Slowly I healed and eventually I was allowed to see my son. He was a month old when I was finally well enough to leave my chambers, and he stole my heart immediately. His hair was fair like his father’s but his eyes were dark like my mother’s. The sudden memory of my family brought tears to my eyes but I quickly hid them, for my king no longer abided tears.
The first few years of my son’s life was a hard time for me, for as my husband fell further into his obsession with the god Ciarrohn, I found myself keeping apart from him as often as possible. His temper flared at the smallest inclination and he often took his rage out on me in order to spare our son. The castle became a miserable prison, for myself and those who served us. The king doted on his child, teaching him habits I would never have dreamed of, allowing him to be violent and giving him everything he desired.
Once I imagined myself taking my child and fleeing with him, running off to some far away province where the king of Ghorium could never find us. It was a simple trip into the country that changed my mind on the matter. I took my boy, Kalehm, the name I only used when his father was not around, without informing the king of our plans. He hunted us down and I was punished for my indiscretion, all in sight of our son. It wasn’t the pain my husband inflicted on me that wounded me so, but the look on Kalehm’s face. Indifference. Seeing his mother’s harsh punishment had no effect on him whatsoever. That is when I realized that my husband never wished to spare our son when he abused me; he wished to train him to accept such violence and to be immune to its awfulness.
I could have left, yes. I could have given it all up and gone on my own. My husband would not have cared one way or the other. But I could not leave my son to his imminent destruction, so I stayed, despite the cruelty, neglect and turmoil. I tried to teach my son what I could, when his father was not around, to instill some good in him. But it seemed impossible.
I should have left that first year, but some inborn maternal instinct wouldn’t let me go. It wasn’t until my boy’s tenth year that I realized the child I had clung to and tried to save was no longer there. He had been completely transformed, turned into something spiteful and evil, and when I looked carefully I could see glimpses of Ciarrohn in his eyes. My Kalehm was no longer in control; he no longer thought or felt, his mind and soul had been completely dominated by whatever sliver remained of the evil god in this world. Traagien had done his best, but that great dragon had not destroyed Ciarrohn completely those many years ago and now the evil god had found a young, strong host, one I was certain he would never relent.
My heart broke the day I realized my son was lost and I wandered the castle halls, sobbing silently and wishing for an end to my torment. But such a blessing would not come to me because of a vow I made years before. I would suffer for my misdeeds, for choosing the desire for power over love. This was to be my fate and punishment.
I stayed in the castle for a month after my discovery but it was time for me to leave, to strike out into the world and try to forget my mistakes and my failures. I was correct in thinking my husband would not care about my whereabouts, as long as he had our son at his side. I left with only the clothes on my back. Briefly, I thought of returning to my homeland, of seeking out the man I had once admired and rejected but I knew he could no longer love me, if love me he did before I married the king. As comforting as it seemed to go back to that life I knew I could not. I had forsaken it long ago.
The wilderness became my home and I thanked the goddess for giving me a curiosity about the earth and its growing things when I was a child, for I was able to care for myself well enough by taking advantage of its bounty. I stayed close for several years, within the province of Ghorium, all to hear news of my dear Kalehm, my son. I knew he was lost to me, but a mother never forgets her children, and as the years flew by word of the young prince became more and more common. I heard tales of his cruelty and ambition, of his poor treatment of those who were less fortunate than himself. His father had already begun a new reign of terror and it only seemed to be worsening as he taught his own twisted values to his heir. I should not have sought out news of the king and the prince, for it shattered my heart anew each time. But something drove me to seek it, and I paid dearly for my curiosity.
When my son reached his twentieth year a distant king, the brother to my husband, traveled from the far province of Oescienne in the west. With him he brought his sons and allies; a massive army to defeat my husband and put an end to his reign of terror. We rallied behind him, myself and the common folk of Ghorium. Only, our king and his son had been planning, building up their own armies and breeding dragons capable of destroying whole villages.
Though the king of Oescienne had dragons to fight by his side as well, they were defeated and slaughtered. It was amid all this horror that I realized my Kalehm had wielded a power no man, elf or dwarf could ever control. Ciarrohn had grown strong within him and had helped him obliterate his enemies.
My husband, the king, died in the great battle as well, but all evidence proved that he had been murdered by his own son, the new king of Ghorium. I did not think my punishment could get any worse. I did not grieve my husband, for he had been a stranger to me for so long. What I mourned was that final thread of hope to save my son snapping when he killed his father and all those who opposed him.
The days and months flew by after the defeat of the king of Oescienne, and my child grew in power, his soul no longer present. He became known as the Crimson King, or the Great Tyrant, because that is what he had become. He took the symbol of the blood rose, our benevolent goddess’s emblem, and adopted it, claiming it to be his own. When the blood of his enemies had spilled upon the great plain below our province, where he had fought his uncle from the west, the roses had grown and he had taken this as a sign. But we, the people of Ethoes, would always know. We would always keep the blood rose sacred, for it was first and foremost the gift from our goddess and not the symbol of violence and death that the Tyrant King had claimed it to be.
After that first war I decided to go into hiding again, living off of the forest in the east and wondering if my son even remembered me. I visited villages seldom, only to prove that there were still people in the world and to pick up a few supplies I could not gather from the forest. My son continued to grow in power, threatening to make war upon the neighboring provinces.
There was a rumor circulating as well, one that turned my blood colder than the day I learned who had overtaken my child. A rumor so horrifying that my dreams became saturated with it. It was whispered among the people of Ghorium that their tyrant king had plans to destroy what remained of the human race, the Tanaan from the west, those who had so readily allowed their sovereign and his seven sons to leave their kingdom and come to die in Ghorium. Ciarrohn was ready to take the next step in eradicating the bond Ethoes had struck between the peoples of her world and their land. He would put an end to the human race once and for all, and leave Oescienne free for his taking. Never mind that it was on the other side of the world, for the humans were weak and they would be easiest to defeat.