s superstitions and generally listened to stories about destiny and fate, thought Marcus was full of bullcrap, especially when he used the voice. This time at least Hazel was inclined to agree.
“That’s silly,” she said. Marcus only glowered more. “Really, Marcus, how am I going to find someone I’ve never met? The city’s huge – they say it takes three days just to walk across it. I wouldn’t know where to start. And you said he doesn’t want to be found, so how am I going to convince him to go back to the castle? Which one are you talking about, anyway?”
“Prince Derek Lysander. The second son of the second queen. His brother and his half-brothers and his half-sister will all be dead within a month of the king’s passing, and he must be prepared to take the crown. You must find him.”
“Why me? I mean, why now, and... why me? Why not someone who knows him or at least knows what he looks like?”
“It was foretold at your birth,” Marcus said. The voice was getting worse. Hazel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was hard to take him seriously when he sounded like a soothsayer from a badly-acted play. “There was a great shooting star the night you were born. Did your aunt never tell you this?”
“All she told me was that my mother died giving birth to me, and because she died in Aunt Adymary’s house, she and Uncle Vine could take me right away before I was sent to some home for orphaned babies. She never told me about the weather.”
“It was more than mere weather, Hazel. It was a sign. A portent.”
Admittedly, most of the villagers would have said the same thing. Even Hazel, who wasn’t that superstitious, all things considered – even she believed a shooting star was a sign of something. She’d just never thought it would be a sign for her.
“Ok,” she said now. “It was a sign. How do you know – “
“Will you stop questioning me!” Marcus snapped in his normal voice. “You were fated for great things, Hazel, and I as your teacher am fated for great things as well. I will send you off to find the missing prince, I will give you instruction and direction, and when you find him you will return him to court so he may prepare himself for the throne. He will offer you rich rewards for your service. We will be history, Hazel Vine.”
Oh, so that’s what he was up to. Hazel had thought for a while now that Marcus thought highly of himself and wished he was something greater than a mere village hedgewitch, and here was her proof. History, indeed. She resisted the urge to snort.
“What if he tells me to fuck off?” she asked curiously. Marcus shrugged.
“He won’t. Who would turn down a chance to be king?”
“Well, if he went missing on his own, and you did say they hadn’t found him because he didn’t want them to, he probably doesn’t want to be king. Or at least he didn’t want to be in court any more.”
“He will change his mind, or you will change it for him.”
“What if I don’t? What if I don’t want to go to the king’s city for some silly mission that you say is my destiny? If it’s my destiny, why don’t I want to do it?”
“Great deeds are not always done by willing men,” Marcus intoned. The words sounded like he thought he’d just given Hazel a quote to remember, so future generations could repeat the phrase with reverence for his wisdom. Hazel thought he had a point, although she knew he was just trying to get her to do what he wanted.
“I’m not entirely unwilling,” she conceded. “But I’m not sure either. It sounds simple, but I can’t imagine it really is that easy.”
“Find the prince and return him to his future. It should not be difficult.”
“Except that I’ve never been to the city, in fact I’ve been away from Redhill exactly once, and I have no idea what he looks like, how old he is, where he’d be, or even what he’s calling himself. Because I can’t believe he’d have gone missing from the castle, kept himself unfound, and still answer to ‘Prince Derek.’ The wind didn’t tell you his name, did it?”
“I only know he is in the city and must be returned to court to train for the kingship before it is too late and the country is torn by civil war for the lack of a royal heir.”
“There are a lot of royal heirs, Marcus. Besides Prince Derek Lysander’s half-siblings. The king had a brother and a sister, the queen has two sisters, they all have children and some of their children have children. Not to mention all the cousins they must have. Even if all seven of the king’s direct heirs are killed or die, there are still people in the line of succession.”
“All of whom will be fighting for the crown.”
Now Hazel did roll her eyes. “It’s not the end of the world, Marcus.”
“Do you presume to tell me what I saw?” Oh, now he was genuinely pissed off. Oops.
“No, of course not. I just don’t understand how I’m supposed to find this guy and take him back to court without a fight. And soon. I guess you want me to leave now, right?”
“As soon as you are able, yes. You must go. Your destiny awaits, yours and his.”
“But – “
“No buts. You will find him in the capital. You will know him when you see him, and if you doubt it is him, you will recognize him for the birthmark shaped like a chicken on his ass.” Hazel stifled a giggle. A birthmark shaped like a chicken? Where was the sanity in this? “I cannot tell you how else to find him, or where to look once you get inside the city. He is not much older than you are, and he will not be living under any of the names his parents have given him. Once you find him you must convince him that he will one day be king and must return to court. This is what fate has decreed for you, Hazel Vine. This is what you must do.”
Hazel still thought he was talking out his ass, farseer voice or no. But if he said it long enough, This is your destiny, she had a good idea that she’d cave and Marcus would get what he wanted. She wondered if Toast would like the city.
words: 1930
total words: 3927
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-02 06:50 pm (UTC)drop trou
no subject
Date: 2004-11-02 07:00 pm (UTC)you will recognize him for the birthmark shaped like a chicken on his ass
*giggles some more* Does that mean we can call Derek, Chicken Butt? :P
no subject
Date: 2004-11-02 07:05 pm (UTC)*giggles*
“Find the prince and return him to his future. It should not be difficult.”
“Except that I’ve never been to the city, in fact I’ve been away from Redhill exactly once, and I have no idea what he looks like, how old he is, where he’d be, or even what he’s calling himself. Because I can’t believe he’d have gone missing from the castle, kept himself unfound, and still answer to ‘Prince Derek.’ The wind didn’t tell you his name, did it?”
*giggles some more*
"No buts. You will find him in the capital. You will know him when you see him, and if you doubt it is him, you will recognize him for the birthmark shaped like a chicken on his ass."
*is DEAD*
no subject
Date: 2004-11-02 07:20 pm (UTC)brilliant fun, lovely!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-02 07:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-02 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-02 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-03 08:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 10:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 10:10 am (UTC)alex sez: he has a nice ass.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 10:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 10:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 10:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 10:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 11:00 am (UTC)Also, Chicken Butt suits you better. :P
no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 12:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 12:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-05 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-05 03:58 pm (UTC)