EPEOLATRY

STORY

A Just of the Mountain King

by Yash Sinojia

          It was a hot sunny day, damn fire with all its burning waves in rude and scathing vibes; and I was dripping in lukewarm sweat damp with an unfathomable latency of the heat; to favour the odds: I had been lifting these loads all along and the tendons of my muscles were stiff as a pillar made up of some casterly rock; even the veins of my arms lay exposed like some pipeline transporting an unstoppable supply of fluidic weed extracts: about to be trapped and sealed by some enforcement agency. I was perspiring and evaporating a tang like a highly fermented ethanol that turned the arid aura whiff like a smoke. Well, in this scorching setting I’ve to meet Mr.T to get something that was mine across the high tides.

          The lake was placid and stagnant around that mighty mountain but the winds were strong spurting a shower to drench me, despite its vitality the lake lay lifeless like some dead but ruthlessly arid desert. The water chilled down the heat but made the humidity look so superfluous. It was all fished out, not even a single coral reef left behind but there were shells and combs like some ancient ruins of some extinct aquatic civilization. We landed and came across the island plain with vast plastic greenery: another landmark with not a visible organic entity except those straight mean trees and some lazy creepers; there wasn’t even a single standing stone half as tall as that single lonely mountain, it’s peak scraped the sky piercing the clouds to make a mundanely surrealistic bridge between heaven and hell: the climb was tedious but one single mistake and the fall just slides so fluently like water from a tap.

          The entrance was the simplest thing ever spotted in this overtly melodramatic landscape: just a rectangular steel door but to just give a lag and let people stay in their histrionic analysis for a while: there was a queue of faceless men that were willing to take up any feature of an identity that the supreme demands. I was checked from hairs to toes and been holstered off my belonging, it felt good unloading all the crap, them inimical objects taken away by royal guards that I must’ve dumped away long before on my journey but didn’t; Still, they gave no heed to that piece, lay clearly unobstructed upfront: that was my weapon but they don’t care.

          Finally, I entered the hall of the mountain king with a sigh of relief as the place had invigorating breeze blowin’ on form the masts. There pegged the portraits of great artists as young men all over the walls but I had no time for this artistic scenery for I rushed to the counter fixated right down the pinnacle. Mr.T was there: rocking back and forth imbibing some sniffs, seemed sour and perpetually made entries of some quirky codes on a tab of screwed heinously with a miniature of clockwork.

“He’s busy, real! What’s your matter?” sneaked a Baret.

“Hello, I’m here for my fidelity, those knights of vale …”

“They’re doomed, extradited for time being” replied he.

The Baret had a beard in a neat cut, there was a potent of fire glowing in his eyes, wearing some cologne that fumed like incendies but still in a grounded state, bored of all the mundane and waited eagerly for a spark that will turn the flesh into blood and bones or ashes.

“But I just want the deposit.” I said

“Shape and Size?”

“It’s a black box” replied I

“Hell, sounds like a solicitation of a dullard” he said

“Look, it’s an extravagantly elongated cuboid stuffed with a teak of purlington wood in the geometry of a gasket and …”

“Do I look like a conceited mathematician, freaking Democritus? How can we believe any stuffy fable that you babble?” inquired he

“I’ve got credentials”

“Unfold, then” interrupted he

I took out a script from my case signed by Artys, his majesty and handed over.

He glanced over “Look like a warrant, won’t work though, it’s … due. Doesn’t mention any unarchivation of plank. Just the consent is never enough.”

There was a sudden loud thud of a fist banging on the desk.

“Enough! Damn it, Nunc. Give that man whatever he wants, we ain’t dragging stints here.” grunted Mr.T

“Noted, my lord” exclaimed the Beret.

He entered the office and pulled out a humongous container, extracted a parcel and placed upon the desk.

While I was about to unbox, he placed his muscular arms upon it.

“What’s inside?” he interrogated

I raised up my head “It’s the nectar liquefied out of the germinating stones that fragments gaspher from the farmyards of Tambourine that I’m not in a liberty to discuss … Wait, is that what it’s supposed to be?”

“It’s not yours then, it’s his” he said

“What’s mine?”

“Well, what is?”

I was stunned entirely, looked around, excluding this officials Oh, God! Am I here all alone? I have contacts among sell-swords in the vicinity to get me clean facts whenever anyone attacks my imagination, anyway they expect a bag full of sounding pennies to tax-deductible bank, handing me back my throat and thanking for the loan.

“Impossible!” I exclaimed rather softly.

Blazoning his eyes he whispered “You’re a Cow! Take your rationed fodder and go home, we’ll be there to get some milk in return.”

I was petrified.

“Footnotes from whomsoever it was passed by: with regards from Eyrie!” he added.

I accepted it. Before leaving they noted my information that if by any chance they come across the one with whom my fidelity has been exchanged, but till the time to come - that was mine and this was his.

Exiting out, I opened it up and observed the items it contained, valuable they were - nevertheless that useful. But, was it worth the exchange? I don’t know, so how am I supposed to live with someone else’s possessions? Do I use those things up or wait for the one or go in search of him? How can I take up the stuff that’s supposed to make a remarkable change in the identity of the person that it originally belonged to? What does this stuff meant to him? There were no answers, I just know that I’ve to live up with it till the new Reich rises, someday and in that day things won’t matter.

It was a righteousness from the Mountain King, his majesty and I’ll have to gladly accept it and make up my mind for it for entities aren’t supposed to be anybody’s in the reign.

Although, you’ll receive your chips on time and every time but letting that not matter is only the way to slide.