The Auburn Prince

by Adam Zmarzlinski

  “Quite an interesting little group we’ve got here,” he said, “a girl, a fox, a beagle and a gecko, or rather, a savior, a prince, a beauty and a wise man.” The Soundsmith stopped his hammering, turned to them and said, “I am Eélco, commonly referred to as the Soundsmith. I bring sound to that which Men cannot see, emotion. Before me stand four cursed characters. The first is a gecko whose true name is Talin Scourgeworth, a first-rate magician, world renowned healer and a friend to the Lost God, Pan. The beagle is his clever daughter Mika Emilia Scourgeworth, the child of the great songstress Ooalda Amolda known in the lands of Sazanthia as music embodied. Behind that fuzzy snout, Mika is a beauty beyond compare, with a mind so clever and striking that Cupid himself would fall for her charm.

  “Then there is the fox. The young Gideon Renard, the Prince of Vivéret, son of the great Queen Gavrella and the kind King Vos Renard. Behind those whiskers, Gideon hides a tortured past and a heart bursting with empathy, ambition and hope. Finally, there is the girl, Clementine Aurelius, a lonesome soul seeking friendship, a daughter to a brave man and a courageous woman, in simpler terms, hope given flesh. You’ve all come here to be recognized for who you are but it is wholly possible to become divine without anybody’s recognition. However, what I do recognize is the shadow, the curse that’s been placed upon you. Yes, even you Clementine. Each of you comes to me with a different plea or a piece of news, but all of you come because you wish for the curse to be broken. I cannot help you. You are not animals; you are you and only those who recognize that truth can break free from the ancient jinx that’s been placed upon them.”

  “How do we do that?” the fox asked.

  “It is not magic that has turned you into what it is you are, it is your past, your regrets and your worries. The spell is meant to make you look how you feel. Talin is a lizard, a cold-blooded crawler who wishes to share the wisdom within him. Mika is a wondrous hound, always praised for her fine coat and not her gentle disposition and imagination. Gideon is a fox, resourceful and compassionate, yet hunted by his family, duty and past. I assume that you all feel as if your true self is fading, replaced by the thoughts of the animal whose body you’re trapped inside. It is only the mind playing tricks on itself. For a long time now, you’ve not quenched your thirst on hope, instead drinking from a chalice of malice, self-pity and sorrow. It happens to us all, even me.”

  “Mr. Soundsmith,” began Clementine.

  “Call me Eélco, please,” the Soundsmith cut in.

  “Eélco,” she corrected herself. “What curse was placed on me?”

  “Loneliness,” he answered. “A horrid, self-perpetuating hex.”

  Clementine looked down at her feet.

  “There is no shame in loneliness,” the Soundsmith began. “In time, all those who grow lonely also grow determined too to escape their loneliness. Take your parents for example,” Clementine’s eyes lit up, “they were lonely once until that one fine day when they found one another and their deep internal isolation, vanished, dissipating like storm clouds in a high wind. The proof of overcoming their curse was you, your smile, your ambition, your love, your life.”

  “You’ve seen them?” she asked.

  “Long ago, just before they descended down into the Valley of the Other, accompanied by the Türul and a Xis piece. It’s a shame that they were so horribly betrayed by someone so close to them but she knew not what she was doing. In the end, that day was a part of something much greater, that I am too ignorant to encompass and understand.”

  “Who betrayed them?” Clementine asked.

  “You will find out in time,” the Soundsmith said. “It is not my role to tell you. I leave that up to your parents.” With a comforting smile, he turned to the fox and spoke, “You however, and the one you continue to love even after her death, were betrayed by your father-by-law, Perow. In fact, your whole journey here revolves around you telling me that you saw the one dubbed the boy who is not a boy and the Pale Rider inside the castle planning a war against your neighbors. This I knew and much more still. What I did not know, is that there is another splinted piece, the fourth, that escaped to Earth. It is all very concerning, but I trust that it shall end well.”

  The fox tried to remember but his memory did not allow it.

  “You shall remember in time,” the Soundsmith said. “Everything from the attack on the caravan to the illusion your father-by-law cast upon you. You see the man who wed your mother was not a man but a piece of something viler, an Übel, a creature of pure hatred. Much worse than anything the Other can conjure.”

  “How do you know all this?” Gideon asked.

  “The moment you entered this tower your memories, emotions and lives revealed themselves to me,” the Soundsmith said. “I am the tower and the tower is I.” He smiled at their awe and continued, turning toward Mika and Talin, “Ten years ago, you were betrayed by a friend in Oarhan.”

  “What?” Talin said.

  “Indeed. You and your daughter have been traveling to see me since then. Thrice now you were turned away from edge of Mundialis, but this time someone helped you get in.”

  “The traveling actor,” Mika recalled.

  “Or so he claimed,” the Soundsmith said. “It is said that evil is always three: power, malice and trickery but we often forget about that which makes all three come to light: indifference of the good. Evil is four, you see. All parts of the Übel. Upon your journey, you’ve all met at least one of them. Talin and Mika, you did so by accident, I’d say. Trickery chose to play a game with you, but unbeknownst to it, a greater force, that you’ve yet to meet, was playing a trick on it. Three of the four used you Gideon for their nefarious purposes, all of them ignorant of the determination running through your veins. But all of them guided the four of you toward this valley, especially you Clementine. They must see in you a threat and hatred hates to be threatened. An ancient wise man once said that wickedness overall does no harm to the universe.”

  “Marcus Aurelius wrote that in Meditations,” Clementine said. The Soundsmith nodded.

  “And while that may be true, wickedness does harm us as individuals. It tears away at the fabric of our own values, at all that we hold as good and just in the world. Many fall victim to wickedness, to the despair that it conjures, but not you four, who’ve come here to battle that wickedness, to show it that you aren’t afraid of facing it head on. Men are born for the sake of each other, so either teach or tolerate, also Marcus Aurelius. Book eight, I believe. To solve all the dilemmas cluttering your minds, to lift this curse, each of you must act upon that which you fear most, fortunately you know what that fear is, except you, Clementine.”

  “I don’t understand,” the girl said.

  “In loneliness everything is fear,” the Soundsmith said, “and your greatest one is not seeing your parents. However, if you wish to challenge that fear, you must do what only a few creatures have done before, you must descend into the Valley of the Other, alone. In turn, Gideon and Mika and Talin must challenge their own greatest fear as well. Choices lie ahead of all of you, that is true, but how you handle those choices is decidedly in your hands. Clichés aside, a fear vanquished is a courage gained.”

  “I still do not understand how you know all of this about us,” Talin said.

  “I give form to the unseen and you are the unseen,” the Soundsmith said. “That is my role in this story. As you’ve already been told, the world will end in a white room but for that to happen you must achieve your individual destiny. You’re all fine people, but you lack the eyes necessary to see the value in yourself. You think yourself useless like shattered quills spewed upon a charred tabletop. But what is a pen without a writer? Aurelius asked in book ten. I ask, who is the writer without a pen? I cannot aid you further. What information you need, I gave you. I encourage that you stay the night. These walls are safe from the hundreds of bühos that swarm here through the night.”

  “Thank you. We’ll stay,” Clementine said. The Soundsmith nodded a
nd pointed at the door behind them before saying, “Claret will show you to your rooms.” Out from beyond the chime door emerged a smiling mandolin.

  “Come on,” Claret said in a whimsically squeaky voice.

  “Before you go,” the Soundsmith said. “Remember that if an imperfect being looks at a perfect object it sees imperfection, because perfection to it is unattainable and unknown and no amount of pretending to see perfection will yield it without building a perfection of your own.” They nodded even though they did not understand. “And Clementine,” he continued. “You must be cold and your feet aching, let me offer you a pair of shoes and a jacket. Good luck.”

  The foursome thanked the Soundsmith then followed the mandolin out of the workshop, through the hall and down the stairs where instead of encountering the gray room with the skeletal rabbit, they entered a chamber littered with cushions and seven other staircases.

  “Where did the strange man go?” Mika asked.

  “Excuse me?” Claret said.

  “The room, it was gray. A man in a rabbit costume sat in that corner. He swayed on a rocking chair. He—

  “You must be mistaken, Miss,” the mandolin smiled. “There are no gray rooms with rocking chairs anywhere in sight of this tower. Come now dears, let me show you to your room.”

  They climbed a staircase and after passing a room with a dozen string instruments practicing Vivaldi’s String Concerto in A Minor, RV 356, they entered a large circular room full of colorful pillows, numerous doorways and a pool. The far wall was translucent revealing a wonderful view of the valley. A dozen windmills spun outside.

  “Here you are,” Claret said. “Wash up and rest. I will return when dinner is ready.”

  The mandolin bowed and left them be. While the others swam in the pool, Clementine took a long shower in the adjacent bathroom. A pair of guitars gathered her clothes and returned them a few minutes later, washed, pressed and clean. Sore from the journey, they spent the rest of their time watching the windmills, discussing the bühos and contemplating the Soundsmith’s words. When the sun set, Claret returned and accompanied them to a small dining room where the table overflowed with various foods such as honey ham, chocolate cakes, boiled potatoes, steamed vegetables, passion fruit juice and ceviche.

  “Will the Soundsmith be joining us?” Talin asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Claret said. “He is quite busy, meeting with the Diamond Stag of Bösh.”

  After dinner, the instruments put on a breathtaking concert in which several types of music danced in front of their eyes resulting in a blissful sound they had never heard before. Happy blues danced with a slow samba while rock ‘n’ roll boogied the waltz with a gospel hymn. Afterwards, the foursome returned to their room.

  “Goodnight,” said Claret and they wished her likewise. Each of them found their own nooks to sleep in, with Mika and Gideon lying next to one another. With sleep hard to come by, the Soundsmith’s words echoed in their heads and each of them grew worried and restless.

  Talin observed his daughter, wondering if it was perhaps time to let her go. “I’ve always been there for her,” he thought. “But she is grown now. What am I to do? Will she remember me once she leaves my side?” He worried for her safety and wellbeing, for her life after he passed on into the great beyond.

  Mika watched the sky, occasionally glancing over at the fox, whose head rested on her paw. “Will I have the courage to kiss him?” she wondered. “Now that I know that he’s a Prince with a life and family beyond this journey, should I even try?” The shadow appendages dangled from the clouds. Her soul ached and while she observed the outside, her heart focused on the world that lay beside her.

  Gideon too watched the sky, also occasionally glancing her way. On one such occasion, they simultaneously lay eyes on one another and if not for the fur on their faces, they would have seen the other blush. “What am I to do?” he wondered. “Do I love her and if so, am I betraying the love of my past? What of my vengeance, of the Pale Rider, of Perow? I should have sunk my teeth into his neck…does that make me like them, vile and hateful? I need closure on two of the most pressing memories: love and vengeance.” He observed the unstable sky but his heart felt content knowing that Mika lay beside him.

  Clementine observed Olland’s ruins and wondered what she would find in the valley below. She looked at her companions and hoped that they may overcome their personal fears. She flipped through the pages of Meditations and thought, “Nowhere in here does it say just how difficult the choices we make in life are.” After closing the book, she observed the dancing lines on the handkerchief, their glimmer and fading color. She looked at her hands and reminded herself that she was the outcome of two lonelinesses meeting in love. She smiled, whispered goodnight to the memory of her parents and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Twenty

  Into the Abyss

  When Clementine awoke, she saw the Soundsmith standing near the translucent wall, looking over the dilapidated landscape below. She sat up and spied an orange wool jacket on a nearby pillow. She put it on and walked over to stand beside him. “Good morning,” she said and he glanced down at her.

  “Morning,” he replied. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did,” she said. His gaze turned skyward. Black appendages hung from the gray clouds and bühos swarmed the horizon. The view resembled more dusk than dawn.

  “It knows that you’re coming,” the Soundsmith said. “It’s awaiting you.”

  Clementine remained silent.

  “I have seen a many people pass through here,” he continued. “Each of them different, each of them the same. Can you guess what all of them asked me?”

  “Why you like making music?” Clementine asked. The Soundsmith chuckled.

  “I wish that’s what they’d asked me,” he said and glanced at her. “Just then you reminded me of a girl I met a long time ago. She too asked me that same question and just as I did her, I shall answer you with a silly little poem that goes,

  A blackbird sat atop a tree,

  Spitting bird notes with cheerful glee.

  Far below in a marshy depth,

  A tiny frog screamed out in breadth,

  ‘Blackbird, blackbird, teach me song.’

  Lost in music, lost in joy,

  The blackbird did not hear the ribbit’s plea,

  And sang along great tunes did he.

  Not one song, not two or three,

  But twenty melodies he spat out in tune

  Then, like his friend the melancholy moon,

  He fluttered off to Cameroon,

  Until that time when need be,

  To sing a tune of cheerful glee.

  Clementine laughed at the Soundsmith’s poem and his eyes filled with melancholy contentment. “You have your parent’s courage,” he said. “You also have their deep compassion, all reaching kindness and untamable humor. It’s a rare quality.”

  “Why do you live here?” Clementine asked, taking the Soundsmith by surprise. “It’s a bleak and horrid place; the people are beaten and downtrodden. They suffer and yet you live here, in all this vast color. Why do you not help them? Why hide in your tower?”

  “I’m not meant to help them,” he said. “I am meant for greater things.”

  “What kind of answer is that?” Clementine said. “What of your talk of indifference?”

  “Consider too the lives once lived by others long before you, the lives that will be lived after you, the lives lived now among foreign tribes; and how many have heard your name, how many will soon forget it, how many will praise you now but quickly turn to blame? Marcus Aurelius wrote that in book nine,” the Soundsmith said.

  “You worry much about what I do or do not do,” he continued, “yet you’ve not complained about the aid I’ve given you. I am not meant to help them, I never was. That responsibility lies with you. And I know you don’t believe in destiny, in what may be. Your parents didn’t either. They believed in the now, in acting rightly today, in bein
g reflective of the goodness within us right now. They kept little focus on past actions and knew not to rely on the memories of nostalgia for the future. They were right.

  “Many wonder why Mundialis exists, a bleak place devoid of color, and many more question the Other’s continued existence. Why not kill it, they say and in their criticism, but they forget to ask the important questions. What did this land look like before it was Mundialis? How will it look like when color returns to it? They forget a very important thing, no one can judge the bad days in their own context, they have to look beyond them, at what led to those days and what harvest they shall bring once they pass. Always the good must be done today but there is always another day to commit to the bad.

  “Think of the whole of existence, Clementine, of which you are the tiniest part. Think of the whole of time, in which you have been assigned but a brief and fleeting moment, think of destiny—what fraction of that are you? Yet more truth from the mind of Marcus Aurelius.”

  “He never quite answered that question,” Clementine said. “Because he didn’t know the answer, but I do: we make our own destiny. We are not the tiniest part of existence. We are all in our own right infinite and yes, we may be here briefly, but in what little time we have, we can change so many things—alter so many lives for the better—and all we need to do is just try.

  “I thought about what you said yesterday—about the Other. And I realized that it’s nothing more than a golem of what we fear and do not understand. It reminded me of something I saw at school, of a boy kissing another boy. Of when they noticed me and turned scarlet with fear. Of them jetting away like frightened fauns.”

  “Did you understand it?” the Soundsmith asked.

  “No, I didn’t, not at first.”

  “It was otherness you encountered,” he said. “That which you see and that which you feel but do not understand, it’s all otherness. You should not judge otherness because you do not understand it. Instead, you should take it for what it is. You do not look at a rose and wish it to be a lily. You appreciate the rose for what it is, a rose.”