CHAPTER 10 – WAKE


    Mitakahn opened his eyes. A shade of blue lingered in his view that he dismissed as the dawning sky. There was no looking away from the truth. It was the first day of a new life. A life he did not want to live. For a while, he would lie in bed, contemplating many things. At first he thought about the cruel humor of fate. How could he be expected to move on so quickly after such a heavy blow? And now, an entire day of events where he would have to stand in front of everyone he knows and many he doesn’t, all the while keeping his composure every step of the way.


    Mitakahn stepped in front of the mirror. He stared into his eyes. He scanned his face in the reflection and did not see the same man as yesterday. He saw someone new within; someone who was hiding beneath an old face. He took out a razorblade and wet it. He brought the blade up to his cheek and began to shave off his beard, his father’s beard. A beard he could grow in full since the second year of the Academy; and upon its emergence Mitakahn never wanted to remove it for the rest of his life. But his life was over, and a new one had started in its wake.


    He no longer deserved this honor. Forever, he would compare his beard with that of his father’s and so did the rest of the family. Theomitus used to tell him, even though Mitakahn’s coloring was dominated by his mother’s Borigini heritage, hints of red, from his grandfather, King Benethor shined through on the beard, especially in the summertime.


    That always bothered Mitakahn. People told him all the time that he looked just like his father, but to be honest, for a while Mitakahn couldn’t see it. He always thought he looked just like his mother and brother, and the king’s fair-haired nature stood out amongst the rest. The resemblance was in Mitakahn’s bones, the way his face was shaped, how his shoulders carried his body as he walked, everything about Mitakahn, aside from his dark hair and temper, bled pure Arkenoir. He was his father’s son. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. From hind to mind he was of his father’s kind.


    But now, his father was gone, and so was his face, so Mitakahn changed into a new face. The razor burned against his flesh, as the hair fell from his face. He was nearly finished when he nicked right below the corner of his mouth. The blood quickly emerged from the small wound. He did nothing to clot it. He watched, through the looking glass, the dripping wet blood, leaving his body. Mitakahn’s face turned white. He smeared his fingertips in the blood and lifted it up for a better look. Mitakahn admired the purity of blood, no convolutions, no complexities, thick red life.


    Mitakahn wiped the blood away and finally tended to his wound. He finished cleaning himself up and got his dress-robes ready for the funeral. With a dark crimson tunic and black cloak, Mitakahn would have to wear what he and his brother called their “death robes”. That term echoed in Mitakahn’s mind as he hated himself for wanting to laugh in such a grave time. And then Mitakahn thought of his brother and thought about what he was probably going through himself this morning. So, he quickly put his death robes on and looked one last time at the now clotted cut on his face before he left the room in search of his older brother.


    ? ? ?


    Anilithyìstad couldn’t sleep. After the King’s death, and after taking care of his sister and the boys, it was hard to close his eyes. So Anilithyìstad took it upon himself to tend to the most unglamorous job in the world. Anilithyìstad, thinking only of his family and the fallen kingdom, tended to the fallen king. He brought Theomitus’ body to its final resting place. He carried the king down the Citadel and spent the entire night crafting a coffin for him.


    Anilithyìstad was a very resourceful man. He pulled golden plates and crimson cloth from the royal walls. The Royal Guard looked in on the bizarre knight from the Steed Kingdom tearing apart their sacred capital in fear for they knew the terror that would come down on them if they tried to interfere. They watched the wild knight rip the regal decor apart, until one of them finally worked up the courage to say something.


    “My lord, you’re not allowed to do that.”


    “You’re dismissed, soldier.”


    “My lord, I do not take orders from-”


    Anilithyìstad was now in the guard’s face.


    “Why don’t you go ask your Commander for orders before you find yourself on the streets.” His temper was getting the better of him.


    The silent guard grabbed his partner and answered for the both of them. “Yes, my lord, right away.” They left Anilithyìstad to continue.


    By sunrise, he had a magnificent casket ready to convey the King’s influence and respect throughout the land; simple, yet elegant. Its glistening gold outlined the entire box. The thick flawless crimson cloth covered the polished oakenwood. Once finished Anilithyìstad sat down and embroidered golden letters running across the front…


    “PRIDE LORDE THEOMITUS THE YOUNG,


    BELOVED KING, FATHER, & HUSBAND”


    Anilithyìstad walked back up the citadel with the sun rising. He quietly entered the Queen’s chamber thinking she would be sleeping, but Adyána was sitting in the dark, curtains drawn in front of her windows and balcony. The bed was made as if it was never slept in. Light from the morning sun was shining through the cracks of the curtains, giving away Adyána’s condition to Anilithyìstad. A tear fell through the line of light down to the floor and quietly crashed on the polished stone.


    Anilithyìstad went over to her sister. She was still in the same clothes she’d worn the day before. Dried tears revitalized by new ones. She didn’t blink, she did not speak. In fact, she had said very little since it happened, if anything at all. Anilithyìstad stood by his sister, he could try to sympathize with her, but he knew something like this was beyond him. They both knew, and that is why they stood apart, in silence. She wouldn’t even look at him. Anilithyìstad stood there, perhaps completely unaware to his sister, racking his mind, trying to find a way to help her cope with the pain.


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    Axion awoke, and all the recent events of yesterday came rushing back to him. He sat up in his bed and only had one thing on his mind…. He got out of bed and walked out onto his balcony. It was hot out, the murkiness from the day before was gone, but the air was now dry, starved of humidity. He tried to think about something else, anything else really. But he could not escape the crown. He was the firstborn, and rightful heir. Mitakahn had nothing to worry about. It was Axion who inherited his father’s responsibilities.


    If only he had more time with him. If only he thought enough ahead to ask him how to rule. It always came so naturally to his father. And that is why this country is his, and not Axion’s. It’s not right… almost disrespectful to take the throne the day after his father died. That is why Axion made the decision to wait until after the funeral. For, only the gods knew how he, underneath it all, feared his upcoming responsibility. Although Axion was the firstborn and heir to the throne he resembled his mother and Anilithyìstad’s family looks; it was Mitakahn who received the torch from the Arkenoir line. Why would the gods make Axion the heir but give the bloodline to his younger brother?


    Axion walked out of his bedchambers, half-expecting Mitakahn to come and wake him, like so many times before. But today felt different. Axion found himself alone at the entrance of the empty and dark throne room. Intimidated, he dared not go inside. He skirted around the edge of it.


    He feared his destiny as king, yet he could not escape it. His stomach clenched. He could not stop thinking about the crown.


    He was waiting for something. He did not know what. And that bothered him. Whatever had to happen needed to happen soon. The kingdom would not wait. Without a leader the nation would crumble. If Axion did not take his rightful place he would disgrace his father’s memory and his family’s legacy.


    Axion was on the main floor of the Citadel, in the mess hall, with the rest of the troops from the Royal Guard eating an early meal when Mitakahn finally found him. Strange that he was not in the family dining room where they normally ate thought Mitakahn; but how like Axion to want to just blend in with his fellow soldiers. Mitakahn sat beside his brother, “We should probably go see Anilithyìstad and find out when the family’s coming in.”


    Axion discreetly nodded with a mouthful of food. Mitakahn continued, “We should be there, you know…when they come in to dock.”


    Axion shook his head again, without once looking over at Mitakahn.


    Mitakahn looked down, searching for something to say to get a response from his brother. He looked back up at him. “Food good?” he bluntly asked.


    “It’s food, Mitakahn” replied Axion, “You should go get some.”


    Mitakahn shook his head. “I’ve lost my appetite.”


    They both sat in silence until Axion finished. Mitakahn listened to the guards and servants on the scattered tables around them eating and chatting. Axion cleared his dish and together they both went back upstairs. Silence seemed to be a constant theme between the royal brothers now; a theme that would not relieve itself for some time. As if each one was walking alone on distant planets. Mitakahn was aware of this, but he did not fight it or deny it. So, he tried to get used to it. He used the time to clear his thoughts.


    Together, the two princes climbed the spiral stone marble staircase up to the royal chambers. Axion flashed back to times when they were young and would constantly race up the stairs. Axion would naturally beat Mitakahn, but often let him win. Today was a gruesome contrast of such fond memories. Axion was brought to a stop by his emotions and turned around. He exited the Citadel in an attempt to get away from it all. Mitakahn chased after him. “Axion!” he screamed as he grabbed his shoulder, “What has gotten into-”


    Axion turned around and shoved Mitakahn to the ground. He walked away from his brother without looking back. The guards standing around them looked at the prince on the floor, ready to come to his aid. Mitakahn was embarrassed… embarrassed of his brother’s irrational actions and his own inability to defend himself. He sat up casually and rubbed his scratched chin. Mitakahn looked down to see his dress robes blood-stained and torn. The cut from shaving must have reopened. “Great!” he exhaled as he tried to wipe the filth off his pants. Twice his blood had been spilt today. Commander Cel’a walked up behind him and helped Mitakahn up.


    “What am I going to do, Commander? These are the only dress robes I have that still fit.”


    Cel’a examined the prince’s frame, and it became quite clear what to do, “Why don’t we go up and check your father’s wardrobe? You two are similar in size, perhaps we can find something…” Cel’a tread in dangerous waters. Mitakahn’s reaction to her suggestion would be a clear indication of how he was coping with the loss.


    Adyána, she had seen, was still inconsolably racked with sorrow. Axion wanted nothing to do with anything; even his own brother’s helping hand. Mitakahn was at least talking.


    Cel’a stood almost frozen, waiting for a response, hoping that she did not insult the prince. Mitakahn thought about it for a second with a very uncertain look on his face. He then turned to Cel’a and asked uncertainly, “Do you think it would be a good idea?” He already had a run in with his older brother. What would Axion and other people think if he was seen wearing the king’s clothes?


    “Of course, it’ll be fine, my prince,” Commander Adora furthered her claim, “The way I see it…Your father left all his belongings to you and your brother, so it’s yours now anyway. And Axion isn’t built quite like you, my prince. You truly are your father’s son-”


    But before Cel’a could stop her knee-jerk comment, upon hearing those last words Mitakahn snapped his head down. It had struck a chord in Mitakahn and now he was trying to block his despair and cover his grief stricken face.


    “Come, let us see what we can scrounge up for you to wear,” a new air of importance came over Cel’a as she continued, “Your cousins will be arriving soon, not to mention old King Avalahn and we especially do not want to keep him waiting!”


    “Ha! You know Commander, you should not joke around about the king of the horse lords that way,” forewarned Mitakahn.


    “You are right, my prince. We are blessed to have such allies,” Cel’a bowed her head.


    A reunion of sorts, an international gathering of the kingdoms even, but down to the core it was still a funeral they were all about to attend. And that, amongst everything else, mattered most. Mitakahn made sure to keep that in mind. Friends and loved ones would try to cheer him up and take him away from the reality of the situation, but Mitakahn must remember… that today, he was to say his final good-bye to his father.


    Mitakahn went back up to his room at the top level of the Citadel. He took off his torn up robes, temporarily put on the charcoal-gray tunic with crimson trim he wore from the night before and picked out a suitable formal robe. It was not the fanciest item in the King’s closet, but that is what Mitakahn wanted.


    He was careful to tread around his brother’s fragile emotions. He did not want to make Axion feel like he was not the right one to fill Theomitus’ shoes. Which was an appropriate concern; seeing as though Mitakahn would be literally wearing a pair of the King’s shoes at the funeral. So, a subtle, indistinguishable black death robe was the clear choice for Mitakahn. But he was careful not to make the same mistake twice, and instead of putting it on right then and there, he brought it back to his chambers and laid it on his bed.


    When Mitakahn went to bend over and neatly flatten the robes on the bed he felt something protruding out of his breast pocket. He reached in and took it out. It was a soft, bound up pouch containing a folded up parchment with stiff corners. He unraveled it and took out the paper. Mitakahn unfolded the large piece of worn down parchment and laid out the family tree when Anilithyìstad stormed into the room.


    “I have just received word that their ship has been sighted entering the bay. Come! Let us meet them in Caliber.”


    The two rushed out of the royal quarters, down the Citadel, and out of Zepathorum, towards Port Caliber.