PRINCE OF FOOLS: CHAPTER FOUR

Fate Cleaves the Prince's Future like an Axe.

i. The World Turns to Mud

Children tested muscle and mind, the elderly were given a glorious death, and a Borean woman claimed victory -- and vengeance -- by knocking out the leader of these invaders upon the Steppes.

A thin purple light crept its way past the Prince’s eyes as he slowly regained consciousness. The dusk finally arrived after a very long and bloody day. What he couldn’t see through the impending darkness he could feel with his feet as tent poles and canvas sheets, bloody bodies, unused weapons and useless armor rolled away under his heels.

“A nightmare,” muttered the Prince. “Wake... up. WAKE UP!” The Prince wished he had not opened his eyes, for he could clearly see his hands and feet bound. Nothing remained of his father’s army except for him and his war elephant that was being led away from the bloody banks of the Yenisei River. Two Boreans carried the Prince towards their village but were stopped by one who looked like a brother to the Borean who started all of this madness. He said something to the two women that the Prince could not understand, though the sound of laughter was undeniably clear. 

Setting down the Prince hard on the Steppes, his captors propped him against a rock. For the first time since arriving in Borea, he took the time to look up at the largest sunset he had ever seen. The geography of the Steppes created a rare opportunity for one to look upon a horizon that stretched for hundreds of kilometres in every direction. He didn’t realize just how beautiful it all was as the setting sun streaked the cloudy sky with deep purples, bright pinks, and neon oranges. The Borean then removed his belt and loincloth. Straddled across the royal crest that adorned the Prince’s mighty armour and relieved himself entirely. He then used the Prince’s nose and chin to clean-off the excess. The smell became one of the many things that would haunt him well into old age.

He did his best to wipe the filth from his eyes and out of his nose, the bile from his stomach rinsed out any debris from his mouth. He then watched as three Soldiers, feet and hands bound, stood in a row with bloody symbols carved into their bare chests. The Prince later learned these symbols to mean the numerical values of one to three. In this case, they identified how many horses each man was to be tied to and set upon the Steppes until they died. Wagers were placed by the Boreans to see who would die first and worst.

As the Prince’s sense began to harden and crystalise the cries of his men were muted by the loud and guttural cry of a Borean Mother who cradled the remains of a young child in her arms. They were one of the few who were captured and spiked by request of the Prince. Their eyes locked. The two Borean’s who carried the Prince shouted at her and did their best to try and shield him from her advance. Strengthened by her grief she easily overcame the Prince’s new protectors. She then paused and stared directly at the Prince, who had fallen to his knees and bowed his head in hopes for a quick end. Yet every Borean knew the plan and that great care must be taken to ensure the Prince’s health and life was spared from the potions, poisons and river that aided in the defeat of the Sultan’s Army.

The Borean Mother raised her axe anyway. 

ii. Another Day in Borea

“Ready my bath!” Shouted the Prince in a fever dream. The hot sun against the canvas tent ripened his senses as he slowly awoke. His whole body ached, his hands and feet were no longer tied, and a terrible smell festered in the heat of the morning sun. The Prince has finally found the Borean’s homeland, he just never realized he’d been there the moment he left the Northern Queen’s mountain kingdom. He also knew that no army on earth could ever march on Borea.

Not sure if he should run, he took this private moment to weep opening. The tears helped loosen the mud and dirt from his face and nose. Finding an old rag and a pot of ice cold water he drank some of it slowly, using the rest to try his best to wash off yesterday’s events. He looked around the small tent but only found the bed and blankets he awoke in, along with the water and rags. His royal armour and robes were replaced by a long shirt made of horsehair. For a moment he thought about running, but he knew he would not make it far. Clearly, they wanted him alive but for what? He tried very hard not to think about the answer.

Outside the Prince’s tent, Boreans from every corner of the Northern Steppes basked in the dawn of a new day. There was to be much to celebrate and debate in the next few weeks as the spoils of war were equally distributed. Men and women admired their new trinkets and weapons from the victory, and the horses from the Prince’s army were to make a fine addition to their stables, if the horses were strong enough to survive the oncoming winter. The elephant would never survive and was the cause of fierce debate until it was determined the animal was best to be butchered and the exotic meat would be available for all. The head would be mounted on the site of the great victory where it would remain for time in memorial.

In the middle of the camp, a huge pyre burned day and night fueled by the Prince’s machines of war and the few loyal soldiers who managed to escape the Yenisei River. Borean warriors, both men and women, gathered around it to stay warm, drink the Prince’s vast wine reserve, and tell stories of how easy it was to defeat the southern horde of weak and feeble men. 

Peering out of his tent, he was surprised by the amount of music and merrymaking that filled the camp. He’d never witnessed such a jovial environment in his life, and he’s hosted kings and queens in massive dining halls filled with some of the rarest and exotic foods and entertainment. It was a truly humbling moment for the Prince, another feeling that he would never forget for the rest of his days. He watched in awe for several hours before working up the courage to leave his tent. He was also hungry, having never missed a meal in his entire life.

He exited the tent and slowly approached a group of Borean Warriors. Three men and two women sat warmly around a small fire drinking from oddly shaped cups.

“I demand food!” Said the Prince, doing his best to maintain his strong man status.

The Northern Queen turned casually to face her King. “Food will be provided to you while you recover. After that you’ll be expected to work for it like everyone else here.” She turned back towards the fire to continue her conversation with her cups. 

Recover? From what? Despite feeling sore and incredibly filthy he was physically fine. He just stood there silently. And then he looked at the cups the Borean’s were drinking from. Past the pale waxy skin and sewn-up eyes and mouths, the faces of his remaining Generals flickered in the glow of the firelight as the Queen and Borean warriors drank deeply. He raised his right hand to cover his mouth only to finally feel the sharp pain from his stumped wrist where his hand had been cleaved from his body by the Borean Mother. For the first time in his life he didn’t know what to say. Fear gripped the Prince and never let go. On this night and the many nights that followed, the Prince prayed for death.

iii. A Long Winter of Firsts

The next few winter months were going to be long and filled with firsts for the Foolish Prince. Not only did he lose his army, but he also lost his Queen and his hand. He wouldn’t learn how much more he would lose until much later. 

For now, though, the Prince rests and he is finally left alone. Left alone to think about his luxurious life and what’s to come next. Although he wasn’t left entirely alone, an elder Borean woman whose husband met a dignified end during the battle along the Yenisei volunteered to make sure the Prince didn’t die from his injuries. Every morning, the Old Borean Woman would enter his tent with steaming water in a large bucket and a bundle of fresh bandages. The ointments and pastes that she applied made his arm burn, but it did numb the pain as she scraped the maggots and rotten flesh from his stump. The draft she served him was equally vile tasting of pine, piss and dung -- a flavour that was burned deeply in his memory. At first he thought she was slowly trying to kill him, but as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, he grew stronger. 

He learned many things over the long winter. He learned simple things like how to cook and bathe himself. He also learned how to chop wood and make snares using only one hand. He also learned that he was stronger than he thought. That he could live with very little and be content. In a way, the Prince was lucky for it was a mild winter and the provisions and supplies he brought for war didn’t require the Boreans to suffer through the usual hardships that come with the cold and ice. 

One thing the Prince could not figure out was why was he kept alive? Would there be a trial? Is he now a prisoner for life? Regardless of his fate he no longer begged for death.

It was never the Northern Queen’s intention to follow the Prince to Borea. She managed to lay a devastating blow to his army without killing a single man. But between what the Captain told her, and what she witnessed herself in the Prince’s very tent, she knew a message needed to be sent to the Sultan. His kingdom ended at the foothill of the mountains, any further and there would be an army of Boreans knocking at his gates. She wanted to ensure the Sultan was clear about what that would mean.

The Prince was to be the message:  Borea takes all.

Even the Sultan, in all his wisdom, was never able to determine how a man of his wealth and status could be refused by a woman, even if she was considered a Queen amongst her people. The Sultan was convinced that these tribes were more animal than man. Even the Queen who led them, and managed to dismantle one of his strongest armies, showed a weakness of culture through her compassion -- one he thought heccould exploit. This won’t be the last time the Sultan tried to expand his empire from sea to sea, but every time they passed over the mountain none ever returned to claim the title of King of the Mountain. But this Prince, royal heir to the Sultan came closest of all. At the time, none of this really mattered to the Boreans, other than the glory it gave to their elders and the training it provided for their children. It would be generations later when Boreans shared stories about how a Prince’s thirst for revenge was quenched by the blessed Yenisei. From time in memorial, every time the Sultan sent an army it was a gift. Each exhibition had turned into a seed that grew into a mighty tree that took root in Borea himself that would give rise to the free nation of Borea.

iv. Spring Arrives Early in Borea

The old woman slapped the Prince hard across the face. She did that every morning since he arrived. She had lost her husband during the battle, but the Prince’s army failed to kill her before they were swept into the river. This time she had tears in her face, for this was the last day that she hoped the Prince would kill her so she could join her husband in the afterlife. 

“Yes, and good morning to you, my dear Yaga,” said the Prince in broken Borean. He had grown accustomed to the assault. This time she brought a blade in hopes the thrill of death would spur the Prince on to finally take her life. Despite her shear strength and speed for a woman who survived seven decades, the Prince had recovered quickly and the mystical strength of Borea was already imbuing itself upon him. The Prince had never felt stronger in his entire life.

“Yaga! Please, I will not kill you. I... I am sorry,” said the Prince. He struggled to disarm her, but the old Yaga spit in his face and left the moment she heard the horses outside the Prince’s tent.

Five Borean Warriors approach with six horses. One of the warriors was the woman who removed his hands. The other two were the Northern Queen and the Captain. 

“You!” Shouted the Prince. And lunged at the Captain with the knife he managed to steal away from the old woman. The young Captain no longer looked that young. He wore a thick black beard and long hair that hid his appearance, but the Prince still recognized him as the young Soldier who saved his life that fateful day at his royal palace. The Captain was also stronger too for the powers of Borea had worked its way into his veins as well. The difference was that he still had both of his hands and easily disarmed the Prince.

“Quiet and you will live to see your home,” said the Captain. “It’s going to be a long trip and I’ll be happy to finally be rid of you.”

The horses were loaded onto a long boat and the Prince was soon on his way south down the Yenisei River. The Prince was going home.

The Prince looked out at the vast boggy wetlands and twisted trees that thrived amongst the rocky craigs. Beyond the banks of the Yenisei, the Steppes stretch as far as the eye could see until the curvature of the Earth eventually revealed itself. Confined to the banks during his campaign north, the Prince never realized how much life thrived this far north.

‘We go north until we find Borea or death!’ Remembering back to one of his rousing speeches, he shuttered at how his own words mocked him. What took the Prince months of traveling along the roots and rocks of the only path north, took only a few days to sail south. The mountains of the Northern Queen eventually loomed in the distance. The horses were brought up. The Captain didn’t say two words to the Prince the entire trip, but the Prince was clever and learned much from the voyage. He learned that the Captain and the Queen were expecting a child and despite all of that the Captain was still treated like an outsider taking his meals alone. What surprised him the most occurred when the Boreans, the Captain and himself mounted their horses for the grueling mountain trek. The Queen and her guards knelt before the Boreans and demonstrated fealty to the northern warriors. And here he thought she was a Queen. 

‘My father was a fool to align with this Queen of his,’ thought the Prince. “He will certainly learn of this weakness and that my next army doesn’t need to travel farther than the mountain to place a strong foothold in the north.’ 

Very little was spoken as the Prince, the Captain and a small band of Borean warriors traveled south. That is until they passed by one of the many villages that the Prince had burned to the ground. The area was practically abandoned, except for a few surviving villagers that begged for food as they rode past. None of them would survive the winter.

“Look around you, my King of the Mountain!” Sneered the Captain. “Look at how these people didn’t stand a chance after you tried to ‘liberate’ them. All you know is death and fear. After everything you’ve done to these people and to the Boreans, part of me understands now why the last thing you will see is home.” 

The Prince looked around. He then wrapped his reins tightly against the stump of his wrist, and stuck out his chest. For the rest of the trip, he held his head high like any king would as they rode past their subjects. It was a look and attitude of disdain and joy that only grew more prideful the further south they travelled. But that didn’t mean the Prince was heartless for he did cry twice during his entire campaign. The first time was the moment the cold wet grass along the road turned into warm desert sand.

v. The Flow of Sand and Time

The Sultan’s palace hung beautifully against the afternoon horizon. The group took a break at the last oasis before the city. The Prince’s eyes never left the horizon. The Borean Warriors were busy opening saddlebags, and preparing for the last leg of the trip. This was the reason why they were here. It was time for their revenge. One of the Borean Warriors walked up to the Prince, pulled out a large bag, and dropped it at his bare feet with a clank. Inside were his royal garments and all of the rings and necklaces that he was wearing at the time of his capture. They were expertly cleaned and sparkled brightly in the hot desert sun. 

The Prince was finally home.

The Prince, now fully dressed, looked at his reflection in the still pond of the oasis. Other than the fresh scars, lost hands and lack of elephant, he looked like the exact same Prince who led his army north to Borea five years ago. His eyes welled-up with tears.

“Thank you,” said the Prince. “Thank you for sending me home.”

Armed and ready for what was to happen next, the Borean Warriors along with the Captain at their side approached the Prince. The Warrior Woman who took his hands after the loss of her only son brandished a very small dagger. Its black Borean metal gleamed in the daylight. 

‘Poor foolish Prince,’ thought the Captain. ‘After everything you’ve been through, how do you not see this coming?’ It was the last time the Captain would feel an ounce of remorse for his Prince.

The whole thing took less than a minute. Before his feet, the two largest Borean warriors laid out a giant rug from the Prince’s own collection. The Prince smiled thinking they were about to sit down for tea. Each of the Borean Warriors grabbed an arm and a leg. They lifted him up until he was exposed to the Warrior Women’s black knife. With a quick flick of her wrist, the Prince was expertly relieved of both his testicals. He was then forced down into a kneel on the rug. She dropped the blade, grabbed the Prince by his ears and smiled brightly. She then held his head up so he could get one last look of the Sultan’s Palace before she dug her thumb into his eye socket until the Captain heard an audible ‘POP’. Before the Prince had a moment to protest or at least scream, the Captain walked towards the kneeling one-eyed man and punched him square in the jaw. The Prince collapsed into unconsciousness. The two Borean Warriors then rolled up the Prince into the carpet and tied him to his horse. 

The Borean Warriors rode off in a cloud of dust laughing to themselves.

Left half blind and unable to fulfill his royal duty, the Boreans had their revenge on the Prince and the Sultan who had slaughtered their children and defiled the land of Borea with their very presence. 

The Old Beggar's memory stopped at this point. It took years, but he finally found a way to forget what happened after he was left at the gates of his father’s palace. Fighting the pain of being blinded and the blood loss from his castration, the Prince was never greeted by his father. Nor was he ever officially recognized as the Prince, but a beggar. As the Prince had officially died back in Borea, according to royal decree. 

Now the Old Beggar remembered why he never visited this wall. It’s way too close to that door. A side door. The servant’s door. It was the last door of the Palace that he ever walked through. The memory was a cruel one. His father only visited him once while he recovered in the Sultan’s dungeon. The Sultan simply walked up to him, looked him directly in his eye and said, “I do not recognize this man.”  

In a land where death is mercy, the Borean’s agreed that the Prince was undeserving. His punishment would last a lifetime. Begging for scraps and a warm place to sleep, the Prince lived a very long life telling anyone who would listen about how he really was a Prince that became the King of the Mountain.