Recap:
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.
The Midnight Thorn: A Short Story, Part 3
by Jubilee Anderson
He lunged and grabbed her arm. He flicked his hand. Powder fireworked above her head and fluttered down. It sprinkled her blonde hair. She screamed.
Evandar stepped back and poured the rest of the ash on his own head. Flakes spilled down his sweaty forehead and stuck there. Flakes coated his cheeks and ears. Flakes filled his eyes and nose. He coughed. His eyes burned. His throat burned. His hand burned. He stared at her. She stared back. Ash fluttered around them.
Suddenly the pain in his hand vanished. A torrent of emotions slammed him. Hatred. Black hatred. Each time he caught sight of her face a flame was kindled. Something gnawed inside him, desperate to fly into a rage. Temptation to give into his anger. Why did he hate her? He should love her. But he didn’t love her anymore. Or did he?
Muriel’s vague outline bent over him. Her tears dripped onto his face, but he felt no remorse. Only hatred and pain. Pain. Like his bones were crumbling.
He gripped her shoulders and jolted her. She struggled and squirmed from his grasp. She fled to a corner of the balcony. He clawed at his head, as if to rip out those voices that tempted him into further anger.
“Father! Father!” He cried in a voice that was not his own.
Silence pressed in. Muriel shook him. Hatred enveloped him. He desperately wanted to grab her and throw her against the wall. Wait. He was coming to. If he accepted things. Relaxed in hatred’s grip. He would be free. Free. His head throbbed. The voices whispered and his conscience argued.
But no. How could he throw away the girl he had loved? How could he hate sweet Muriel?
Did it matter? He no longer loved her. He hated her.
“Father!”
A figure towered over him and cackled. “Your father cannot save you now, boy. There is no turning back. Your father doesn’t love you. Your father left you.”
Galdur. His dear friend. He relaxed and then ran the words through his head. Left me?
“No! Father!”
Your father hates you. The wizard’s voice penetrated his head. He has left.
“No. He…loves…me! He’ll come back.”
He betrayed you. Just like Muriel.
Evandar flicked his eyes across the room wildly. Muriel huddled on the balcony, sobbing. Hatred rose in his throat.
You are mine. I am your master now. I shall make you my slave and you shall love me more than you loved Amall.
Evandar cursed and willed the voice to depart.
You are no longer Evandar. Galdur’s voice rattled. You are Elatha. My dark prince.
“No! Father, please.”
Silence. No sound from heaven. No holy warmth filled him. Had his father forsaken him? Was Galdur right? Father had turned away. He had forgotten his son.
“Father.” Evandar sobbed. Disorder and confusion crowded his brain. Father didn’t love him. Father had left. Galdur was more trustworthy than Amall.
Elatha rose to his feet, glaring down at Muriel. Her face filled with terror. She scrambled to her feet and stumbled down the steps. Elatha raised his fist. He tore past Galdur and after her.
Galdur chuckled. He swept down the steps on the other side of the balcony.
Elatha didn’t care. He had to get her. She had betrayed him. He closed in on her. Her hair billowed out behind her.
Suddenly she whirled around. He skidded. Her face was pale, but her eyes were fierce. Something had changed. Her eyes were no longer blue. They were piercing black. Like the eyes of Amall.
“Evandar. Stop!” She raised her hands.
Evandar. The word pierced his soul. He suddenly remembered. It filled him with a strange peace. “Muriel.” He lowered his fist. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s evil!” Muriel jabbed a finger at Galdur. Evandar stared at her blankly.
“Shut up, little girl.” Galdur snapped. “Your friend is going to die. You might as well give him up.”
“You knew this would happen!” she screamed. Her black eyes flamed. “You knew he would help me!”
Father’s words echoed through Evandar’s head. “You are stronger than the curse. You are stronger than the curse.” He was stronger than…. He needed to kill Galdur. Before it was too late. Before he was subdued.
Muriel stood before him, her hands on his shoulders. “Evandar. Evandar!”
Evandar forced himself to kneel beside her. He struggled to speak without flying into a rage. “Muriel. We…must…kill him.”
Lead weighted his feet with each step. Sweat ran down his forehead as he labored towards his dear frie– towards Galdur.
Galdur bent over the stone basin, a wicked curl to his lips. He closed his eyes and uttered a spell.
Not magic. Evander flew towards him.
The wizard’s eyes bolted open. He flung aside his robe revealing a long staff. Ragged hair flowed down, his terrible eyes flashing. He hoisted his weapon above his head and swung. Evandar ducked beneath the flying wood. He dove at Galdur’s neck. He drew his knife. Gripping Galdur in a choke-hold, he raised the blade. The wizard grappled at his throat, trying to wheeze out an incantation. Evandar clenched the hilt.
But his hand was frozen.
How could he kill someone he loved so much? Galdur had made him a prince. He had provided him with a home. He had offered to feed him. To shelter him from Amall who had abandoned him. All he had required was for Evandar to become his servant. Galdur was his dear friend.
Or was he? No. Galdur had tricked them. Lured Muriel into a trap. Turned her into a traitor.
But Evandar didn’t care about Muriel.
Or did he? Once he had loved her. Once he had been willing to sacrifice his life for her.
Gong! A bell tolled from above, shaking the castle.
Gong! Evandar choked on his breath. What time was it? Not midnight. How had time passed so quickly?
Gong!
Death. He was going to die.
Gong!
No! He was too young for this.
Gong!
“My son. Kill him. Kill the curse.”
Gong!
He saw the vague shadow of Muriel gripping his hand, forcing it down.
Gong!
He fought her grip. Galdur was his dear friend. He could not kill him. He could not.
Gong!
He jerked his knife away. It slipped through Muriel’s grasp, slicing her palm. She cried out, clutching her bleeding hand.
Gong!
She grabbed for the knife, blood trickling down her arm. Galdur clawed at his throat. He ripped away.
Gong!
Muriel leapt for Evandar’s arm. She dragged it back. “Hate the evil, Evandar.” Galdur elbowed her in the side but she held on. He lunged for his staff.
Gong!
Evandar thrust his hand down. The blade plunged into Galdur’s chest. Evandar screamed. What had he done? He wrenched the knife out. He bent over Galdur, cradling his face.
“Galdur! Wake up!”
Gong! The midnight bell tolled. The peal wound up the spires of the wizard’s castle and quaked the floor beneath their feet.
Galdur shuddered. His face washed grey. His eyes filmed over, and he fell still.
The ground beneath Evandar’s feet vanished. He plummeted for an instant. Then his head cracked on the ground.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The fog had cleared.
Evandar lifted his head. He felt strangely exhausted. Like he might collapse, or black out. He slumped on the floor. He knew he ought to be thinking about something in particular, but he couldn’t place it.
Until he felt her hand. The familiar rose scent. Muriel bent over him. Her quiet sobs filled his ears. He opened his heavy eyelids. She was smiling. She brushed her tears with her white hand. Her golden hair splashed over her shoulders. Her ocean eyes sparkled.
“Evandar. The curse is dead.”
He stared into her shining face. Suddenly he remembered, like when one wakes up in the morning and recalls a horrid nightmare.
Galdur lay pale a few feet away. Blood leaked from a deep wound in his heart. His hideous eyes were ashen.
Evandar glanced at Muriel. Dead. The curse is dead.
He leapt to his feet and let out a whoop. Joy and strength rushed upon him. He swept Muriel into his arms. He spun in the center of the room, gazing at the castle spires that towered above him. Light shafted from a high window.
He whisked her out the double doors. Mother Earth’s sun rays poured from above. Greenery carpeted the courtyard. Robins and bluebirds flitted from tree to tree.
Evandar laughed.
A single rosebush grew in the center of the courtyard. Dozens of the reddest, most delicate roses bloomed upon it. Beside the rose bush stood a stone bench.
There he set Muriel down, and plunked onto the bench beside her.
“You did it!” Muriel laughed. “You were stronger than the curse.”
Evandar pondered her words. The scene replayed in his head. Muriel had thrown herself in front of him. Her eyes had changed to black. Like the piercing black of the gods. How had that happened? She hadn’t done it to herself.
Evandar looked up and searched the clouds. There on the topmost flurry sat a figure in the likeness of a king. Radiance shone from him.
“Father,” he said aloud.
“Why did you doubt me, my son?”
Amall’s presence glowed around them. Evandar leaned into it. “Thank you.”
“I am always with you.”
“Don’t you see him, Riel? Father’s up in that cloud.” Evandar placed an arm around her shoulder and pointed upward.
“No. I don’t. Where?” Muriel shaded her eyes from the morning sun and peered up. Suddenly, she let out a low gasp. Her cheeks glowed.
“I see!”
She stood in the warmth for a minute, her eyes sparkling in awe like when Evandar had first tucked a rose in her hair.
“I love you, my children.” And Evandar knew Muriel could hear Amall’s voice, too.
His heart felt a tug. A longing to drift upwards to where his father stood. But Amall was fading. Drifting away. Another gust of wind and his figure vanished. Evandar knew Father was still watching, he just couldn’t see.
He found himself staring at Muriel. He stood up, as if with a sudden thought.
“Close your eyes.”
She did so, and smiled. Evandar crept across the garden. He cut the reddest, most delicate rose, and tucked it in her long blonde tresses. Muriel’s cheeks dimpled. A heavenly fragrance hung in the air. He eased onto the stone bench.
“You can open them.”
Her ocean eyes fluttered open. She stroked the rose with her finger. A beam spread across her face. “Your father really takes care of you, doesn’t he?”
Evandar’s heart thumped as she met his gaze.
“Yes. He’ll take care of you, too.” Evandar paused. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a little box. “And I’ll take care of you, if you’ll have me.”
Evandar slid off the bench and onto one knee, extending the opened box in his hands. Muriel’s fingers flew to her mouth. Her blue eyes widened. The silver ring glittered. The red gem set in the collet formed the pattern of a rose.
“Yes,” she whispered.