Part IV: The Pawn of Prophecy
Chapter 9: The Temptation of Hacktor
Timeline: AO 292
Over the years of Hacktor’s time in Iztak, I had numerous conversations with him as The Spirit of the Well – as with Mirkir or any of the high priests or balkeryz before him, Hacktor never saw me in the flesh during this time, but instead only heard a disembodied voice. The reason for The Voice by itself was that it allowed me to make the Drokka believe they were talking with one of their beloved gods – Rhokii, Myzdoz, take your pick – it didn’t really matter to me who they believed they were talking to, so long as they bought into my advice. [It also saved me the nuisance of having to appear in the ridiculous visage of any of those gods].
My talks with Hacktor were mainly about his father and my goal was to get the prince to understand that although the Drokka people as a whole loved his father, it was hard to argue that Balder had done anything important to advance the station of his clan – for nothing of significance had occurred during his reign except that a lot of wealthy people got richer and the ‘woke’ Drokka society was in danger of losing the gods’ blessing as the people’s focus on the secular came at the expense of their quickly disappearing piety.
Here is one such discussion that happened while Hacktor was about fifteen (AO292).
“Tell me – what about Baldur III, King Under the Mountains, will be proclaimed as great in The Kroniklz?” The Spirit asked Hacktor. “What glory did he bring to The Drokka?”
The boy did not reply – as usual he in awe – for The Well more than just a pit; it was a realm of shadows, echoes, and…opportunity.
Flickering torchlights cast dancing shadows on the walls, and the whispers of my Spirit mingled with the natural groans and sighs of the earth, creating an otherworldly symphony. Hacktor often felt a chill run down his spine, feeling both awe and dread at the presence he knew dwelled within The Well.
The Spirit continued on, for I wanted Hacktor to understand that he could achieve bigger and better things than his excuse-for-a-king father. “It’s true that Baldur The Bold has enjoyed peace during his reign. The Kroniklz also notes a few others who ruled during peaceful times. But can you even tell me their names?”
Hacktor remained silent. I could sense Hacktor’s heart pounding as my seeds of doubt about his father’s legacy began to grow within him. The boy’s inner turmoil was palpable; he still yearned to honor his father yet now felt an irresistible pull towards the grand destiny my Spirit promised.
I continued, “Like those do-nothing Kon-Herr’s, Baldur will soon be forgotten when he passes on. But what about you, Hacktor? Do you want your reign to be remembered? Nay. More than just remembered. Do you want your reign to be considered legendary? Do you want to be mentioned with the forgotten Baldur’s of history or with the Ajax’s and the Gydyan’s? Or do you want to be greater still?”
My manipulation was masterful, subtly undermining Hacktor’s confidence in his father’s achievements while inflating the young prince’s ego. My words were like a hypnotic chant, luring Hacktor into a web of ambition and destiny.
Hacktor stuttered to reply.
“Hush. Hacktor, you have a chance to be different.” The Spirit offered. “The name Hacktor Derkillez can be remembered by more than just a few wrinkled Scribes and their unread scrolls — if you so desire. Never forget that you are Balkery. We share the same spirit. You are part of me, and I of you. I know your deepest desire — for it is also mine.”
At last young Hacktor found his voice, “What is my desire?”
At that conjured a vision for Hacktor that was intoxicatingly vivid. He saw himself seated at the head of a grand banquet table, filled cheering supporters from the Drokka army, their faces alight with admiration and loyalty. The walls shimmered with gold and precious gems, and military banners bearing his insignia were everywhere. The sheer opulence and the fervent adulation of the crowd filled Hacktor with a sense of power and destiny that was impossible to resist.
With this vision still before him, Hacktor proclaimed, “I want to be known as the Kon-Herr Drokka who was not just a part of history, but who changed It forever!”
And that was the step I needed the boy to take!
Quickly then, I took Hacktor, in spirit form, on a little journey. First I expanded on that vision of him at the grand banquet surrounded by a cornucopia of wealth and untold numbers of rabid supporters as I said, “You shall not live on bread alone — when you rule, the world will be yours and all that is in it.”
Next I took him to the top of The Siq, and opened his mind so that he could see all the kingdoms of the TerrVerde, “Because you are like me, nay because you are me, I will give you all their authority and splendor; it is mine and I can give it to anyone I want to. If you worship me, nay if you worship Us, they will all be yours.”
I could see the boy was in shock, so I laid my coup de gras, “Know this also, Great Hacktor, even should you throw yourself down from here no harm will ever befall you. For I shall command The Balkeryz to guard you, they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not so much as strike your foot against a stone. For you are a god! You need only to believe for all this to come true.”
At last Hacktor smiled – and it was not just the smile of a teenager, but that of a confident king. Thus it was that I knew I had him — completely.
And so, finished with my temptations, I left Hacktor until a more opportune time.
Oh what tangled webs we weave, eh?
The Apocrypha of Azazel 