The Final Days of Springborough

When Thomas and the guards got to where they heard the bear howl, there was nothing there but blood, Kyrstin’s wicker basket, and more blood. Thomas the Prince, Thomas the Knight, Thomas the boy of twelve years old suspected the worst, and when he successfully swallowed his want to cry, that knot in his throat, and his eyes growing wet, his immediate other reaction was world-burning anger. He couldn’t quite fathom what happened. The bear growl was the furthest thing from his mind. When he suspected that this was all the woods’ fault somehow, he wished to cut down every single tree. And, every single thing that moved from any piece of wood, branch, or leaf, he wished to squash with his boot.

What had caused all the blood inside his sweet Grandmother’s cottage? What had caused the blood behind it in the dirt? What had caused the blood by his sister’s wicker-basket, the one filled with baked goods and berries that were now messily half eaten by something. It didn’t seem like his sister had been eating them, since she wasn’t one to leave such a mess. Was that the animal growl? But, if the animal had attacked Kyrstin, why had it still eaten the baked goods? Was it that big of a beast that it could eat her and still be hungry? Were the baked goods a royal dessert after snacking on a royal princess?

“Your highness,” Corson said, the rain falling on the just and unjust alike.

Thomas wanted to punch his sword teacher in the face. This was no time for royalty nonsense as whatever was happening was killing royals just like they were regular human beings. They were regular human beings, Thomas had to figure. They were no more special than anyone else, and currently, since two of them were missing in a forest that, as far as Thomas knew, held only two, it was well-suspected that out of the ten people in their caravan, Thomas and Patrick were the most susceptible to being next. And, if he was going down this path of thought, Thomas was obviously next because at least Patrick had the power of a giant. Thomas was just Prince Thomas; sorta good with a sword, not interested in his studies, and didn’t rightly like to get into any confrontation for too long of a period of time.

“Thomas,” Corson said, trying to be paternal.

“What, Corson?” Thomas said, the rain flattening his blonde bangs to his forehead, and making any word come out of his mouth with spittles of waters.

“Your brother, he’s not with us.”

Thomas turned, believing Corson, but also believing Patrick was right behind them, and that if Thomas looked, he’d see his little brother stumble out of the brush, out of breath and bent over. But, no, the forest moved to the wind, it tapped to the rain, but it did not give way to the royal giant. With that, Thomas suspected he quite possibly was the only royal left alive and, at least when it came to Patrick, it was somewhat his fault.

“Send four guards back to find him,” Thomas shouted as Corson pointed out two-and-two guards on horseback, knights covered in steel yet shivering, and sent them off back the way they came. “The other six with me. Look for any tracks. Any animal tracks or my sister’s. There has to be something in this mud.”

As the group separated, Thomas tried not to think of Patrick, of the danger his brother might be in, or the fright he might be enduring due to the storm. He tried to focus on what exactly had happened to his sister, Kyrstin. He tied his horse to a branch, got off and walked back and forth between outdoor blood splotches, looking around them for what might have happened. But, he had no skill in this. He wished with all his might something would just come to him. Corson and two knights stepped out from the cottage.

“The Queen, Queen Grace is gone,” Corson proclaimed.

“Corson, you don’t think I know that?! You think the Queen would be held up inside while we made such a fuss outside? With blood all about?!”

“I thought, at the sight of blood, your grandmother might have hid, your highness. I’m sorry. We scoured everywhere, but she is not here.”

“Do you suspect the blood to be hers?” Thomas asked, putting the combat coach in a bad spot.

“I suspect nothing, young Prince. I hope for the best.”

“The Queen is a wise and strong woman. If she is alive, she will know what to do with herself. Please, Corson, help me find my sister. The Princess. It is for her, I fear.”

The bloodstain by the wicker basket held Thomas’ attention the most. It appeared something, maybe Kyrstin, had fallen in the dirt by it. It appeared there were several footsteps about her size around it that disappeared into the foliage. Thomas looked about it as he heard the armor of the guards searching the property clickety-clanking together. Lightening flashed in the sky, warning everybody wearing a metal hood to take it off. There were rumors the sky pointed its electrical finger at knights in armor, and it would be better to not wear armor in the storm. Unfortunately, they didn’t know of the storm before heading out.

Corson, already back on his horse, rode up to where Thomas looked out into the forest. They both peered into the dark unknown beyond the Queen’s cabin.

“What’s out there, Corson?”

“As far as I know, your majesty, it’s just the cliffs of Quakenfalls.”

“There’s no paths.”

“None. We’d have to leave the horses.”

“I have to find Kyrstin.”

“Certainly, sir, I suggest we-“

CRAAACK!

Was all they heard as the boom was muffled by their own bodies thrown through the sky. Thomas saw white, thought he had been blind-sided by a foe, and was thrown from his feet into the trunk of a tree, where he felt his body wrap around the trunk, expelling all the air from his lungs. Corson, a heavier man, wasn’t tossed as far, but his horse bucked and he landed face down in the dirt with a twig lodged in his cheek. It took a second for Thomas to get his bearings, and even longer to get his hearing back, but as he looked around, with a high-pitched incessant sound in his ears, he noticed a knight laying on the ground, smoke rising from his armor.

“What happened?!” Thomas yelled.

“Lightening! It hit him!” came a reply, but Thomas did not know from whom.

Thomas looked at Corson, his sword lesson coach, also clad in armor. It was only Thomas who had gone without, and now he was the only one safe from the storm, although he still carried the dread he envisioned from earlier, that he was the least safe because he was a royal, and there was a killer of royals somewhere about. But, he watched as the other knights attempted to stand up the smoking one without avail. They grunted from the effort while also keeping one eye on the sky, nervous to be standing so close to almost certain death.

“Lightening doesn’t strike the same place twice,” Corson barked, marching toward the four trying to help the fifth knight.

“That’s what we’re worried about. It struck him. There’s still the rest of us!” came the response.

“Corson!” Thomas yelled, his ribs hurting with the effort of being heard over the rain.

Corson turned around to see the young, blonde, freckled-cheeked boy standing over a pile of blood, in front of the dark forest, his shirt matted to his childish-muscular body in the violent storm with wind and rain whipping about him. Thomas’ shoulders heaved as he tried to ignore the pain from hitting the tree, as he tried to focus on sounds as the ringing in his ears stopped. But, Thomas stood his ground like a man, and Corson, for the first time in his life, was impressed at the boy’s strength and poise. Prince Thomas was going to be okay, Corson thought. He was going to grow up to be a fine man.

“You get everybody to safety. Take off your armor and ride naked if you have to. I’m going after my sister.”

And before he could refuse, Corson watched Thomas run off into the woods without a weapon.

Never mind, Corson thought. He might not live to be a man at all.