The Wake

He came to court one lonely night, in the days following the death of my father. He was a magician, a horrible death sorcerer. Some called him a necromancer, others called him a demon, yet others called him the Angel of Death, but I came to see him as Andreas. He gave me a strange feeling, one of winter creeping up my spine, chilling me.

The first day I met him was a most memorable one. The night was cold and the sky was pregnant with rain that would not fall. I was trapped, as always, in my chambers, with the mathematics tutor.

I remember feeling angry with mother for having forced this new kind of torture upon me. Swordplay I could understand, a prince should always know how to protect his person. Even dismissing my magic classes I could understand since a prince must focus on the matters of his kingdom and not silly tricks. I could even handle the horseback riding lessons, even though I’m terrified of horses. A prince should know how to escape danger quickly, and horses are the fastest. But mathematics always befuddled me when I was young. What could I possibly use this for? A prince has no need of math, I told myself when I was younger, and what hope do I have of even being good at the stuff when my professor was so incomprehensible? The man was so dull; I was surprised his numbers didn’t droop to sleep.

I was half lying, half sitting at my desk, ignoring his ramblings as he tried to prove to himself that some quantity called infinity did indeed exist. Something made me wake up, some feeling in my back. Perhaps the stuffy air was making me lose my concentration?

My chambers were located on the East side of the castle on the twentieth floor. The private staircase behind the enormous fireplace in the royal study was the only direct route to my rooms but, otherwise, there were several complicated selections of catacombs that led to me. These rooms were chosen for me because of my role as the sole heir to the throne. My window was half hidden by enchantments and pure architecture. This was great for defense, but horrible for sunlight. My room was almost always drenched in darkness.

I took a quick peek out of my window, gazing out over the edge of the pine trees surrounding the castle, out over the indigo sky and the colony of stars clustered at the horizon. Then I looked down at the yellow ground where the grass was dying from lack of rain. Carriages were poring into the dirt lane, carriages of all colors with horses dressed in the livery of the various noble families.

Today was the day of festivities following the death of my father. Everyone came to dance, cheer, get drunk, and celebrate in honor of my father and his happy rule. A party was the last thing on my mind, since I was probably the only one who truly cared that my father was dead. I had loved him and respected him, and I knew more than half of those horrible people were coming to celebrate period, not to commemorate him.

That was when I saw him. At that moment he raised his eyes to stare at me, stepping out of a pure black carriage. He was dressed all in black with the mask of a skull covering his face, his long black hair in dreadlocks down his long, cloaked back. His white-gloved hands were buried in his pockets, the personification of ease. As I stared at him, I realized that he was going to change my life.

At that moment, my royal advisor, my royal seamstress, and my royal mother came into my chambers. The room immediately became full and cramped, drawing my attention away from the man in black.

“Christopher, what are you still doing learning your mathematics?” My mother demanded, dramatically flinging her person across the room to stand in front of my professor.

“Mother, you were the one that sent him to my room to-,”

“I don’t care Christopher!” She said scathingly, smoothing invisible wrinkles on her impeccable golden dress. “You only have two hours in which to dress for the ball!” I stood, moving around the table and towards my closet.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” I told her curtly. The royal seamstress attempted to follow me but I waved her off, deliberately slamming the door of my closet behind me when I heard my royal advisor clear his throat and prepare to lecture me about proper grooming.

I pressed my ear to the door, holding my breath.

“The boy has no discipline since his father grew ill.” I heard my mother growl. My royal advisor cleared his throat and there was some sort of shuffling.

“He will be dealt with, my lady.” He said in his raspy voice. I could picture him perfectly just by listening to his voice. His long salt and pepper beard twitched whenever he spoke, which gave him the appearance of having a much larger chin than he really did. Those dark brown eyes were usually hidden by his gray hair, which he kept stylishly combed forward to hide the fact that he was balding. I had always hated him.

When I heard the door close and no other sounds in my room, I quickly discarded my day clothes and slipped into the black pants and shirt I had planned to wear ever since I knew my father was dying. I chose my onyx crown instead of my usual gold circlet since I was going to make an impression.

Everyone else could be merry and ignorant, but I wasn’t going to pretend everything was all right.

As I exited my closet, my royal guards immediately straightened at the door. Their swords, dipped in black widow’s poison, were fastened securely at their sides for immediate combat. They opened the door, bowing as I left. They followed me down the stairs towards the main study. I opened the secret passage leading into the passageways going through the kitchens, the royal library and finally, the ballroom. The lights were already set up to give the room a spectrum of different colors in different places, the floors were swept clean, drapes of all colors hung from the rafters and some nobles had already begun to dance. My mother sat at her throne, cooling herself with her favorite peacock fan (a present from some foreign prince in the Eastern Emerald Isles).

I could see a line of young girls forming in what was designated as the “dance with the prince, hope he falls in love with you and makes you queen” area. The nobles had all crowded around the refreshment table where goblets were filled to the brim with mead. I was thinking of getting some for myself when I saw him again, that man.

He was staring directly at me. This threw me entirely off guard since I was accustomed to being watched, but not so directly. Sidelong glances were common, or coy little “come hither” looks from behind fans and masks. But this man just stared at me with those strange, gray eyes.

He still wore his skeleton mask, so I had no idea what he looked like underneath. His skin was pale beneath and, when he noticed me staring back at him, he flashed a grin with teeth so white that I almost mistook him for a true skeleton.

The dancers parted like water as he walked boldly towards me, his eyes never straying from mine. I thought to run, perhaps to step back and hide behind my guards. Alarm bells were going off in my head but I couldn’t move, I simply stared at him. He stopped in front of me.

He was taller than I was by several good inches. I could see now that his hair wasn’t entirely black, but instead black with dark red strips. This gave him the appearance of having dried blood tangled between the locks of his hair.

“A rose for you, prince?” He said softly, his voice no higher than a husky whisper. He held out a dead, black rose for me.

“Ah, thank you.” I said as politely as I could.

“You don’t like roses, prince?” He asked, coming closer. He was too close, even though he wasn’t all that close, technically speaking.

“I don’t mind them.” I said hesitantly. “Why don’t you give your roses to a woman? They certainly enjoy them more than I would.”

“I only want to give you this rose.” He said in a strangely innocent tone.

“I hope you won’t ask me to dance next.” I said, in as teasing a tone as I could. He edged closer, a strange look in his eyes.

“Perhaps I will, prince.” He stepped back and walked away without glancing back at me. I stared after him, looking down at the rose in my hand. I wrinkled my nose and handed it over to my guard, wiping my hand casually on the back of my pants. The feel of it made my skin crawl, as had the man who had given it to me.

“Christopher, oh Christopher, come here!” My mother gushed from her throne, waving for me to join her. She wore an enormous, toothy smile on her face. She might have been insulted by my taste of clothes (black was never very festive, even under these circumstances) but her face didn’t appear to be watching my costume nor the sluggish way I dragged my feet. She didn’t drop that hideous smile though.

“Hello mother.” I said as pleasantly as I could manage.

“Are you enjoying yourself dear?” She asked, placing two kisses on each of my cheeks before sitting on her velvet throne.

“Now mother, must we continue with the pleasantries? You know that no one is listening to us here.” I said, allowing a bit of an edge to line my words.

“Do be quiet and smile, Christopher.” She said, keeping that horrible smile on her face. She turned to watch the assembled groups converse and dance. I rested, mentally drawing back. I’d have to find a way to leave the castle soon, or else I would lose my mind.

The loud trumpeting of the announcers signaled for the crowd to quiet. By now the ballroom was full of nobles and royals. Mother perked up in her seat, leaning forward eagerly. A man dressed in the castle’s livery stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“May I present, the gravest of us here, the most sought-after performer in all the land, the Angel of Death, Andreas Swaths, the Skull Juggler!”

The crowd scattered into intrigued applause as that man, the man who had given me the rose, stepped onto the wooden platform built for him. He opened a black velvet bag, lifting five white skulls from within. There was a strange smile on his face as he stood with the skulls, and he even paused to wink at me. Then, he threw the skulls into the air and they spouted fire!

I jumped, as did everyone else in the room, before there was an enormous applause. The man, Andreas, began to juggle the skulls easily in his hands, somehow unaffected by the crowd or the flames. He was completely absorbed in his task.

My mouth was hanging open the entire time that I watched, my hands gripping the arms of my throne when he almost set his hand aflame. He was completely calm as he did all of his tricks. At one point, he tossed a skull at a woman who shrieked as it exploded into a cloud of ash. The remnants fell to her feet harmlessly. He began juggling more and more skulls, all of which seemed to materialize out of thin air.

When he finished his performance, some of the audience held black roses. All of them smelled their prizes excitedly, murmuring to their friends about their luck. My mother was upset that she hadn’t received a rose but she smiled charmingly to hide her anger.

“A brilliant performance!” She cried, standing as she applauded. “But where is your grand finale, good sir?”

In the chaos that followed, I couldn’t help thanking Andreas for honoring my father in such a way.

Natalia Locatelli© 2005 - 2008