The Reincarnation of Love Part 2/2

Dedicated to my dear friend, Armeeta Seam

Now, we must speak of the Prince. Prince Samuel was not a fool, and so the first night when a strange man had appeared in his bedchamber from mist, he had gone immediately to consult with the King’s ministers. Many of them thought the man an assassin of some new persuasion, but the oldest and wisest of them, the King’s Sage, settled the issue.

“That was a spirit, your highness, that clearly meant you harm. But spirits are fickle things, and do not always reason the same way men do. We must hope it can be bargained with, since we will have little way to stop it.”

The King and Queen were very frightened of this news, but Sam waved away their attempts to fill his chamber with guards or charms the next evening. Instead, Sam kept hold of the dagger, and did his best to learn about it, hoping it would give him clues to the nature of the Spirit. When the Spirit did arrive, Sam found him to be easier to bargain with than anticipated, as he made no demands or threats, and instead Sam found his company rather enjoyable. When the ministers and his family asked him what happened the next day, he said the issue was resolved, and they were so relieved most of them forgot to ask him how/

Not that Sage. “What did you give to him, your highness?”
“Just my company.” The Prince said truthfully. “He seemed easily distracted.

“Be careful, your highness. If he returns, he may not be so friendly.”

Sam hoped he would return. Somehow, he was sure the Spirit wouldn’t harm him. 

The next night, the Spirit did return, and much to Sam’s delight he was as friendly as before. They spoke till dawn, and then Sam had gone and ruined it with that random name. Yet it hadn’t been random, had it? Sam was certain his Spirit was called Cyrus, yet the Spirit claimed he had never told him his name. 

Sam was pacing the halls anxiously the next afternoon (having slept through part of the morning), when he bumped into someone.

“Steady, Samuel.” Came her warm voice, with a hint of amusement.

“Sorry Mother.” He replied, “I was distracted.”
“I could tell.” Said the Queen. “Thinking of your betrothed, Lady Rose? She will return soon, you know.”

Sam made a non-commital noise, not wanting to bring up the matter of the Spirit with his mother.

The Queen smiled. “I recognized that face from your father. The face of a man in love.”

“Uh.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” The Queen teased.

“I- I’ll talk to you later, mother.” Sam said, quickly fleeing from the hall.

Sam went straight to his bedroom, where he sat and thought for a long time. He thought of his mother’s words, of Cyrus’s mischievous smiles and his beaming laugh. He thought of all the things he wanted to say, to ask. Why had Cyrus fled last night? Why had he come to the palace originally? Why did he seem so familiar, despite Sam only having known him a few days? Why did Sam always want to see him again, to feel his touch and hear his laughter? Why couldn’t he stay?

There were too many things to discuss. Sam began throwing random items into a bag; brushes, clothes, coins, food. His family would not be happy, but he couldn’t rest until he’d found Cyrus again, even if it took trekking the world to do so. 

So, as the sun began to set once again, Sam crept to the gardens, and made his way to its outer wall. Placing feet between jagged stones, he slowly made his way up the treacherous surface, till at last he reached its smooth top. The out of breath Prince resisted the urge to curse loudly, as he spied another, taller, wall between him and the road that ran beside the palace. Sam jumped down and, after a deep breath, began to climb again, fist in ivy and foot on mortar. Half-way up this wall, he stopped, and stared up at the deep blue sky, where evening swifts dove and spun to catch their dinner. One bird, feathers a vibrant black, ignored the feast and dove straight towards the palace, before vanishing into a puff of air in a familiar transformation.

Sam cursed and dropped from the wall. He turned around and faced the inner wall again, and then sighed. He prayed to whoever was listening that he’d be over the walls again before the Spirit left.

***

Cyrus leapt from the tower as soon as his strength allowed, transforming into a red-crowned crane, a sharp-winged swift, a rushing wind; but when he arrived at the palace, he could not find the Prince in his chambers. Nor anywhere else in the palace. Instead, Cyrus found the Magician.

He was speaking to the King and Queen like family, and with eavesdropping Cyrus learned he was family. He was cousin to the Prince, and had come to visit all of them, bringing many gifts and well-wishes.

Cyrus’ heart turned to ice, and with fervor he searched the palace again, desperate to find Sam before the Magician did. At last he did find him, struggling down from the inner wall of the garden.

He appeared immediately.

“Cyrus!” Sam said, smiling even as he was trying to get his foot unstuck from between two stones.

“You must leave.” Cyrus said, not bothering to hide his panic. “I was summoned to kill you, your highness, but I couldn’t do it. Now the summoner has grown tired of my tardiness and has come to finish the job himself.”

“But-” Sam’s smile fell, and its absence felt like it could burn Cyrus more terribly than any fire. “I- I have so much I still need to say, to ask! You must come with me!”
“I can’t. I must make sure he doesn’t follow you.” Cyrus said. “But to the east, ten leagues from here, is a stone tower. There lives a woman named Guela, who knows my story. Tell her who you are, and she will explain what she can. I… I’m sorry I don’t have time to explain it all myself.”

“I…” Sam looked heartbroken.

Cyrus couldn’t stand to leave him in such a way. “Don’t worry, your highness. I promise we will see each other again.”

Sam nodded, and so Cyrus turned back to the palace. His flight to the palace had been rushed and unsteady, and his powers were terribly exhausted. He did not bother transforming again as he walked into the carved stone doors, and through the star-lit halls. At last he came to the doors of the Prince’s bedchamber, and heard the breath of the Magician within. Cyrus breathed in, and summoned the last of his magic into one final transformation. He became a perfect copy of the Prince, and stepped inside.

***

How sad a story this would be, if it stopped there! Lucky for us then, and lucky for Cyrus and Sam, that it does not.

Despite toil and fatigue, Sam did indeed arrive at the door of the stone tower, and there Guela met him. No word came from the Magician or the Spirit, so Sam stayed there as Guela explained what she knew of them.

When he had time to sleep and accept the tale, Guela brought him to the top of the tower and gave him what remained of Cyrus; that beautiful dagger, which he had left before coming to speak with him. After Guela gave it to him, that dagger did not leave his person. 

But Guela was clever in the ways of magics, and Sam was not one to give up hope easily, and so a plan was hatched. Not a week after his arrival, Sam left the tower with Guela, packs heavy with traveling supplies. 

They went first to those far off lands, where they sought out rare herbs and spices. Next they delved the deepest caverns, and brought up the crystals that grew there. Last of all they found the banks of a secret sacred river, and gathered its clay. All the while, Sam worried for his home. When at last their quest was done, they made one more stop before returning to the tower.

In disguise, the two went to the royal city. Sam listened eagerly for all news regarding his family, and learned that they were well. The Magician, (whom Sam learned was his own cousin!) had convinced them that the Spirit had returned and killed the Prince in his bed, just before the Magician arrived. He had spun an elaborate tale about fighting off the Spirit, which had tried to steal the body, and earned the gratitude of the King and Queen. Though many ministers were suspicious of the Magician’s sudden arrival, he was of great help during the funeral rites, and so remained in the family’s good graces. 

Then, much to his horror, Sam learned about his cousin’s request.

After the body had been burned and the mourners sent home, the Magician stayed to comfort the grieving family. After a week of this, the King thanked him for his kindness and asked him what, if anything, he would wish from the King.

“I wish for nothing, your majesty. Only…” The Magician said, “I have long admired that Lady Rose, and it grieves me such that she has been robbed not only of a friend but of a husband. Once when we were young I was her betrothed. If I would wish for anything, I wish that I could take up that role for her again.”
The King agreed at once, and a day later the wedding was announced.

Sam learned that the Magician’s Wife now lived in the palace, and so resolved to visit her.

When night fell, he slipped through the streets of the royal city and up to that vine-covered wall. Clouds covered the moon, and so no guard or passersby spotted him as he climbed (which was lucky, since the walls were still difficult to climb). Sam had learned much in his travels with Guela, and so moved with grace and silence through the palace’s large garden, and to the window that was once his.

It had been left open, but much to his surprise there was someone sitting in it!

Looking sadly to the moon, sat Lady Rose.

“Psst!” Sam said. “Don’t scream!”

The woman flailed in a panic, nearly falling out of the window, but didn’t scream.

“Samuel?!” She hissed. “I saw- you’re dead!”

“I’m not.” He whispered. “It’s a long story, but your husband tried to kill me. He killed… someone else, instead.”

“Don’t give me riddles, Samuel.” Lady Rose said. “I know better than anyone the kind of man my husband is. Either you tell me the whole story and then I slap you, or we can skip to the chase and I can slap you right now.”

“You’re sure your husband won’t come?” Sam said, glancing behind her worriedly.

“He hates going into this room.” She said, waving a hand dismissively, before closing her fist as she came to a realization. “I guess I know why. Now, talk!”

So Sam took a deep breath, and told her the tale, as quick as he could. Much to his surprise, at the end of it she didn’t slap him. Only hopped down from the window, and gave him a hug.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” She said, smiling faintly at him.

“As am I. But what about you! Married to that mad-man!”

The Magician’s Wife nodded bitterly. “He is a terrible husband. How I wish that spirit of yours had been able to kill him in the end.”
“Perhaps we can help each other. Can you leave the palace for a few days?”

Lady Rose nodded. “If I go on a shopping trip with my servants, I doubt my husband will care enough to come.”

“Before you leave, can you tell my mother and father what’s happened to me? But warn them not to let the Magician know; he is very powerful, and I worry for their safety.”

“I can do that.” She said after a moment. “But where am I going?”
“Ten leagues to the east of here is a tall stone tower.” Sam said, “That is where we will be.”

So, many months after their original departure, the Magician’s most hated rival, his former assistant, and a day later, his Wife, arrived at the Magician’s tower. After introductions were exchanged and the plan explained, they got to work. 

They used the exotic herbs and spices, the cavern gems, and the sacred clay they had collected to fashion a doll, the size and shape of a sleeping man. They laid it on a table at the top-most room of the tower, and Guela began to perform a powerful ritual.

The night air was warm and humid, as it began to whip into a frenzy around them.

“Ancient Spirit!” She yelled to the whirling winds, “Hear me and answer! This body we give to you, that you may live again!”

Guela stepped back, arms still held upwards, and Lady Rose stepped forward. “Ancient Spirit! Take this gift freely, but we ask of you a favor! My husband is a terrible man and I cannot rest while he yet breathes.” She held forward a familiar dagger, forged in steel and magic. “Take this dagger and slay that man, and we both shall be free!”

Lady Rose stepped back, blade held up by one fist, and at last Sam stepped forward. 

“Ancient Spirit. Cyrus.” His voice was quieter, yet it carried through the tempest. “Take this body and live again, but we ask of you one favor. Come back safe. Come back to me.”

As suddenly as they’d started, the winds died.

“Did it work?” Lady Rose asked.

A terribly long moment passed. Suddenly, one last wind blew through the room like a sharp intake of breath. The clay doll began to shake and spin, till it transformed into a beautiful man. He did not leap from the table, but still stood with a frightening speed nonetheless.

He scanned the trio, till at last his eyes locked with Sam’s. His gaze did not leave him, even as he stood and took the dagger.

When the Spirit spoke, his voice was heavy as if he had been woken from the edge of deep sleep. Despite his fatigue, his voice rang with conviction and an undercurrent of truly dangerous magic. “It will be done.”

The Spirit, Cyrus, bowed lightly and then transformed into a dark billowing mist. 

Guela told them he had always returned to the top of the tower, so there they waited. The hours passed quietly, and quieter still after Guela fell asleep sitting beside Lady Rose. By dawn, the Magician’s Widow had fallen asleep as well, head resting lightly on Guela’s shoulder. Only Sam saw the morning light, and the rushing wind that accompanied it. On the window-sill he had left from, Cyrus reappeared. He was sweaty and disheveled, and his dagger was wet with blood; but he was alive.

“Is it done?” Sam asked, stepping forward.

Cyrus nodded.

As the golden-light of dawn finally reached the window’s arch, and the morning song began to fill the air, the two embraced.