The Last Legend: Awakened

by Joshua B. Wichterich

  “Something is not right,” he thought. He knew something was wrong as soon as he heard the news that Prince Phillip’s servants had left late last night in a hurry. The king’s advisor told him as soon as he heard about the news at dawn. They seemed to leave in a hurry, packing everything up and sailing away back to Ishkar hours after the festivities. Rumor had it that the prince had strangely stayed behind, and his letter confirmed that very rumor.

  He read the letter again, studying it this time, noticing small errors of random misspelled Minslethratian words. He drank down his goblet of wine, then got up from his chair. With the letter still in his hand he walked over to one of the many great windows on the left side of the chamber. He looked out of the clean and clear window, taking in a deep breath as he looked out over his stunning gardens. Usually he would see Marrisa reading or writing in the gardens, or strolling around with Natalia. He sighed as the thought of Marrisa came into his mind again. He thought Marrisa should turn up at any time of the day, at any moment now. He had sent out many soldiers all over the kingdom to locate Marrisa and to seize Lilith—some news was bound to come up to the king.

  He searched the gardens with his weary eyes, noticing how beautiful it was even in the gloominess of the cloudy day. He noticed how even in the darkest of hour, the beauty of nature still lifted his spirit somewhat. His eyes caught the magnificent fountain that graced the garden. It still poured out the purest of waters, still working like the many servants who tended to the garden. He looked upon the grand statue of The Great King that stood tall and mighty amongst the fountain: his sword pointing up to the heavens in his right hand and a large opened book in his left, his large shield leaning against his armored leg. The beautifully sculpted statue was always a beacon of hope to the king. The statue of the legendary king seemed to lift his spirit even more and reminded him of why humanity was even put upon the earth.

  The original marble statue was carved generations ago, after the reign of The Great King. Inspired, the lord who took the legendary king’s place upon the throne had it carved out of marble and placed upon the beautiful fountain, to always remind him of the glory of The Great King. During the reign of King Julpen’s mother, Queen Karnidge—it was destroyed… But king Julpen had an identical statue produced at the beginning of his reign when he was a young boy.

  “Please help me, father of kings and lord of lords,” King Julpen prayed in a low tone to himself as he looked upon the beautiful monument through the window. “Show me what to do…”

  The statue looked exactly the way it did when he was a young boy, before his mother had it destroyed after his father, King James, died.

  Nostalgia came over him. His thoughts went back years earlier to his childhood. He remembered how he used to play in the gardens as a young boy, admiring the mighty statue when he crossed its path… On one particular day, a couple of months after his father passed, he sat out in the garden—just thinking of his father—and his dreadful mother...

  †††

  Being young, at the tender age of seven, Prince Julpen didn’t understand death—or even the death of his father. He didn’t understand anything that was happening to his family really. All he knew was that he was angry at his father for leaving him—alone with his cruel mother. His mother had told him that the earth was a far much better place without his father on it. But Julpen didn’t believe her. Even though he was angry at him, he missed his father, greatly. He missed everything about him, and didn’t understand the fact that he was never coming back. His mother was now the only one in his life. One would think it was a wonderful thing for him to be left with his mother, the one who gave birth to him—but that would only be thought by one whom did not know of her evil ways. His mother frightened him…

  He was never close with his mother—finding any kind of way to stay clear of her wicked path and black shadows. He didn’t even know if he loved her or not. His mother was bitter and cold and abusive—and he resented her for it. She never showed any kind of love towards him, only aloofness and pain—and anger. Julpen was the only child and heir to the throne to Minslethrate, and being the only child and receiving no real love and kindness from his mother, he didn’t know how to show love. There was once love that his father had showed him—but now there was no more. He was alone in the darkness—alone and lost.

  Over the duration of their royal marriage, King James with the succumbing of Queen Karnidge, tried numerous times to create an heir to the throne, and after the grotesque proceedings of two miscarriages and one still-born, a baby boy was finally born. Prince Julpen brought much happiness to the castle, especially to his father—who appreciated everything about him. The heir to the throne was always the special child, being respected greatly. The prince was the smile to the king’s face and the happiness to his heart. But on the other hand, his mother looked upon him as if he was a disgusting unwanted creature, vermin which needed to be rid of. It was said by her handmaidens that even on the day of his birth, his mother refused to hold him, nearly knocking the newborn to the cold stone floor.

  When Julpen’s father had strangely passed when he was seven years old, his mother took over the throne. Like the weather, the queen changed from cold to brutally freezing, as if a terrible flood of ice-cold anger was released from her. She ruled over Minslethrate aggressively and demanded that great change take place—and that’s when the terror began to erupt in Minslethrate… The people of the Golden Lands began to only know fear and sadness…

  Beginning with a huge bonfire—every copy of the Book of Light was burned, including anyone who refused to yield to the queen’s demands. But the young prince was crafty, determined to keep the one special thing in which his father treasured—the Book of Light. His father’s advisor, Master Odwa, instructed him to hide the original Book of Light from his mother by putting it in a chest and burying it in the furthest and thickest part of the gardens, unnoticed. His father spent the majority of his reign in Minslethrate having copies of the Book of Light made and distributed out amongst the kingdom—and now they were being burned… Frightened and anxious, the young prince prayed that she would never find out about him taking and hiding the book—and she never did…

  She demanded that there would be no talk of the legendary King of Light, and if there was, the ones who spoke it would be burned at the stake. Everyone was to submit to their queen, and if they refused—they knew what was to become of them. The whole kingdom was put into shock, going from the benevolence reign of King James to the terror of Queen Karnidge. From nobility to the poor, everyone was punished—anyone who offended the queen in any kind of way. The people of Minslethrate began to only know fear, terrified that their death would come to them quickly—by the slow cooking of a great fire.

  At first there was a burning at the stake almost every day, covering the kingdom in rancid smoke. Then there was a burning at least once a week, sometimes a couple of times a week including more than one terrified person. One who would be burned would pray that they would be suffocated by the thick smoke first.

  The kingdom was always dull and gray and saddened because of the heavy, rotten smoke, which spread like foul waters. The horrible sounds of the screaming victims could be heard anywhere around the kingdom, startling anyone who would listen to or watch the burnings. The kingdom always smelled of burnt flesh, sickening the stomachs of everyone who walked through the castle town. One walk through the marketplace would make the shoppers smell like the heavy and putrid scent of burning fat and flesh. The stench of the smoke and the anguish that burned in their hearts kept their eyes dripping with tears and their souls scorched by fear.

  Prince Julpen was always frightened by his mother—even her appearance startled him. As he grew, so did his mother’s fashions. She always had a magnificent red gown on, elaborate and beautiful and the color of blood upon a rose petal. She would also have on his father’s family heirloom every day, which was a beautiful ruby that was large and embedded in gold and hung from a long sparkling ch
ain. The pendant represented power and his family’s bloodline.

  But the thing that startled the young prince most of all was her face. Her skin was white as snow and her eyebrows, hairline and sideburns were always shaved off, revealing a great white, smooth fore-head. Her long black hair was always up beneath an elaborate headdress, having a red jeweled diadem, which hung from it and dangled on her massive forehead. Her face was always plain, revealing the natural wrinkles and lines of her skin, and her eyes were always horrifyingly—black. Even with the light of the day shining in her eyes, one could never find a pupil.

  One day after a lesson in Pell-training, which consisted of hours of crafty and strengthfull sword technique, Prince Julpen had decided to go out into the gardens for a break. He had just started his sword training and his seven year old arms had begun to become sore and achy from the long lessons.

  The weather was actually slightly nice that day, having the sun come in and out of the gray sky every so often, revealing its missed and beautiful face. There had been no burnings in almost a whole week, allowing the smoky atmosphere to relent.

  Prince Julpen was walking about, sniffing the red roses as he passed them. Nature always made him feel better when he was down, and now with his father gone, he wanted to be in the gardens all of the time. His father always taught him to look to the sky to The God of light when he was sad and feeling alone, but now after the death of his father, there seemed to never be light—always gray and smokiness, and coldness. “How could I look to the sky, not seeing the great God of light but only gray clouds and black smoke, and feel happy?” he thought. And that’s why he looked to the beauty of the gardens, it was the closest thing to God that he could look at and touch—he thought.

  The prince had walked amongst a rose bush, stopping to snap a rose from its thin branch. He flinched as he pricked his finger in the process. He looked upon the small dot of blood that accumulated on the tip of his finger. He put his finger to his mouth, stopping the small flow of blood, then he looked upon the rose, smiling a little. The flower was opened, full and beautiful with dark-green leaves and large thorns on the stem. He sniffed the rose, closing his eyes and thinking of happy thoughts. He thought of his father and his warm smile—that was the only happy thought he had, and he never wanted to forget his father’s face.

  He walked to the great fountain, peering into the clear water, noticing how clean the bottom was. He looked at the empty space where the marble statue of The Great King once stood. The only thing left of the once beautiful monument was the base on which it was mounted.

  His mother had it pulled down and broken into a thousand pieces right after his father died. The day his mother had it destroyed, he cried uncontrollably at her feet, pleading for it to be salvaged for it had been in his family’s possession for many generations. The queen had the prince punished for sniveling—after the statue was crushed into a thousand sharp pieces, she made him kneel on it all day while having a large bag of sand rest on his back.

  But his punishments weren’t as nearly as vicious as some of those that were bestowed upon the servants… The prince had witnessed their servants being brutally punished many times, leading to some of them being burned at the stake... Some even came up missing, seeming to just vanish. There was even a horrifying rumor that stated that the queen had even hired on young servant girls—to use them in rituals…

  The prince went to his knees before the fountain, remembering that day when his knees bled amongst the shards of the broken statue. He laid the rose on the fountain’s ledge, then closed his eyes.

  “Dear King of Kings—please help me,” he prayed, remembering when his father had prayed that same prayer for help during his uncertain times.

  Just then he opened his eyes, and cringed. His heart began to pound ferociously as he saw a familiar shadow looming over him, which cascaded over the waters of the fountain before him. The shadow was tall and dark, and had two large horns jutting from the top of its head. Startled, he turned around, quickly standing up and bowing to his mother.

  She stood before him, tall and intimidating, daunting and cold. She had her usual garment on that was the color of blood, with a headdress that had two large dragon-like horns which stuck out from the top with a lacey fabric that cascaded over it and down her back. His father’s pendant dangled from her neck, catching the light of the day. The sun that came in and out of the clouds gleamed off of her high, jewel-adorned fore-head.

  “Who are you talking to, Julpen?” She asked in her smooth voice which still had a hint of her home-land accent.

  The tone of her voice was always low and decorous at first, smooth and inviting, which frightened the young prince. He never knew when she was going to lash out at him.

  “I—I am talking to no one, mother,” the prince said, trying to cover his nervousness.

  She peered down at him with her cold, black stare as he just helplessly looked back up to her.

  “Why are you in the gardens? You should be at Pell-training with your sword,” she said in a more forceful voice.

  “I—I came to take a rest, mother. Does this displease you?”

  There was a terrible silence between them, making the prince shyly look down to the ground every so often.

  “A prince should be studying about mighty laws and training with his blade to become a great king,” she said, still looking down upon him. “A great king does not wander around gardens like that of a princess and go about talking to himself… What is that behind you?!” she demanded, pointing her long white finger to the rose that sat on the ledge of the fountain.

  The prince became frightened, his young mind going blank. He just looked up at the ill-tempered queen.

  “Are you hard at hearing? Did you hear what I asked of you?!”

  “No, ma’am—I mean, yes ma’am,” he stuttered—his heart racing.

  “What is it then?! Do not jabber like some kind of fool.”

  “I meant—yes ma’am, as always, I hear you mother,” he quickly said, turning around to pluck up the rose with his eyes still on her. “It is a rose—for you—mother,” he said nervously as he offered her the attractive flower.

  He didn’t intentionally pick the rose for her—his seven year old mind just didn’t know what else to do.

  She still looked down upon him, emotionless, as his small and slightly shaken hand continued to offer her the rose. After a moment of silence she accepted it, snatching it from him without a smile. The many thorns on the flower stung her hand just then, piercing the white skin on the inside of her finger and making her bleed. She cringed with a gnashing jaw as she quickly looked at her bleeding finger, wiping the drops of blood off with the other hand.

  “YOU BASTARD!” She roared out angrily as she sneered down at him, quickly piercing his eyes with hers.

  She slapped the thorny rose harshly with all her might across the prince’s young and frightened face. It happened so fast that shock hit his body first before the pain settled in.

  “Do-not-pick-my-roses!” she yelled as the rose petals and some leaves from the destroyed flower glided to the ground like autumn leaves, as well as a couple of blood drops. “Give me a thorny flower will you!” she grunted with a tightened jaw as she threw the thorny and bald rose-stem at him.

  The swipe from the rose’s thorns had pierced his cheek, tearing the skin across it and making it ooze blood. The prince quickly put his hand to his bloody cheek as tears began to swell up in his dark-brown eyes. His chin and bottom lip began to quiver.

  “If you cry—even the sound of mighty lashing will not cover your screams,” the queen said in a now low and threatening voice.

  The prince didn’t say anything as he tried so strongly to hold onto his tears. The last time he had cried in front of his mother, he had been whipped so badly upon his back that he couldn’t sit or lay comfortably for a whole week. She would say: “Sniveling is for the weak and pathetic…—spare the rod and spoil the child…,” before she would have him harshly
punished.

  “I won’t cry for you! I do not pity you! You will never see me shed a tear for your pathetic being! Never! You will never be compassionate,” she said as she bent over to look closer at him—his father’s blood-red pendant dangling from her neck before him. “Do you understand me?! You will never have compassion for anyone! It is for the weak! Compassion is weakness!”

  Her eyes were wild and searching into his—and were circled with a red-purple color. The muscles in her pale face were tense with anger, revealing prominent lines in her ghostly-white skin. The main veins in her neck bulged out of the sides as her face began to turn scarlet. Her breath smelled foul and her teeth were stained yellow.

  The young and frightened prince just nodded his head as he still covered his bloody cheek—that’s all he could do.

  “Bastard you are but weak you will not be! I forbid it! Do not ever cry—appearing like that of a princess. When you become king, you will rule like your mother—you will show no mercy… Your father was weak—nothing comes from weakness! And if I catch you picking my roses again—there will be more than just a couple drops of blood you will see. The shade of red will be in your eyes…”

  She continued to stare her cold, black eyes upon him. Then, after what seemed like one torturous hour of many, she pointed her long finger at his nose, pocking the tip of his nose with her long yellow fingernail. She then stood up straight—still looking down at him.

  “Now go—get out of my presence you worthless ingrate,” she said in a lower tone, motioning for him to go away with her hand like one would to a dog.

  The prince nodded, obediently hurrying away, still holding his bloody cheek. He ran through the gardens, relieved to get away from his mother but saddened at the same time. He ran until he came upon the thicker part of the garden, a lovely shaded grove and his favorite spot, and the spot where he had buried his father’s Book of Light months ago. The prince fell upon the shaded spot and began to cry as he buried his face into the cool grass, making sure that the sounds of his cry would not float back to the castle and to his mother’s ears. He released all of his sadness and anxiety amongst the earth, above the buried book.