Three Mages and A Broken Country

I stare down the fox. “Why bother caring now? Everything’s already gone,” I say, eyes clouding with the promise of heavy showers.

As much as I do not want to forgive Gareth, I cannot leave him nor can I turn away from him. We’re all each other has. Besides, given what we are setting out to do, the only people we can trust is the other. Both of us were once sovereigns- next in line to the throne. He was the carefree prince and I the damsel to woo the crowds.

Now, thanks to him, we are nothing. Orphans.

“Philippa, I-“ he tries to place his hands on mine, but I pull away and survey my own. The mahogany skin is scoured and diseased. Grime builds under my nails like misfortune. I sigh, picturing my gowns and maids’ corpses as the castle burnt to ash. As the whole damn city burnt to ash.

Anger sits in my gut and runs out my mouth like a provoked beast.

I turn indignantly to him. “It’s all your fault! All of it!” I shout. “THEY’RE ALL DEAD, GARETH! GONE! AND IT’S ALL YOUR-“

“YOU DON’T THINK I KNOW THAT?!” he practically spits. The red glow of the fire matches the unnamable emotion behind his glassy eyes that I had seen only in mad people. He runs a hand down his face.

“You don’t think I know that,” he repeats softer, filing the edges of his nerve bluntly. “You don’t think I see them … every single day. I see them in the sky, Phil.

“Just yesterday I woke and thought I heard Gracie giggling at my feet.” His voice wavers. “And when I sat up to play with her hair, she… It was her corpse.”

I take a shaky breath, and many more after that to dissolve the summoned images. Gracie, our little sister, at 2 with that spark in her eyes. Dissolve. Gracie at 5 learning how to hold a violin. Dissolve. Gracie three months after, running to my chambers at night because she was scared of the thunder. Dissolve. Gracie. Dissolve. Mason. Dissolve. Mum. Dissolve. Dissolve. Dissolve. Dissolve. Di-

The images hold me firm in their grip, dragging me to the bottom of the river. “We know who killed us,” they say. “It’s your fault, It’s your fault, It’s your fault!”

My fickle tears burn as they spill into the water, my cries dying at the base of a tunnel long shrouded in darkness. I feel my flesh soften. I dissolve into fragments, forced to relive the moment the world fell apart.

A month ago Crown Prince Gareth Yevv was confronted by a mage.

He was wondering through the dark alleys alone, as he retold when he was sober, stumbling against stone due to the thought of harlots, his lips a cunning smirk when the shadows moved.

The mage smelt the lust on my brother’s breath and rose to the occasion with light witty steps.

“Your Grace,” he bowed. Gareth said he frowned at the mage’s voice; one that sounded like it had both smoked all of Father’s cigar collection five times over and swallowed the very essence of silk.

“I don’t have … any money on me, peasant.”

“Ay, Your Grace, and that is why I’ve come to offer you the opportunity to finally be free. Free from expectations. Free from social puppet strings. Free … from the burden of royalty.”

Gareth hiccupped. “You know … I could have-“ his wet lips smacked each other and his eyes were starting to fill with sleep “-… what was I… Yes! I could have you charged with tweason.” He shook his head.

“Tw- Twa… twee… waiiit, that’s not wiiight.” He started to laugh at himself as the mage lost patience.

“Treason, Your Grace,” he emphasized above my brother’s giggles, “my treason would have nothing on yours!”

Avid, boiling silence.

“H-How do you-“

“You have no idea what I know, Your Grace,” he said. “I know that you have been working with another of my kind within your castle walls; trading precious information on booze. I know what you and that girl have been doing-“

“Wait. Which … girl?” Gareth questioned. When he was retelling the story, he looked at me long and hard with betrayal. Gareth asked if I knew what the mage was talking about.

The space inside my head wriggled. I knew not of how long I had had it, but I knew what it made me do. It took over.

“Ugh, Gareth,” it exasperated, forcefully rolling my eyes. “It’s a mage. He probably just wanted to get into your pants or something.” I waved my hand backwards and urged him to continue with the story. The edges of his suspicion filed away.

The mage smiled ruefully. “You don’t know,” he stated.

“I came here with the promise of freedom. Do you not desire it?”

“Even freedom from the crime you charge me with?” said Gareth, suddenly sober.

The shadows thundered. “A crime you very well committed!”

Gareth chuckled. “I refuse anyway.” The rest happened in a blur. He felt the shadows leak into him, cold hands running up his spine and brushing the soft tissues of his brain. He shivered. Somewhere within him, although it seemed to be a thousand miles off, the shadows held back in confusion, then laughed. “Poor Prince,” they boomed. “It seems your mother had no intention of giving you an option.”

Then his senses cut him off. Next thing he knew, he awoke back in the castle with a splitting headache, servants muttering their thanks to God and a space inside his head.

Mother, Gareth and I singlehandedly brought our country to the ground. Neither Gareth nor I have any memory of it, but we know that Mother is still out there, pulverizing another King with love charms and kisses.

We’re both broken vases. I blame him, thereby blaming the cracks within me. From here on out we vie against fate to pull ourselves off the ground and hunt her down. No matter the cost.

No matter the mages sleeping in lilac pools in the depths of our minds. No matter our cracks, imperfections and sorrow.

We, are a million countries’ last hope.