Royal Chronicles of Denmark, Books 1 & 2

by Kiki Leach

  I stood at the edge of the road and watched as this seemingly poor family, though rich with love and mutual respect, sat at their table with their heads bowed and eyes closed. They prayed. I couldn’t hear the words as they whispered to themselves, but I was certain they prayed for continued happiness and personal prosperity. The young woman smiled once the prayer was finished. They hadn’t many possessions to speak of from what I saw, but they appeared happy in spite of it all. I was envious, wishing I were just as happy as well.

  When I heard large feet sloshing through mud and grass, I knew the Sheriff and his men were still searching, still having no idea as to where I had truly gone. But when that stench of cigar became too poignant to ignore, I shivered to the core because I knew I only had two options in that moment: Continue to run and hope I was too quick to catch. Or fly though the opened window of that loving family’s home, all while hoping to hell they took mercy on a motherless child. The steps crept upon me second by second and I began to pray for myself. For my safety and life. Before the Sheriff and his men could smell a single strand of my mud soaked, mildew hair, I leapt across the gravel using my sword as a javelin and soared into the window of that house, landing before them in a crouch position. The young woman and small children startled at my unexpected presence. I certainly couldn’t blame them for that. The girls jumped from their chairs, knocking them over onto the dirt floors, and ran to either side of the young woman as she held out her arms for them. Her eyes were wide with terror and she never said a word as she pulled the children in. The dog ran off into the corner of the room. An obvious pet and nothing more.

  “Men are after me,” I told her once I found my voice. I breathed hard again because I was nervous now. Nervous that she would make a sudden noise as she kept her eyes on my bloodstained sword. I quivered with the hope that she would remain silent. “I need a place to hide for the time being. Can you help me? Will you help me?” The woman sat frozen in her wooden chair. The children turned away and pressed their faces into her shoulders. I still had no clear answer and was confused as to what to do.

  When I thought she was about to speak, we heard the gruff voices of the Sheriff and his men. The woman raced to the other side of the room and blew out her only candle, creating absolute darkness in the room. I ducked down behind the window when I saw the bright tip of that smelly cigar peering above the grass. It belonged to the Sheriff. He held it between his fat fingers and I watched as his dimwitted men were quick on his tail. I counted at least seven at first, then more arrived within seconds. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Twelve men showed in total. The majority only meant one thing. They found Willem’s body and realized that whatever girl they were chasing had killed him.

  But how? I wondered. Had he washed ashore? Had some of the men climbed down the side of the rocks to get to him? I rattled my head in fear. “Why, why wasn’t I more careful!” I mumbled. “How could I be so careless with such an important kill as this! The king’s apprentice!”

  The more I wondered, the more I realized that the men had used their torches for light and followed my wet footprints all the way to town. But I could not understand how it was possible! I never believed it would be possible, not for them. Anyone else but them, those foolish fools, sycophants to the king! I couldn’t believe they found Willem’s body! Had they believed I was nothing more than a nameless vagabond, a local gypsy or silly beggar searching for meat and berries in the forest, they would have left long ago, not caring what I had been up to. And they would have figured Willem to turn up at the foot of the palace in the morning, drunk off his tail like always. But he would not show up alive this time around and these men knew that.

  The Sheriff’s men held back their foam mouthed dogs and raised their torches high when stepping onto the road. They searched for more footprints, my small footprints, believing I had dashed off to the left or right, the same as before.

  “Whoever she was, this invisible maiden, she is gone now, sir.” The man who spoke in a gruff voice exhaled and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped the sweat from his plump round face and thick brows and tossed the handkerchief to the ground.

  “I must agree,” said another. “Once we are past the green, sir, there are no more footprints to be found. She must have disappeared into the night.”

  I exhaled a sigh of relief, but held in that next breath so tight my face colored when the Sheriff scanned the plethora of cement houses within the quiet area. He snatched a torch from one of his men and squint. Then he reached for his cigar again, yanking it from between his lips, and blew out a puff of smoke that formed white circles in the air. He looked again, but appeared defeated and grunted, dropping his cigar to the ground and smashing the lit tip with his polished heel. He sighed loud enough to wake the entire sleeping village of Hadenville and returned the torch to one of his men.

  “You are correct, men. There is nothing to find here now,” said the Sheriff with a grumble. The skin around his brown eyes crinkled. “So, what shall we inform the king? That an unknown assailant, possibly one of the many maidens from within this very village, has killed his apprentice? His right hand? Killed the childhood comrade of Prince Norvack on the night of his return, and callously dumped Willem’s lifeless body into the rivers below?”

  I gasped. “No!”

  One of the men looked to another who turned away. The dogs discontinued their barking. “What other choice do we have, sir?” he said. “We mustn’t lie to the prince or his king. Surely they shall see beyond it, given their distinct cleverness. Especially Prince Norvack.”

  “Very well.” The Sheriff agreed with a slight nod. “Very well. Though we mustn’t inform them of the truth tonight. We must let them believe we are still in search of Willem somewhere in Hadenville.”

  “Yes, sir,” stated the men in unison.

  “We shall leave the village be for now. But.” He lowered his voice and scanned the houses once more, making sure no one else but his men were listening to his every word. “We must return to the waters at once and retrieve Willem’s body from the shore.”

  “Why, sir?” asked one of the men.

  “We mustn’t lie, men, but we mustn’t be foolish about this either! Now, if the king were to learn of Willem’s demise on the grounds near his palace on a night in which we were to keep an eye out for him…” The Sheriff lifted his head and slid his finger across his neck as he widened his eyes. “To each and every one of us and we mustn’t allow that to happen!” The men nodded. “Therefore, he must believe Willem escaped the palace before we could catch up to him. We shall place his body somewhere out in the open where he will surely be seen before dawn. Possibly near the fountain in the village square. Eventually, a passerby will find him and inform the Hadenville police who shall in turn inform us of his demise and whereabouts. From there, we shall share every bit of information we have with the king and no matter what, we divert from our mistake and point the finger at someone else! But do not say a public word on the matter until the king gives us orders to do so.” The Sheriff’s men looked at one another in question at his corruption and turned back to him as he shook his head. “The poor boy had no chance to survive in those bitter waters. Twenty-eight years, gone in the night.” Each of the men nodded in unison again. “Let’s get to it before they start searching for him themselves.” The Sheriff waved his men along as they jerked the leashes of their disobedient dogs.

  I pointed my bloodstained sword to the ground once they left and breathed another sigh of relief. I turned to the frightened and frozen family, but was silent, only nodding in thanks that they never uttered one word in regards to my presence. The young woman nodded back and gave me a half smile before I dashed out the back door.

  It had started raining quite hard by then. As the water slammed into my scalp and traveled down my back in icy sheets, I shivered from the cold it gave my skin. I hated that I had nothing proper to wear to protect me from such harshness and possessed no blankets to keep me warm at night.
I had no sticks to rub together to make a small fire since they were all wet from the rain and I had no matches to light the stove to help with the shivering. But I fought against those thoughts and ran as fast as I could, back to the only place I had ever called ‘home’, where I lived completely alone, save for the rats.

  Once I reached my front door, my teeth chattered so hard, I bit the tip of my tongue and cursed myself as the bitter taste of blood filled my mouth. Inside, I slammed the flimsy door shut and bolted the lock, then dropped my sword to the floor and rushed to the lavatory to check my tongue. My only light was the crescent moon as it shone bright through my broken window. I bent forward to look at myself in the mirror, shards of glass tucked inside a landfill frame I had put together when I was thirteen years old. Strands of my jet black hair covered my face. I pushed it all back until there was nothing left but the natural color of my warm olive skin. I wrinkled my nose, glared at my dark violet eyes, and rubbed my fingers across the lips I always believed were much too large for my oval shaped face.

  When I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, I checked to see just how much of the tip I had bitten off. The blood filled my mouth quite fast, leading me to believe I had bitten off a large amount of taste buds, much more than I had in the past. Gratefully I hadn’t, though the color of my tongue darkened, bruised, as did the side of my face. The side assaulted by Willem in the forest.

  I removed my boots and sat them aside, hoping they would dry in the night as I needed dry soles for the morning. I ripped off my clothes as fast as I could and placed them in the sink, grabbed my tin bucket from the washing bin and held it outside the lavatory window since I had no running water inside the cottage. Once it filled, I dumped the ice cold water on top of the clothes and washed them as best I could. I managed to peel off only so many strips of the cleansing agent because I didn’t have much to use. Therefore, my clothes would be dingy in the morning, more so than usual, and I would go about looking like so many other vagrants within the village, usually drunkards and hanger-on’s. I placed my clothes near my boots once I finished washing and was left to sleep in nothing but my underclothes. Fortunately, I knew I could wait another day before I had to clean them.

  I rubbed my bare arms and legs for warmth and knotted my matted hair into a loose bun atop my head as I left the lavatory and followed a trail of water on the floor back to the front end of my cottage. From the corner of my eye, I saw a shiny object resting near the leg of the chair near the table in the center of the room. It took me only a second to remember that it is my trusty sword. My one and only weapon of defense. Willem’s blood was washed away in the rain. Ironically, the sword once belonged to Prince Norvack. His initials were still carved at the base of the golden handle. Prince Norvack Lars Belarus I. Unlike his crown, the sword was something I knew he wouldn’t miss because he sought a new one on such a frequent basis.

  I went over to my tarnished larder, another piece of landfill junk, and searched for anything worth salvaging. The first thing I found was a bottle of milk I had stolen from a village merchant the previous week. It had turned sour and clumpy but I saved it because I was not quite sure when I would have a chance to go out hunting for food again, and I knew the chunks would at least fill me up for a good two days. Behind the old milk was a half eaten stick of butter. Since it was so cold, the stick had not yet changed form or melted. I hated the taste of butter without bread, but given that I had not eaten a thing since the morning, and seeing as how I had no other choice, I felt as if I had to take what I could get by then.

  I picked up my sword and wallowed to my chambers at the back of the house. I placed it on the ground and rested on the coarse mattress, adjusting my body on the coil springs and reminding myself how to move in the night, like I did each night to keep from scraping my tireless body and face. This mattress was not ideal, but I would’ve much rather slept on it than the splintery floors beneath it. I coughed and gagged as the stick of tasteless butter made me want to vomit inside my mouth. But I swallowed hard and kept it all down. It was disgusting, but how could I help myself? There was enough butter left to last me for at least another week or two.

  I tried falling asleep to the sound of the rain but my lids refused to close. I couldn’t stop thinking of Willem, about what I had done to him. In truth, I hadn’t killed anything on two legs since I was attacked by a man in the alley two years before. I didn’t mean to kill him either, but he shoved me against a wall, ripped my clothes, and slapped me around until I bled. I had to defend myself and we both knew a sword through his stomach was the only way. The Sheriff and his men never found me as the culprit. Then again, they never came searching for me because I had killed another vagrant and they didn’t care. One less begging wanderer the village had to worry about, is what one of them said.

  The next day came much sooner than I expected. The sun shone bright over my heavy lids. I stretched out my arms and legs against the mattress and was hopeful this day would be much better than the last. As I opened my eyes and looked out the window, I saw the sun hit the center point of the sky, which told me it was noon. Noon! I panicked, as it was much too late for me to awake. Much too late. The merchants had all been open since six a.m.! And it was Thursday. The first Thursday of the month. Fresh fish and eggs were on display at Davenport’s Market, the only day Mr. Davenport himself sold such items since they were so expensive. My day had already begun terribly.

  I rushed to the lavatory and checked my clothes. They were still damp, but wearable, as were the boots. I checked my face in the mirror. My cheek was blackened but the swelling on the other side had gone down, somewhat. As soon as I was dressed, I traveled to the village square. The cobblestone streets were filled with hundreds of people. Locals who had been to the market to steal fish for themselves or their families. And tourists who couldn’t resist carrying the fish in their wicker baskets. The smell was quite strong. My stomach rumbled as I imagined the salty taste. My mouth flooded with saliva. Unfortunately, I was sure I would be out of luck where that delicious fish was concerned and wondered how the day could possibly get worse. When I looked across the way, I saw a crowd of locals shouting at one another about the ‘beloved’ King of Denmark and pointing ahead to a wooden post near the bakery.

  A scroll-less paper was nailed at the center, but I couldn’t read what it said. Though, I figured it must have been something big for the locals to turn bright red in the face and scream at one another about it. Some stomped their feet and yelled to the top of their lungs, demanding to know this or that about the king and his wife. How something could have happened without anyone knowing, though I wasn’t so sure what this ‘something’ was. Everyone spoke at once and I couldn’t decipher their words. I was eager to get to the market for fresh fish, but talk of this ‘something’ had stolen my interest.

  As I raced across the street and made my way through the crowd, shoving past large bodies and ignoring crude snarls, I got a good look at that nailed paper and saw the words WANTED written at the top of the page in black letters. My blood ran cold and I felt as stiff as a board. This paper asked for the murderer of King Belarus’ first born son, Prince Willem, to step forward.

  I stepped back. Prince Willem? Prince Willem? First born son? I was confused. More than confused. I choked on saliva and lost my breath at the same time. My bones rattled inside my skin. My knuckles cracked as my fingers hardened inside my palms. My cheeks reddened and I felt like vomiting. King Belarus’ son? Willem? Prince Willem?

  I dropped my head. That cannot be right! I thought. It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake! The king only had one son. Prince Norvack, the one meant to seize his throne someday.

  I convinced myself it was a game, a trick to bring about the real killer. It had to be. The only hope for surrender would be to lie about Willem’s true parentage. Surely, someone would come forward then, if they thought they had murdered the king’s son. This was a lie. An outright scam, a ploy to discover who killed Willem! What else could it have
been? Certainly not the truth. Certainly not.

  Anyone with information in regards to the murder of King Nathaniel Lars Belarus’ first born son, Prince Nathaniel ‘Willem’ Belarus II, shall be rewarded by the king himself with pieces of gold, it read. I gulped. However, please contact the Sheriff of Denmark first if you have any further questions or know of the person responsible for this horrific tragedy. They shall be handled accordingly.

  Handled accordingly meant death by hanging in the village square near the fountain. Or a burning or beheading before the entire country on the front lawn of the palace estates. Mother Mary and Joseph. This was no mistake. No ruse or trick. This was all real. All too real.

  Last night, I murdered the king’s first born son. Though unwittingly, of course, which didn’t matter. My heart sank like a bucket down a well and I swallowed hard, pushing down the saliva that built up inside the back of my throat in lumps. I wished to die in that moment, at the center of the cobblestone streets. A well kept secret that had yet to go beyond the kingdom, safely guarded for all these years, was just revealed to the citizens of Denmark, all because of me and what I had done. Oh, what had I done! I dropped back, tripping over my heels, and nearly falling to the ground in a faint. A stranger caught me in his arms and rattled me a bit.

  “Are you alright, Miss?” he asked. He was missing a few front teeth and his breath was more sour than the milk in my larder. I nodded and turned away, feeling too dizzy to speak or say thank you.