Women whispering into the ears of kings
Darius poring over his tomes
The Mad Seeker gone mad
Click the puzzle piece to work a jigsaw puzzle
The Indigo Jewel
Chapter 8 - The Mad Seeker
Intro,
1,
2,
3,
4,
5,
6,
7,
8,
9,
10,
11,
12,
13,
14,
15,
16,
17,
Epilogue ,
Afterward
Any man can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error. - Cicero
The Indigo Jewel was never meant for men. This truth had been whispered from mother to daughter for generations, a silent current beneath the surface of history. But one man, in his arrogance, dared to claim it. And for that, he paid the price.
His name was Darius Gallant, an ambitious noble with a keen mind and a thirst for power. He had spent years collecting relics of forgotten ages, believing that within them lay the secrets to eternal rule. When he heard of the Indigo Jewel—a trinket of legend, rumored to grant wisdom and power—he became obsessed. What was once the guarded treasure of women had, for a moment, fallen into obscurity, waiting for its rightful heir. But Darius found it first.
From the moment he held the Jewel, it resisted him. At first, he felt nothing but a cold shiver down his spine, a fleeting sense of unease. Then the whispers began—faint voices at the edge of his mind, speaking in tongues he could not understand. He dismissed them as effects of fatigue. But the voices grew louder, insistent, pressing against the edges of his sanity.
He saw women—shadowed figures standing behind thrones, whispering into the ears of kings, shaping the course of empires. He saw battles won before swords were drawn, treaties forged before men even considered peace. And he saw himself, a fool among titans, nothing more than a pawn in a grand game.
The voices would not let him rest. He was unable to sleep, fearing what he would see when he closed his eyes. He locked himself away, pouring over his books, searching for an answer. But knowledge had turned against him, twisting into something indecipherable, leaving only paranoia in its wake.
His closest advisors spoke in hushed tones. His decisions grew erratic—one day, he commanded a great campaign to expand his influence, the next, he ordered his own men imprisoned, convinced they conspired against him. He scribbled nonsense in the margins of ancient tomes, words only he could read. And then, one night, he screamed. A primal, guttural sound of terror.
The Jewel was flung from his hands, skittering across the ground. Darius clawed at his head, shouting of visions, of unseen hands guiding his every move. He raved of women who ruled from the shadows, whose power outstripped any man’s ambition. Then, he fell silent. Eyes vacant. His mind shattered.
The court declared him unfit to lead. His lands were divided, his name reduced to a cautionary tale of madness. And in the end, he was forgotten.
But the Jewel was not.
In the quiet hours of that fateful night, a young woman retrieved it. Edwina, a teacher and healer, had spent years studying the forgotten histories of her people. She had always known that the Jewel was real, not just a myth whispered among women. When she saw Darius crumble beneath its weight, she understood what she had always suspected—the Jewel could never belong to a man. It was not simply an artifact of power, but of fate, meant only for those who could hear its truths without succumbing to madness.
As her fingers closed around the Jewel, warmth spread through her palm. The whispers that had driven Darius to insanity spoke to her now, but with clarity and purpose. The voices of her grandmothers welcomed her, weaving their knowledge into her very essence.
She saw visions of the past—women like herself who had safeguarded the Jewel, preventing it from falling into the wrong hands. She saw the true architects of history, the silent guardians who had shaped empires through careful words and unseen influence. And she saw the future, uncertain but filled with potential, if only the Jewel remained protected.
Edwina fell to her knees, overwhelmed with emotion. She knew now that her life had been leading to this moment. She would continue the legacy, not as a ruler, but as a guide. The men of the empire would believe they led, but it was women, bound by the Jewel’s wisdom, who would steer the course of history.
Years passed, and the story of the Indigo Jewel faded into legend. To children, it became a fairy tale and nursery rhyme, a symbol of magic and adventure. To scholars and rulers, it was nothing more than a myth, a relic of an era long ago.
Only the women knew the truth.
For a century after Darius’ demise, this nursery rhyme was chanted by children in the village:
One, two, three, four, five
I’ve seen a jewel that is alive
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten
It’s held by women but not by men
Five, four, three, two, one
Its work is hidden and never done
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six
A whisper guides, my mind plays tricks
Two, four, six, eight, ten
A tale retold and told again
Eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven
Someday we will all go to heaven
Copyright © 2025 Elton Smith