Excerpt from Jagumaterra: A Science-Fiction Parable
"Vicnor pushed her fallen husband's hair away from his handsome face with her hand. As she caressed down his facial features and moved to his firm neck, the virgin blood from his fatal wound soiled her velveteen fur, creating a crimson bridge between her violet pelt and his of dark blue. Tears fell free from her eyes, mixing with the blood that painted the floor. She wished the blood was her own. His life was of so much more significance.
He was, after all, Toshormo, the King of Jagumaterra.
Vicnor buried her face against his chest and wept there on the forbidding obsidian floor, wishing to be wrapped in his arms, even if only once more in this life.
She lifted her face to the vaulted ceilings of the palace, she plead.
“nar'Reos, take my husband's soul into your kingdom and claim vengeance upon his murderer.”
Vicnor listened to her voice echo in the abyss of the inky canopies. A part of her panicked, praying that none had heard her cry, but the other half of herself felt satisfied that the Great Ancestors had heard her.
A soft coo reminded Vicnor that she was not alone in the throne room. Her infant daughter reached for her. The innocent smile on the baby's lips a giveaway to her ignorance of the circumstance. . .or perhaps it was a smile of comfort. There seemed to be a wise gleam in the child's deep blue eyes, the eyes and wisdom of her father.
Her little daughter lay in the large arms of Sir Flauby, King Toshormo's most trusted bodyguard. The devoted knight's head hung against his chest in reverence for his fallen master. Vicnor hoped that he did not blame himself for the death of Toshormo.
She laid her long tail on Flauby's shoulder and lifted her daughter from his arms. The babe's expression changed from her sweet grin to a pout. She blabbered for a moment, as if attempting to speak, then, frustrated by her lack of communication, began to cry.
The murderer's servants still lurked about the castle. It was risk enough that they sat in the open area of the throne room to say their last goodbyes to their friend, father, and husband. Yet, Vicnor defied their presence by whispering a toned lullaby.
“Iqetu, yem fosrif, poror, dy'yo'ry.
Sle'no, yem ily, 'yo Rea'Reo yoni.
Por'sle, alowa weeke tohe uyo yoow.
Por ily'sle, alowa weeke tohe uyo yoow.”
Her daughter nuzzled against Vicnor's breast and fell silent. She lifted her head to look at Flauby, who nodded and beckoned for her to follow.
With a small creek of hinges behind the stone throne, the room became a dark and empty tomb.
Empty, except for a regal, masculine body, giving a silent cry to the universe to save his people from the tyranny that threatened to consume their ignorant minds."