The Would-be King of Croi

The roosters draw us into this story, crowing at Ghsiar as they do every morning. It is a warm morning, and the clouds offer shade without threat of storm. The rooster crows again, and a soft breeze moves the clouds along. The blue sky sparkles brightly for a moment before the clouds realign to subdue it, allowing the crown of the future king to sparkle more brightly in comparison. I'm sorry to say we won't see the rooster again in this story. Let us instead meet the future king.
He paces furiously within his castle, "Find me another! This is not all of them!"
"Your highness--"
"I won't take some pathetic excuse, Henryk! Find me a future-teller! Preferably one that isn't a sham this time!"
Henryk bows his head, "Yes, your majesty. May we resume preparation for the ceremony?"'
The future king glares at his man, and Henrky retreats from the room.
Now perhaps this goes without saying, but the future king of Croi should have been crowned by now. His father had not yet passed, but the king lay sick in bed and the kingdom sat waiting without a leader. Our prince, and I encourage you to think of him as yours even though the land of Croi might be far away, requested a future-telling the night he learned he was to become the king. The young man had always enjoyed being prince and hoped for a short time as king; the thought of that heavy crown stirred his stomach to storms. Alas, the only thought he could find to sooth it was a glimpse at the future. If he was a good king, then there would be nothing to worry about.
Let me lay it out shortly for you: the first future-teller sat before her bowls. At first the stones in the sand bowl spoke of a loving marriage and a strong heir. Then, the fire burned fiercely, trying to escape its bowl, licking at the sand to its left and the metal to its right. Both warmed. The water lay still. Bad omens. Conflict for man and earth.
Another, he had demanded! The next witch offered a different omen of the same sentiment. Examining the prince's ink stains, she had whispered of the death of many and worse helplessness for our future king. A small muddled blob elicited news of a stunted child. So there was hope our prince thought, for he saw an incongruity here between the two omens-- he could not have a strong heir if that child was born imperfect. So he called for another, and another, but none spoke another word of good. The palm-reader said he would never marry, and he had them executed, for those before him spoke of marriage. He didn't dwell on the horrible ruler they saw in his hands. Now he wouldn't just be responsible for the death of many, but absent as well. Our prince awaited a real future-seer-- the previous were simply lackeys of the other kingdoms, or jealous lords he convinced himself. They wanted him unsettled. He would find his own future-seer then. Our prince would know his fate and then, he would rule with this wisdom. Our prince would be a fine king.


We will pass the days it takes Henryk to find a lead for our future king and find them once again speaking.
"Your Majesty, it has taken several days of scouring. There are very few left who are even willing to speak about future-seeing for you. The witches and oracles fear that the truth will bring them death-- these are their words, your majesty. I apologize for the offense." Henryk takes a quick moment to breathe in response to our prince's glowering expression but withheld abuse. He continues quickly, "There is a rumor of a librarian. Their books can tell any story--"
"Please, Henryk, don't tell me I've waited days to hear an old folk tale," the future king snarls. If only we could tell him that he would find himself in a fable too. Perhaps he would not have reacted so. "The Lost Librarian. Fine, Henryk, tell me how a lost and misguided god will give me the storybook of my life."
"I have a map," and Henrky produces the scroll containing said map. Our prince leans out of his chair in interest despite himself as his man spreads the map across the table. "I found it in your library. It was just waiting there--" almost as if it were your fate, prince. Follow the map.


The journey of our prince is a long story in itself, not suited for this one. But I will allow you to envision it briefly: a string of goats and a sturdy mule along the side of a mountain. Pakpan watches him with scrutiny, but Osupa lights his way faithfully. He thinks he is lost forever when he consults the map for the third day of unmapped peaks. If you are unaware, mountain peaks lift far away from the safety of Rhina, and the air beginning to mix with the sea can make mortals sick. So our would-be prince glances up from his map to find the floating summit of a mountain and knows he has doomed himself.
So what is there for him but to continue climbing. The map says to continue, as if the floating mountain is meant to be there. Yes he continues climbing, until he either cannot see the world around him or it changes into something incomprehensible. It's hard to say what mortals see. But they say he did find the Lost Librarian. They also say that Henryk was a better king than his prince ever could have been and the people hung upon his guidance in the crises that ripped the world during his rule. Those who didn't support his coup when our future king went missing forgot or forgave when they survived.
I suppose you wonder what happened to our prince. The other endings don't comfort you? Well then you have found the correct telling. I will not tell you that it is a fool who hunts down his own fate, or tries to change it, or whatever the fable is meant to teach you. Let me instead assure you that our prince found his fate. I let him read it.