Proposed Prologue

Imagine a dark night, the moon hidden behind large ominous clouds and the wind growing stronger as the weather turned grim. Silence, as every door in every apartment in Woodgrove Town was shut against the night, the inhabitants afraid. The recent spate of unsolvable murders that have swept across the country-island of Maine left the police baffled and the people terrified.

Through the empty, dimly lit streets, there was a sound of pattering, steadily becoming thumps of heavy footsteps. The rapidity suggests someone on the run. Heavy breathing would follow, if the sound of them were not covered by those pounding feet. Someone must really be in a hurry.

Iskandar ran. He was afraid, of that you can be sure. He runs with a wild abandon, not looking where he is actually heading to but just wanting to get away. He risks a glance backwards, hoping in vain that his pursuers where gone.They had. They were no longer there.This took him utterly by surprise, and as a result, his footsteps slowed, then stopped. He was breathing hard, and the cool night air was cooling the sweat that had made his cotton shirt an unlikely home.

Suddenly, the danger that had manifested so suddenly did not seem so imminent.He had been reading at home, in an apartment that was five stories up, when he was attracted by some sudden urge to be outside. So he had gone downstairs, taking the old elevator that had served the block for many a-years, feeling it shiver slightly as in passed every floor. On the wall were the floor levels in nice rounded chrome buttons and above it a sign saying "$ 200" underneath a picture of a cigarette with a red line crossing it diagonally. Iskandar wondered briefly whether there was anyone foolish enough to actually smoke inside the elevator. Two hundred was a cool sum, and it was quite a lot in these troubled times, when crime was on the rise, with the rate of crime done to crime stopped being almost five to one, the sudden unemployment crisis, the hot words bandied about by the nation's neighbours, cigarette prices were going through the roof. And here they were, charging two hundred for a smoke in the elevator, when smoking outside was a much better idea. He shook his head slowly, took out his cigarette container, and counted the contents. Three left. He would have to get another pack the moment he was done with this one. Katy would not be pleased.

He sighed, and placed the container back into his pocket. One day he would have enough to make her his wife. He had been offered several wonderful posts that he had turned down, even though he knew they would have set him up for life. They would have given him a beautiful partner and the four babies they had planned for, two boys and two girls. But he had still turned them down. The reason? He did not know it himself, at least not consciously, for he had never voiced it out and ever his inner voice tried to stamp the very thought from his mind. But it seems he was destined for something. Something big. Snatches of a song kept playing in his head, in a language he did not know or understand, sounding mournful and yet hopeful at the same time.

With a chime and a sultry female voice announcing the first storey, he arrived below. The cold wind that blew and that faint smell of rain welcomed him, but as he walked a few steps he realised something. He did not know exactly why, but he felt that he had been called to go there.He was afraid, yes, but he was intent not to show it. In him there seemed to be liquid steel flowing through his veins. It does not mean he does not have fear in his vocabulary, but to him, fear was an enemy long past conquered. He was not lacking in courage.

Unfortunately, it was not his lack of courage, but an abundance of youth that proved his undoing. He was young. And the young, as the old would like you to believe, are reckless. So he had ignored that feeling, and stood his ground.He did not stand his ground for long. As he withdrew a cigarette from his pocket container, he felt the wind pick up. His long-ish dark hair was positively dancing, when a moment ago it had barely moved. He had taken three attempts to light his cigarette, finally hiding behind a wall with his left hand cupped to get it lit.

The first drag was heavenly. He had not smoked for almost a week, and he recognised the first feeling that came as guilt. He had promised Katy he would kick the habit, that he had kicked the habit, but he thought he had a very good reason to break the week long fast. For the first time in his life, even though he could not explain it, fear was overpowering him. It was as if the air around him had developed hands, and was slowly but surely squeezing the very air from his lungs. His own hands grew moist, and those normally steady limbs begin to shake. His knees start to quake. He was almost choking as he tried to breathe, retching silently.The cigarette dropped. The fear was started out as a whisper was screaming now. The half-finished cigarette with grey ash dribbling from its tip fell to the ground. If an Environment officer was around, it was a good bet that he would have been booked, at least a two hundred dollar fine for littering.

But he was past caring. Slowly, Iskandar felt himself being choked to death.He heard the sinister laughter, the mincing sound of a clown gone bad. He was, at this time, on his knees, struggling still to draw breath, his fingers tearing at the clamp that seemed to be upon his throat. He tried to look at the owner of the voice, but he could not. His vision was dimming like a lamp on board a train that is moving away from you during a dark night.

"Run, my dear. Run!” That voice! It had a rasping quality to it that was scary, but somehow reassuring. Like an old, familiar uncle who was handling a knife hidden behind his back, and an almost placating smirk upon his face, and his other hand beckoning.Like an Uncle who works as a clown. A clown gone bad.

"RUN!" And Iskandar did. He felt the grip lessen, and he stumbled on to his feet, and ran like a drunken monkey. His fear was nauseating, but it gave him strength to get away. His legs tried to start its pumping but it faltered as he tried first to win his breath back, half-succeeded, got his innate gyroscope working again, and off he went on the 100 metre dash. Only this time, he knew, he could not win, even if he had Thierry Henry's pace. The tittering, menacing yet friendly laughter followed him still. If he had a million dollars, he would bet that that laughter would still follow him had he transported himself to the other side of the world.He was being toyed with, and he knew it.So he had ran, and turned to find no one, and he had stopped. These thoughts had barely taken a second to bounce around in his mind, but even now, the fear was abating its domination of him, and the steel that was normally within was reasserting control. He began to forget that there was even a voice in the first place, and reasoned that the fear was probably the guilt about lighting up in the first place.

As he felt his panic ebb, the laughter began again. He felt fear assault him like a horrible wave, and he gave back, step by step. Through slitted eyes, hands over his face, he glimpsed six shadows converge on him, slowly gaining solidity from nothing, and revealed six figures of almost the same height, marching in step, similar ebony robes moving slowly in the breeze. They held parangs glinting evilly even in the dark, the only light being a flickering apartment sign "372 of Woodgrove Town District". It was then, that Iskandar broke. He did something that he had not done since he was a little child.

Prince Iskandar, unknown heir to the lost throne of Java (even to himself), blood descendent of Golden Alexander and the Great Salahiddin, who the infidels call Saladin, wept in utter anguish.He fell before their advance. Black despair filled his heart and bile rose unbidden to his lips. He retched till he could retch no more, but still the laughter continued. He stumbled backwards, weeping tears of fear so concentrated it was excruciating. In his blindness, hoping to escape the fearful torment, he crashed into the wall behind him and fell in a heap upon the cold and slimy floor.

He knew the game was up. He had nowhere to run.He lay a moment curled in a ball, his arms encircled around his heaving body, tears like rain falling onto the dirty pavement. Rats and cockroaches where nowhere in sight; they had fled at the sound of that (evil clown) laughter. Then, as if in answer to his cries the laughter ebbed away to giggles, and then silence.Iskandar recovered enough to raise his head. Through the haze of tears he saw a man in black, even darker than the six behind him (if that was possible), who now sketched a bow to him, still tittering as if the joke was over but the laughter still carried on. He seemed shorter than the rest, but he was powerful, more powerful than the six who stood in a semi-circle behind him. It was in his stature, every sinuous curve filled with evil menace, yet somehow, there was something hauntingly familiar about this apparition. He was wearing a hood which covered his face, but even in the dark Iskandar could fathom the sardonic grin beneath the darkness.

He began to speak.

"Ah, my Prince! I am glad you are well. No, no, don't get up, its alright if you continue to stay rested." At this the Evil man, no, thing, laughed and Iskandar cringed again. The thing held up a finger and shook his head. "Now now, no need to get all scared, after all a healthy sense of humour is always important."

Iskandar could make no sense of this tirade. In a soft, almost tired voice, he said, “Prince? What prince? Who are you? What do you want with me?" Senseless questions really, but even in his weakened state he desired to know what was happening. More importantly, he needed to know why this was happening to him.

"Why?" He cackled." Who? They didn't tell you? How quaint! I suppose they wanted to protect you from yourself. Stupid, arrogant fools." He giggled, and suddenly looked serious, if that could be contrived in the semi-darkness. “Well, you are a Prince of the Prophecy, but that doesn’t mean you are going to be the King," he barked his laughter. “I don't intend for you to be Him, anyway. You see, I’m going to kill you, and then I'm going to cut off your head and stow it as proof of your death. Someone very powerful wants you dead. And I, of course," he giggled girlishly," never fail."

Iskandar was trembling now. He knew he was at the mercy of this thing and his end seemed to have been set. But the thing was not done with him. No, it had one more thing to show Iskandar. The thing withdrew a black cloth bag and without ceremony tossed it at Iskandar. It bounced once, twice, and then dumped its contents in his face. Iskandar blinked in horror. His cousin Wan stared back at him with a slack expression on his face, and the evil thing burst into mirthless laughter.

“Gaze upon your guardian, your highness!" cried he, “look upon those who have failed to serve you! You knew him as Wan, but his true name was Bambangwan Hamengko, of late a Knight of the order of Java. In the High Language it means 'Warrior Protector', did you know? He might be named 'Warrior', but he wasn’t much of one when I swiped his head from his shoulders!"
Insane laughter ensued. “And by the time I was through with him, he wasn’t really a male, if you know what I mean!".

Iskandar did not heed this; he was cradling the head of his cousin in his arms, blood coating his hands and lap as he stared sadly at the eyes that always crinkled in laughter, that mouth that always held a smile ready or had a kindly word to say. Slowly, he looked away from the head and he tucked it into the crook of his left arm. His eyes swung forward, and a fire began to burn within him. His eyes were like exploding stars and the darkness fell back before him. His wrath concentrated before him like a raging fire, and the darkness despaired. The six guards, in their dismay, fell back a step, then another, and every step they gave he gained in strength, till he could get to his feet easily.

But the thing stood still, and began to laugh; using the evil it possessed to bring him down to his knees, to crush his resistance.But it was of no use. He felt a growl in his throat, the battle fever hot upon him. The laughter grew, louder and louder, decibel by decibel, till the very air was rank with fear and hatred and the residents in block number 372 of Woodgrove Town District screamed in their beds as the fear assaulted them too. But still, it mattered not. He was revealed now, the true Prince of the Line, every line shining with ancient power as he strode forward and roared.

"Halt you, thing of evil! You cur! You hinzir! You son of a motherless goat! You have no power over the light! I know you, Sade!" at this the creature whimpered and the laughter ceased as if a switch had been flicked off, “And as I know your name I know you to be a coward! Feel my wrath as I smite you into the ground, fool!" And the Prince leaped forward with his right arm cocked, on his lips a battle song of Kunsowong Bambang, his brow alight with the inner fire, inner light that was in his blood, was his heirloom from his ancestors and he called upon it to destroy this evil before him.And he found himself stopped a bare whisker from his target, stopped by some unknown force. He gasped and grabbed at Sade, drawing back the hood and staring in surprise at the truly familiar features of his own face. A mirror. A doppelganger. A clone. And the clone, laughed.

"You think you can defeat me so easily? I, who have hunted your kind for centuries, and drank the blood of your guardians, I have learned well, my dear Prince.” He smiled and began to sing a song, the song that Iskandar had been hearing in the darkness of his dreams, the song in the unknown language, presumably the High Tongue

Iskandar felt tears, not of pain but relief, for the song brought understanding and he felt lighter, more ready to meet his fate. For it was all over. He hung onto Sade, and stared deep into those eyes filled with hatred. He slowly broke the contact and cast his eyes down. The jewel encrusted dagger hilt was all that could be seen, the rest was within him.

"This weapon was crafted by the Siamese, and if ever there were a people I loved, the Siamese have won the jackpot!"

Blood began to pour as Sade said this, grinning. Iskandar felt tired, but still he did not let go. Again, he looked into Sade's eyes, and this time he smiled.

" You have not won, Sade. Soon, the one shall reveal himself, and he will be too powerful for even you to destroy." And he sang of the prophecy, the same song Sade had sung earlier, but stopped at a line, which he repeated in English.

“He shall be clad in green, and no mortal weapon will destroy him. You will never win."And with that the Sade laughed. He laughed, this time it was with pure mirth, and he laughed till his stomach ached, as the life blood of the prince dribbled out onto the floor like a red, red river and he laughed some more, till he was hoarse. Then he shook his head slowly and wiped the tears in his eyes with his shoulders, still holding onto the prince in a death embrace. He barked a laugh, and then seem to subside, smiling merrily, almost kindly.

"How little you know, my prince.” he twisted the knife, making the mortally wounded prince moan in anguish. And with one quick move, the Siamese blade, still hungry for Javanese blood after seven centuries, still as sharp as the day it was hauled triumphantly from a fire deep in the heart of Siam, was ripped out of Iskandar’s body. Swiftly, more merciful than he intended, Sade decapitated his prey.

He smiled, replacing his hood, and slowly licked the blood from the gleaming blade.

“For I, have already won.”