LJ Idol - Week 11 - Open Topic
The waning moon weakly lit the deer track before him as Mycke picked his way through the King's forest. Though he had never been to the abandoned cottage, he was homing to it as if he was a messenger bird. The Sight was stronger tonight. Mycke was a seasoned soldier, formerly the second highest rank in the King's personal guard, and yet something as simple as the Sight had him shaking in his fine leather boots. Mycke did not believe in Magick, and so, by extension, had not believed in the Sight until last night.
The kingdom had been excitedly awaiting the birth of the firstborn Prince or Princess. Queen Lapiri was nearing her time, and had not been seen outside of the castle walls for some weeks. King Pryden, when he appeared, had a look of royally controlled excitement about him. Mycke was off duty, finishing off a pot of wine in his chambers, when it struck.
Unable to move from fright, Mycke could no longer see the familiar room he had occupied since his last promotion five years previous. He could no longer sense the chair beneath him, and looking straight ahead all he could see was himself, slightly aged, and a young boy of six or seven. His older self was training the boy with a bow and arrow in a clearing in the woods.
How he knew that the clearing was a solid three day's hike to the north from the castle, Mycke could not explain. Who the boy was he had not known until the Sight struck again an hour later. Once more the room around him disappeared and he saw himself receiving a squirming bundle of blankets with the royal crest on the corner. A baby cried from within the Queen's bedchamber and the babe in his arms mewled a cry in return.
A buzz of voices outside Mycke's chamber roused him out of the trance. He opened the door and quickly gleaned from the excited conversations that entire castle was back on duty for the Queen was in labor. The new Prince or Princess would arrive soon.
Mycke stepped back into his room, closing the door. Scanning his meager possessions, he gathered only the most important items: two changes of clothes and his flask of grain alcohol went into a leather pack, then Mycke quickly strapped his sword to his side, and tied his cloak around his shoulders. With one last glance behind him, he left his chambers and knew he would never be back.
Purposefully, Mycke strode up towards the Queen's apartments. He joined Ambrose, the Head of the Royal Guard in standing watch outside the door. Ambrose noted the pack and the travel cloak, but he said nothing about it, instead offering a wager over the sex of the baby.
“I'll have two on a boy,” Mycke said confidently, hoping to use his knowledge for some small gain as he was losing everything else he had worked so hard to attain. Ambrose took his coin and added it to the winners' pouch, marking Mycke's name down under the Prince column.
Even though they were on the outermost entrance to Queen Lapiri's rooms, the old friends could hear her struggles to bring forth the babe. To take their minds off the gruesome realities of bringing forth a life, Mycke and Ambrose spent some time swapping well-worn jokes, tales of glory on battlefields, and humorous stories from training. Ambrose was just finishing a knee-slapper about scaring a new trainee out of his bladder control when they heard a final scream and then a faint baby's cry. A pot of red wine was brought out to toast the babe, and the two guards swapped it back and forth as they celebrated. Mycke tilted a measure of the warm wine into his mouth when the Queen cried out once more, and again a baby's cry was heard.
The world dropped away for a third time in as many hours. Mycke could see only a small red birthmark resembling a clenched fist. It appeared to be on the left shoulder of an infant. The words “second” and “the hand” resounded in his head, though he knew no one had spoken them. When they faded away he swallowed the wine that had grown bitter to his tongue. Mycke shouldered his pack, told Ambrose that King Pryden had called for him to come to the Queen Lapirir when the baby arrived, and slipped into the chambers.
A soldier stood out in a room of maids-in-waiting and midwives, still Mycke was largely ignored as he made his way to the inner bedchamber where he was drawn by his visions. The Queen lay propped up among pillows in her disheveled bed, holding two babes in her arms. Silent tears traced down her cheeks when she looked up at Mycke. King Pryden stood silent in the corner of the room, looking out a tall, thin window at the castle grounds below.
“Take him.” the King intoned impassively.
Mycke looked to his Queen, uncertainty written upon his face. Queen Lapiri kissed the child in cradled in her left arm, then offered him to the hapless guard. Mycke took the baby, wrapped in blankets with the royal crest, just as his vision had shown. Bowing to his Queen, then to his King, Mycke turned and tucked the babe into a leather satchel the midwife offered him. He set the straps behind his neck and shoulder, carrying the child in front of him. Mycke thanked the woman with a small, weak smile, and left the bedchamber. As the door closed behind him, Mycke heard child in his bag cry out, and the babe in its mother's arms responded.
Stricken, Mycke kept walking. He passed Ambrose on his way out, and told a tale about a clandestine mission, swearing his friend to secrecy. Mycke took a circuitous route out of the castle, then crossed the yards to the stables and saddled up his charger. He rode the rest of the day and into the night, until it was too dark to safely ride through the forest.
Leading the horse, Mycke followed no man's trail. Through the underbrush he was being drawn to a place, that much he knew. If he turned too far to the right or the left, an odd pulling sensation made him turn back. It was a Magick, he knew, but he also knew Magick did not exist. Mycke's mind was in a turmoil, unsure what was truth beyond the fact that he now had a lifetime of responsibility thrust upon him. Following the deer trail through the woods, Mycke could barely make out a clearing coming up ahead. In the moonlight he could just see a ramshackle cottage that had not seen a caretaker in at least a decade. It would be his home for the foreseeable future, and here he would raise the boy currently asleep in his satchel. Here Mycke would train the nameless child until he was ready to step into the role for which he had been born--that of The Hand.
The kingdom had been excitedly awaiting the birth of the firstborn Prince or Princess. Queen Lapiri was nearing her time, and had not been seen outside of the castle walls for some weeks. King Pryden, when he appeared, had a look of royally controlled excitement about him. Mycke was off duty, finishing off a pot of wine in his chambers, when it struck.
Unable to move from fright, Mycke could no longer see the familiar room he had occupied since his last promotion five years previous. He could no longer sense the chair beneath him, and looking straight ahead all he could see was himself, slightly aged, and a young boy of six or seven. His older self was training the boy with a bow and arrow in a clearing in the woods.
How he knew that the clearing was a solid three day's hike to the north from the castle, Mycke could not explain. Who the boy was he had not known until the Sight struck again an hour later. Once more the room around him disappeared and he saw himself receiving a squirming bundle of blankets with the royal crest on the corner. A baby cried from within the Queen's bedchamber and the babe in his arms mewled a cry in return.
A buzz of voices outside Mycke's chamber roused him out of the trance. He opened the door and quickly gleaned from the excited conversations that entire castle was back on duty for the Queen was in labor. The new Prince or Princess would arrive soon.
Mycke stepped back into his room, closing the door. Scanning his meager possessions, he gathered only the most important items: two changes of clothes and his flask of grain alcohol went into a leather pack, then Mycke quickly strapped his sword to his side, and tied his cloak around his shoulders. With one last glance behind him, he left his chambers and knew he would never be back.
Purposefully, Mycke strode up towards the Queen's apartments. He joined Ambrose, the Head of the Royal Guard in standing watch outside the door. Ambrose noted the pack and the travel cloak, but he said nothing about it, instead offering a wager over the sex of the baby.
“I'll have two on a boy,” Mycke said confidently, hoping to use his knowledge for some small gain as he was losing everything else he had worked so hard to attain. Ambrose took his coin and added it to the winners' pouch, marking Mycke's name down under the Prince column.
Even though they were on the outermost entrance to Queen Lapiri's rooms, the old friends could hear her struggles to bring forth the babe. To take their minds off the gruesome realities of bringing forth a life, Mycke and Ambrose spent some time swapping well-worn jokes, tales of glory on battlefields, and humorous stories from training. Ambrose was just finishing a knee-slapper about scaring a new trainee out of his bladder control when they heard a final scream and then a faint baby's cry. A pot of red wine was brought out to toast the babe, and the two guards swapped it back and forth as they celebrated. Mycke tilted a measure of the warm wine into his mouth when the Queen cried out once more, and again a baby's cry was heard.
The world dropped away for a third time in as many hours. Mycke could see only a small red birthmark resembling a clenched fist. It appeared to be on the left shoulder of an infant. The words “second” and “the hand” resounded in his head, though he knew no one had spoken them. When they faded away he swallowed the wine that had grown bitter to his tongue. Mycke shouldered his pack, told Ambrose that King Pryden had called for him to come to the Queen Lapirir when the baby arrived, and slipped into the chambers.
A soldier stood out in a room of maids-in-waiting and midwives, still Mycke was largely ignored as he made his way to the inner bedchamber where he was drawn by his visions. The Queen lay propped up among pillows in her disheveled bed, holding two babes in her arms. Silent tears traced down her cheeks when she looked up at Mycke. King Pryden stood silent in the corner of the room, looking out a tall, thin window at the castle grounds below.
“Take him.” the King intoned impassively.
Mycke looked to his Queen, uncertainty written upon his face. Queen Lapiri kissed the child in cradled in her left arm, then offered him to the hapless guard. Mycke took the baby, wrapped in blankets with the royal crest, just as his vision had shown. Bowing to his Queen, then to his King, Mycke turned and tucked the babe into a leather satchel the midwife offered him. He set the straps behind his neck and shoulder, carrying the child in front of him. Mycke thanked the woman with a small, weak smile, and left the bedchamber. As the door closed behind him, Mycke heard child in his bag cry out, and the babe in its mother's arms responded.
Stricken, Mycke kept walking. He passed Ambrose on his way out, and told a tale about a clandestine mission, swearing his friend to secrecy. Mycke took a circuitous route out of the castle, then crossed the yards to the stables and saddled up his charger. He rode the rest of the day and into the night, until it was too dark to safely ride through the forest.
Leading the horse, Mycke followed no man's trail. Through the underbrush he was being drawn to a place, that much he knew. If he turned too far to the right or the left, an odd pulling sensation made him turn back. It was a Magick, he knew, but he also knew Magick did not exist. Mycke's mind was in a turmoil, unsure what was truth beyond the fact that he now had a lifetime of responsibility thrust upon him. Following the deer trail through the woods, Mycke could barely make out a clearing coming up ahead. In the moonlight he could just see a ramshackle cottage that had not seen a caretaker in at least a decade. It would be his home for the foreseeable future, and here he would raise the boy currently asleep in his satchel. Here Mycke would train the nameless child until he was ready to step into the role for which he had been born--that of The Hand.