10 Eramnesia

To address the old man as my tutor would be enough to bring him to life just so he could knock his knuckle atop of my head so hard that I would rectify it as a mistake in instance. A tormentor perhaps be suitable, the one who would slap a ladle on my palm and wake me up miles sooner in time before the rest of the Ivyaki did. Even the birds would be ashamed to be up at such early hours if there were any that would withstand the frost watching me sniff my little nose and scowl religiously as I shovel the snow off from the margin.

It used to pile up in an hour or two, just when I got to feel my toes again.

Hence I am not shy of effort, I have worked with the ferocity of livestock bought by miser to tend his fields beyond its stamina. I have strived to live with the belief that the old man and his twisted generosity were the sole gateways to my existence. But now I know that had I not been ridden of the basic human comfort and fatigue, it wouldn't have mattered if it was possible to flee the land of ice and disparity. My mind and body wouldn't have been strong enough to withstand the journey and nor would have i tried to punch the Crown Prince with my practiced fist the second he had let his guard slip and shed in distraction when I spoke.

Spoke in voice and words real to me.

"You bastard"

A phenomenal start to my animosity and hostility towards this man who dodged my attack with the ease Dorin swats the bugs away.

Or fries them.

"I take anything than a title anointed by historians" he touches my other hand gently while defending my other attack with a vice on my wrist. His fingers press warningly over my sleeve and the hair loosely curtains half of my face. I have never had them open, flailing and so unassured of its place. They would be mostly twisted in a braid while I slept in my quarters with a knife under my pillow in welcome for someone who saw me such.

"So the eyes are green" he notes, staring into the pit of my soul ,he locked my arms by my chest. A distinct smile tugs by his lips "Impetus?" He narrows his eyes in suggestion. I push him away as he lets me, stepping away as if allowing me to breathe and regain.

Impetus- a stimulant or force that can alter or bring slight changes into appearance. Some enhance features while others subtly reside them. They are often used by actors in a play for their roles and by undercover ventims who gather information in a blendable fashion. The only bane of its success? It gets easily worn off by water. Almost like washing the grease and soot away after a day's work.

Cocooned with angst I forget for a while that he is the one who betrayed me. I am not captured or tortured in a dungeon - but I am provided with some cordial offer and accounts of why he hasn't killed me yet. I cannot trust a man like him, if I did- I might have to be drugged enough with stimulants and hypnotism to even bear a thought close to it. My face heats with the realisation of how long had he been fooling around me. Despite the vicious spice on my tongue, I don't glare- because I suspect how disappointed the old man will be if he is able to watch this unfold from his seat in hell.

He sure can't be a candidate for heaven. He was too heartless and vile for that.

"Not pale as a ghost too" he says- i blink, haunted by his merciless observation and shameless declaration based on my looks. He kept flipping me open like a book and he seem to see things in me that even I can't read "Your skin tends to show what you try to hide with your eyes"

And it, flustered me more.

He wasn't wrong. My skin is traitorous.

He watches me with those silver black eyes, fighting his intensity and approach. As if dismissing what he reckons of something in me. As if to see the world from my eyes. And I am shrinking, so so small to stop him from doing it. Because it's too bad to see what I see, to know what I know. I see deaths and annihilation that I can't change. I had seen the war fronts- the death rows and captivation of the victims of war. They cry in my dreams. They used to haunt me in my sleep, now they don't let the day be mine.

Good thing is though my flushed cheeks are terrible at masking my sensitivity towards him, my boots are terrific at hiding the stash of blade and knife which is retrieved the moment he extends his hand towards me, this wise with an intention of holding me captive.

Literally.

A feather of surprise shadows him before he charged at me, and then it's the duel of two who is unequal on every level possible. He is like the storm thundering down the Orphic, serene as darkness and surprising as lightning. I manage to cut through his arm once, he carried on as if it was a meaningless bother. As a Prince he was raised for this- he was going passive on me while I Was raised to hunt for food. For animals without intelligence.

He was nothing close to a meaty beast. He was the prey while I was the little rabbit who can hop over the tree fast if given time.

I could do that.

Can he climb a tree?

I would never know because Something slams into my shoulder and I buckle to my knees, I scrape away before he could grab hold of me. My knees suffer a tear that fires up my leg for a second. I point the dagger at his neck when he comes close.

"Get up," he says.

No.

Commands.

"I would if I could" I grit my teeth, feeling my legs numb as I looked at Aliferaous that slept with its wings shielding his face from the light. Is it all she does to protect her said master?"

"She was given a stimulant to help her sleep in Orphic," he says, reading my thoughts "Had she been awake, I would have long been dead" in the sphere of distraction I raise my leg to Connect with his, arming to stagger him imbalance- but he again managed to hold on to my boot and chime a scolding stare.

"As much as this has been fun, as your mentor my advise is that you save the energy for our trip back to the Capital" his hand clasps by my ankle, he peels the hem of my trouser aside and his leather is cold, it's unnatural against my skin and it's soothing the tension I have spiralling in the pit of my stomach. My body relaxes and I know I shouldn't be letting my guard low. His visage in my vision blurs- like waves of water, everything floats unassured around me. My lids get heavier and the blade falls from my clutch into the mud. And then, it's dark.

***

People speak of dead queens and kings, the knights and warriors, the beast and it's brutality with wonder. But none fear them as the time during their reign did. We hear the tales of their indomitable spirit and the respect they earned. The fear some embedded among their enemies and the ones who denied their excellence- But what of now? They remain charred and inked among pages, stuffed in the corner of a dusty library and their legacy only remain in time and with time,

And when centuries more have passed they will disperse and fade, into a myth or into a tale.

So what do they work so hard for?

What do they earn from it?

How much power is enough to give them eternity in the time they live?

What's it's worth?

What's his worth?

What's mine?

The thoughts are that of a scholarly exaggeration, a ventims hypothesis. And it's heavy on my head, my mind seems to lack the oxygen that it needs, it's thinking too much that it should and with nothing to see and feel my breath catches in my throat. My eyes fly open and I am thinking still-

What might such power mean for him?

These are not my words, it's something I read in a book titled the 'shift of time', a documented biography on the Helian scholar who had drived the dark energy from the core and reviled it into an intimate ring. Locking them in prison of such high radiation that none of the energy from the trivial supreme or the ezdanian blood itself could undo. For year's Ventims had invented such incredible power source to destroy the ring only to fail with dire consequence.

The prize?

Death of their colleagues, loss of royal treasury and diminishing hope.

But there something else that I haven't read in between the lines. The one that were never written. The one the prince seems to precisely know of.

The secrets the crown keeps.

My eyes are groggy, and its sore as I scan my surroundings- I see the racks of haystacks and the four walls of brick around me. My wrist is tied behind my back and my waist to a lone pillar on side. My ankles are no exception- and I remember his touch sooner than I would have liked.

It can't be- he isn't a child with core gifts. He couldn't have-

There's a person who i see now in the room with me, in his stiff sixties perhaps, a man in tattered clothing lying limp and tied as I am. He wasn't unconscious though, not that I was too, I felt and remember every thing that happened after, but couldn't move or see. I don't know how the time passed or what was transpiring, but what I do know is the feeling what of that being trapped in my own body. Paralyzed to bones and nonsense wired in my head to distract me, But what of this man? What did he go through?

His muffled pleas intensified consecutively the moment he realised I was looking at him, awake for he could understand. I roll my lips in to feel for a restraint- surprisingly, I was free of it. Unlike him, I could speak- but there could be no way he would help my questions while appearing so seemingly desperate.

It was dark- the lack of sunshine from the little round vent was a clue and the gold from the lit fire casts an eerie dread to settle in my chest. My heart beats, and it's alive with me, and it's all that matters. He hasn't killed me yet- and neither had he shown any intention to do it, be it in the past or near future.

And so what do I conclude from this?

Yes,

Of course.

The prince is a lunatic. He is acquiredly or by birth is pleasantly crazy and inconclusive and I need to escape this madness before he jumps onto a new motive. And this should be an alibi to convince my courage from spiralling down a trench. My eyes are still dry and queasy, but I stare and blink at the man- he is ...crying?

What had the Ezdan done to this old dweller?

"He is overly sensitive for a man who suggested that I sell you to the brothel he frequents for a pair of horses I asked of him" there is a ruffle of footsteps churning the dry hay, a shock leaps my insides when I hear him, he has a bowl in his hand and he comes to stand by the powdered ash from the fireplace- he looks down at the man with a stare so dead that It could cause one turn in their grave out of shame for not appearing as dead as him.

It slowly transforms into a disappointment and he inhaled briefly, turning to me. Then he occupied the spot beside me with his back resting on a twin pillar.

Traitorous to my own will I sneak a peek at the contents in his bowl, neatly cut fruits sat there filling half of it, he tips a knife into a whole piece of pear and brings it to my lips, my eyes flutters close in anger when I realise that it was my knife he used as a utensil.

"It's not poisonous-" he claims and under the luminous, his eyes are glowing. He is entertained by my frustration and I feel sick of his antics, whatever it may be done for. He arcs a brow when I refused to eat it despite how pathetically empty my stomach was. From the side, I saw him wait for a second more before biting his teeth into it and comments after he had swallowed. "Too bad that it was the one you took from Marlon"

The pear.

Yes, I had shoved it in the pocket when he had offered me one in cabin, I watch him with a feverish emotion that had no name. It was mostly regret of letting him eat what's truly mine.

He catches onto my thoughts and let's the knife drop into the ceramic with a clink.

"I mentioned I am a good thief" he claims with a whisper of spark in his aura that he always keeps suppressed "And I am promising because I don't pity my victims"

With that he does what he indicated -

He silently finished his bowl and wiped the corner of his lips with a clean cloth, he even ate with his lips sealed, unlike Dorin whose manners remind of an oak. Ezdan is princely given the history of him being a literal prince- but that doesn't seem to be enough for the violent scenarios I keep making up at his slightest movements. A victory in my imagination is still a victory.

The man in corner whines.

I would too if I wasn't so arrogant with my pride. Which I doubt I have much left.

"You haven't spoken a word since you woke up- what does that imply?" He discards the bowl by the side and I am speechless at how persistent he seems despite how smooth and short his queries are. When he had been making a clown out of me, he barely let his business slip, but now- an assertiveness seem to have taken its place instead of past ignorance. The drastic change is his naked manipulation.

"You are awfully quiet for someone who desires to kill me"

This while I am amazed, my mouth opened and my words crowd.

"I don't want to kill you" I draw out with keen diction so he won't have an excuse to not understand, even though he didn't believe me.

"The cut on my arm and the alleged punch to my ribs states otherwise"

"I was defending myself"

"Did I attack?"

"You betrayed," I tell, I yell, I scold and none of it was wise. I am childish, the betrayal that I perfected was served to me on a platter and I am choking with hypocrisy and embarrassment. So when he settles with a cruel nod, I want to tear the hair off my scalp and hence I glare with forsaken malice at the dancing flame - I am praying for ample luck, for Dorin to be alive, for others to be safe, for the ship to still sail and for this all to end. I prowl and play with such delusions while he nails me into a candid reality.

"I did ask you to not trust me" my teeth grind at his remark and the heated feel of his gaze on me. He wasn't lying, he did have the stakes aligned. His shoulder brushed against mine and I feel a tug on my wrist. As hassle was it to be tied, he grabbed the end of it and stood up, pulling me along with him. I did not even know when he undid the ones coiled by my waist- but they were there, cut and loosened with the knife again. My knife that he seems to have skilled to his own.

"What do you think you are doing?" I put a fight against the restraint while I get dragged outside, there's a little campfire and his coat drying beside and I am questioning in silence the activities he must have done to get himself and me moving. Theories bleed through me as he gets us to a well nearby, he drops a pail into its surface and I hear the splash. Then he drew the water out with the rope that was similar to what he has knotted us with. He must have got it from here- while helming my train of thoughts I left him unsupervised and soon I realised he was offering me a glass of water he had drawn from the basket.

He lets the rim touch my lower lip and waits for me to deny. He is too inclined with his observation and I am thirsty- I duck my head into it and chug the water in a manner that shattered all forms of resilience and sophistication I was advertising. He helps me by dipping the glass enough so I get my hour's worth of hydration. If only I could fling him over the well-

"What do you want from me?" I ask leaning back, I feel a stray trail of water on my chin down the neck. His eyes follow the intervention before it meets mine. My voice is all soft and tried since I do not have to pretend with him, I even sound weak without my character armour. The truth of me is too vulnerable to exist "Why do want me to steal something invaluable to your kingdom? Why do you keep me alive when you are certain that I am your curse"

He makes use of a clean rag for an answer, soaking and squeezing in the water and then compressing it between my jaw and ear, I flinch- first at his strange behaviour than at the sting of ache that shoots through me. The time I fell on Orphic while fighting the monster resurfaces and suddenly I sense all my wounds and bruise sing to me- I am hurt in so many places that I can even count- but he does best with what he saw- dabbing and cleaning my right brow and the corner of my lip and fractured the silence with what he thought i wanted to here.

"I let your clothes dry on you"

His eyes were peculiar tonight. Alive as it had never been in my presence, or anyone else's with what I had seen. Like a fool my heart yearns to believe him, to believe that he wasn't my enemy. That his birth and the prophecy weren't his fault. Which to blame on an infant who only cried for food and his mother at that time was a naivety in itself. So I ask "Why?"

He blinks, a bit perplexed and then a shield of arrogance ticks him to squint.

"I suspected you will be immune to cold since you are from Ivyaki and you did somehow survive the glaze while you escaped" there is a pause and I am riddled in a humiliation of how wrong he had deciphered my question, but he doesn't stop "And based on your lack of faith in me, I felt it was better to not strip your clothes off while you weren't entirely conscious. Not when I was sure you won't die of such mild chill"

Closing my eyes I let a palette of colours swirl and form into one calming purple, when I see him again, a teasing smirk plays across his lips before he turns his shoulder to me. I look down at the well to see if he would withstand the fall if I attacked him like a bull to its target. He wasn't wrong, I might end up with his blood to my name someday. We were still in the forest, but with a warehouse and a well- in station, the town or village won't be far from here to get into. I could lose myself in the crowd ,live under a broken bridge concealed by rubbles- and then die without money and food! Sounds splendid than leaving for Esseth with him.

But I can't do it, not when he still has my people with him. It's forbidden to even think of something else other than making sure that Dorin is prudent and Castle, still dumb.

"What do you want me to do?" I say holding my chin up. He doesn't move an inch- watching the shimmering stars similar to how he had gazed into the pond of poison the night we met. Like he was searching for a home in them. It's how I used to reach for the unknown- the Moon in Ivyaki was the same in Antar- in Rixile- in Dothen- in any corner or a piece of land that could be home.

"Why are you doing this to us? We suffered enough at your Sarkims orders, we have nothing to offer"

His eyes turn hard and there is not an ounce of kindness in them. Good- it makes it easier to hate him. To know he is still the Prince and we - the puppet.

"Do I look like I have anything to give?"

What?

His fist clench and his breathing rise at the slightest. Then his fingers stretch and he is all back to normal. His nonchalance, the lazy breeze, the shimmer from torch and the tension in my feet.

"Antar hasn't been the same since the banishment, the revealation of truth has only led to men in service dream of ruling. When I die, this kingdom plunges into chaos - and what happens when a realm is vulnerable?" He doesn't have to say it, history has seen the aftermath and I am alarmed that I hadn't thought of it before-

War

The Rixilians train, study and live to balance their hostility towards antar. A war with no king and Lords and Lady's within the smoke of civil conflict would crack through the foundation of the realm enough for Rixile and others to avenge. And all this because the Ezdan already believes that he would never get to be a king. He wants the ring of core from Azure because he might not be the only one after it.

"Don't you want to know who the man in Keld was?" There is a smug turn of tone in the way he said it, he was pleased with the answer written all over my features.

As if there was anything more than my wish to run away from such danger, yes- I have wondered about him more than it was healthy. But when he sees the hesitation in my face he takes the opportunity to make it worse-

"Know that if you refuse to stay with me and do as I say, he will kill you way before then I would" he grabs hold of my rein and leans by my ear with a pull "And to die by the hands of an ability that would remind you the region you detest the most, it's not something I would even wish upon my enemy"

***

There was no sleep and the morning came soon, and with dawn came new changes and I am immersed with anything that had to do with him. With what he does, how he sleeps and what he wants. He wants the core power so he could destroy it before anyone else gets hold of such annihilating power. He wants to do it before he dies. Not if- he is keen on the when of it and I am enthralled by his acceptance of fate.

And how he instinctively threatened to end mine if I tried to escape him. And that's probably why I was obediently saddling and grooming up our horses that he didn't pay a penny for, and as for the owner who suggested I be sent to his brothel? The Ezdan untied his legs so he could run away when he woke up after we are long gone. He did ask me if I wanted him to kill the man- when I looked at him with wide eyed horror he concealed it with a shrug, dubbing it to be a joke.

Till now, I am convincing my heart that he really wasn't going to kill a man had I said yes to the plan.

He also removed me from my restraints last night -oddly after his deadly privileges and I haven't had such brave thoughts of living under a tree bridge yet.

When I found a pot paint I dipped a brush in it and drew the word ape on forehead of the man who ridiculed me, unknown to my sole audience who stood by the door. He supervised my artwork with an amused look with his arms crossed, flushed i walked away when he acknowledged it with a tilt of his head. The horses were friendlier than the host that sat on them, with grumpy and stoic riders on back and the clearing pathway with arrows chalked on trees for direction my resolve began to tumble- he mentioned that Aliferous took her flight to the Orphic once she woke up, it wasn't at anyone's order but of a statement that I would wish for my fellow mates to be helped. The order was made on behalf of a oblivious me by the Ezdan.

So with the protection of my only trustworthy companion gone I resort to watch Ezdan with my curiosity that would love to examine the matters of his brains. But all I have now was his mouth that could provide me with a morsel of what goes on in his unfiltered mind if asked.

"How did you do it? I vaguely remember you holding my ankles before I got paralyzed" I press down the reins by the spine of my matted brown horse to side with his pace. The wind combs through my open hair and I savour the freedom with a tone-less gasp.

He flicks a glance my way, his hair falls on his face before he pushes them back with his free hand. He then waves the hand by his collar-

"This glove is a Ventims gauntlet in disguise- it has its perks"

Stunned I watch him quietly, when he sees that my expectation of him and his explanation hasn't been vastly met- he resumes.

"It sends and receives certain orders of mine, if I am wounded it releases healing properties into my body- tough slow, it does the job if given time. It keeps me warm in winter and cool in summer. At times it provides defence by slowing down the heart of my opponent if the right nerves are touched" his voice is deep and precise, I see his back - square and sharp, I am slowing down again and then I just stop.

He senses my halt and with a confused pull of his brow, he swivels the horse into facing me.

"Slowing down the heart of the opponent?" I ask gingerly as he closed his eyes visioning where I was stuck in cone, the farce of him "You could have killed me" my voice Is higher than before and much- much madder than I aimed it to be.

He takes in my quivering and enraged form for a time. Then-

"I didn't though"

My jaw sets and my ears burn hot, he slowly smiles to what I believe is his comforting advancement.

Or he enjoyed inflicting misery.

Which should have been my first thought. Why would he seek to comfort me? To console the girl he wants to march to her death?

"Don't worry, I practised it on few of the prison inmates in line for execution. Only four reached a near-death experience before i perfected it" he aligned nearing, his horse was a golden delight with silky mane while mine was sluggish galloper. "You ask too many questions for a girl i don't even have a name for"

I look away from him to provide my candid attention to the stray butchered log before our proximity could strew me-

-and I end up punching him again.

"What's your name?" He asks, much softer now. Closer to me than he was before-

"I will tell you when I have learned enough of you"

Silence.

Even the sun hides among the trees to deliver privacy I didn't want.

The green is too green. The wind- is too sweet.

"Learning is for what is seen, I will let you study me for all you want" his voice is low, so dazed and ethereal that I fall into a stuporous trance as he yields into his path and begins to lead again. Bewildered I look anywhere else but him during the rest of our journey, we had made use of the maps I carry bandaged to belly in an attempt to discover where in land we stood with regards to the direction. He didn't question me when I came out of the barn with more entities than my body could carry, he accepted it as normalcy. He then had spread the damp sheets carefully by the mountainous rock and read them so accusingly that I was sure if the papers had a soul or and emotion they will burst into flames.

But with the composure he led, we soon found ourselves in an opening of some kind. We stood on a small cliff overlooking a messy village, smokes, market and a buzz of people sprinkled in a lazy afternoon is what I see, I barely move, sinking into my shirt awaiting his call- but all he does is lucidly scan his surroundings and he does it with a stern back of an Armin even after the hours of journey we covered, Which I keep forgetting. Forgetting that he is one himself. My envy reminds me that the cramping burn in my tailbone was another addition to my physical agony.

"What do we do now?" I ask, not anticipating a task-

"Be the boy Tommy" he affirmed, an edge to his grunt and there is no complaint on my behalf- but what follows chides the rebellious stakes of mine that I could nothing about. "I am possessive with the idea of owning your secrets-

And just when I think its over-

-and at some time in future. You"

I need to have a bath now. It's and cold and lazy day today.

P.s. unedited and Lian is...i don't know how am I going to treat this person. 😕 😏