Peppermint #8 + Pomelo #14
Author: pareidolia
Flavors: Peppermint #8 "statue" + Pomelo #14 "no matter how tall the mountain, it cannot block out the sun"
Rating: G
Notes: Latest in the series of tales about the children of Wyndham House, now with a handy-dandy Index.
Summary: Set after the wedding. And the centurion replied, "Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed."
The echo of Felice’s unspoken warning rang in their ears as night fell all around the runaways of Wyndham. John grips Prospero's hand tightly, and Prospero lets him, secretly thankful for the comfort. Kristopher finishes wiping Arthur’s dagger clean of blood and looks at them, an unreadable expression in his eyes.
The schoolhouse reeks of blood and decay, and now the unmistakable scent of fear, and Prospero’s eyes lock with his brother’s, asking him if he too was afraid. Kristopher did not answer, but instead he walked back to them and sat across their huddled forms.
Before either of them could speak, John raised his head and whispered, “He wants to kill me.”
The truth was undeniable-- Felice’s toneless warning was proof enough, but by speaking the words, John had made it fact. Kristopher nodded, watching the reflection of his youngest sibling’s pale face on the dagger. Prospero shifts their intertwined hands, and John looks at both of them.
“Will you run with me?”
The question is met with silence. To run would be to deny their pledge to Kandor Wyndham, whose will still chained them all. Unless John intended to sever himself, but that would be tantamount to suicide, and already too much blood had been spilled.
Prospero closes his eyes, and thinks about Philippa. His heart twists in a minute of agony for her, but only a minute, as he believed her death had been the least painful of the day’s.
The children of Wyndham had met again, and the meeting was for a wedding, one that had been bathed in blood.
He didn’t know whether Severin or Karolyne still lived, but he doubted both would survive Severin’s madness at its peak. Miguel and Finitia could take care of themselves, but he worried for them nevertheless-- in the confusion, they had remained by Kandor’s side, what could be a fatal mistake. And then there was Michel, who perhaps suffered the most, and he wondered if Felice would be able to care for him in his condition.
If they had gone with them...
His mind returned to John’s question. If he ran with him, would he be strong enough to outlast Kandor, to protect him and Kristopher? It would not be a simple child’s game of chase, and the gifts of Wyndham complicated things even further. The gifts made sure each child was different, ‘special’ in Philippa’s words, and his gift hardly seemed capable of contending with the others’. The gift of crypsis was not, by any means, a coward’s gift, but would it be enough to save them, should Miguel or Karolyne come to call?
Kandor had taught him the lesson before. No matter how tall the mountain, it cannot block out the sun. If he ran with John, would he be a burden, even as he tried to help him? In his mind’s eye, Prospero saw the statue he’d made of St. Michael, patron saint of protectors, and remembers the night it came to life and made a tragedy of his family.
A light touch on his shoulder shook Prospero out of his musings, and when he opened his eyes to look at his siblings, he saw John’s thoughtful gaze and instantly felt his cheeks flush with shame. Did John know what he’d been thinking of?
The youngest Wyndham took both his hands in his small ones, and held them, speaking softly as he did so, “Don’t doubt yourself, Prospero. That is not your duty.” He felt his younger sibling tremble, and he moved to wrap his arms around him, but the boy shook his head and released his hands. Prospero saw Kristopher had gone, and that he’d returned to Arthur’s side.
Then John stood, his gaze set on Prospero. “I won’t let him kill me. I won’t let him hurt the children of Wyndham. I won’t accept him as the head of the family, for he has murdered in Wyndham’s name. Your pledge, Prospero, does it accept this?”
Prospero’s mouth went dry at John’s words, and for a moment, it was as if St. Michael had come again, asking him if he wanted his freedom, his life, asking him if he believed.
With steady hands, he reached out and took John’s right hand, pressed his lips to it, and whispered, “Domine, non sum dignus ut intres sub tectum meum, sed tantum dic verbo, et sanabitur anima mea...”
John smiled, bowed down to kiss the crown of Prospero’s head, and replied, “Amen.”
Flavors: Peppermint #8 "statue" + Pomelo #14 "no matter how tall the mountain, it cannot block out the sun"
Rating: G
Notes: Latest in the series of tales about the children of Wyndham House, now with a handy-dandy Index.
Summary: Set after the wedding. And the centurion replied, "Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed."
The echo of Felice’s unspoken warning rang in their ears as night fell all around the runaways of Wyndham. John grips Prospero's hand tightly, and Prospero lets him, secretly thankful for the comfort. Kristopher finishes wiping Arthur’s dagger clean of blood and looks at them, an unreadable expression in his eyes.
The schoolhouse reeks of blood and decay, and now the unmistakable scent of fear, and Prospero’s eyes lock with his brother’s, asking him if he too was afraid. Kristopher did not answer, but instead he walked back to them and sat across their huddled forms.
Before either of them could speak, John raised his head and whispered, “He wants to kill me.”
The truth was undeniable-- Felice’s toneless warning was proof enough, but by speaking the words, John had made it fact. Kristopher nodded, watching the reflection of his youngest sibling’s pale face on the dagger. Prospero shifts their intertwined hands, and John looks at both of them.
“Will you run with me?”
The question is met with silence. To run would be to deny their pledge to Kandor Wyndham, whose will still chained them all. Unless John intended to sever himself, but that would be tantamount to suicide, and already too much blood had been spilled.
Prospero closes his eyes, and thinks about Philippa. His heart twists in a minute of agony for her, but only a minute, as he believed her death had been the least painful of the day’s.
The children of Wyndham had met again, and the meeting was for a wedding, one that had been bathed in blood.
He didn’t know whether Severin or Karolyne still lived, but he doubted both would survive Severin’s madness at its peak. Miguel and Finitia could take care of themselves, but he worried for them nevertheless-- in the confusion, they had remained by Kandor’s side, what could be a fatal mistake. And then there was Michel, who perhaps suffered the most, and he wondered if Felice would be able to care for him in his condition.
If they had gone with them...
His mind returned to John’s question. If he ran with him, would he be strong enough to outlast Kandor, to protect him and Kristopher? It would not be a simple child’s game of chase, and the gifts of Wyndham complicated things even further. The gifts made sure each child was different, ‘special’ in Philippa’s words, and his gift hardly seemed capable of contending with the others’. The gift of crypsis was not, by any means, a coward’s gift, but would it be enough to save them, should Miguel or Karolyne come to call?
Kandor had taught him the lesson before. No matter how tall the mountain, it cannot block out the sun. If he ran with John, would he be a burden, even as he tried to help him? In his mind’s eye, Prospero saw the statue he’d made of St. Michael, patron saint of protectors, and remembers the night it came to life and made a tragedy of his family.
A light touch on his shoulder shook Prospero out of his musings, and when he opened his eyes to look at his siblings, he saw John’s thoughtful gaze and instantly felt his cheeks flush with shame. Did John know what he’d been thinking of?
The youngest Wyndham took both his hands in his small ones, and held them, speaking softly as he did so, “Don’t doubt yourself, Prospero. That is not your duty.” He felt his younger sibling tremble, and he moved to wrap his arms around him, but the boy shook his head and released his hands. Prospero saw Kristopher had gone, and that he’d returned to Arthur’s side.
Then John stood, his gaze set on Prospero. “I won’t let him kill me. I won’t let him hurt the children of Wyndham. I won’t accept him as the head of the family, for he has murdered in Wyndham’s name. Your pledge, Prospero, does it accept this?”
Prospero’s mouth went dry at John’s words, and for a moment, it was as if St. Michael had come again, asking him if he wanted his freedom, his life, asking him if he believed.
With steady hands, he reached out and took John’s right hand, pressed his lips to it, and whispered, “Domine, non sum dignus ut intres sub tectum meum, sed tantum dic verbo, et sanabitur anima mea...”
John smiled, bowed down to kiss the crown of Prospero’s head, and replied, “Amen.”