Jeff Kozzi
Chapter 4: Coronation
Shalhoon Arena, Shalhoon, Intergal 31:1:62179
Propped carefully on wall mountings, angled away from combustible draperies or decorations, torches burned brilliant orange flame unharnessed in its destructive potential. The sekuritis that strode on the sides of the procession carried more torches. Chosen for their perfectly equal height of an even four kroop1, eight kreep, five human men heralded the forward end of the marching line. The outer two carried burning torches, while the inner three each carried a banner. The leftmost bearer carried the flag of Shalhoon. The tapestry’s yellows carried the fiery illumination with crimson accent, while the royal blues and olive greens seemed to darken. The rightmost flagbearer carried the symbol of Sentral proudly, but the middle bearer strode proudest of all, for he carried the seal of the Kajer family. Musicians followed the flag bearers, horns and winds and percussions breathing and thundering deafening rhythms into the arena. Behind them marched the assemblage of Shalhoon’s servicemen. Sivilian Sekuriti, dignitaries, regionals, and ambassadors marched proudly, if not without some skepticism, in honor of Shalhoon’s new liege, Kethe the Seventh.
The procession paraded around the Arena’s twelve-kraap diameter thrice. Their effort was largely unrealized; most of the eyes of the Arena’s three million attendees remained glued to either the stage or the screen enlargements at the Arena’s center, focused on Kethe Kajer’s coronation as Shalhoon’s new king.
For the most part, Shalhoons felt no anguish with Haarl Kajer’s abdication to his only son. Haarl reacted strangely to his wife Alisia’s death in a starship accident in 62176. He mourned her, assuredly, but his mourning seemed short, and smacked of denial. His feelings evolved, and he became something of a womanizer. His reputation tarnished as his service in office faltered. He’d been leaving progressively increasing amounts of his duties to his aides, and taking far less of an interest in his world. Rumors circulated, to the effect that Haarl had been asked to abdicate to Kethe. Shalhoon was a proud, if not arrogant world, and Haarl’s behavior increasingly embarrassed Shalhoon’s ambassadors and dignitaries. Kethe stood in the brilliant shining day, the prime opportunity for Shalhoon to regain hir composure and fully recover from the tragedy of Alisia’s death. The twenty-two-and-a-half-year-old man hoped to surpass all expectations, as his acceptance speech proved.
"... because Shalhoon belongs at the forefront of interworld affairs. Mall has presided that, and even destined that," Kethe boasted on, preparing to end his ceremonious proclamations. "Long have we Shalhoons been a people of glory and love, ones to promote interworldly good will.
"I have the advantage of taking office in youth and perfect health. I mean to use that advantage to its fullest potential." He passed his neatly printed speech over and looked at his subjects. "My people, let me speak honestly, person to person. When I die, I will look down from Trache to Shalhoon, and if I have not greatly helped unify the galaxy, I will be greatly disappointed in my own life, for I would not have achieved my greatest objective.
"Thank you, Shalhoon. I am proud to walk your surface as your humblest servant."
Cheers rose about the arena and spread over Shalhoon’s vast surface through the instantaneous transmission of the coronation. Kethe single-handedly won Shalhoon’s approval, a vital first step. Some thought his goal impossible, but none begrudged him the effort.
Kethe bowed proudly. Samantha, his long-term lover, stood by his side, her petite arm entwined around Kethe’s muscular limb. Grateful for the approval, Kethe smiled, his thin brown hair blowing in the wind.
Harlin Demmison stepped to the podium. A page carried a majestic case at his heels. Wrinkles marked his patient smile as he waited several minutes for the fervor to die down. When moderate serenity returned, he finally spoke in a clear, ringing tone. "As Shalhoon’s Cief Ambassador, I have the honor of bestowing our new king with his scepter." The cheers rose again, but only momentarily. "What most of you surely know," he said, "is that the Chrid, beyond being the Shalhoon scepter, is an instrument of great power that divides at the staff. The People’s Kounsil has decided to pay certain homage for this unique circumstance.
"Never before has a Shalhoon king come to throne while his predecessor still lived," Demmison elaborated. "Due to this, we of the People’s Kounsil of Shalhoon have decided to allow Haarl the Third to retain half the Chrid in memory of his fifteen years as our liege." Not many cheers rose with this news, further demonstration that Haarl was not the peoples’ favorite. Haarl, standing behind Kethe, didn’t particularly care. The very divisibility of the Chrid was news to him.
The page handed Demmison the Chrid. Demmison accepted the piece carefully, green eyes glimmering in admiration of its splendor. It looked solid gold, but its slight weight revealed that to be an impossibility. He could feel a certain energy within the Chrid, and almost felt mentally attuned to the scepter. It was an odd sensation that became far more acute when he pulled the handle. The two equal pieces slid apart easily. Demmison felt exhilarated with energy. He first handed Haarl half the Chrid. Haarl gave a courteous half-bow, but said nothing. Demmison peered at the man, making direct eye contact. He sensed Haarl’s slight intoxication and cursed the former liege beneath his breath. Yes, Kethe would be a vast improvement indeed.
He dismissed Haarl with equal wordlessness, then handed Kethe his half of the scepter. "My highest regards, Sire," Demmison saluted.
"And mine, for your dedicated service," Kethe complimented.
He took the Chrid, feeling its innate, elating energies. His adrenaline flowed freely, surging through his every cell. There was a world, a large and influential world, beneath his feet.