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The Prince and the Ghost

Allan Onik

    The witch finished drawing the pentagrams on the floor and blew out the candles. When she left the throne room the prince’s guards followed directly behind her. On the throne Hassib eyed the purple, glowing orb on his scepter. The ghost grew out of the pentagram and formed a cold void that bent the light around it.
    “Your hag is powerful,” the spirit said, “to draw from my realm.”
    The prince smirked. “The Christians wanted to burn her some time ago. I took her under my wing. In exchange for protection she has been invaluable.”
    “Tell me, your majesty, how may I be of service?”
    The orb on the scepter was now pulsing and flashing. Tendrils of energy and bolts shot through its’ curves. A drop of sweat dropped down Hassib’s brow. The prince spoke. “My father is lying on his deathbed. In no longer than a few weeks, I will be king of this vast land—stretching from the wispy mountains in the east to the dreary marshes in the west. I will have more power than any soul in this region of the world. I will want for nothing, and will answer to no one. Those who defy me will be struck down, and those who aid me will be given all they could desire.
    But some day my bones will thin, and my flesh will sag. The best doctors in the land will try to make me comfortable, and the best mystics will try to bind my soul to my body. But at some point I will have to part from it. I have been to all the conjurors, sorcerers, witches, psychics, and oracles in the land—and I haven’t found the answer to what I seek. Tell me, ghost, what will happen to my soul when I die? Will I visit The Creator, to come back as a falcon or a beggar?”
    The room dimmed and the orb’s pulsation increased voracity. “I do not walk in His circles. There are many places for one to go once the body has been dropped. To whisper in His ear one must have the holiest of constitutions, dear prince.”
    Hassib began to tremble. “Will I not get to live with Him?”
    “Surely not.”
    The prince cringed. “Why is this?”
    “Your witch has a black heart. For a small fortune your enemies in the southern isles have made an arrangement for your death.”
    The spirit surged and the orb burst and shattered. A pulse of purple light flashed through the throne room. The ghost vanished and the prince rolled off his throne, gasping his last breath.

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