Alabaster
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When I wake up, my ears ring. I struggle to pull myself to a seat as I observe my surroundings. The court physician’s place of practice, or for simpletons, the medical room.
It is almost funny, the way my body breaks down at the easiest convenience. The way a simple punch can cave in my face. The way a short run renders me passed out and immobile.
Not that it matters. This cycle is nearing its end either way, what with the fighting going on in the hall.
I try to pull myself to my feet. I only succeed in tumbling off the patient-bed and collapsing to the ground.
Propping myself up on the bedside table, my legs flare up in pain as I transition across the room, using all manner of objects as leverage. I almost collapse when a chair I am leaning on slips.
I make it across the room, finding no doctor at the physician’s desk. Instead, I take one of the canes in stock, and hobble to the doorway.
In front of me, a royal guardsmen who likely heeded my warning about the poisoned mead battles several revolutionaries carrying a multitude of weapons. Axes, knives, rifles, pitchforks, you name it. The guard seems about to retreat before he notices me. A glance my way, and he has steeled his gaze, fighting with relentless fury.
I take the chance he offered and limp out the doorway, turning my back to the skirmish. I close my eyes for a moment to whisper a silent thanks to the man before I turn a corner and continue through the burning castle I have navigated through a thousand times before.
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The last cycle that I made my way through this torched palace, it was with a frantic fury. A hustle that I simply can’t muster now. As I advance at a snail’s pace, thanks to my weak legs, I witness the skeleton crew of royal guards fighting for their lives, not to mention the countless nobles here due to the banquet.
The royal guards, loyal to the end, hold their ground against the revolutionaries at the cost of their lives as I pass. They are quickly overwhelmed and impaled, beheaded, or any of the countless horrific methods of war.
All around me, a blood bath plays out. Ex-servants cut down nobles who refuse to surrender. And some who do. Others, the lucky ones if you could call them that, are restrained and dragged somewhere I have yet to see.
Eventually, even my own luck runs out. With the guards around me dead, and the revolutionary bastards closing in, I resign myself to surrender. The floor comes up faster than anticipated as I raise my hands to my head and fall to my knees, grunting in pain. My legs are still swollen and sore, after all.
I suppose I am one of the lucky ones, as they don’t immediately cut me down. Instead, My hands and feet are bound in crudely knotted rope as I am dragged across the ground like a common criminal.
Along the way, my eyes catch on a shiny object. My coronet. The coronet I dropped this morning as I rushed to the mess hall. I have just enough time to position myself to snatch it off the ground as I am dragged by before we pass by it. My hand clenches around it, and I bring it to my chest.
The rest of the way, I just watch the paintings dance in the flames. The painted figures smiling sadistically or sneering with an unrestrained glee in the firelight. The second I blink my eyes, they go back to their still forms only to twist in the fire the longer I look at it.
Eventually, I get tired of the flame molded art pieces, closing my eyes to center myself.
This is the first time I haven’t been killed on sight by the revolutionaries. It seems to be new territory I have found myself in.
Another change is the royal guard. There may not be many in this cycle, but there were none whatsoever in the previous ones. It does seem as though my warning did succeed. I only wish I was faster. Fast enough to save more. Actually, that might be an option.
I may not be fast, but would it would be possible if there was some able bodied young lad who could run that distance and back in barely a few minutes? One who has proven his loyalty beyond doubt? Who is there right at the start of each cycle? One who doesn’t think to knock? One who- no, I’m not doing that anymore. In short, Baudouin.
Before I can think more about my plan, I am woken from my reverie by grunted words.
“Here’s yer new home, boy. Don’t worry, you’ll only be here a few hours more. The executions start soon.”
My eyes blink open as I am tossed into a wood cage. A sharp pain arises from my elbow as it takes the brunt force of my landing on the cold stone floor. Likely broken. I cradle it in the other arm as I take note of the cage I find myself in.
Wooden bars intersect in squares small enough that I have little hope of reaching for the lock on the door outside. The design looks almost familiar, though. Like something I’ve seen in a book before. I can’t place it for now.
Looking around, I see other cages interspersed around the inner courtyard around me. Some are empty, others occupied. Mine, in fact, is occupied by another.
Some noble’s boy, not much older than me, with burnished copper hair. His eyes settle on the floor almost vacant in appearance. I lean back on the wooden frame, not finding the position comfortable in the slightest.
“So, how’d you end up here?” The boy asks, his tone unstintingly even.
“Bastards dragged me, you?”
“Not much different here.”
I hesitate a second, thinking of something to say, before asking, “why?”
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“I- why is it not much different?”
“No. I mean, why ask?”
“I… don’t have much a reason for it, I guess. Just making small talk a’fore they execute us.”
“You don’t want to escape?” I frown.
“Don’t got the heart for it anymore. You?”
“My arm’s broken. I doubt I could run fast enough even if I did break the lock.”
The conversation lulls into silence for a while. I reach over and feel the cold metal of my coronet hidden in my robes where I hid it. I look out the crack of the cage at the night sky above the courtyard. The stars are particularly luminous tonight.
Come to think of it,I’ve only made it past night once. The very first loop. The cycle that started this messed up game of retry. That time, I made it out to see the sun rise. I still died in the end, but I saw the sun rise. How I wish I could see that again. How I wish I could see that sun, and just end this. This damned loop. This hell.
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After that, time just seems to stand still. At some point, a noble lady in one of the cages breaks into tears. Occasionally, new people are brought in and tossed in cages. At the same frequency, people are taken out. Brought to who-knows-where. They don’t come back. Soon, I will see wherever that is. Likely for my execution.
Every so often, someone tries to escape. One succeeds. They are impaled by a pitchfork-carrying commoner shortly after. Nobody attempts escape after that.
Seconds, minutes, hours pass. Prisoners come and go. Eventually, I close my eyes and sleep.
The nap is short lived as I am shouted awake by a square-faced revolutionary. He drags me out of the cell. I note the boy from earlier is gone before I am pulled to my feet and made to walk along.
As I look around outside of the cages, I realize just where I recognize their design from. A comprehensive hunting guide I read a long time ago had diagrams of trapping cages for large animals just like these. To think these are being used on people. Living humans, treated no better than beasts. Me, treated no better than a beast.
My thoughts are interrupted by the revolutionary’s loud barking. He shoves me hard, and I start walking, albeit with quite the limp.
We make our way through long halls. I look around. None of the guards fighting earlier are still fighting. All dead or fled or surrendered. The fires have died down slightly, now just the occasional flicker at the corner of my eyes.
I hobble along, flinching in pain at every step. My slow pace results in the square-faced arse shoving me along, only pushing my pain to new heights.
Eventually, the long journey leads to two large doors I recognize as the second floor’s front balcony. The balcony from which the emperor would address the commoners and give royal speeches.
Square-face grunts loudly, and some soldiers by the doors open them. My pain almost seems to fade into the background as I walk through the doors.
I find myself on the balcony I have been on so many times before. Only, now, it is different. Where father’s imperial throne sat previously, a massive contraption of metal and wood stands. A guillotine. The sight of which is sobering.
A slimy haired man I recognize as the court jester walks up to me.
“Hello, Sillius.” I say as I stare at him with utter disdain.
“Don’t call me that!” He says, slapping me across the face, “you royal brats made that name to poke fun at me. You couldn’t even be creative with it. Sillius? For a court jester? Whose job is to be silly? Really?”
“Those were the times, weren’t they?” A nostalgic smile almost forms on my face.
“No. They weren’t. You and your siblings made my life a hell,” he says, eyebrows scrunched up, before smiling wickedly. “But I won’t have to deal with that anymore. You are the last of your family left alive. And soon, you too will just be a head in a basket.”
His hand clasps my arm firmly as he pulls me to the edge of the balcony. He leans in close and whispers, “why don’t you give a speech for the crowd?”
“You want me to do what?”
“It is simple. You stand there and address the crowd like a good little emperor.”
“I’m not the emperor.”
“Your daddy’s dead. Your brothers are dead. Your mother is dead, and your sister is-”
“If you killed her, I will murder you,” I interrupt.
“You think you could overpower me? With the state you are in? Don’t make me laugh. You can barely walk.”
“I’d find a way.”
He sighs, “it doesn’t matter. Little Laek managed to escape.”
My eyes light up with hope.
“Rest assured we will find her. We already have search parties out, but we are getting off track. You are the de-facto emperor now because everyone else in line is dead, so give a speech for the crowd. They are growing rowdy with impatience. Think of it as your last words.”
He pushes me to the front of the balcony, and I look down at the crowd. Hundreds of commoners are gathered. Down there, countless guillotines, chopping blocks, and human bonfires are scattered about. Those about to be executed, however, are not being executed as of this moment. They are, along with the executioners, staring up at me.
It seems that everyone is awaiting the words of the last emperor. Of me.
I reach into my crimson cloak, with some trouble as my hands are tied, and withdraw my coronet. My crown, now that I am a monarch. I lift it up to my head, and place it there, steeling my heart for what comes next.
I step forward once, feeling the countless eyes boring into me, and say my first word to the people.
“You, of the crowd, of the countless before me. You who stand down there so simply watching. As my friends, my family, my relatives and so are unjustly slain. You, of the people. You look, you stare, and watch as I stand up here awaiting my death. I see you. All of you. I see the people who starved on the streets. I see the people who lost family to disease. I see those of you who hold hatred for me. For my family, and what we stand for. And I must apologize for that. For the ignorance of mine. Of my father’s. The neglect that has brought about such suffering that you, my people, would storm this palace. Storm my home. And demand the deaths of countless. Demand the death of me.
But this? This bloodshed and laughter is not necessary. You have killed my father. He may have been at fault, but he was human. He loved his family more than anything. I am sure some of you down there can relate. You have killed my mother. Her name was Laverna. She loved apples. She was not at fault for your suffering. You have killed my brother, Talioson. And you have killed my brother, Albrit. They may have been arses some of the time, but- damnit, I loved them. Did they cause your suffering? Did they take the food from your mouths and bring disease to your families? No. So why are they dead now? Why are so many people dead now?
It is easy to push blame on others. To march up and tie them up and throw them to the flames. It is so easy to use violence to end your problems. And so you do. You ignore the not but simple people before you. The people you slaughtered are humans too. I- I am human too. And so I stand up here, giving my executioners a little speech. Maybe you want me to affirm your beliefs? Maybe you want me to condone your actions. Or maybe you just want me to get angry. To scream and yell and struggle as you sever my head. Maybe I should.
A good man might forgive you. A kind man might even love you. A great man would be leading you. And a smart man would not be here. I can tell you I am not that. I am not good, nor kind, nor great. I am weak. I am human. And I do not forgive you. I do not condone your actions, nor do I agree with your reasoning. But I- I will not scream. I will not yell. I will not punch or kick or struggle. I will not give you the pleasure of a show. No.
So chop my head off. Do what you will. But remember my words. Mark my words. If I am to die here, then let it not be for naught. Let me be the final sacrifice in this great epic of slaughter. If you would heed my one last wish, I beg of you. Live in peace."
I step back from the balcony.
The revolutionaries drag me to the guillotine and lay me face down on the platform, my neck positioned under the blade.
A snap rings out.
The blade is released.
Time slows down as my head is severed.
In the millisecond before my brain shuts down, I notice one last thing.
The sun. It’s rising. I made it.