The Midnight Thorn: A Short Story, Part 2
by Jubilee Anderson
Evandar pounded across the rickety drawbridge. He glanced down. Billows of moat water rose as if by magic and crashed onto the bridge. Evandar slipped, but leapt up. Waves smashed into him. He gripped the flimsy wood as water poured over his head. He slumped on hands and knees, coughing up the bitter liquid. Then he got up and ran, his cloak drenched. Wind chilled his tunic and skin.
Spires towered into the black sky above him. Black birds circled the turrets. Before him, a huge stone gate stood open. Dripping, he stepped off the drawbridge and dragged himself up the rocky path. He halted under the jagged teeth of the portcullis.
Evandar peered in. The courtyard was black and empty. In the center, a single shrub grew with a single red rose. The rest of the roses were white as though life had been sucked from them.
Evandar’s heart thumped as he padded through the gates. The castle’s double doors were cracked open. The inside was black.
“Caw!”
Evandar started. A black crow, chest puffed out, perched on the branch of a skeleton tree. His crows sing by his command. Evandar shuddered.
He crept across the courtyard, past the single red rose, to the double doors. It was like Galdur was expecting him. He gripped the door handle and eased the door open. It creaked. He froze. He slipped inside.
At first he couldn’t make out anything. The blackness strangled him. He strained his eyes. Then he made out a dim glow. A candle. Evandar sensed from the change in the sound of his breathing that he had entered a huge room. A strong, sweet smell suffocated him. His stomach churned. I need fresh air.
An empty throne hunkered at the far end of the room on a dais, and above it was a balcony with a flight of steps on either side. Otherwise, the room was empty. His breath echoed. Was he alone?
Wait. Something stirred in the corner. His heart raced. An evil laugh pealed from one corner of the room.
Evandar started.
A figure stepped towards him from the shadows.
Evandar shrank back.
Galdur bored holes into him with a wicked smile. His ragged hair dangled from his head. A black robe had been thrown over his shoulders. His pale blue eyes gleamed.
“Come in. Come in,” he purred.
Evandar fingered his pocket knife and eyed the sunken face. “Where is Muriel?”
The wizard chuckled until his ragged blonde hair fell in front of his eyes. “Little do you know,” he muttered, then louder, “You do not want to rescue her, boy. It requires a great price.”
“I am willing to pay it.” Evandar squared his shoulders.
The wizard sneered and trod towards Evandar. “Yes, you’re willing to pay a lot, but are you willing to pay your life tonight when the bell tolls? Are you willing to hate her as much as you loved her from the instant you take it on? Nay. She will be mine forever. And if you choose, there is no turning back. Not even Amall can save you from me.”
Evandar squeezed the hilt of his knife. “My father can save me.”
“Your father doesn’t love you. It’s all a lie.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Wait until you are tormented. Then you will know that your father has left.” He whispered the last word so that it hissed up the castle spires.
“I don’t believe you.” He wouldn’t give in. He had to do it. He only had to find out how.
“Come, look into this pool.”
Evandar eyed the wizard’s pale eyes. Galdur’s smirk chilled his skin. Evandar hesitated, and forced a few steps towards a table at the side of the room. He peered over the rim of the basin. Cold stone plastered the bottom. It was empty.
“Did you know this palace used to be as beautiful as yours?”
Evandar glanced up at the desolate spires that mounted dozens of feet above. He stared at Galdur and shook his head.
“Did you know, I once knew a certain girl? She loved me and promised me her hand. But then one day, before we were to marry, she betrayed me.” Galdur closed his eyes and breathed a few silent words. He bent over the basin, moving his hands in a circle.
Evandar let out a low gasp. At first it was a thin swirl. The swirl grew thicker until mist poured from the pit of the basin. It pinwheeled until it rippled like water in a pool, but instead of his own reflection, he saw the reflection of someone else. A golden-haired figure with the black eyes of a goddess. Tall. Slender. Holy.
“Mother Earth.” He stared into his mother’s kind eyes.
“Aye. Your father stole her. When Earth left, she took the beauty from my castle with her new powers.” Galdur bolted upright and threw his fist in the air.
Evandar flinched. His father’s words echoed through his head. “He is a deceiver and a sorcerer. He almost hurt your mother. Flee from him.”
“She should never have promised you anything,” Evandar said. “Father was protecting her.”
Galdur sneered. “You don’t know much about love, do you?”
Evandar gripped his knife again and edged forward. “Tell me, Galdur. Tell me how to break the curse.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do.”
“You’re too weak.” Galdur played with the fur border on his robe.
“I can handle it.”
He dropped the robe. “Very well.” he sneered. “Go out to the center of the courtyard, and there you will find a rosebush. Pluck one of the roses and burn it in your hand. You must burn it until it is ashes, and you must not put out the fire until then. Sprinkle some of the dust on her head and the rest of the dust on yours. Then the curse shall be removed from her and transferred to you.”
Evandar glanced through the doors into the courtyard. The little red rose poked up amidst the grey. For some reason he had expected this to be harder. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Your love for her is too strong, boy. You are too foolish to listen to my words.”
Evandar eyed him.
Galdur’s pale eyes flicked across him from time to time. His ragged hair jiggled with each wag of his head. Galdur fingered his black robe.
Evandar had to do it. He couldn’t let Muriel die with hatred in her once-sweet heart.
With one last glance at the wizard, Evandar stepped away from the basin. I must do this for Muriel. His legs carried him out the double doors and across the courtyard. He spotted the bush and strode to it.
He drew his knife. He cut the rose. The reddest, most delicate rose. For Muriel. Heavenly fragrance. Velvety petals. Blushing heart. A piece of Muriel herself.
He knelt, uncurling his fingers. He opened his tinder box and struck the match. Muriel. Remember me when I am gone. The match flared. He prodded the petals with the end of the stick.
Flames licked across the rose petals. He blocked the wind with his other hand, tensing to feel the sting. They licked to the rose’s heart. He blew on it slightly. It burst into flame. At first he felt nothing, but then he felt a sting. The heat burned his hand. He clenched his teeth, holding still. This is for you. I will live through it for you.
The flames scorched. They swallowed the rose. A sickening sweet smell rose up in a trail of smoke. The fire unfurled its red and yellow banners. Blisters broke out on his palm. Evandar gasped in pain.
“You won’t…die tonight, Muriel. You…won’t.” He squeezed tears from his eyes. He wouldn’t blow it out.
The fire burned bright for a few more seconds. Evandar could barely look at the flames in his palm. Then with a poof, it extinguished.
Evandar gritted his teeth. Each fleck of dust pricked his skin. He rose with a thin coat of ashes in his raw, burnt palm. Though the fire was gone, he felt no different. It stung. It scorched. It charred.
He covered his hand so the dust wouldn’t swirl and shuffled across the courtyard. His mind was frozen. He stepped through the double doors into the black room and waited for his eyes to adjust.
Galdur snickered when he came in. “So you did it. Your poor mother is weeping from heaven. Hear her cries for you.”
“Where is Muriel?” Evandar’s voice trembled.
“Up there.”
Evandar raised his eyes. Muriel gripped the rails, glaring down at him from the balcony above the throne. “What do you want with me, Prince?”
Evandar mounted the stairs. His hand smarted with each step.
Muriel shrank back. He glanced down at the powder in his hand and up at her once-beautiful face. I must do this. It’s my only choice. Now or never.