10 years ago

gyldenheim

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He could no longer tell whether the flakes drifting onto his face were snow or ash. His pale curls had frozen into stiff, blood-crusted clumps that brushed against his cheeks, though he could no longer feel it. Jonathan couldn’t really feel anything anymore. He tugged the dull violet scarf over his nose, knowing the slow numbness of frostbite all too well. 

Were those snowflakes… or pieces of someone? His world had been reduced to only four distinct colors. The white powder that covered the hills, the black smoke in the air, the grey clouds above, and the red streams beneath his feet. 

It was silent.

The forest was a maze of dead trees, their branches like twisted black hands grabbing his clothes as he pushed past them and up the steep side of the mountain of frozen limbs.

The buzzards flying around refused to draw near him, even as he climbed through a feast for them. There were so many corpses... Their limbs were twisted and stiff as frigid hands reached for the blinding light of the sun.

He wanted to find just one. One living, breathing person. He had been searching for hours and had begun to believe he might never find another one.

The boy looked away, trying to imagine running through the halls of the castle and tripping over rugs rather than pieces of people. It was easier to imagine the squishing beneath his boot was a tomato left on the kitchen floor…before…

He squeezed his eyes shut and counted in a cadence. One. Two, Three. One. Two, Three. One. Two, Three-

Pink moonlight danced playfully across polished stone as the young prince held his hand to his stomach in pain. Large, arched windows held glass of different colors and shapes in the hallways of the Keep, reflecting the moonlight down the corridor. It was beautiful, but it made it harder to stick to the shadows as Jonathan slinked behind his older brother like a rat, gripping his larger hand tightly.

His stomach growled loudly, echoing in the hall. Jonathan and his brother froze in place, waiting to hear shuffling footsteps. The pain was excruciating. Jonathan wanted to claw into his own skin to get it to stop-and it wasn’t because he hadn’t been permitted to eat in the last three days. That was normal.

Every step they took, he feared he would hear their father’s voice. Not only would Jonathan be locked away, but his brother would be ripped from his hands. And he didn’t even want to think of what would happen to the crown prince behind closed doors after defying the King.

“It’s just around the corner, little bird.” His brother whispered, smiling as he put a finger to his lips. “Try to control it, if you can.”

Jonathan nodded. His brother led them down another corridor without any windows as Jonathan finally let go of his brother’s hand. He had never been more grateful for the lack of light. After an endless amount of slinking, they reached their destination.

A servant's kitchen. Small, unnoticed, tucked away in the fringes of the Keep where the lesser staff could prepare their meals. Rats scurried along the floor, carrying crumbs of stale bread. It was perfect. Charlie lit his fingertips on fire with a snap, giving them a better view of the small room. At last, their eyes found the pantry.

The two princes pried open the pantry with a hushed giggle as Charlie passed down bread and cheese from a higher shelf. Jonathan tore into the stale sourdough eagerly, closing his eyes as he savored the taste.

Charlie averted his eyes. Jonathan was never quite sure why, but he had always appreciated it. It made him feel less like a scavenged animal as his brother slowly chewed on his own piece, flicking stray crumbs away.

Jonathan nodded to him when he finished his loaf. Charlie shook his head.

“We didn’t come all the way down here for one loaf of bread. Take as much as you’d like, and then take more for later.”
“What about the servants? Don’t they have an inventory? What if-”
“Enough, Jonathan,” Charlie said. “Just listen.”

Jonathan nodded and turned back to the pantry, reaching to take another loaf on the tip of his toes. 

He had forgotten in his moment of bliss how loosely his linen shirt hung over him and how, when he reached up, it left part of his side and ribcage exposed.

The room erupted in violent orange light as Jonathan immediately moved to pull his shirt downwards, a loaf tucked protectively to his chest as he held his back tightly against the wall. 

He knew what was there. A large, snake-like scar and an ugly bruise.

“I was sloppy, and too slow; Father was just trying to teach me to be quicker-”
Charlie moved to pry Jonathan’s shirt from his fingers, lifting it up to see the worst of it, and rolling down Jonathan’s sleeves to see the bruises on his arm.

The pain in his stomach worsened, tightening like a hot coil. Maybe it would have been better if he stayed locked away in his room with his books.

“That bastard, that, evil, slimy, twisted-” He snarled, and fire erupted from his hair and down his back, casting flickering light throughout the room. “He deserves to rot in the lowest ring of Letum’s hell.”

“He’s our father, Charlie; he knows what’s best for us. He loves us. And he’s the King; he knows what’s best for the empire as well.  I am learning how to be his weapon; it’s only natural for me to gain a few bruises along the way.” He laughed weakly. “Don’t be upset, please. It doesn’t even sting anymore.”

There was no mirth in his brother’s eyes. Only green pools of visceral hatred, burning so brightly that Jonathan was afraid he was going to flip a table again.

“If he ever-” He warned. “Lays a hand on you, or Charlotte again...” 

Jonathan flinched as his brother’s fingers tightened into a fist.

“I will burn his empire to the ground.”

Jonathan had always been powerless to fate.

And now the ground was thick with blood. Some of it dried; most of it mixed with dirt and frozen slush, creating small red streaks down the mountain or freezing into red crystals. It was so cold. So, unbearably cold. Jonathan shivered as he stepped on another man’s leg, hearing his boots squish and tear the decaying tissue. Even in his warmest memories, there was nowhere else to retreat to.

Between the barren trees and frozen bones, there was no trace of life. Nothing had survived the war, not music, or revelry, or love. Only the smell of iron and decay. Jonathan could not hide in the shadows here, and there was no one left to hold his hand.

He knelt down and brushed one fingertip over a petal from a single red rose uncovered by the snow. It blackened instantly and curled inwards as he gently stroked the war’s only other survivor. 

He cupped the crumbling rose in his hands.

“Vitana...” His voice cracked. “Please don’t take this too.”

The rose collapsed into shimmering golden dust. The wind then scattered the last living thing in Gyldenheim throughout the barren forest, leaving him alone.

That was the last time Jonathan had ever believed in mercy.