Once Upon A Spring Night

The Dark Tremblor

Deep in his thoughts, Azlan did not notice that his brother, Arham, was trying to get his attention. As the younger prince tapped on his shoulder, he broke off, only to give him a look so muddling.

“Sorry to disturb you, brother. Uncle requested to see you at the council hall.” The second prince remarked.

“Oh, so Tariq is not at the celebration?” The queen asked.

“No, ommi. But I am here to take you to the feast.” Arham added as he offered an arm to her.

“Bismillah… Come, my son.” She sighed, taking her son’s arm. Before they left, the queen eyed her eldest and said to him, “lay off with those uncertainties, Azlan. Let us hope and pray that the princess will be out of harm’s way.”

Azlan did not answer as he gazed at the concerning scene in front of him.

But out of the blue, not even once had they come up against it…

An earthquake suddenly struck the whole kingdom—reaching the highs and lows of the peninsula. There was panic and more rumble that ended in minutes or more. One could always guess. There was even some kind of devilish growl–perhaps from the devil himself–heard from afar.

The tremor was intense, causing enough cracks and debris to fall to the ground. Men and women ran to safe spaces where they would not be hurt as the chaos continued to ponder on them. The ground cracked below their feet, alarming Arham to hold and cover his mother as they ran through the corridors. On the other hand, throwing away his pride and steadiness, Azlan did not second guess shielding the unconscious Primarosa with his body. When all was done and left with aftershocks, the prince instructed one of the servants to call on his men and escort the queen’s guests to safety.

“Your Highness, never worry now about the princess. We will take care of her.” The physician said as he composed himself.

“Thank you. Please let me know if Primarosa is awake.” He ordered him as he ran his hand through her golden hair.

“I will, my prince.”

Prince Azlan dedicated the whole remaining hours of the night to consoling his subjects. He made sure not one of his subjects was harmed by mother earth’s anger. He then ordered Arham to take charge of disseminating his decree that all lords were required to assess if everything in his land was in good shape. He was restless as reports came in about the casualties of both goods and, sadly, a few of his folks.

As the rooster began to cockle for dawn, Queen Parvaneh became concerned, noticing the tiredness on Azlan’s face. She demanded him to now rest while she took over his duties.

“Never say a word. Go now and sleep. I will be in charge for today.” She sternly told him.

Azlan did not argue and complied fully with his mother’s behest.

Drained, Azlan went straight to his chambers, not wanting to hear more of the goings on of his kingdom. But as he opened the door, his uncle Tariq and the magician, Iqbal, were there waiting for him.

“Uncle? Why are you here?” He wearily asked.

“Sorry, my prince, but I have come here to tell you something.” Tariq held his shoulders, visibly shaken and concerned. “Come, come… Let us take a seat. Oh, goodness. May the heavens be with us. We are here because Iqbal saw something on his crystal bowl when the water went still and made a ripple.”

Azlan was confused, darting a look that was both in need of rest and a logical reason from his words.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Iqbal continued, “I see it. It was last night. I heard the whispers of an angel in a dream. I was bewildered, so I used my usual ritual of the crystal bowl. The water was clear at first, but then it made a ripple. I saw it there, an eagle and a sparrow, rivals since long before, had made a brood f*******n by all laws. With that sinful act followed a tremor causing two trees on both sides to collapse.”

“What do you mean by that? What is with this dilly-dallying of magic at this early hour?” Azlan became irritated as he asked both his uncle and the magician.

“My dear boy, Iqbal saw the collapse of the kingdom! Our kingdom!” Tariq frantically emphasized. The grand vizier then clasped the prince’s hand and honestly told him that he knew of his secret visit to the Christian princess. The vizier confessed that one night, he saw him holding some roses going to Princess Primarosa’s room–the reason he began to suspect that there were already growing romantic feelings for his foe. Even more suspicious when some servants noticed the same thing. “Azlan, I knew and saw it all. It may be against our belief to eavesdrop and talk behind your back, but that hidden affection you have for the princess, speculatively speaking, has come to light through the mouths of our household.”

“Who were these people?” A serious note came to the Moor prince’s inquiry. His fist clenched as he tried to hold his temper. He knew that no smoke could hide in one’s palm for a long time. He knew that there would be a day when people would read through beyond his masks his true intentions.

“That does not matter who began the notion, my dear boy. Listen, Iqbal is warning us. The earthquake was a foretelling of the punishment. Showing romance to our enemies is f*******n. The princess is some kind of enchantress that had hexed you!”

“Well, this is already a stretch–” Azlan rose from his seat, frustrated and engrossed by his uncle’s stories. He never believed such childish spiel nor trusted Iqbal—in fact, many men from the royal court found him to be a sham. Those tales they had uttered were meant only in make-believe books and nothing more. The prince felt sheepish, knowing that Tariq already knew of his unbecoming sentiments toward Primarosa. “We should rest now. So, uncle, I would like to excuse myself and please leave now. We’ll talk in the afternoon.”

The colors of the aurora finally gloried the horizon when Tariq and Iqbal left the chambers. The two men expressed their exasperation as they failed to convince the prince. They then both discussed what to do next as they quietly walked the very dark shortcut leading to the main halls of the castle.

“The boy is stubborn! He is like Ismail but a lot more!” Tariq exclaimed, halting himself from throwing a fit.

“Calm down, my lord. In truth, the prince was exhausted and could not fathom the statement. I say a sip from a cup may perhaps change the course of his wits.” The magician guaranteed to the vizier, gazing at him with some kind of enrapture lined all over.

The royal uncle stood unmoved for a moment, wondering what the bemused magician meant. Not having any sense of it, Tariq suspired and gave Ibal his approval no matter what he was planning. “You have my blessing to whatever that is, magician. Make sure that what we planned long ago will not go to waste.”

“Trust me, my lord. It is better than what we had planned.” Iqbal mischievously smiled.