Chapter Seven

He had nearly lost track of his time here in Lionel, only remembering that it was soon to be his first month having stayed there. The days were long and the nights were even longer. Since the night of the Fool's rescue nightmares had continued to plague him. Only this time, the girl was involved now. At the end of the nightmare there was always a recurring theme. The Fool's twisted mask breaking and shattering, nothing but a hole left in the face of the man. A dagger lying in his own chest, though without blood as a crown encircled the blade. And now, there was the girl, atop a hill staring at him. Her eyes no longer small but wide and open in terror as a beast of a feathered creature struck her down. It was at her scream that he'd wake, his own voice rising in terror. But always the man with the storm for eyes quieted his scream with a heavy hand across the mouth and his barely audible hush. He never found out his name, he only knew him by stormy eyes and that he responded to lad.

 

 

Carner constantly wondered why that was, or why he never even spoke. It wouldn't be hard to imagine his voice, it must have been a hearty young man's voice that suited his image. He had the lad stationed with him at all times, for ever since the night of the wolves he'd felt he could only trust him. But never mind that now, he thought, the day's begun and I must ready myself. With a slight solemn stare to the lad, he had risen from bed to change into his day clothes and wash his face. He almost felt it represented the washing away of his night terrors.

 

 

He wondered how his mother and father were doing, he even thought about the fool. Surely he was up and about by now, perhaps even back to juggling so as to entertain his parents and keep them from their woes of the future. He knew his father had been trying to please those overseas, and his mother frustrated at their decline in food supply because of the warring nations also overseas. Oh yes, anyone who didn't know that the Harpy's Land and the country of Walhein were at war were quite the oblivious folk. It was no matter to them, seeing as the violence was thousands of miles away, but oh did it do subtle damage. Shame though no one even thought of it for a second.

 

 

Not even Carner, swathed in his white silks as he headed out the door and down to the dining area, for there was food on his mind. Speaking of which, he wondered whom even cooked the food. The idea was to keep him hidden for the most part and well guarded, but by now servants and such would've recognized him and be gone to sell him out to whoever wanted to know his whereabouts. He knew Lionel was a great place of secrecy, but it made no sense that rumors weren't already spreading about. He knew they pushed most servants away by now, but how was it still secret? He'd have to ask later.

 

 

Right now, eggs and bread before him were quite enticing. Though, dealing with the Duke of Lionel and his wife was the opposite. The man was a brutal little thing, rough and harsh and lewd with his jokes. How he became anything noble was beyond him. Yet he only knew to call him Duke. The wife was a nitpicking little hag, short and fat though her hands cold and skinny. He hated how her veins crawled over the bones of her fingers yet crept under her skin like parasites. It made his appetite nearly flee. The son he did not mind, he did not bother him. For whatever reason, the boy left him be, only stopping now and then to question about books or swordplay. But he was rather irritable around their daughter, Anna he thought her name was. He understood why the girl was the way she was now. Her mother kept slapping her fork down for every bite she took, her father directing those lewd jokes to her, and her brother easily annoyed with her. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but think all incompetent. After all, the girl couldn't stand up for herself or even take a bit of kindness her way.

 

 

Yes, that moment in the library seemed to affect her a lot. She wouldn't even look in his direction. It almost made him angry really. For it wasn't the last time he did that, no, he frequently assisted her. Getting books for her or telling her where to find what she needed and the like, now that he was here to throw their library into chaos. Not a single thank you he heard. Carner had been wasting his time away with book after book, scroll after scroll, though he was rather disorganized about it, waiting, and watching her.

 

 

"So Heir, I've seen you and our little Anna here down in the libraries."

 

 

"Yes Sir, it appears that way."

 

 

The topic seemed rather strange to bring up. While the jokes and talk for whatever reason head in the direction of bed and marriage as well as politics, the sentence didn't sit so well in his belly.

 

 

"Ahh now don't be so formal with me boy, I know what you two are up to."

 

 

"I'm sorry?"

 

 

At the Duke's remark, Anna went white in the face. Carner could've sworn he heard her utter a curse and prayer at the same time. The Duke went on with a coarse laugh.

 

 

"You know what I mean boy, you and Anna are surely havin' some fun down there, a little ruckus goin' on what with no one about."

 

 

"Sir, I'm afraid you are suggesting a rather rude-"

 

 

"Oh come now, I know she's a fat little thing but she knows her way around thi-"

 

 

Anna had jumped up from the table, slamming her dish down. "Enough!" She shouted. The fact she even spoke was enough for everyone at the table to jump in astonishment. Her mother had choked on her drink, spilling purple to stain her unsightly yellow dress. With a choke on her words, and tears forming in her eyes, Anna ran out of the room, nearly tripping on her dress. Her father went into a fit and chaos was everywhere. Carner ordered the guards to leave the room, and to tell the lad to find the girl. The last thing he saw of the room before he himself ran free, was the brother turning red in anger, the mother screeching in fury, and the father flipping the table. The sound of jingling silverware and breaking plates was almost music compared to their uproar.

 

 

Elsewhere, there was darkness. Oh how terrifying this darkness was, he didn't know how long he'd been sitting in it but this was utterly horrifying. He had a strange sensation then, a feeling of rising from the ground. And suddenly, thrown into the world, he screamed, rolling around in covers, his side aching and his breath gone as he hit the floor with a harsh thud. The Fool groaned in pain, clutching at his side through stained bandages. Gods it hurts, he thought, I can't even move. And so he didn't, he lay there for awhile, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. His mask was still in place, his hat still on; this reassured him for whatever reason and had calmed him as he began to sit up.

 

 

"Strange, I must've fallen into a deep sleep. It must be late in the evening by now." It was probably the wine that made him sleep so much. Wine tended to have that drowsy affect on him due to his thin body. Looking around, he noted that it was quite ridiculously dark in the room. Surely the Master Healer would've had a candle lit. Looking around, he found the window to the outside, it had been shut. Looking closely, he noticed something rather odd. There was a red light peering in through the cracks. One of the farmers was probably burning up some bad crops, but why so late in the night? Hands creeping through the darkness, he gripped the edge of the bed and heaved himself to his feet. Good Gods was his side actually feeling quite better. Only achy. That Master Healer was most definitely a Master alright, he'd have to thank him later with some entertainment and the like. Surely the man, so despairing in looks, could use it. Stumbling around again, he found the door to his room, and shoved it open. To his surprise though, it had fallen off the hinges and clattered to the stone floor of the hall dramatically. What surprised him even more though, was the fact the other side of the door had been burnt, and that the door had clattered atop a body.

 

 

Fear instantly bubbled from his stomach, bile to his throat. What in hell's name was going on here?! Snatching the dimming torch from the hall, he retreated back into his room, searching and searching. Nothing was misplaced in the room, though all the candles that had been lit previously had all fallen and melted to a stump. Something just wasn't right. Gathering his dusty clothes from the bedside table, he hurriedly dressed. Stepping out into the hall, he noticed a chill. This wasn't right at all, he thought, the castle is never chilled in the winter... This means the castle hasn't been heated in too long of a time... How long have I been asleep?

Gingerly stepping out into the hall, he looked down the staircase as it descended into darkness. For a second, he thought he heard a cliched howl. It was like a horror story from his childhood that his gran used to tell him. It would've been hilarious at the moment, had he not noted the bloody footprints that went down the stairs. And so, he crept down the staircase, like a sinister serpent of a shadow. Though it was quite the opposite, he felt far from sinister, rather vulnerable and scared.

 

 

Coming down from the staircase, he exited the tower and into the main hall. "Dear GODS!" What greeted him was shattered colors of glass, bodies of guards and foes he's never seen the likes of, blood everywhere. Giant holes in the surrounding walls revealed the red light was not only a fire, but a chaotic whirlwind of flame that burned through the winter wonderland as snow flurries fell, the moon luminous and tinged yellow through the lights of the fire. Not a single source of life moved, only death in its stillness remained. He felt his body shudder and shake in terror, it wasn't even terror he was feeling, he didn't know what he was feeling. He only wanted to fall to the floor and scream and die right then and there. Dropping the torch he ran. He wasn't headed in any direction, he just had to run, run away before whatever killed everyone here came back for him. But wait! No! The Queen! The King! No! They couldn't be dead they had to be alive! Somewhere in the castle! In his urgency he nearly ran in a circle. Where could they be, he thought, their chambers? YES! Their chambers! This must've happened in the middle of the night for no attack this grand in size could've been made in the day! And so he ran, as fast as his sticks for legs could carry him, jumping over foreign bodies and crawling under collapsed halls, their towers crumbling but still standing. His hat had been snatched by a broken post, but never mind that, he had to find them!

 

 

Running up the dark staircase, he saw their chambers had been stormed for the doors were flung open and there were dead guards and soldiers everywhere. Searching through the bodies though, he found hope, for he didn't find them among the massacre. He ran back down the staircase. Okay, so they weren't in the hall, nor in their room. They may be in the dining area though.

 

 

And so he did this, time and time and again. The kitchens, the dining area, the north tower, the east tower, the west tower, everywhere he possibly could run! Fire and death only greeting him each time, making his hope seep away as tears welled in his eyes from the loss and from the smoke in the air. He wasn't sure why he was crying really. Having gone through the whole fortress, there was only one remaining possibility, and that was outside in the true battlefields.

 

 

His legs ached, they burned, they begged him to stop but his mind urged him to run, past the heat and over the dead and their fallen weapons. In horrible moments he thought some were alive but it was no matter, this was true genocide. The Fool was ready to collapse, ready to give up and lay down and never move again. His whole life had been taken away in one single bit of sleep. Oh Gods, if the King and Queen weren't even living, what of the boy Carner? It clicked then, the assassin. That had been a forewarning. It was the Sea of Owls, they've come to rise. But why? There was never reason for War before. Images of blood and masks tormented and twisted swirled his mind, tears pouring. In the maelstrom of everything that was happening, he stopped, there was a particular string of blood that stood out from the rest. It appeared as a struggle. "Damn it all, I have nothing left to lose!" How true those words were now.

 

 

His legs wouldn't allow him to walk, but rather limp as he followed the trail, it went on farther than he knew. He came across something then that put that lost hope of his to light, for the dead bodies he was looking upon now were that of the foe, their black silks and armor stained with their own blood. What he saw next though, had killed the fluctuating pattern of his hope. The king lay sprawled on the ground, eyes rolled back into his head as a strange knife punctured his chest. His skin blue and haggard. Laying across him was a woman, motionless, her fire for hair burnt and bloodied.

 

 

"No, no..."