Riga Nénharma

Chapter Two: Tēvs no pagātnes ( Father of the Past)

Chapter Two: Tēvs no pagātnes

(Father of the Past)

In Riga, only certain people are allowed worship the Gods of Nénharma. When an individual is ill it is believe that that individual has been chosen to be the lover or worshiper of that God. No one can undo a God’s choice. Eventually the individual will die.

King Belolas, the king of the prosperous Kingdom of Latvia, stared off into the dulling sunset. He winced at the pain inflicted on his pupils by staring directly at the sun, but refused to look away, for his agony within was far worse than his external pain. He searched the horizon, silently asking the heavens why they would torture him so. Why would the Gods take such an innocent child away before she could even live?

In complete frustration he yelled, “Why in the name of Teki, Kon, and Pan have you betrayed me?!” King Belolas threw his hands up in dismay, “Ancestors! Why would you take away my child before her loving parents? Her life has just begun! Are you willing to not just take my child, but the wife of my youngest son, the future king?!”

“Father?”

King Belolas turned in shock. “Clya?” King Belolas fell to his knees, settled on the cooling stone floor. “What are you doing out of your room?”

As if on cue, Clya fell to the ground with a ‘thud’ crossing her arms in frustration. “Why must I always stay in my room? Uru and Thraya are allowed to go outside,” wined Clya.

Clya’s face reddened and tears sprung into her eyes.

King Belolas watched in surprise with Clya’s words and actions. He spoke quietly and moved over by her sitting form slightly shaking from the October chill from the North. “Clya, you know the reason why you have to stay inside. You are ill and need to rest to regain your strength so you can become healthy again.”

“But I want to play, too!” Clya crossed her three-year-old arms across her chest tightly. “I wanna see the sun and thank the God Teki and Kon for the warmth and sunlight.”

“Clya . . .,” whispered King Belolas, gathering her in his arms.

Clya’s eyes, know spilling large droplets of salted tears, spoke, “I don’t want to die in my room, da. I want to see everyone’s smiles and hear everyone’s laughs. I don’t want to die without remembering what everyone looks like.”

Stream of tears coated Clya’s face. Her shaking hands rubbed the tears away, trying to stay lady like.

It took all the strength King Belolas had not to cry. He couldn’t show weakness when his daughter, who is terminally ill, spoke with the hope to remain normal until the end. King Belolas couldn’t comprehend how his three-year-old daughter could be stronger mentally than all his royal subjects.

Clya‘s strength was visible even though she was physically weak. Clya was the spitting image of her mother, Queen Elvawen, who survived being the only woman to give birth to triplets and survive along with the children. From that day forward Clya was allowed to play with her siblings and enjoy her life for as long as the God Teki permitted.

A year-in-a-half later, Clya grew and handled the disease within her with stride. Most of the kingdom thought a miracle had occurred and that the royal princess had been cured because the God Pan favored her. But the palace knew that Clya was a walking time bomb, one day blowing and ending her life without warning.

In 1059, a few weeks after the triplets fifth birthday, a message was sent to King Belolas. Through the message the king nearly had a heart attack. A royal decree had been sent to King Belolas and the Kingdom of Latvia from Estonia. A warning was issued rather than a decree of peace, stating three actions he had to comply to.

One: give up the fight of stopping their power.

Two: remain in their kingdom and live peacefully.

King Belolas and Queen Elvawen nearly started choking on their imported grape wine from the Germanic Tribes south of the Latigolians land when they read the last decree.

Three: give his daughters’ to King Iilot. The children would become the wives of King Iilot’s three sons.

Not even a month later, King Belolas organized a convoy to take all his children to Hidden Island on the coast of an ally. No one wanted to see their highnesses become royal hostages to keep the peace between Latvia and Estonia. Substitutes were put in place of the princesses. Nearly everything was ready on the night of November 26th, 1059, day of the God Pan’s ascending into the Holy Garden. King Belolas’s last hope was that night, but he knew something was going to happen.

     The northerly winds switched to the west and brought the wintry chill from the Vaughn Northern tundra. That night was every Latigolians last hope, but the God Kon must not have been watching them closely enough, for that night ended with a blood-stained moon and no stars of the ancestors shown through the darkened sky.

King Belolas would be murdered that fateful night.

Queen Elvawen would commit suicide after witnessing her husband’s death.

And the royal children would vanish in thin air, never to be seen again . . . until one fateful November day in 1070, eleven years later. The exact same day the kingdom lost their only hope.