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KIARK

The ground was cold, clammy cold, and damp. I could feel it seeping through my tunic. My muscles were cramped, and I cracked my neck as I slowly sat up to get my bearings.

All I saw was black.

I leapt to my feet, my heart suddenly going like a racehorse’s. “Great Klyde,” I whispered hoarsely, staring all around me. It was so dark, so black, I could almost feel it. “Great jumping Klyde,” I repeated, so shaky I didn’t know what else to say. Where was I?

I drew my sword, the ringing sound somewhat muffled in the heavy darkness, and took a step forward, my free hand held out in front of me. After several paces, I felt a smooth wall, like polished granite. I felt terror rise in my chest and bile in my throat.

I followed along the wall and after several feet it met another wall in another corner. I walked all around, and there were four corners — four corners cornering me in, sealing me in a dark chamber with no apparent way out. There wasn’t even a barred window. I shivered, and it all came back in a rush.

The strange castle, the fight with the beasts in the cave, and Wylo….I must have blacked out.

Was I dead? Was this what Harn (Hell) was like? It certainly couldn’t be Paradise (Heaven). Or was I just sleeping and hallucinating? I shook my head; can’t start thinking about things like that. Somehow, the castle and its tricks must have put me here. There had to be an exit of some kind, somewhere.

I was still so shaken I couldn’t curse, so I sheathed my sword and started leaping at the walls to see if there was any ledge to grab. Then I tried scrambling up, but I promptly slid down the sides. I felt about on the floor; no hatch, no nothing. I really started to panic now, racing a few steps this way till I came to a wall and then a few steps the other way.

I have to stay calm!

I took several deep breaths and started to sing in a trembling voice. Singing always comforted me, even if my voice wasn’t as great as I would have liked. It was always easier to think when singing, too: to think of what I could possibly do.
<p style=”text-align: center;”>“I lost her to another man,</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>Sweeeeet Sarline.</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>Didn’t know gold when I had it in my hand,</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>Sweeeeet Sarline.”</p>
My words came out full of a rush of air, and I stopped to catch my breath, feeling slightly better. If I was doomed to stay here forever and sing, I couldn’t help it, could I?
<p style=”text-align: center;”>“What can I do to get you back?</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>Sweeeet Sarline.</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>Without you my world is black–”</p>
I cringed at that line and stopped to think of another song, something more cheerful and with a happier tune. It was then, however, that I heard a footfall. I whirled around, drawing my sword and taking up a fighting stance, ready for anything — except this.

What I saw nearly stopped my heart.

A man stood about a few feet away from me, and at least a few inches taller. His head and short beard were reddish-gold, his body trim and muscular. He was wearing a light blue tunic and leggings and a great cape of shining gold. On his head was a shimmering golden band. And when he lifted his face towards me, his eyes were of the darkest sapphire.

My jaw opened slightly in surprise, and I could only mouth the word “father?” like a total idiot.

Then my body grew rigid and I braced myself for the fight. But Waynot Reni, High-Ark of Banerow, only looked at me with eyes deep and sorrowful, a look that went straight to my heart — and I realized then that he was my father As Before; I knew it.

I was over to him in an instant. We stood almost eye to eye; I had never noticed before. I found the words pouring out of my mouth before I knew I was speaking, and felt the passion rising in my heart. I was so relieved, so relieved that he wasn’t mad, that I wouldn’t have to confront him — so relieved that I forgot to be angry with him.

“I know you didn’t mean to do those things. It wasn’t really you, was it? I know it wasn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t do, didn’t try to, well, something, sooner.” I was still confused, and my words were completely falling apart. But father just put his hands on my shoulders. I looked into his eyes, and they were the loving, gentle eyes I had stared into ever since I was a little boy. I forgot all about the dark room.

“You could have done nothing, son, and I should be apologizing. You have been strong, so strong. There is so much mystery, and I shall try to explain it to the best of my abilities–”

Then it happened. His arms dropped, and he looked away. I stood there, startled and with a sinking feeling in my chest, a let down feeling. And when he looked up at me again, a terrified feeling.

His eyes were reeling. They were red and black. And he snarled like a wild beast.

“Father,” I said, surprising myself by sounding calm. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

He drew his sword and leapt at me, and all my calm left.

“Father, stop!”

I blocked his blow and stepped to the side. “Please!”

He stabbed again and I jerked my body away just in time. I kept backing away, moving in a circle in the small, dark, square room. He followed me, his strikes increasing in intensity with each thrust. I kept swerving and blocking, because I couldn’t stab back. I couldn’t.

But I couldn’t let him kill me, could I?

I didn’t know what to do. A hero would die. But right now, I’m not a hero; I’m just a little boy. A boy who wasn’t ever ready for this; a boy who doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but who is numb and only responding to instinct. “Father,” I whisper, “I’m sorry.”

I parry another blow, and then I grunt and drive my blade forward. I hear the strange sound of metal entering flesh, feel my sword enter his chest, and hear Waynot’s gasp. He collapses to the floor, and I stare at his body in shock. The blood starts to seep through his clothes. Soon, it is pooling on the floor, and I don’t know how long I have been standing here, staring, unbelieving, aghast. So confused.

I have killed my own father.

I kneel down by his side and put a hand on his chest. I pray there will be a beat, but there isn’t. My palm comes up red with blood. So I pick up one of his hands, rough hands, hands that had seemed so big to me as a child, and I hold it tight between mine and try to remember him the way he was Before. There is something about someone’s hands, more so than their face, that brings you comfort. Maybe it is because it is the hands that comfort you, pick you up when you fall, and pat your back when you do good.

Whatever made you that way, father, I don’t know. But I don’t think you could help it. I’m not mad at you anymore.

How long I sit here, I don’t know. But when I look up, blinking to see through my tears, I see that the wall in front of me is no longer black. It is misty, a light pink color, and as I stare, I start to see pictures.

It is the Palace Meolo. It is the balcony outside my room, the one that looks out over the palace gardens and on into the bustling city. I see a picture of me, sitting back in a lounge chair, and standing at the railing is Rosprey, one of my men. He turns to look at the me in the picture and I see the badge of the Talent, Private Command to the High-Ark, on his shoulder. I smile. Sometime in the future, then, he will be one of my closest buddies. When I get back….I shake my head and look down, then jump to my feet in astonishment and fear. Father’s body is gone.

Then I snarl with new realization. The castle. It did this to me. It tricked me! It hurt me on purpose! This was not real! I must not look at the misty picture! It is trying to torment me. Nevertheless, I find my eyes turning to the side and find myself watching…

Rosprey is gesticulating and talking to the me in the picture, smiling. But then, after a minute or two, I see myself get up, and I see myself starting to shout at him. Rosprey looks first confused, then hurt. Soon he is yelling back at me and we are both arguing back and forth. I see my hand go to my side, and I watch as I draw a strange hand weapon out of a pocket and point it at him, still shouting.

Rosprey puts his arms up, and his face goes white. At that moment, a bunch of people rush onto the balcony, and I recognize some of the soldiers. They tackle me just as a cloud of smoke spouts from the weapon and blows into the air above Rosprey’s head. I watch myself struggling, and see I draw a knife against them. It looks as if I have inhuman strength. It takes all six of them to finally bind me with sheets from the room.

I can’t believe what I am seeing.

Then, they start to carry me away, and next I see myself sitting in a dungeon — the same one I was in before. The me in the picture looks at me, and I see his eyes are red and wheeling.

No.

I fall to my knees.

NO.

“Castle,” I sob, not able to think, “stop this. I don’t want to see anymore. Bring me back home!”

*************************************************************************************************

Ummmm….. ok, that was me being a total drama queen 😛 Sorry it was so long! I got totally carried away! In case that was confusing, it was basically Kiark’s three fears: claustrophobia, fear of facing his father and what he would do when he did, and fear of becoming as mad as Waynot.

@joelle-stone

Riure’s fear is so legit! I love it! I hurt for her 🙁 It is really a fear that we can all attest to!

@mischievous-thwapling

Yes, bring terrible pain to your poor characters, because even though they don’t know, it is for their good!

@jasmine

Your totally welcome! Keep it up! 😀