Notes:
Sad chapter. 😢 I’m sorry.
Anyone have ideas for the name of Artham’s horse? 😂 I can’t think of anything right now.
Sorry it took so long for me to write this!
Chapter 5 Buried
Artham stood still for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He didn’t know what to do or think. Everything in him simply felt empty. He stared at Esben’s door, in a numb trance, until the wind blew one of the large windows in the hall open with a bang. Artham started and whirled around, but relaxed when he saw it was only the window. He walked toward it to shut it, and outside, storm clouds were blowing in on the biting wind. With some effort, he closed and latched the window, but the cold had already chilled him. He hurried back to his own room and sat down on his bed. Then, it was like something was unraveling in his chest. All the hurt he had tried to push away for Esben was coming back, and this time he didn’t stop it. There was no one to be strong for now. He was alone. He felt the tears coming, and again he fought against them. It was like he was in a battle, but he was fighting on both sides.
He wanted to remember, wanted to allow himself to say goodbye, even if it was just a goodbye to memories, a goodbye to the way of life he had led, but the other side of him hated it. He was so used to fighting against anything that threatened him or his brother, and he felt threatened by the ache in his chest, by the tears that at every memory threatened to come flooding in. He placed his head in his hands as he continued to fight himself. Every beat of his heart hurt. How could something that was outside him cause actual pain inside of him? He wanted to go to his father, or his aunt, or his mother, and pour out his weakness, to take refuge in their strength. But the fact that they were gone was the very reason he felt this way. A tear slipped past his tightly closed eyes and decided the battle for him. He would not be weak. He wasn’t going to get up in the morning with traces of grief plain on his face. Especially now that he was the Throne Warden. He had to protect. To guard Esben from anything that threatened to hurt him, and he couldn’t fix something for his brother when he was letting it control him. He took a deep breath and dashed away the rebellious tear. He flopped down on his bed, hoping he could escape into the blissful nothingness of sleep. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe regularly. He tried reciting strains of poetry to himself. It seemed like forever that he kept his eyes closed, and still, he couldn’t sleep. He opened his eyes in frustration and tried to get comfortable. Hours passed, and he tossed and turned restlessly to no avail as storm clouds settled over the castle Rysen, hiding the moon and stars, making the already dark night even darker. Finally, Artham slipped into a light half sleep, where only vague impressions of the darkness surrounding him reached into the better, feelingless darkness of sleep.
. . .
Artham awoke with a start and sat up quickly, throwing off his covers. He was covered in a cold sweat and he gasped for air as he glanced around him frantically. Again, he put his head in his hand, and pressed the other hand against his chest, trying to stop the pounding of his heart. The nightmare in his sleep had not been real. He was in his room, on his bed, in the middle of the night. He wasn’t on the Sea Queen. He wasn’t watching the waters rising as the ship’s beams creaked and splintered apart. He shuddered and tried to push the final images of his dream out of his mind. He wasn’t on the boat. His dream was not reality. Esben was still here, safe. Artham himself was still safe. He wasn’t sinking in the cold waters. The moment he considered trying to go back to sleep, he almost laughed at himself. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest. The foamy edges of the dream were still clinging to him. He could hear Esben’s voice still ringing in his ears. As if in a trance, he got up from his bed and quickly walked to his door. He stepped into the darkness of the halway and paused by Esben’s door. He cracked it open and peeked in. Esben was somehow asleep. He was also snoring. Artham closed the door again and sighed. He walked down the halway, still half asleep, letting his body guide him. He didn’t even bother to mask the sounds of his steps. If someone was woken up by them, they wouldn’t be able to stop Artham. He would make them let him out. If he stayed inside for one more minute, the stone walls, the feeling that his grief was cagong him in, that the sorrow was making him fall apart would drive him crazy. Finally, he reached the door that led to the courtyard. He stepped out and took deep, grateful gasps of the cold air. A sleety drizzle had started, but his attention was so turned inside himself that he didn’t notice. He found himself going toward the stable. He walked toward his own horse by memory, and patted her neck gently. Her warm snorts were welcome in the cold. They reminded something inside of Artham of the fire he used to carry in his heart, and a tiny flame sputtered back. He was surrounded by a cold darkness, but at least the fire he had was still alive. He swung his leg over his horse’s side and trotted out of the stable bareback, not even bothering to get a harness or reins. He buried his cold hands in the welcome warmth of her soft mane, and they trotted across the courtyard. The drizzle was stronger now, and somewhere inside of him Artham acknowledged it, but he didn’t turn back. He looked around him. The windows of the castle that opened up onto the courtyard stared at him like vacant eyes. Artham didn’t want to be watched. He urged his horse faster and they fled out the courtyard door. Artham began to feel the feeling of imprisonment begin to melt away as he flew across the rolling hills that were behind the castle. If he had gone out the side door, he would have headed into town. Now he went into the woods. The rain poured harder and he heard a clap of thunder. He was away from all those eyes, all the people. He longed to feel free, free from the thing inside him. He urged his horse faster and faster as he leaned into the wind.
Memories pressed into his mind again as he rode, and they each sent a pang of loss and hurt through his chest. He fought them, going faster and faster as thunder crashed around him and the trees danced wildly above him. The freezing sleet streamed across his face and mixed with the tears he had no power to hold back. He flew through the forest as if he could somehow leave behind the painful weight in his chest, and ride on without it. The tears flowed faster as his shoulders started to shake, from the cold, he told himself. He gritted his teeth and almost held his breath as he rode on, fighting against any of those awful crying sounds he knew would escape him if he continued to remember any further. He squinted his eyes in an effort to see through the now pouring rain, and was thankful that he couldn’t distinguish between the rain and his tears. He rode, and the jolting of his horse’s hooves helped to somehow lessen the pain. This was familiar. This stayed the same. His parents were gone. He could still fly away from it all.
Then, his horse reared up with a snort that was almost inaudible through the sound of pouring rain and thunder. They were in front of a thick stone wall. The horse obviously couldn’t jump it, and Artham knew from experience he couldn’t climb it. He shouted in frustration. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get away from this. He stopped and stood hopelessly as the rain poured down his back, into his boots, into his eyes. Slowly, he managed to mount his horse again and set her at a walk back toward the castle. He felt like the cold sleet was pouring into his heart. He welcomed the feeling. It numbed the memories, numbed the hurt. He told himself again that focusing on his own pain was selfish. He needed to bury the pain, or forget it or kill it or something, anything, so he could cast it away. So he could be strong, so he could protect Esben like a Throne Warden should. The numbness allowed him to push it out of his mind. Soaked through, shivering, Artham turned all his thoughts outside him. He tried not to think of the sinking boat, of the fact that his parents were gone, of drowning. But whenever he tried to think of something else, it all returned to those things. So, he didn’t think of anything at all. He had never been able to do it before. It was surprising how well freezing rain could drown his thoughts and feelings. The forest ended and Artham headed toward the castle. The pounding rain slowed as the sun peeked over a far away hill, flooding the deep darkness with a cold, empty gray light.
Next chapter link will appear in the comments (when I get around to writing it)
Can you knock a bookshelf on top of Bonifer? Maybe have Artham push it?