The Perfect Prophecy Part 3

Pennyworth gave the king the prophecy he had written. As the king sat at the dining table with plates of fruits, chicken, and soup laying upon it, Pennyworth stood nearby trying not to tremble. He prayed that the prophecy he’d written was to the king’s liking and hoped that this whole prophecy business would be over soon.

The king smiled. “Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful!”

“Really?”

“Indeed! This shall do perfectly.”

Pennyworth relaxed.

“Of course, it may need one little adjustment.”

“An adjustment?”

King Kenton waved his hand dismissively. “Just a minor tweak. I shall handle it myself.” He rose and patted Pennyworth on the back. “All we have to do is tell the peasants the newly discovered prophecy and that we’ve found the Chosen One. Then they’ll calm down and, if we’re lucky, they shall leave me alone. I shall send for—what’s his name?”

“Gorgonzola.”

“Odd name. I shall send for him tonight. Tomorrow morning, I shall make the announcement and we’ll have the boy sent off by tomorrow afternoon.”

Pennyworth nodded. He was a bit concerned for the boy. After all, he doubted Gorgonzola had ever defeated a dragon before. How was he going to beat it? Then another thought came to him. “Uh, your majesty?”

“Yes?”

“What if—I mean suppose—that is to say---”

“Spit it out!”

“Um, suppose the boy doesn’t defeat the dragon. Then what will we do? Surely the people will be angry again. They may realize that this whole prophecy is a ruse. On top of that, the dragon will still be—”

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t worry about that. I’ve already planned ahead.”

“You have?”

“Yes, I have. If this whole plan goes south, then I’ll just use Plan B.”

“Oh. What is Plan--?”

“I’ll explain it later. For now, get some hot food and a good night’s rest. It’s gonna be a big day tomorrow.”

Pennyworth bowed and went out of the dining room. The king was happy, so he should be happy, and he was. He ate a nice bowl of chicken soup with rice for diner, went to his room, did a little bit of night reading, and then went to bed. “I cannot wait for the ceremony to start,” he thought. “The sooner we start, the sooner it will be over, and the sooner I can stop worrying about this whole thing.”

 

Pennyworth, with the sword on his lap, sat in a chair on the wooden podium a few feet away from King Kenton. The king’s crown blazed in the morning sunlight as he stood proudly on the stage before the large crowd of people, who were booing and shouting. “Down with the king!” some said, while others asked when the king would act and stop the dragon.

King Kenton raised his hand for silence, but the noise didn’t stop. “Fine! Keep shouting! I was going to tell you that we had a plan, but I guess you’d all rather die by dragon fire!”

The crowd became silent.

“That’s better. When I, King Kenton, saw the first attack upon our lands by the dragon, my heart bled for the people…”

Pennyworth sighed. Not a speech! This was a typical thing for King Kenton to do. Talking himself up so that his approval ratings would go up. Just get to the point.

But the king went on for over twenty minutes about the days and months he spent trying to find a way to defeat the dragon, and the emotional and mental effect it had upon him, and how he knew that he could never give despite all the pain and suffering that went on around him. He mentioned how hard it was to focus on stopping the dragon because of the stress and anxiety he suffered because the protesters started marching outside his palace, and how despite their cruel chanting, he understood their frustration and anguish.

Part of the crowd were actually convinced by his speech and felt sorry for him. They stood in rapt attention, wondering how strong he must’ve been to try to help them despite the protests of the impatient people. Others greatly desired for him to get to the point but were too afraid to interrupt for fear that he wouldn’t tell them his plan at all.

Pennyworth knew all too well that most of what the king said were lies or exaggerations of what happened. And the biggest lie of all hadn’t even been told yet.

“…I could not stand that the dragon stole our livestock and burned our crops,” King Kenton went on. “I sent the best of knights to go destroy the foul beast, but it was all for naught. Desperate for a solution, I ordered the best scholars to find something, anything that could help us. At last, after months of searching the royal archives, we found this!” The king took out a scroll and held it up for all to see.

“An old scroll?” a man asked. “How’s that gonna save us!?”

“It is not the scroll that will save us, but the prophecy within the scroll.”

The crowd murmured to one another. “A prophecy?”

The king opened the scroll, cleared his throat, and began to read. “When the dragon attacks the pleasant land, a small youth shall make a stand. With a magic sword in his hand, he shall bring the dragon down with a clever plan. The Chosen One’s name will start with G, his name shall be that of a common cheese. They shall call him a hero, and a hero he shall be, short in stature but mighty in gallantry.”

The king waved his hand. “Bring the boy here!”

Two guards led Gorgonzola up the stairs to the platform. He smiled sheepishly at the crowd and waved.

“Gorgonzola’s the Chosen One!?” a woman asked.

The crowd began to speak amongst themselves.

“I knew it!” Dave said, nodding. “I knew that boy would do something great one day! I told you all. But nope! You all called me crazy. Good old Gorgonzola.”

Gorgonzola smiled and waved at Dave.

“Come here, boy,” King Kenton said.

Gorgonzola walked up to him and bowed.

“The sword.”

Pennyworth stood up and carried the sword to the boy.

Gorgonzola’s eyes widened. “Is that the magic sword?”

Pennyworth nodded. “It is,” he muttered and handed it to him.

Gorgonzola unsheathed it. The sword’s silver surface glinted in the light. Its hilt was a dark shade of blue.

Pennyworth had to hand it to the smith. He made the rusty piece of metal into something beautiful to behold. It was a shame that it would get dragon’s blood on it. That is, if the boy actually was able to kill the dragon. If he didn’t then that would mean they had just sent the boy to his death. Pennyworth didn’t want to think about it, so he decided to return to his seat.

“Stay there, Pennyworth,” the king said.

Pennyworth stopped in his tracks and looked at the king. What was it? What was wrong? Surely they could wrap up now and go back to the palace.

The King picked up the scroll again.

He’s going to read it a second time, Pennyworth thought. That wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Usually, when a decree was made by the king or anyone else, they repeated what they said just in case anyone misheard or just in case some newcomers didn’t get a chance to hear the message. Maybe King Kenton figured that if he read it twice, anyone who misheard or didn’t hear the prophecy could hear it over again.

Pennyworth closed his eyes and listened.

“When the dragon attacks the pleasant land, a small youth shall make a stand.”

Not a bad line, Pennyworth thought.

“With a magic sword in his hand, he shall bring the dragon down with a clever plan.”

Do the people truly believe the bit about the magic sword? I hope so.

“The Chosen One’s name will start with G, his name shall be that of a common cheese. They shall call him a hero, and a hero he shall be, short in stature but mighty in gallantry.”

Good! Now we can end this and go home.

“The boy shall have a wise mentor to guide him.”

Pennyworth’s eyes shot open. A mentor? I don’t remember writing that part.

“He shall prevent the youth from doing foolishness on a whim. He will be tall, but also a bit thin. He shall be meek and may seem useless at first, but in wisdom he shall prove to be well versed.”

Tall and thin? Meek? Why those traits? That sounds like—

“Together they shall complete the task ahead. They shall not rest until the dragon is dead.”

The king turned to Gorgonzola and pointed to Pennyworth. “Pennyworth, my noble companion, is your wise mentor.”