The Key of Ban
As the first light of day filtered through the tower windows, Crossmore remained slumped in his chair. Even though his advisers and army generals desperately needed his command, they dare not enter the tower out of the fear of death. Crossmore never allowed his subordinates to enter the tower or make major decisions. The business of the Empire would need to wait until he returned to the throne room.
With the turmoil of the past day dominating the attention of the citizens, little thought was paid to the absence of Badda. The foul slave of Crossmore served his master as an executioner and fear monger. He could only act under the direction of his master. His visits to the city created terror in the minds of all people. The sight of Badda on his nightly missions left a feeling of corruption in the hearts of the observers.
Today, something was different. Crossmore rested in a magical slumber, while Badda remained inactive. Badda stared at Crossmore, waiting for a command to cause him to act. Crossmore’s silence allowed space for a tiny swirl of thoughts to grow in Badda’s mind.
The light of the new day was accompanied by the muffled sound of words within his head. The words cascading through his thoughts remained only symbols without comprehension. Badda’s empty consciousness found no way to transform words into a framework of knowledge. Words filtered through Badda’s mind, echoing like shouts in the dim recesses of a cavern. As the hours of the day extended into evening, the resonating pulse of words was transformed into voices. Then, like a sudden shout, the sound of a woman’s voice filled his mind. The face of the woman flashed into a vivid picture. He had known this person.
He heard a child’s voice saying, “Mom, may I go outside and play?”
The word mom reverberated while the face of the woman grew in familiarity. He developed a connection between the word mom and the face. He understood that the face was mom. Yet, he could not bridge the gap between the woman and himself.
He asked himself, “What is a mom?”
A puzzled expression grew on Badda’s face, as he looked around the room. He sensed he was something other than nothing. A tiny corner in the vast emptiness of his mind was now occupied by understanding. Like a grain of sand on a vast beach, a single symbol had gained power. A crack had been made in the wall of his memory. The barrier created by Crossmore had been breached, allowing past memories to once again be experienced.
A glimmer of light radiated out of the grotto of his mind. With an infantile power of choice, he followed the beam to its origins. Words, faces and events blossomed into his thoughts like a light passing through a prism. Each filament of light was a memory striving to find meaning in the disorder of a nebulous mass.
A turbulence of frustration rolled though him like an earthquake. The tremor radiated from his struggle to create order out of chaos. The essence of his creation was calling him to wholeness.
This confusion was followed by the eruption of words. “Bobby go wash up, it is time for dinner.”
“Grandma is coming for your birthday party.” “Bobby, do you want to go fishing?”
“Let’s go play in the forest.”
“Why do you keep visiting with Wizard Crossmore?”
“Magic is too dangerous. Why do you want to be a wizard?” “Crossmore taught me some magic today.”
“I talked to Topple this morning? He told me I was in great danger.” “Crossmore told me he wants to talk to me tonight in the tower.” “Topple told me not to visit Crossmore.”
“I can think for myself!”
The flow of memories had started as a small trickle of names, places, people and events. At first, his struggling mind was unable to develop associations between the bits and pieces as they seeped through the crack in his memory. As the night progressed, the flow of information increased. It was like opening the floodgates of a dam.
His stunted freewill could not restrain the flow of reawakened memories. Badda was like a ship without a rudder. He grew increasingly disoriented as his thoughts interacted freely. His mind raced to keep up with the expanding flow of information. Several times he tried to tame his mind, but he only collapsed in distress. His willpower was like a shriveled muscle, weak from a lack of exercise.
The night passed with Badda facing ever increasing contact from his past. The light of a new day found him lying on the tower floor in a state of exhaustion. He was grinding his teeth. His muscles flexed in uncontrollable spasms. With an abrupt jerk, Badda opened his eyes. His glance shifted back and forth like that of a crazed animal. As he crawled to his knees, he looked around the room like a person facing strange surroundings. In a state of bewilderment, he tried to create order out of chaos. His struggle was too much for him to handle. With a shudder, he fell to the floor unconscious.
The shadows of evening were cast in long lines across the floor of the West Tower when he awoke to the sound of a bluebird singing. The stale odor of dried sweat filled his senses as he opened his eyes. He slowly sat up, fighting past the pain in his body. As he tried to stand up, every fiber of his being was in rebellion. With a collapse of will, he sat on the floor with a hard bounce.
He studied the room in an inquisitive manner. It was the West Tower. He remembered visiting it as a youth. The room was mostly empty except for several tables, a large book and a man sitting in a chair. The man looked like Crossmore. The presence of the man in the chair awoke a series of memories and feelings. He remembered, as a youth, the excitement of visiting the tower as Crossmore’s honored guest. Yet, the evening turned into a nightmare of agony and emptiness. The sweet smile of Crossmore had been transformed into an evil laugh. Badda remembered being drugged with poisoned drink and losing his ability to move and think. Then darkness surrounded him until the present moment.
As his thoughts cleared, Badda vaguely remembered the dramatic events of the past day. He could still feel the surging of memories pounding against the barrier of his mind. He remembered the fog of the unknown melting away as each new piece of his past was fitted into the vast puzzle of his life. He was overwhelmed and confused by his release from captivity. The freedom of choice had returned to him, yet he questioned what this would mean. Would freedom create joy or the burden of agonizing suffering?
He remembered his family, friends and events of his earlier life. Looking into the mirror, he saw his dirty, aging, neglected body. He then recalled the lean, beautiful body of his youth. He asked himself, “What has happened to me? What has Crossmore done to me?”
To his discomfort, the name Badda began to dominate his thoughts. The name was clouded with unpleasant images and feelings. He saw many eyes looking at him in terror. People turned away from him in disgust and fear. The odor of death filled his nostrils with the foul deeds of his own hands.
He shouted, “I am not Badda! I am no longer trapped in nothingness. I am free.”
He then heard his mother’s voice whisper, “You are Bobby. You are my special child.”
Bobby exclaimed, “Yes I am! I remember! I am Bobby!”
A long silence followed this declaration. He forced himself to focus away from the awaking and to the present moment.
He finally stated, “I am hungry, lonely, dirty, sore and miserable.”
As Bobby sat on the floor, he struggled to stand up and move. He soon realized he had lost part of his will to act. With massive effort he forced himself to stand up and begin walking. He staggered and stumbled. He felt like a baby trying to walk for the first time.
He stated, “I must escape from the influence of Crossmore. If I do not leave the tower, I will once again return to his control. I must escape this horrible place.”
He ate a meal of dried food he found on the floor. He approached the door with caution, opened it and carefully walked down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs he met a guard who stepped back from him in fear. This negative reaction continued when he entered the city. Bobby soon discovered he was a despised person. He carried the symbol of death and ugliness. A deep sadness overwhelmed him. His gentle nature was devastated. The positive value
s he had learned as a youth had been violated by Crossmore. He was a person marked with the curse of evil.
As he sobbed, he said, “What am I to do? Where can I go?”
The cold night air forced Bobby to seek shelter. After searching the alley in the north end of the city, he found a protected spot under a staircase. From his hiding place he watched people going home. In bitterness, he realized he had no home. He welcomed the cover of darkness because it protected him from people staring at him. Bobby’s tear stained face drooped in sadness as he hid himself under a pile of debris.
The moon was shining over the city when Bobby awoke to the sound of footsteps approaching his hiding place. He was not concerned because everyone who saw him turned away in fear. Besides he was buried deep in the mound of garbage. The events of the past day kept racing through his mind with ever increasing frequency. He visualized each event with clarity. Like the roar of raging water, the cascade of ideas pressed him to the point of collapse. When he heard the footsteps stop in front of his hiding place, his mental anguish quickly diminished into the background. He could hear deep breathing and a hand probing into the litter. Bobby pulled himself deeper into his hiding place to escape from the unknown visitor.
Then a voice said, “Badda, you can not escape from me. I know you are in there. Make it easy on yourself and come out. You must face me.”
Bobby froze. He could not move, think, talk or breathe. The stress of facing a new challenge caused him to drift into unconsciousness. He was only vaguely aware when rough hands grabbed him. The next thing he remembered was lying on a stone floor looking up at the ceiling. The dim light of a candle flickered from a table in the corner of a room. As he looked around, he saw the outline of a man with his back to him.
Without turning the man said, “So, Badda, you thought you could escape from me. After all these years, you should know you can’t.”
Bobby responded in anger, “My name is Bobby! Go away and leave me alone. You have destroyed my life.”
The man slowly turned to face Bobby with his face hidden under his hood.
In a sweet voice the man responded, “So, Bobby has been reborn. What should we do about that?”
Bobby remembered hearing the man’s voice in his past life.
As he rose to his knees, Bobby stated, “I have heard your voice before. You are not Crossmore. Who are you?”
A soft laughter flowed from the man. He responded, “So you think you have heard my voice somewhere else? Let me give you a hint. ‘You are in great danger. Do not go.’”
Bobby’s eyes searched the dark outline of the individual standing over him for a clue to his identity. Then a rush of tears poured down Bobby’s face. He dropped his head to the floor in a respectful bow.
Bobby then said, “Thank you for coming to me. I was so hard headed as a youth. You told me the truth. I was too arrogant to believe you. I have done so much evil because I did not listen. What can I do to repay you?”
The man picked Bobby up from the floor.
He said, “You do not need to be punished for your mistakes. You have already paid the price. We must leave Neverly quickly. Follow me. You can repay me by your loyalty to people of the Empire.”
~ ~
Night Visitor