V
The King of Zenith stood there, tears pouring from his face, chin whimpering with every moment he inhaled. Mucus and air mixed in his nostrils to leave a bubbly running nose that left evidence above his lips. Eyes staring out into the greatness that was his home.
His palace.
Even with everything he had in his life, everyone in his life. He felt distinctly different from everyone, distinctly alone in a world filled with people.
Do it, he heard within himself.
He hated the voice, hated the temptation, the alluring temptation. Promising the power his imagination could barely conceive. Promising the true power that any king dreamt of, having the full world at his mercy. Had the full world at his feet, on their knees the voice came and went as it pleased, distracting him when he needed to focus. Spoke with him when no others would. The voice was there, when no one else was. It was his master, his captor, his friend and his foe. He hated when the voice shouted at him, making him angry, making the voice angrier. He loathed the moments he called for him, needed someone who understood, and no response came. Moments like that were when even at the top of the Tower of Zenith, he felt as small and insignificant as the grains of sand at the bottom of the tower.
Do It! The voice echoed in his head. Do it and the world is yours, the world you know will no longer exist, and the world will be how you imagine it. Think of the possibilities, the power you would have. Anything you want, need or crave for would be at your fingertips.
He shook his head frantically trying to release the hold the voice had on him. Tears cascading down his cheeks. He wanted only to be free, free of the nagging agony within his mind, within his soul. He wanted to be away from the agonizing political role his birthright called him for. He hated the cold life blood that were the marble hallways, the desolate surrounding that were his main corridors. He hated every waking breath he took, the air he breathed almost felt like sulfur burning his very soul. Each second felt a year, each day felt a century. His very life felt like an eternity that no one should every feel.
“Do it. Become one with me. I will take away your pain, and replace it with what you have always been seeking for.”
“I don't want power! I already have that and I hate it.” He screamed to the stars.
“It isn't the power you know that I can grant you. I can't grant you something more, something bigger, and something more sincere.”
“Peace.”
At last he took his robe off, standing naked to the world. His body came into this world naked. It's only fitting he left the same way. The chilled air from the west had already began to take hold over his land. His fingers ran over the scars on his chest, arms and neck, feeling the battle scars brought back the haunting nightmares that were his life's story. Numb to the world around him, numb to the world within him; All he longed for was a feeling that he could share with the world. The only feeling he knew the others felt as well.
Pain.
He drew his ornate knife from its home, instantly the blade began to frost over from the cold air that surrounded his home. Yet he felt neither cold nor warmth.
“Be true to me, be true to your purpose, and do not hold back my dear friend.” He whispered between sobs.
He heard its unique ring as he slid the blade across the stone wall that had become his final cage. The ringing was the way his knife spoke with him, felt with him his pain, his suffering, his life and his pride
“I will make you proud. I will not let you down. But I'm afraid what will happen to me after. We have been through everything together. What will I become when you have left me, left us?” the knife rang to his master and friend.
Us? What did his knife mean by us?
Do it!
It was almost as if he forgot about the voice. His Knife knew of the voice. Knew his most intimate thoughts, as if his life transfers from his soul to the blade through his blood.
Do It! Now!
Raising the blade he put it against skin, pressing gently with gradual force, until his skin finally gave way and was cut. Instantly a wave of warmth stretched out between his very thoughts, the time between thoughts felt a paradise, his fingers began to tingle, as if needles cloaked with the promise were being pressed into his fingertips, each moment dragged into an eternity. Each drop made him feel closer to the world around him, closer to the alien feeling of being alive. Staring out into the world around his vision began to shift, as if the horizon stretched to an impossible limit, where everything around him was as far as his vision would wander, yet the details were as clear as if they stood before him. He could count the trees thousands of feet below his tower, but he chose not to as his mind was focused on but a single, hopeful thought.
Peace at last.
With that he took his last step and counted the stones as he body feel to the ground, yet his soul rose from the ashes that were his life.
To the next life
To peace
At last
*****
Victor awoke with his heart hammering the inside of his ribs; every beat pounded between his ears and felt like his chest would explode. Trying desperately to calm his breathing his hand instantly went to his chest. Catching his breath took what seemed to be hours, tears began to form from the internal pain of his beating heart.
“Just a dream, that's all it was” he spoke to himself between gulps of air.
With his hand on his chest, feeling the smooth Skin where none of the scars were from his dreams. He wondered why his mind made him look so ugly, so disfigured, so distraught in the dreams. He wondered why each night was exactly the same, same dream, same tower, same knife, same tears and feelings. Even the grains of sand by the base of the tower were the same. He rose from his bed, supporting his dizziness with a hand on his side table. He had so many questions, so many thoughts. He needed answers to these thoughts of despair that engulfed him. Who could he turn to?
Who could he trust?
Every set of eyes seemed to judge him while simultaneously ignore him. He felt alone with every waking breath that he took, Victor felt like he was slowly slipping into the underworld, slowly slipping through the cracks of life and into the nonexistence. Would they care? Would they mourn? Would they even notice? Who would be there for him, for his last journey of life, through the veil to the Underworld; Of course people would notice, he was king. The news would venture from mouth to ear countless times. But would they really care, wouldn't they solve their problem by naming a new king; replacing him without a second thought as to why. Replacing the heart of their land with an imposter, someone impure, but looks the part of the king. His strong face held back tears, tears from then entire world, from his people. Yet even then his world was full of tears, rain scattered across the lands around him. The wetlands of Zenith. Dark gloomy skies have covered the sun for nearly three seasons, leaving only a small window of sun and warmth. Most found it depressing, waking every day to the sight of flooded crops, cascading rivers twice the size of the palace itself, and nearly as deep as it stood tall. Victor felt somewhat at peace with this land, felt comfortable with the constant rain and grey clouds above. It always seems to put a smile on his face smelling the fresh rain drops in the air. It seemed to help slow his beating heart to a point he could control himself.
“M'Lord...”
Victor turned to the comforting voice. Unaware of how long his wizard stood there, studying him; Like he was a book of prophecy.
“Is everything alright? I heard you screaming and crying, I rushed right away from my study”
Victor wondered how that was possible, his study was nearly an hour's walk from his quarters, deep in the wizard’s enclave. How would Withrol have been able to hear his screams?
He didn't remember screaming.
“It's alright old friend, just a bad dream.” Victor cleared his throat and wiped his tears, “nothing to worry about I assure you.”
“Victor. You have known me your entire life. You can trust and talk to me. I gaze upon my lord, my king and I see a troubled soul. But what scares me more is that my closest friend will not talk with me. I can help you victor. I want to help you, but you must trust me. And when you do, know that my door is open, but more so, my arms and heart is open for you.”
“Wizard...”
“Yes M'Lord?”
“I want the dreams to stop...” the king of Zenith pleaded with his advisor. “Please wizard. Make them stop.”
“M'lord I have tried what I can, with what I know. I have tried potions, spells, wards, and hexes. It seems that whatever haunts your mind is something more powerful than my ability. I will try again tonight. Before you sleep, please call for me. I will have something ready for you. A special herb I requested month before last has finally arrived. It will help your soul sleep at peace, but be forewarned, there is limited supply, so we must use so sparingly.” Withrol walked to his king, giving him a light pat before exiting “Take care brother.”
Walking down the empty hallways gave Withrol time to think, but more so worry for his brother, he tried desperately to reconnect with his brother, but it seems at every turn lay a wall. Victor always spoke to him as his king speaking with his wizard, never as victor seeking help from his brother. It seemed the idea of speaking with his advisor brought more trust than his brother could. But then again, how could victor trust his brother when he lied to him. Withrol pulled a small orb from his robe, peering into the deep translucent fog that filled the dream orb. Victor didn't know of this orb, or the countless others That Withrol envisioned and created to try and understand what his little brother was going through.
“Darkness seeks your king. Darkness calls for him.” A woman spoke out of turn as he passed a hallway.
Stopping, Withrol looked to the woman. She sat cross legged on a rug covered in wards and spells, hands clasps in her lap; she stared up at him, with the blank, hauntingly white eyes.
“I beg your pardon?” Withrol asked.
“Your brother suffers from what he believes is darkness calling him, seeking his soul, is that not true?” The withered lady asked staring up at him, as if into his soul.
“Who told you such nonsense?” He defended. Fully knowing that what she spoke was in fact the truth, he worried that these words would catch the interests of those looking to seek power.
At any cost.
“It is not nonsense I speak of Withrol, you and I both know there be great forces at work, forces of light and darkness, shrouded by false truths and true lies.” The woman slowly, elegantly rose to her feet, brushing affixing her tattered dress. “I present myself before you, great wizard. Sheila Miatri Grace at your services. Should you wish to hear my words, should you wish to have my help, should you wish to save your brother, our king.”
“What can you offer the king, what can you offer to help me and our king, what can you offer to save his life from this darkness you speak of? Withrol replied crossing his arms and tapping his foot, impatiently waiting for a response.
“There is your first mistake wizard. You believe that the darkness is his undoing. You must come to realize that the darkness is our only salvation. Remember these words. The false truths will lead us to our salvation, only if the true lies bring forth the darkness within him.”
She lifted her hand as the rub beneath her feet began to rise at the corners, taking a step forward the rug elegantly swung itself over her shoulders. “The darkness isn't always the enemy. You will find me when you seek the truth. Until then; do not seek the guidance in your council, do not speak with them. Agents of the enemy shine in their eyes. Trust not them, but trust your brother. He walks a path only he can walk. Some before him and no one after him have journeyed this path”
Walking steps towards a garden, she turned. “Strength comes from need.”
Strength comes from need, those were the last words their father told him on his death bed, months after the dreams began to haunt him. Their father did not have a wizard to guide him through, not an experience wizard at least; it was nearly 300 years ago. When Withrol was just beginning to tap into his true strength of magic. He remembered countless nights, sitting by his father's bed, crying, pleading to help him in any way he could. Each time his father refused his help, as if he was trying to protect his child from something haunting him. Withrol kept searching the darkest recesses of his thoughts, trying to find an answer, trying to find the questions that will bring about the answer.
“False truths and true lies” he kept repeating under his breath.
Each time he spoke the five words a faint bell rang in his head. He heard those words before. But where? He ran two steps at a time to his study; his mind was on the verge of discovering something he needed, something his brother needed.
Finally panting as he entered his study, “Everyone. Out!”
He commanded sweeping a hand over the room casting all the candles out and the open books closed. Wizards and scholars alike complained and argued.
“This is not a request. This is an order! Now out!” He yelled pushing some people with his open palms while others were forcefully removed by his gift.
“When I am done you all may enter, until then. Go and enjoy your life before it too closes in front of you.” He spoke with determination.
After the last wizard left, Withrol stood there, in his study, in complete darkness. He often preferred preparation this way. All the scrolls, books, tomes and slabs of prophecy clouded his vision, clouded his thoughts.
“Gift, be true this day.” He whispered as he cast the smallest hint of magic from his index finger high into the air. The tiniest speck of light floated gracefully from his finger, to the ceiling. The dim glow gave enough light to move unencumbered.
“Do not look at everything, for your mind becomes clouded but instead look for what isn't there.” Could that be what she meant by false truths and true lies? With all the knowledge in front of him he wouldn't be able to distinguish help from nonsense? That maybe these books held some knowledge that may be able to at the least, point him in the right direction.
Hours passed with little to no gain in what he searched for, nothing made mention of darkness or truth and lies, in either form.
There must be another way” he told himself. “There has to be something that can give me some advice.”