Rise of the Dead Prince (8 page)

11
The Curse

A
ssur accepted the Gunar terms and sent the envoy back to his masters. As promised, they crossed into their own lands with no trickery. The Valahian army occupied the fort of Aram, and that night, there was a celebration. They had retaken their country from the invaders. Assur and the generals had let spread the word that the Gunars had retreated because of superstition, and it quickly became the talk of the camp. To Assur and the others, it was a joke, and they celebrated in earnest. All was quiet in the east along the Karuvinian border as well. Two wars had started and finished in as many weeks. Ian and Meier were the only ones whose goblets seemed to be filled with vinegar. Each man tried to be merry in his own way but found it difficult. Ian crossed the tent to sit beside M
eier.

“The men look to us to celebrate, Meier,” said Ian seriously, “but I am like you.” Meier nodded solemnly and put his hand on his brother’s
back.

“With luck, Ian, the men will think we are concerned with plans for possible Gunar treachery. Although I think that the Gunars are no more threat,” Meier answ
ered.

“Do you believe what the envoy said? About us being cursed?” asked Ian. He was not jo
king.

“I believe that
he
believed it, he and every other Gunar. But that is not what most worries me, Ian,” said Meier. He had Ian’s attention. Meier proceeded to tell Ian everything he had seen in Crocus’s mirror and everything that had happened afterward. On another day, Ian might have doubted the fantastic things he was hearing from his precocious little brother. This was not that day. He had just seen an overwhelming force retreat from them and incinerate the path behind them. The fact that his little brother was the only one in who knew how many generations that could “see magic” had not yet fully sunk in. His heart was too filled with worry over what was to be
done.

“I have been a hunter since I was seven years old, Meier. While Assur was lifting stones, and you were reading your favorite books, I was in the woods and fields, looking and listening for what others could not detect. Your news is like a poison that I have already been drinking, brother. I have bore this unnamed dread in my heart since before these meaningless wars began. To think that
magic
is to blame
…
frightens me more than anything I have ever known.” Ian drank deeply of his glass. Sweat had formed on his brow, and his voice had become shaky. Meier had never seen his cool, collected brother in such a state. Despite this, Meier began to feel a surge inside him. The need was at hand, and they would have to rise to face it. It was just as Crocus had said. Meier’s door had opened, and the light was sprea
ding.

“We must return to Crocus. Perhaps he can be of greater use if given time and support. He might at least tell us from what corner of the kingdom to expect this curse,” said Meier, trying to comfort his shaken bro
ther.

“I agree that now is the time to return home, brother. But we need not ask from what corner the curse will come. It is from the south,” said Ian distantly. Meier narrowed his eyes as his brother drained his cup in one swa
llow.

“How?” he asked, but Ian quickly interru
pted.

“I have felt it. Something unnatural has been brewing in the swamps of Arnovo, though I cannot say what.” Ian’s gaze became sharp and far reaching, as though he were spying something a thousand yards away. Meier found that he was holding his breath. When at last Ian spoke again, his voice was soft and disconne
cted.

“It will come on the wind, little brother,” he
said.

And Ian was r
ight.

It began the next morning. It swept across the southern Valahian plains in the form of a warm and fragrant breeze. Thousands upon thousands lifted their heads and turned, the better to take in the pleasing aroma. By the end of that day, the wind from the south had covered the whole of Valahia. It had b
egun.

It was on the third day that the fever came. The marching soldiers were halfway to Targov when the illness hit the camp. Targov, meanwhile, was celebrating the end of the Gunar invasion. By the time they felt the fever, it was already too late. The curse had taken hold.
Two
in every three people across the land were suddenly stricken down with the illness. The army was hit especially hard. Thousands lay sick, unable to march further. When the riders reported that the illness was nationwide, Assur ordered the army disbanded and released those men remaining to see to their families. The call went out for volunteers to stay with the fallen soldiers and establish a sick camp. Luckily, there was a town nearby, and they used this as a source of supply. At the insistence of the two remaining generals, the princes rode for home. Assur had already taken ill. Even he, the most healthy and strong of the sons of Valahia, was not above infection. The road was hard and slow, but Ian and Meier stopped only long enough to rest their horses before continuing. They often tried to convince Assur to stop and rest, lest he make himself worse, but the big man insisted they ride straight for home, illness or no. He would not be m
oved.

The fever was followed by an incapacitating lethargy. Those ill who could still ride slumped in their saddles, unable to even hold the reins. Those who lay in their beds became unable to sit up. Their bodies were wracked with terrible aches and pains, and the color began to drain from their faces. Meier and Ian rode close beside their brother, holding him in the saddle. The roads were littered with fallen riders who had been unable to stay upright. There was no one to see to them. They rolled from the road and lay in the grass as the sickness took hold. Men who were carrying their relatives and friends across the country were stricken down themselves. The nation fell into c
haos.

Ian and Meier watched the disease progression as they crossed Valahia. It went from bad to worse. It was on the fourth day after the ill wind that they began to see the funeral pyres. As they had all feared, people were finally dying of the illness. As they rode on, the number of fires increased exponentially, until every time they passed a village, the sky was black with smoke. In this way, the brothers witnessed the full course of the pl
ague.

By the sixth day of the illness, though sometimes as early as the fourth, the victims drained of all color. Then the final stage would come. Some would violently convulse and die, while others would linger on for another day, quietly drifting into a death swoon. It was rare, but some had lasted past the sixth day. It gave the only remaining hope for the dying. As the brothers trudged along, their worst fears slowly became a reality. The plague was a death sentence. No one recovered. They had not seen or heard of a single case. The good news was that someone in every three people seemed to be naturally immune; but even among these, it was not clear who was and who wasn’t, as many people
seemed
to have contracted the illness from others. Everywhere they went, the healthy covered their faces, for the plague was spread on the wind and through the breath of the dying, or so it seemed. It was unlike any disease known to
them.

Among those who had been spared the illness, many traveled to Targov, hoping for some reprieve. This was the worst thing they could have done, for Targov had become the largest graveyard of
all.

It was on the seventh day of the march home, within sight of the castle, that Assur the Bold slipped into a deep sleep and died. He never once cried out in pain. Ian and Meier were beside themselves with grief, but they were far too tired to show it the way they longed to. The brothers wept even as they rode. They just wanted to get Assur home. It was all he had asked of them. The fact that their big brother was gone did not sink in. They just rode, all the while treating his large body as though he were asleep. Any second, they thought, he would awaken and laugh at them for their sad faces and t
ears.

As Meier and Ian approached the castle, the next stab to their hearts came. Black smoke rose from every corner of the city, but this they had expected. It was the sight of the castle itself that hit them. There was a black banner draped over the royal crest. This could mean only one thing. Their father, King Wold, was dead. With great difficulty, the grief-stricken brothers made their way to the courtyard, carrying the lifeless Assur under each arm. Those healthy few among the servants saw their plight and quickly offered help. It was not a moment too soon either, for Meier promptly collapsed the moment his brother’s heavy arm was lifted from his weary neck. He was already running a fever, but this he hid. Ian and Meier made their way to the throne room, and there they saw their father on a dais in the middle of the hall. There he lay, dressed in full regalia. The afternoon sun shone down on him from the high window. The hall was silent. Meier fell to his knees and broke down in tears. Two family members in one day was more than he could bear. Ian did not weep. He stood still with eyes wide. He was too stunned to r
eact.

“What are we going to do, brother?” asked Meier. There was no response. “Gunar was right to have burned their borderlands! We truly are cursed! Why has this happened?” Meier screamed through his tears. He couldn’t think of anything but escaping this cruel reality. All became like a terrible dream, and all he wanted was to
wake.

“I don’t know, Meier. I just don’t know,” said Ian softly. Crocus appeared behind them, with head b
owed.

“My lords,” he said quietly. The brothers turned to face him, but they did not speak. “Your mother has called for you. She lies sick in her bed.” Another pang struck them both. Together the young men walked to their mother’s chamber, half in a daze. Once there, they saw her as the disease had left her, weak and pale. It would not be
long.

“Thank the heavens that you have been spared, my sons,” she said weakly. They rushed to her side, moving through the attendants that nursed her. Meier knelt at one end of her bed and took her hand, while Ian knelt at the opposite side and took the other
hand.

“Not you too!” cried Meier. Ian merely bowed and began to shake. Finally, his tears came. He could not seem to s
peak.

“Oh, Assur!” she cried. “Oh, my son! Would that you had been spared as well!” Together the broken family mourned. All the while, the fever in Meier rose. He resolved to keep his condition a secret until he could not manage it any
more.

That night, their mother passed into a death swoon, leaving only the two of them to manage a wide and sundered country. With a small crowd standing by in the great hall, Ian was made king in the room where his father was laid out before him. As was tradition, the crown was passed from one head to the next, and that evening at sunset, the king’s funeral pyre was lit by the two remaining sons. Breaking with tradition, Assur and Mira joined the king on his pyre. They lay side by side, each dressed in their finest clot
hing.

Tradition stated that the king’s passing was to be celebrated. It was to be a happy time, where the king’s many deeds were recited by the new king. Ian was also meant to address the whole of Targov city, dressed in splendor, and make promises for the new age. He was to toast to new prosperity. Ian refused to take part in the ceremony. It was no surprise. As the whole nation was grieving, it was no time for celebration. At the funeral, Ian spoke a few words for the king and a few more for the whole country. After the sunrise the next morning, it was time for Ian to address the people as their new king. Those who could attend the service were few, but that was as it should have been. Ian ascended the stone platform overlooking the castle courtyard. He spoke in the steadiest voice he could ma
nage.

“Friends,” he said, “as you know, I have refused the celebration of ascension. I cannot condone such a thing in times such as these. I wish I could promise you prosperity. I wish I could say it will all be all right. I cannot. I will promise you this. We will rise from the ashes. We have no choice. We will see the dead sent away in honor, and then we will rise again. We will see to the living. Many are suffering. We must see to them. Many children are without parents. We will take them in. Many families are impoverished and fatherless, motherless, with no means of survival. We will provide for them. Valahia will rise again, for we must! Will you not hel
p me?”

A cheer rose from the small crowd. They believed in Ian. He was now King Ian the Hunter. They put all their hopes in him. He was quick of body and mind. If anyone could save them, it must be he. There was no one else. Prince Meier stood beside his brother. He made it through the ceremony, but he could hold out no longer. He collapsed on the platform at his brother’s feet, in the sight of
all.

12
The Other Side

A
ll of Valahia had been ravaged. Where once there had been five hundred thousand people, there was now under two hundred thousand. Doctors who were not stricken down themselves had raced to find ways to cure the affliction, but no known method had even the slightest effect. Now it was too late. None affected were known to have survived. Save one. And he was deep along the
path.

To make things worse, a huge fire had broken out in the southern plains, no doubt from a pyre that had grown out of control. The once lush Valahian plains were suddenly a blackened wasteland. The cloud could easily be seen from Targov, and the scent of burning earth was thick in the air. By a stroke of luck, the wind turned before the fire could spread beyond the southern plains. This was perhaps the one good thing that had happened since the ordeal began. Meanwhile, Crocus tried to find an answer to the plague within the realm of magic, but the black hand thwarted him at every turn. The only thing he could do for Meier was to lessen his pain. Crocus spent much of his time sitting with the young prince. He was baffled. How could this young man be the savior of Valahia when he himself lay dying? It made no sense. King Ian ordered the royal physicians to work day and night to save his one remaining rela
tive.

It was hopeless. Nothing that anyone did made any difference. There was one thing that was strange, however. Meier seemed to be fully cognizant, whereas other patients had been dazed and distant by this stage. By the third day of his return to Targov, Meier was drained of all his little color and became as pale and blue as the dead. That night, he fell into a deep sleep, never to wake again, or so they thought. While his body lay drained and dying, Meier’s mind soared. He dreamed that he woke to an amazing sight. There was Assur beside him, and Wold and Mira stood in the doorway. They were all ghosts, luminous and translucent, and they were smiling down at
him.

“Hello, little brother,” said Assur. Meier was too stunned to talk at first, but he did slowly manage a s
mile.

“Hello, everyone,” he said. “Have I
died?”

“Not yet, son,” said
Wold.

“But soon!” said Mira. They seemed genuinely h
appy.

“Will I be a ghost like you?” asked Meier, not believing in ghosts but seeing them nonetheless. Mira crossed the room to the other side of the bed. She swept Meier’s hair away to the side and kissed him on the forehead. Her lips were like
ice.

“Oh, my darling boy,” she said warmly, “who knows? We only just became ghosts ourselves!” They all laughed. Meier joined them but could only manage a weak chuckle. Somehow all his fears and sorrows left him. Here was his family, not alive but certainly well. It made him indescribably happy, but then a stab of pain found his h
eart.

“What about Ian?” he asked. “He’ll be all alone.” They all kept smi
ling.

“He’ll be fine, Meier,” said Wold. “He still has you, my boy. And now you can tell him that we are well and happy. Our cares have melted, son. We exist here only to comfort you in these times. When the time comes, we will move on to the land of the dead, and there are no troubles there, Meier. You must let him
know!”

None of it made sense to Meier. Land of the dead? He was delirious and unable to recall even half of what he had just been
told.

“How can I tell him if I’m dead, Father?” It seemed a reasonable question, but for some reason, they all just laughed and lau
ghed.

“We have no idea!” said A
ssur.

“None at all!” said Mira. This dream was getting strange. Were all ghosts so happy? Maybe they were just trying to make him feel better. And here all these years he had thought that ghosts were supposed to be depressed and moan a lot. It was certainly a depressing time to be alive in Valahia, but the dead had plenty of good company. It was like a grand party that Meier was about to join. It made him feel a little bit better. But this was just a dream. It was a trick of his sleeping mind that comforted him before his journey to the invisible. That realization was like a stone dropping in his heart. None of this was real. That is what made it so cruel. He felt tears in his
eyes.

“No tears, little brother,” said Assur. “Even if it is just a dream, it is a good dream.” He lightly punched Meier’s shou
lder.

“Assur is right, my boy. Don’t fret over what seems real and what doesn’t,” said Wold. “Everything is real, Meier. If not here, then somewhere else. Just remember that, for whatever it’s worth.” Meier started to feel woozy. He looked around, and things were starting to blink in and out of reality. Or they were blinking in and out of the dream world. Whatever it was, it was terribly confu
sing.

“You’re just waking up, Meier,” said Assur. “Pretty obvious really. But this is important! You better listen fast, brother. I need you to follow me when you wake up. You’ll still be half asleep, what with you being almost dead and all. It’s very important that you just close your eyes and follow me.” Mira gripped his hand with her icy emb
race.

“We know it sounds very odd, Meier, and it will hurt terribly to walk. But it must be done!” she
said.

“Buck up, son. One leg in front of the other! Go quick, while this poor fool doctor is sleeping,” said
Wold.

“My, but this is a strange dream,” muttered M
eier.

“You only die once, little brother,” said Assur. “Or at least I think that’s true.” There was another round of laughter. These must be the happiest ghosts in the kingdom. But ghosts didn’t exist. Everyone knew
that.

“I guess I’ll believe you all, you giggly dream ghosts, you,” said Meier with a pained grin. “Lead the way, Assur. Are we going to some kind of light or something?” Meier had read some weird tale about that once, high fantasy, of course, but gaining in plausibility with every moment; yet more laug
hter.

“Of course not, you dunce,” said Assur, smiling. “And besides, you have to wake up first, so
…
as you once recently did to me
…
MMMEEEEIIIIIIIEEERRRRRR
!” Assur yelled at the top of his ethereal lungs. Meier startled awake, drenched in sweat. He looked around. There was the doctor, with his head thrown back and snoring. That was odd. How could he have known that the doctor was asleep in his dream? The dream started to fade. It wasn’t real, of course. How could it be? That was just silly. Meier sighed deeply. He found that he really wanted it to be true. He closed his tired eyes again to go back to sleep but then sat bolt upright despite the scream of his aching
body.

There was Assur in the corner of the room. He was wildly jumping around and waving, clearly trying to get Meier’s attention. So it was real! Meier sighed again. Of course, it wasn’t. Couldn’t he just die in peace like everyone else? Although another thought came to mind. If he was dying anyway, why not go along with it? Stranger things had happened than the deathly ill deciding to follow their hallucinations. What did he have to lose, anyway? Let it be the last effort in his life. With great pain, Meier leaned forward in his bed. It was not going to be easy. As he squinted, he saw Assur. He looked highly perturbed but kept waving him on. Wold and Mira were there by the bedside. Suddenly, he felt two icy shackles on his wrists, and they pulled him forward. His dead parents were lifting him out of bed! Meier opened his eyes, and the shackles let go. He nearly fell backward. He could touch ghosts
…
but only when his eyes were closed? Meier decided not even to bother thinking about that one. He closed his eyes again and felt their frigid grips again. It actually felt rather nice on his feverish skin. They pulled him forward and then lifted him under each arm. They were grunting slightly. So a ghost could get tired. Interes
ting.

Once he was on his feet, Meier opened his eyes for a minute to grab his blanket. It was a silly gesture, given that at the moment he could see pretty well with his eyes closed. Meier thought about that for a second. How could he suddenly see with his eyes closed? He realized that he couldn’t. It was just like a dream. Of course, one knew what their house looked like. He closed his eyes again and shuffled out of the room after Assur. It was slow going, even with the gentle help of his ghost parents. The weirdness of the situation had not yet faded. Assur led him around the castle, avoiding all places where the living were awake. Eventually, they made their way outside to the ramparts. Given that so many guards had died, the northern battlement, essentially the back wall of the castle, was left completely unguarded. Assur led Meier to the middle of the
wall.

“Have a look around, little brother,” he said, gazing up at the starry sky. Meier looked up as well, leaning against the rampart wall. The cold stone felt nice, but the rest of his body was screaming at him to lie down. “I loved the stars more than anything, you know. I never really talked about it when I was alive,” said A
ssur.

“They’re very nice, Assur. Not to be rude, but why are we out here?” Meier respo
nded.

“Oh that,” said Assur. The three ghosts exchanged glances mischievo
usly.

“We wanted to show you something, dear,” said
Mira.

“There’s something directly below us that you very much need to see, my boy. It’s of capital importance
…
can you see it, Assur?” asked Wold. Assur leaned over the edge of the low part of the
wall.

“Indeed I can, Father,” he said. Assur moved out of the way and gestured for Meier to have a look. It was all quite mysterious. Was Meier about to solve some deathbed mystery? Why would they bring him all the way out just to show him something in the brambles below the northern rampart? Was it a dead body? There were certainly a lot of those about. No real urgency there. Meier leaned over the edge of the ramparts. He opened his eyes and looked around. No, nothing visible. He closed his eyes a
gain.

“What am I looking for exactly?” Meier asked
them.

“I’m sorry, darling,” said Mira, “but you’ll have to look a little closer.” With that, Assur and Wold grabbed his legs and hoisted him over the
edge!

Meier was so surprised that he didn’t even scream as he fell to his d
eath.

With a rustle and a thud, all went dark and still. His body had fallen straight through the brambles to the hard earth below. The flexible coils compensated for the injury of a falling body striking them and embraced him, covering his body from view. All that showed of him from the ramparts was a single hand. Meier’s bedclothes had snagged at the sleeve and held firmly t
here.

“Can you see him, Assur?” asked
Mira.

“Only a little, Mother,” he replied casu
ally.

“All in all, quite well done, if I do say so myself,” said
Wold.

“Yes, gentlemen, very nicely done indeed,” said Mira. “Do you think he felt it very much?” The men exchanged glances and started laug
hing.

“Maybe
…
but how would we know? We’ve never been tossed from a rampart!” The three ghosts just laughed and laughed. They truly were the happiest ghosts in Val
ahia.