Human Again

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  That was the hard truth I’d been keeping at bay for so long, the one chasing me ever since I set out to join this war, the one that stabbed me in the back each time I raised my sword. That last fact is what hurt the most. Kiara had said she didn’t want to leave, and yet, when the time came she said her goodbyes and went on her way, not once turning to prove that she regretted leaving us. That she regretted leaving me. A backward glance would have been enough to speak to her reluctance and regret. I didn’t once think there may have been a reason why she didn’t look our way, that maybe her conniving sisters or concern over whatever image the mirror showed of her father was what kept her attention away. I only knew the clouds had swallowed her up completely.

  Yarrow stood his ground, staring right back at me as I fumed in the night, clumsily trying to bring my anger back in check, to ward off the freezing beat of my heart. He raised his hand yet again, this time emitting an even stronger purple light than before, one that sent forth that same feeling of calm but one that also pinned my hands to my sides.

  “You need to feel all of it,” he insisted.

  Unable to move, I shook my head at him. “Please don’t do this to me,” I pleaded, my voice cracking despite myself. Why taunt my soul with something that would never be?

  “All of it,” he adamantly repeated.

  Knowing he wasn’t about to leave me alone, I nodded in consent. I forced myself to relax and turned my attentions inward, following the purple tendrils of Yarrow’s magic as it snaked its way into every one of my limbs. My body loosened of its own accord, giving in to the feeling of wholesomeness and safety that came with long sought after warmth. It was as if he’d coaxed awake a small fire within me, one with the potential to thaw my frozen heart, to bring light and a hint of life back to the desolate wasteland of my mind. I could almost hear the ice drip and melt, forming a swift river to quench the parched and cracked tundra the beast called home. I could stand forever in that feeling, in the knowledge that perhaps some Divine spark still glittered deep inside me after all.

  And then, something stirred.

  Seeking deeper, I saw the beast was still there, slumbering beneath the cozy blanket of peacefulness cast over my heart. I looked at Yarrow with a question in my eyes, alarm all over my face. Yarrow nodded in response and took his hand away.

  “This confirms my suspicions,” he finally said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Yarrow sighed. “The curse, it didn’t plant this anger in your heart, it did not create the darkness. You did, the moment you found power and control in anger and allowed it to dictate your actions. The curse took what was already there and warped it into something more dangerous, something powerful enough to take full control.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “It’s too early to tell, but there is a chance,” Yarrow warned, “that it may take more than unconditional acceptance or love to rid you of the beast, even after the curse breaks.”

  “You’ve said as much before,” I said impatiently.

  Yarrow shook his. “Before was months ago,” he said. “Now is later, and every day the beast further entrenches itself in your soul.”

  “I know,” I shot back irritably, annoyed that he was telling me something I was fully aware of and felt every day to be true.

  “Did you ever think about what happens when an animal digs its claws in so firmly?” Yarrow asked carefully. “Do you think it possible for it not to leave a mark?”

  “So I will never be rid of this?” I finished for him, feeling a sudden, unbearable weight slowly lowering itself onto my chest. We were out in the open, but I was gasping for air.

  “Kiara may help break the curse,” Yarrow said, “but she will not be able to heal what it leaves behind.”

  “And this is a message of hope?” I questioned.

  Yarrow shrugged, hands out as if to ask if I really preferred for him to lie. I shook my head at him and made to stalk away but he stopped me with a final note of caution.

  “When I saw you walk in, I could only guess at your reason for being here, but you have since confirmed what I assumed,” he said. “I wanted to show you the truth, that the fight will not end when the curse is broken. It will just return you to equal footing, and your past will be a warning of what could be if you ever stop fighting. Especially not if you’ve fallen for the power of the beast and cannot bring yourself to ever fully be rid of it. It’s the closest I can get to telling your future.”

  I thought about it a moment, then just nodded. I can’t say I understood or even agreed with what Yarrow had done, but I accepted that he was only trying to help a friend.

  “Am I to take comfort in what you’ve shown me then?” I inquired with a touch of sarcasm.

  Yarrow didn’t blink. “Take what you will,” he said easily. “Think on where the beast comes from and why you gave it form, then think about what those moments of real peace may be worth.”

  With that he bowed respectfully then disappeared in a puff of purple mist. That was the last time I ever saw him. I never found out the exact story of how he died just weeks later, but I’ve heard whispers on the wind of a mysterious little man whose name no one knew, a master of dark magic marked by a mismatched gaze, a different kind of demon that Yarrow, with all his magic and wisdom and friends, could not defeat.

  Needless to say, his words stayed with me that night, and have never really left me since. Kiara’s words echoed within them, as did the words of that damned faery who first cursed me. That night, I wandered, giving my feet leave to lead as they may. I was almost distracted enough to walk myself home, though I think my body knew well enough not to bring me back to the castle, not without Kiara there.

  Perhaps it was a lingering effect of Yarrow’s magic, but instead of anger, my thoughts took on an unexpected shade of melancholy, and the weight that had settled over me didn’t soon leave. Spiraling downward, my mind turned over what Yarrow had said about the faery’s curse manipulating what was already inside me. Hadn’t I already known it? Hadn’t Daimyon intuited as much? Since my years at the Academy, since Adlard’s death, I was aware of the darkness within me, I knew that the prowling, growling beast was not equally manifest in anyone else I’d met.

  I thought back to my early behaviors, not just to the ferocity encouraged in the Academy but to the time before I went there, before I knew what to call the demon and just how deadly it could be. Every time I struck a servant, every time I destroyed a chair, a table, smashed a goblet out of anger cold and unfeeling. Every time the ghost of my brother mocked the son I was trying to be. The more I thought about it, the deeper I sank, my mind plunging into the thick tar of depression.

  That the faery’s curse had been so ruthlessly cast upon me was one matter, but what had I ever done in my life to justify its breaking? Kindness to the one girl I also held a prisoner? Who was I and what was I worth to be redeemed from the torment I had brought upon myself?

  Was my father not good, if not misguided? Did my mother, did my sisters not love me, shown in the many times they forgave me and gave me another chance to prove who I could be? I was crown prince to a prosperous kingdom, an honor, title, and circumstance merited by very few. I had everything I could have wanted, I had what so many others wanted, and yet, and yet, what had I done with it?

  I had rejected it. Snubbed it. Shoved the honor, the tradition, the sanctity of my life down into the dirt, rubbed it in the mud so it was tarnished and nearly ruined beyond repair. I could never be the man, the monarch, Adlard would have been. What right had I to ask Kiara to save me? And if the beast would always be lurking there, then what was there to save? Why should she be made to live with that, despite her noble words?

  The philosophers I’d studied would make arguments about the sanctity of each human life, about the immortality of my soul and the mandate to never consider a man beyond redemption. But I doubted that such arguments still applied to me. I was more beast than human, after all. And though there was no caus
e in ending an animal’s life without reason, the beast could not take shelter in that belief. An animal that does no more than gore and harm, destroy and damage does not have any claim at life. Rather, it is for the good of all that it be removed from this world.

  Yarrow had confirmed just how deeply the darkness pervaded my core. There was nothing left for me. Let Kiara, let the servants, let even the kingdom make a new life with better people, too.

  Yes, I always had impulsive moments of kindness, such as valuing Kellen or granting spare coins to a worker, but I doubted they were enough. Considering the brutal treatment of my staff, they deserved more than the occasional generous whim. Aside from those things, the only other good I had ever done for anyone else was fight in this war under Prince Alex. And even that was a dirty and selfish business, a dark cause shrouded in nobility.

  When I finally settled down on my mat, my body was not tired enough to sleep. I lay on my back the rest of the night, staring up at the canvas stretched above me, wondering why I ever fought the punishment I so deserved. Wondering why I was ever upset at Kiara for getting out while I still had a shred of kindness left in me, moving far away while she still had the chance. Leaving in time to remember me as the man I should have been.

  Thaw

  To my great disappointment, I was not killed in war. Nor was I severely injured enough to die from wounds either. For nearly seven months, I immersed myself in battle, oblivious to anything going on that wasn’t related to it. The only news I heard from the outside world was any tidbit that leaked into long-delayed letters to soldiers from their homes, or from the little bits Alex shared with me. Like the time he excitedly summoned me to his tent to tell me his cousin Princess Lyla of Calladium was to be married…to Daimyon the Huntsman no less.

  I stayed at the front until it became clear that the fighting had diminished to small skirmishes deeper in the mountains, enough so our shared border was once more safe. I suspect the beast had much to do with making sure the uprising on our northwestern borders was over so quickly.

  Almost as soon as we had quieted the border, word was received that the villages in the south of Alex’s kingdom near his border with Vidallia were under attack. Perhaps taking advantage of an army occupied with and worn down by ogres and gargoyles, flocks of dragons began scorching the land there, so on the heels of victory, Alex was sent straight to the next war without much rest.

  I would’ve gone along with him, but I knew my eagerness to once more stand on the frontlines would raise too many questions. As it was, my decision was seen as unconventional if not unwise, and choosing the same thing twice would only lead others to believe I was suicidal. Additionally, as the crown prince, Alex couldn’t take any more chances with the future of another kingdom’s crown. He would’ve been forced to order me from his ranks had I been foolish enough to stay.

  So it was that I was set to return home in the late fall, not even a year at war with a number of commendations and the debts of more than one life saved by my hand.

  I would’ve taken heart from such “valiant deeds,” as they were called, but I believed it was owed after all I’d done to terrify and torture others.

  With regret, I went to formally take my leave of Alex and order Sir Garamond to dismiss most of our soldiers before winter fell. The remaining soldiers, about a full unit’s worth, were the lucky few able to volunteer to fight alongside Laurendale’s army at its southern border.

  Knowing how much my darkness had been fed during the war, I had to wonder what back-to-back wars would do to Alex when he hadn’t even had a chance to go home for some respite, or mourn his mother who’d passed since the war began. For a man who still presumably had a firm hold of his soul, I worried about how deep the darkness would be able to dig in if the sun didn’t get a chance to bleach it for a while. For, no matter how evil the Dark Forest, there was nothing to quite compare to the knowledge of being responsible for the lives of so many men. Sending a soldier to possible death is a unique test of darkness.

  I tried to hint as much when I bade him farewell.

  “You’re off then, Azahr?” he said nonchalantly. “I cannot thank you enough for your service.”

  “A friend in need and all that,” I said modestly.

  Alex laughed. “Frankly, I’m simply relieved you survived your bullheaded decision to stay at the front.”

  He extended his hand, and I returned his firm grip with one of my own.

  “And now you head south?” I asked.

  Alex offered me a weary smile, the resigned look of a man ready to do what he must even though he wished he didn’t. It was clear to all that he’d proven himself over the past two years both as a military strategist and as a leader, but going to fight again would test that proof beyond what was necessary. Victory would grant him a permanent place in the hearts and minds of his people, ballads would be composed to celebrate his brave deeds, poets would laud his gallantry and sharp mind for years after. That was all well and good, but he was already deserving of such things. He didn’t need another war, but so it was.

  I took the advantage of our handshake to relay my final message before I returned to my isolation.

  “Beware what all this fighting can do to the men under your care,” I warned, “and to yourself as well.”

  Alex replied with a look that encapsulated the bright array of his charm and charisma. “I’ll be careful,” he reassured me. “And I worry even less with the captain at my side.”

  “Your captain has never lived in your mind nor seen the deepest recesses of your heart,” I countered. “Just be on your guard.”

  “I will, I will,” Alex assured me. “And if it eases your mind, the new Prince Daimyon makes plans to join me in the south.”

  “Yes,” I assured him. “Yes, it does.”

  With that, we parted ways, me wondering all the while if he had really understood my warning or was simply reassuring me so I would leave him be. I never was able to crack the surface of his charm. Even now, I wouldn’t attest to his character, though we got along well enough.

  The one comfort I took as I set off for home was the confirmation that Princess Lyla, now freed of her own torment, would be sending her husband to help her almost-cousin Alex. Her husband, the now Prince Daimyon, was rumored to have brought her back to life with “true love’s kiss” soon after we’d parted ways. They hadn’t been married long, but surely they saw the value of the Huntsman aiding Alex. I knew that though he would contribute much to the battle, even more would be done to help the prince protect his soul. Alex’s Captain would keep an eye on him, but a Huntsman, more than other men, knew well the depths of evil’s pernicious embrace.

  Thus I returned to my lonesome castle, still unable to return home. Jaxel and Kellan, Alvie and Ms. Potsdam, and the others made a big to-do about my safe return, and Ms. Potsdam baked enough treats for another large party, and more, but I saw little reason to celebrate that I was still alive. There was little value to my life as it was, I couldn’t taste anything, I couldn’t enjoy anything, I couldn’t genuinely laugh, and everything was cast in shadow without Kiara there.

  I’d rather not go into detail about how quickly I was to dispel everyone’s joy at my homecoming. Not only had I returned with the beast stronger than ever, having gorged itself on the battlefield, but the melancholy still weighing on me brought a new darkness home with me. The ice imprisoning my heart had grown thicker, closing it in so it was now a stone sinking down, down, down into the void. Despite the drag ever downwards, the beast was pushing, yearning, striving ever upward to be unleashed onto the world. I was being pulled apart from within and I hardly managed to keep from skinning myself alive.

  I spent a lot of time staring at the ruins of my family’s portrait, digging into the wells of my past for some clue, some proof of character that could be called redeeming. I found none. Instead, I dredged up memories that were best forgotten, moments and feelings unwisely buried in the dark swamp of my bitterness.

  One su
ch was a very distinct image of the moment my brother and I found out Amellia was born. Adlard was five, I was three. From the moment she came into this world, it was evident she was a perfect child. She smiled at the right times, and even when no one asked. She slept through the night, she did tricks that delighted all, she cooed, she giggled, and she was beautiful.

  Whenever I had asked my parents about what I was like as a child, they only ever told me that I was “intense,” with the kind of thoughtful quietness that shows they weren’t quite sure what to make of it then, but had since figured it out. Whenever they spoke about my sister, however, their faces lit up. About me, they could hardly find enough words to string a story together; about her, they had too many.

  After Adlard’s death, it seemed nothing could bring them joy again, I certainly couldn’t. But then another child was born after I had been sent to the Academy, and she brought with her much of the hope and joy Mother had lost with Adlard. As for Father, well, I never really knew how he felt about her, but I do know he had to have chosen her name.

  Azeria.

  Azahr.

  Like me she’d been born to be a replacement, another spare heir, a fallback should her older siblings die too young.

  And he’d given her my name to prove it.

  Perhaps I had always been an intense child, but, though I couldn’t put words to it then, I later understood what no one ever said out loud, that intensity was a desperation for proof of my worth, a denial that I would never be enough.

  So when Adlard died and I was made to fill his shoes, a perfect storm was unleashed, an unhealthy drive to validate my place coupled with that festering intensity which resulted in much more harm than good.

  “Soon I will no longer block your way to the throne,” I told the Amellia who shone, even through the shreds of the portrait two-and-a-half years out of date. “Though I hope you will forgive me if the beast ever comes for you. Just know it isn’t really me,” I pleaded with her. “Please.”