The Prince of Warwood and the Fall of the King (Book 2)

by J. Noel Clinton

  “Robbie! Robbie, please don’t leave me! Please!”

  Jeremiah lurched to his feet and managed to grabbed ahold of the boy’s school blazer before he could reach the girl. “No, son. She needs to go home, and you need to come with me!”

  “What about Catherine?” he hissed, twisting out of his jacket and freeing himself from his father’s hold. “Where does she go, Dad? She’s all you care about now-a-days. Do you realize that Mom hasn’t been dead and buried for six months, and you’re already shacking up with that floozy?”

  His father’s hand came so quickly that he didn’t see it coming. He felt it though, and it nearly sent him to the floor. Jeremiah looked stunned.

  “Oh, God! Xavier…Xavier,” he muttered, reaching for him, but Xavier knocked his hand away.

  “Thanks a lot, Dad!” he bellowed, rubbing his stinging cheek. “Well, at least I know where I stand now! Catherine is obviously first, and I’m not!”

  He turned and sprinted toward the door.

  “Xavier!” Jeremiah yelled. Xavier stopped but didn’t face him. “I am so, so sorry for hitting you like that! I was completely out of line, and you didn’t deserve it! I never wanted to treat you like my father treated me. But, son, I cannot let you leave here!”

  He spoke without turning. “Then you’re going to have to stop me, Father, because I’m not staying here another second!” He stomped toward the door.

  “I’m sorry, son,” the king muttered, raising his hands and sending a force pelting toward the retreating boy.

  But, Xavier had anticipated the assault and instinctively conjured up an electro shield. His father’s force struck the barrier, ricocheted back, and struck him. He fell into an unconscious heap, as Xavier fled the cafeteria.

  “Jer! Jer! Are you all right?” Loren questioned, kneeling next to him.

  The king slowly sat up and rubbed his head. “Yeah. I think so. Where did he go?”

  “We got word from the gatehouse that Xavier forced his way out of the kingdom, but no one is sure where he went from there,” Loren told him.

  “What?” Jeremiah jumped to his feet. “Their own prince leaves the kingdom, but no one cares enough to try to stop him or even to find out where he’s heading?” he barked as he stomped out of the cafeteria and down the hall.

  “Jer! They were afraid. The boy has the fever! It’s hard to say what he would have done to them if they had tried to stop him. There’s no telling what he’s capable of!” he reasoned, stepping in stride with the king.

  “Loren, he’s no more capable of what he was before. This illness doesn’t change who he is. The fever intoxicates him for the lack of a better description. He loses his ability to control his impulses and therefore acts without thought or reason. But he’s not dangerous,” he told the general.

  Wisely, Loren chose not to point out that the boy had knocked him unconscious.

  The instant they exited the building, the king stopped on the steps and closed his eyes. Loren was accustomed to seeing his friend do this so he didn’t question it. He simply stepped back and gave him some space and silence to concentrate.

  Jeremiah tried to reach out to the boy but only found emptiness and silence. Baffled, he opened his eyes and looked at Loren.

  “I can’t. I can’t reach him. God, the illness must be full-blown. If I can’t connect with him telepathically, then I won’t be able to teleport to him either. Loren, we’ve got to find him!” he choked.

  “I hate him! I hate him! I’m never going back! He doesn’t care about me! He only cares about Catherine! He doesn’t love me! I hope he rots away with guilt for hitting me! God! I miss Mom! I really miss her!” Xavier sobbed as he continued to stagger along a rocky beach. The frigid Atlantic wind blasted through his thin shirt and vest, and he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep his body from chattering apart. Off shore, a cluster of ominous black clouds peered down at him like a predator.

  But, then suddenly, the cold no longer mattered as a fiery pain assaulted his body, sending him tumbling to the shore. He cried out as the seizure of pain rocked and slammed his body against the razor-edged stones covering the ground. His chest felt as if his life was being crushed from him, and he desperately gasped for air. He wasn’t sure how long the spasm of agony coursed through him, but when it finally lessen, his entire body was burning and aching. Exhausted, he lay on the ground whimpering, too weak to move. He was barely aware of the lulling sound of the icy ocean as it stroked his burning legs and chest. The last image he saw before passing out into a black abyss was a snowy dove perched like a sentry on a nearby rock, watching him.

  There was nothing Jeremiah could do but hope he would be able to break through the fever and reach his son. He knew it wasn’t much to go on, but he refused to stop his telepathic attempts. He and Loren searched nearby marshes and moorlands while Ephraim and Spencer searched the nearest common villages for the boy, but the men failed to find him. It had been nearly three hours since Xavier had left the kingdom, and Jeremiah couldn’t help but worry that with every passing moment that Xavier was lost to him, the greater the chance that he would die.

  After a brief stop at the palace to pack hot tea and snacks for the long night ahead, the king was anxious to continue the search. He knew if he stood still even for a minute, he would lose it, which certainly wouldn’t help Xavier.

  “Loren! Ephraim! Let’s get going again!” he ordered, marching into the receiving room, but his generals were not alone. Father O’Brien stood just inside the door, and judging by Ephraim’s scarlet face and Loren’s clenched jaw, the men had been having a heated discussion.

  “What is it?” he questioned immediately. “Did someone find my boy?”

  “No, sire,” Father O’Brien answered. The three exchanged looks of apprehension and animosity.

  “Then what?” Jeremiah hissed impatiently.

  “Sire, I think it’s time you faced the facts,” O’Brien began, stepping toward the king.

  “Which are?” he asked icily.

  “Your son has been infected by the super flu. Even if you’re able to find him, he will not liv…”

  “DON’T!” Jeremiah roared.

  “I’m just saying…” Father continued quietly.

  “DON’T!” he shouted again, lunging at the man, grabbing him by the neck, and slamming him against the door. “DON’T!” he repeated, his face contorting in anguish. “He’s alive, and I will find him! Don’t you ever come into my home again with this nonsense of me facing the facts! Do… you… understand… me?” Jeremiah yelled, slamming the priest against the door with each word. He panted, trying to reign in his terror and apprehension.

  Slowly he released the priest and walked several paces before dropping to the floor in a heap.

  “Oh dear God!” Jeremiah crumbled into tears. “God, he’s only a boy! Loren! Ephraim! We’ve got to find him.”

  Loren immediately went to the fallen king.

  Ephraim paused long enough to hiss at Father O’Brien, “Now, leave!” Then he hurried to help Loren tend to the king, and when he looked up again, Father O’Brien was gone.

  When Xavier regain consciousness, it wasn’t to a warm bed and the feeling of safety and security; it was to another bone-rattling, agonizing convulsion. His eyes snapped open from the intensity of it, and he screamed. But this time, the seizure didn’t stop as quickly as the previous one had. The pain continued to rack and slam his body for several minutes. He clamped his eyes shut and sobbed helplessly against the pain. Pinpricks of white light exploded in the dark realms of his mind and he prayed, not for his survival, but for his death. As pain went, Xavier would have to rank it as the worst he had ever endured. Finally, mercifully, the seizure subsided, and he lay on the threshold of passing out again when terror grabbed him just as violently as the seizures. He was going to die! He was going to die, and he was going to die alone! Lord! He wanted his father!

  He began to sob uncontrollably. “D…dad?” he sputtered out hoarsely. “
Dad, w…where are you? Daddy, please! I’m sorry; I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean any of it! Please!”

  Chapter 18

  The Cure

  Xavier passed out. He didn’t see or hear the loud whirlwind of blue light as his father appeared within a few feet from him. Blinking and confused, the king peered around at the rocky, ominous shore line. A moment ago, he had been with Ephraim, searching a marsh west of the kingdom. How had he ended up here? Then, his eyes settled on the small figure sprawled on the beach, partially submerged in the icy sea water.

  “Xavier!” he choked, racing to his side. The boy’s entire body was as pale as his hair, and there was a frightening blue tinge to his complexion. “Xavier?” he repeated, touching his cold face. “Oh, God,” he cried. “Come on, son! Wake up! Wake up!”

  Jeremiah lifted the boy out of the water and took him to gentler ground. He laid the boy on the snow-covered marsh grass and quickly peeled off his own fleece cloak and scarf. He wrapped the scarf around the boy’s head and neck and bundled him in the cloak like an infant wrapped in a baby blanket. Then he lifted him into his arms and tried something he had never done before: teleporting with another person. Thankfully, it worked perfectly, and in the next instant, he found himself standing outside the infirmary building.

  The moment the hospital staff saw the king carrying the unconscious prince into the triage, they immediately went to work grabbing IVs, oxygen tanks and masks, an EKG machine, and various common medical instruments. Empowered doctors not only possessed strong healing capabilities, but they were also licensed in common medicine. This flu was one of the few times their healing powers proved useless in treating an illness. None of the infected children had responded to healing empowerments, so common technology had to be used. But in the end, nothing seemed to work. All ten children had died. Now, they were faced with the quandary of their prince falling ill to the same deadly disease and most likely dying from it. Although the healers managed to stabilize the prince, he wasn’t expected to live out the night.

  A couple of hours later, Xavier slowly opened his eyes and was surprised to find himself in a warm, dry bed. Jeremiah sat in a chair beside him with his head resting next to Xavier’s right hand.

  “Dad?” he rasped out weakly.

  His father’s head whipped up. He looked horrible! His eyes were red and puffy, as though he had been crying a lot. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face was drained of color. He made a feeble attempt to smile reassuringly, but Xavier knew he was going to die.

  “Hey!” he whispered. “It’s about time you woke up.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been a little busy,” Xavier joked weakly. “Dad, I really hurt! It’s like every bone in my body is broken. I feel…”

  But, Xavier couldn’t finish for a new seizure of pain ripped through his body. His already sore muscles felt as if they were being torn apart, and his bones felt like they were being snapped into pieces. He screamed himself hoarse. He could feel his father’s hands on him, and he could hear his voice, though he couldn’t make out the words. Finally, the spasm ended, and Xavier fell back into the soft mattress sobbing.

  “Dad, please,” he pleaded. “Please, kill me! Please! If you love me at all, you’ll not let me suffer like this! God! Dad, please!”

  “I can’t! I love you, son, more than you’ll ever know, but I can’t do what you ask. Though, I promise you this, I will find a way to cure you. If it’s the last thing I do, you will get well!” Jeremiah choked on a sob and pulled the boy into his arms.

  Xavier fell unconscious and didn’t wake up again. The healers weren’t surprised. All the children who had been infected by the virus had slipped into comas hours before their death. Upon hearing this, Jeremiah bolted from the hospital with Ephraim and Loren at his heels.

  “I want Abraham Vincent! Now!” he barked, looking at Loren. “How do I get him?”

  Loren glanced at him surreptitiously.

  “Come on, Loren! Don’t give me that look; I know that you know how to get a hold of him!” he blared, confronting his friend. “I want him in my residence within the hour! Understood?”

  Loren nodded. “Yes, sire.”

  Jeremiah paced around the room like a convicted felon in his last hours before his execution. It had been nearly an hour since Xavier had fallen into a coma, and time was not a luxury he had to waste. Damn it! Where was Loren with the prophet? Xavier’s torment-filled face as he begged him to kill him continued to haunt him. His throat constricted into a tight painful knot whenever he thought about everything that the boy had endured the last several months. No child should ever have to endure torture and despair as his son had, and it would all be for nothing if he died.

  A light knock drew his attention to the door just as it opened, and Ephraim walked in. “Loren and the prophet are on their way up. Look Jer, I’ve never said anything before because I know how you respect the man, but I don’t trust Abe. He’s hiding something. I’m not sure what, but there’s something he’s holding back. Just…just be careful.”

  The residence door opened without a knock and Loren entered followed by Abraham Vincent. Jeremiah didn’t welcome the man nor did he give him time to speak. Time was short. It was time for answers and action, not for formalities and niceties.

  “How do I save him?” he blurted, brushing past Ephraim and approaching the older man. “Can he be saved?”

  “Yes, he can be saved, sire,” Abraham replied gravely.

  “What are you waiting for then?” he spat, stomping to the door and throwing it open. “Let’s get over there!”

  “Wait, Jer,” Loren interrupted. “There’s more to it than that!”

  “I don’t care! I’d murder the pope if it meant my son would live!”

  “No, sire. You must hear what repercussions you’ll face as a result of your actions,” the prophet demanded. The king deflated and hastily shut the door to listen. “If you choose to do this, Jeremiah, you will be breaking the very law that you pushed into legislation.”

  “Which law?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Code 20,” he answered gravely.

  “Bloody… you’re off your head!” Ephraim hissed.

  The prophet ignored him and continued, “You will need to use the King’s Key to endow yourself with powerful rejuvenation ability. Only an extremely powerful healing power will save him. But, if you do this, you will fall from grace in the eyes of your citizens. You could lose their trust. There are members on the High Council who will seek retribution,” the prophet answered quietly.

  The king stiffened as he realized what ramifications breaking such a law would bring. It could mean his dethronement! Abraham was right; many of his citizens would see such an act as hypocritical and never trust him again. He would definitely fall from grace.

  “Jer,” Ephraim called quietly, “maybe we could call for an emergency High Council meeting.”

  He looked at his general with regret. “Hardcastle, you know as well as I do that there are some on the High Council who would drag their feet to spite me. I can’t risk Xavier’s life like that.”

  “You’ve got to try, Jeremiah! If you do this without approval…” he started.

  “I know perfectly well what consequences will result, Ephraim! It doesn’t matter. You know he must live! His destiny is too important.” Jeremiah looked at the prophet determinedly. “What do I do?”

  “We’ll need the King’s Key,” Abraham stated simply.

  “Okay, then. Let’s get going,” Loren stated.

  “No!” Jeremiah snapped. “Your involvement ends here, Loren.”

  “But…”

  “That’s an order, Jefferson. When this all goes down, I don’t want you or Ephraim anywhere near the heat! I don’t want you punished for my actions. Is that understood? If you’re anywhere near this, I’ll treat you like I would treat anyone who gets in my way,” he warned his friends. “Understood?”

  Loren glanced anxiously at Ephraim before answering, “Y
es, sire.”

  “All right then, you’re both off duty as of now. Go home.”

  After the men left, Jeremiah led Abraham Vincent from the residence and down the royal staircase. At the bottom step, he stopped and studied the bottom pillar. He twisted the knob on top of the post and quickly looped around to a hidden door sliding open underneath the staircase. They entered a long dark stairwell lit only by floodlights embedded in the stoned walls. When they reached the bottom of the steps, the king stepped up to a steel-enforced door and placed his hand on a crystal panel to the left of it. The panel lit up, and the door cracked and squealed as it slid to the side, revealing a small white marbled room. Three armed guards stood at attention the moment the king entered the bright room.

  “Sire…” The first guard’s words were cut short when Jeremiah sent two electro forces spiraling toward him and a second guard, striking them and slamming them into the wall. Both men lay motionless as a third guard spun and raised his sword, looking positively terrified.

  “Sire! Don…don’t come…come any closer,” the young guard sputtered.

  “I’m sorry, kid,” Jeremiah muttered, sending another force toward the young man, rendering him unconscious.

  After a sigh of regret, Jeremiah marched to the vault door and threw it open. Once inside, Jeremiah paused and looked around the elaborately decorated room. Along the entire length of the far wall, the kingdom’s emblem made of jewels and gold sparkled at him. Reverently, he approached the long altar and the key’s vessel and muttered, “What do I do?”

  “Take the key in your hands and think about what you want to accomplish. Think about healing your son. When the process is complete, the key will grow cold to the touch,” Abraham told him.