THE KÖNIGSSPIEL IS A game played, a race ran between two, three, ten, or thousands, any who think they are worthy to wear the crown and rule the people.
Into the forest, faced with riddles and challenges, no sword to raise above their heads, no library to turn to, no moral compass to guide them but their own hearts.
No one truly knows what lies in the forest.
Trolls.
Dragons.
Goblins.
The Devil himself.
The forest is mysterious, it is more than a force of nature, but a force of magic. Not for the weak of soul, or one full of fears and doubts. It isn't for the greedy, or those looking for power.
It is a place not made for any person, and he who sets foot inside is lucky if they step out of it alive.
The one thing I knew, was that the forest was alive. Alive in a way I didn't expect.
The forest was to be respected, not played with.
I had walked into the forest many times, but now…
Now I march into trial, with my entire life on the line.
"IS NO ONE GOING to stop her?" Queen Helmia asked, staring dumbfounded at the chapel doors that swung wildly.
"Wait." Edel held onto the Queen's arm.
"For what? She's going to die!"
"She will not die, the forest will protect her."
Helmia took Edel in, her eyes flashing up this strange woman's body, looking for truth.
"We can watch."
"We can?" Mytho stood from where he held Rue's hand, giving her comfort, and she rose with him, doing her best to hide her swollen eyes.
Edel nodded. She pulled out a small book, leatherbound, from her pocket and with it a small jar of ink and a pen.
Soon all crowded around her.
"There can be no outside help." The Duke of Verstand reminded her.
Edel nodded. "Yes, I know. I will only look through their eyes, I will not control their reactions. I swear it."
Edel looked around her, searching for those who would disagree, but when she found none, she knelt down to the floor, and opened the book.
AHIRU COULD JUST SEE them, the scarlet of Drosselmeyer's cape billowing behind him, she heard the beating of Uzura's drum echoing in her ear, but she felt the burning sensation that worsened with each gallop and pulled the horse to a stop.
She groaned and placed her hand on her stomach, the tips of her fingers just brushing against the steel of the dagger, her hand wet with warm blood. When her eyes returned to their racing figures she watched as they disappeared into the forest.
Ahiru grit her teeth, she took a gulp of air before kicking the horse and racing to the forest. Each step the beast took jostled the blade, and she could feel the skin it touched tearing and ripping, could feel the blood dripping down her stomach.
But Drosselmeyer had done too much. He had robbed and killed and beaten, he ripped apart the lives of so many and Ahiru refused to allow him the satisfaction of murdering an innocent child.
THE FIRST STEPS INTO the forest were not unlike the ones he had taken hundreds of times before, cautious, alert.
But unlike the times he had taken Ahiru's hand and lead her into the forest, to that glade, the trees did not part for him, and his path was unclear.
When he had first entered, he was only a breath away from Autor, but now he was utterly alone.
Already, he was warmer, the sweet summer sun shining down on him in a clear blue sky. Like her eyes.
He shook his head. He had to focus!
But focus on what?
As he stepped over fallen branches and rocks, there was nothing.
Even the birds of the trees were silent.
Suddenly, the crunch of fallen leaves and tiny sticks had turned to smooth tile.
"What the-?"
Fakir looked at the ground, all around him. And found himself in the palace library.
"How did I-?"
"You are asking the wrong questions."
Fakir's head snapped to where the voice came from, and he saw the Duke of Verstand, standing only feet away with a book in his hands.
Somewhere, a piano began to play.
"Where am I?"
The Duke looked up from his book. "The forest, of course. And in case you forgot, you are running the Königsspiel."
"But how did I-"
"Get here? Simple." The Duke snapped his book shut and Fakir was face to face with a great tree. "What did you think was in the forest, Fakir? Hm?"
Fakir shook his head. "I don't know."
"Monsters? Foul things that run amok, attacking and eating whoever dares enter here?"
"Possibly."
"What do you know, Fakir? You think you can be King?"
There was a sound like scraping, and Fakir felt the lip of a chair hit the back of his knees and as he fell into the seat he was back in the library. He was tucked into a desk with a pen and a paper in front of him.
"I know that Drosselmeyer attempted to murder me, that he kept my mother as his slave. A puppet."
"Good, and do you know how?"
Fakir fisted his hands. "A terrible power."
The Duke nodded. "Terrible indeed, but what is the use of a sword?"
"A sword?" Fakir asked, turning his head to look at the man that now circled him.
"Yes, like the ones you smith. A weapon, or a tool?"
Fakir blinked his eyes and stared down at his hands. "A sword can kill."
"But it can also defend."
Fakir swallowed. "So, the power that Drosselmeyer has, the power I have, can be used for good or bad."
The Duke waved his hand. "A simple way to put it, yes.
"Fakir, a storm has devastated the kingdom, what do you do? Wait for nature to find it's way or-?"
Fakir looked down at the pen, he plucked it from the desk before putting it back down and shaking his head. "I don't want to control people. They don't deserve that."
"Ah." The Duke nodded. "Have you tried controlling other things? Besides that pathetic duck, I mean."
"I don't know what you mean by that."
"Reality. With the flick of that pen, you can control reality. More than just people." The Duke tutted and shook his head. "Drosselmeyer was so closed-minded to all the possibilities."
Fakir stared down at the pen, at the stark white paper.
"There is more power in your finger tip than Drosselmeyer possesses in his entire body."
Fakir looked back at the Duke but instead fell to the forest floor, the desk, the paper, the inkwell and the pen all gone.
"You are afraid." The voice of the Duke carried through the forest, although as far as Fakir could tell the Duke was no longer there. "Why?"
Fakir trained his eyes on the ground, where the roots of the tree disappeared into the dirt, where moss trailed up the trunk and bark, to the branches that spread out beneath the sky, the leaves forever green.
"If you are to be King, you can't be afraid of yourself."
Fakir stood, his mouth agape as he realized where the voice was coming from.
He strode forward and touched his hand to the bark, rough on his skin, but warm, as if he was touching someone's hand.
He remembered the Baursspiel, the young boy who had broken his leg, there had been no evidence of an animal or beast, all he had done was point with a shaken hand at the tree that loomed over him.
"The power I have, the ability to write and control-" Fakir stopped himself short, he was about to say people, but he remembered what the Duke had said. "All things."
"It is up to you how to use it, if you use it wisely or if you use it foolishly."
"The answer to the question, then. The storm that has left the kingdom in ruins. Is the answer to use my gift?"
The tree was silent, a gentle breeze rustling it's leaves. "There is no answer. Every King, every Queen, when presented with that question have all given me a different solution, I simply ask: what is yours?"
"How many Kings have had this power?" Fakir asked instead, and he was back in the library.
The Duke smiled. "Only the first King has been given the power of the Oak Tree, and she only gave him that gift after he had won."
Fakir knew the stories, his history, that the First King, Lohengrin, was the most prosperous,the greatest leader, building his Kingdom, the walls that surrounded and protected his people, he had set up the trade system that kept their state thriving even now.
He had done it all with the power blessed to him by the Oak Tree.
"So then…" Fakir furrowed his brow. "I can write a story for my people, to save them from the wreckage, to place everything back into order, as if a storm had never come."
"You could, that is the obvious answer."
Fakir furrowed his brow again. "But not the right answer."
"What was your answer before?" The Duke asked, he waltzed over to the shelves and picked out a book. "To set the people to work, wasn't it? Give them jobs, to clean up the mess the storm made, provide them with enough funds to keep them out of the slums? It's a good answer. But what about you? What will you do?"
"I- " Fakir looked back to the desk, to the paper and pen. He stepped towards it and ran his fingertips over the white sheet. "From here, I can supervise, make sure everyone is safe."
"Yes, good."
"I can keep account of all that's been done and what needs to be done."
"Think harder. What does Drosselmeyer do?"
Fakir glared at the paper. "He does horrendous things."
"He stains the paper, he takes full control, under which that person has no power." The Duke snapped the book shut and placed it back before reaching for the next one.
"Is- is there a way to control a person without-" Fakir shook his head. "I don't want to take control of anyone, no matter how little it is."
"You can place hope in their hearts. Hope that the next day will be better. Determination, that this is all for a better future, that this isn't the end."
"I can?"
"It's more than Drosselmeyer can do."
"But-" Fakir swallowed his words. Drosselmeyer worked himself to death making sure the Queen was always under his control, that whoever he wrote about was obeying his commands perfectly. Even the smallest drop of hope, just a drop, would be enough. "It's not about full control, but inspiration."
Fakir looked to the Duke for confirmation, to see if he was right, but he was alone in the forest.
Fakir turned to the tree.
The branch hang low to the forest floor moved and came towards Fakir, but somehow he was not afraid.
At the end of the branch was a small bird, a yellow canary, and it hopped up and down and fluttered its wings in excitement and in its mouth was a long, thin twig.
"Take this with you, and when you have five, present them to the Oak Tree, for she is your final judge."
Fakir held out his hand and the canary dropped the twig into his hand. He nodded and placed it in his pocket where he hoped it wouldn't break.
"An old friend has come to lead you to your next challenge."
The branch swung back into place, and it was as if the tree had never moved at all.
Fakir nodded, finally recognizing the maple leaves. He bowed low at the waist. "Thank you, Maple Tree."
He was filled with warmth as he heard a four-limbed creature scuttle across the floor.
Fakir turned his head and saw the giant black salamander. He smiled, kneeling before it and pet it's head.
"What secrets do you hold?"
The salamander blinked blindly at him, before turning and making it's way deeper into the forest.
Fakir followed, but couldn't resist one last look over his shoulder at the great Maple Tree, and the canary that flew about in its branches.
"SO IT IS NOT filled with banshees and monsters?" The Countess of Stärke asked, leaning over her brother's shoulder at the woman who wrote in her book as the Prince Seigfried read aloud what her words said.
"Apparently not." The Marquess of Vermittlung shook his head, he took a seat on the chapel pew, grasping tightly his cane and rubbing his eyes. "Who could have guessed that what lied in the forest was forest."
"It's more than that, Reginald." The Baroness of Täktik reasoned. "They're…alive."
The Earl of Stärke leaned close to his sister's ear and whispered loudly. "Do you think I could fight a tree?"
"Ber- I swear." She slapped his arm, but as much as he annoyed her, and as much as the Nobles sat in shock, they still sat in rapture.
Edel kept her hand steady, the temptation to check on Uzura and Ahiru too great for her to keep her focus on Fakir. The Oak Tree had told her, long ago, that the future was glorious for the state of Bavaria, for the city Nordlingen; that the King and Queen would be the brightest and greatest since the first. She had to trust that Ahiru would survive.
Mytho stood beside her, reading aloud so all could hear, and he was relieved that Fakir was doing so well, but he wasn't alone in the forest, and his heart pounded and prayed for the safety of Autor and his dear sweet Ahiru, for Uzura, and as Rue held fast to his hand, her eyes glued to the pages, he couldn't help but worry that their future was uncertain.
Helmia however, stood away from it all. She did not want to hear what lie in the forest for her sons, she didn't want to know if the girl that loved her son so much would bleed out for so foolishly chasing after that little girl and that madman. She did not want to hear about how her son succeeded when faced with so many fearsome challenges, or how her other failed.
She looked out into the grey sky, the rain fading to a drizzle, and wondered how much longer this would last.
AHIRU PULLED THE HORSE to a trot as she entered the forest, her path clear, but she could hear the beating drum, and it was somewhere to her left, in the thick trees and bushes, and not along her clear path.
Ahiru breathed deeply and dismounted, "Can I trust you to be smart enough to go home?" She asked.
Only a whinney was given in return.
She sighed, she grimaced, she let go of the horses reins and started trekking through the forest, but when she looked back, she saw the horse trying to follow her. "Go back, please, Fakir will be out soon, he'll be finished and you can see him then."
The horse huffed and pressed his nose to her face, his breath ruffling her hair.
She looked to the forest, a new path had been carved, slowly clearing itself of debris and enough space for her and her horse to walk in comfort.
"Come on." She said, grabbing the horses reins and placing her other hand on the dagger, hoping to keep it steady.
She walked slowly, her feet pushing at the edge of her dress, and she hissed. "Sorry, Femio."
However slowly she walked, she could still hear the drum and the rustling of trees and branches. She wouldn't lose them, and her only hope was that she got to Drosselmeyer before he got to Uzura.
FAKIR WAS LEAD TO a tall fir tree, and he expected to walk into another illusion, but instead he stayed where he was, his feet planted on the forest floor.
"My dear boy, I am so glad you're here." A voice sounded from the tree, a voice familiar but not one he could place.
"Are you my next challenge?" He asked.
"I am!" The needles that covered her branches fluttered. "First, I want you to climb to the top of my branches and to look into the forest and tell me what you see!"
"I'm sorry?" Fakir shook his head and looked at her with a confounded expression. He took an awkward step forward and took into consideration her branches. "If I tried, I would fall."
"Oh? Why?"
Fakir took hold of a branch and bent it, before letting it go. "It isn't strong enough, it would break under my weight."
"So you're just going to give up that easily?"
"What do you expect me to do? I can't climb up there." Fakir gestured angrily to the top of her branches, shortened and pointed towards the clouds.
"That's no way to talk to a lady, and that is no way to go about this challenge, you can't give up!"
Fakir huffed. "Well, I can't-I..." Fakir blinked his eyes and looked up at the tree. "I can't, can I?"
A tree couldn't shrug, but when her needles suddenly moved up and then down, it was all Fakir could call it.
Fakir pulled the twig out of his pocket, he looked at it, and then to the dirt, and then the tree.
"I can't." He said.
"Who's to say." She replied.
Fakir knelt down, brushing the fir needles away until there was only dirt beneath his hand. He swallowed hard and set the tip of the branch into the ground.
"I can climb this fir tree." He wrote into the dirt, and whispered out loud to himself. "I can find the sturdiest branches and get to the top."
"Can you?"
Fakir looked up at the tree, then down at his writing in the soil, he stood and brushed the dirt off his knees.
"Do I, uh- have permission to climb you?" He asked awkwardly, a red tint overcoming his cheeks.
"Of course you do!" She answered cheerily.
He placed his foot on a low branch, tested it and lifted himself off the ground, he placed his hands on the flimsy branches, but somehow the least flimsy ones, and slowly started his incline.
"So when you get back how will you undo what Drosselmeyer has done?"
"What?" Fakir asked, his foot slipping from its place. He gasped and held fast to the branches in his hands until he corrected his footing.
"Drosselmeyer, your grandfather? Even if you win, he has done years of damage, how will you pull apart the tangle he has left and fix the thread?"
"I don't know." Fakir lifted himself higher up the tree than he thought possible, even as the branches got shorter and shorter. "I have to disband the Bookmen."
"Good, I never liked them." The Fir Tree said. "And who will make up your council? Every King needs a good council."
"The Nobles."
"The Nobles?" The Fir Tree gauffed. "You know, they've only shown you support recently, some still don't believe you to be the True King."
Fakir nodded. "I know, but I can't place this burden on the shoulders of the people, they all work hard, it shouldn't be their responsibility to be my council. They should rely on me and my council instead."
Fakir reached the top of the tree, and he looked out over the forest, he could even see the walls that surrounded his kingdom.
"You've reached the top. What do you see?"
"Everything." Fakir closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He could feel the tree top sway in the wind, but he knew he wouldn't fall. "There is much that Drosselmeyer has done, and it will take time righting his wrongs, but I will not be alone when I do so."
"It is good," The Fir Tree said, as Fakir started his descent. "To carry the weight of a Kingdom with many, and not just your own shoulders."
Fakir's foot was placed on the forest's floor and he looked up at the tree, a wonder that he had been able to climb it at all. He looked back, at the writing in the dirt. Fakir ran his foot over it until it was only dirt, and he picked up the maple twig.
"Fakir, I give you this gift, present it to the Oak Tree, for me, please?"
A red squirrel scampered down the trunk of the tree, and in it's little fist was a branch from the fir tree, still covered in needles.
"Thank you." He told the squirrel, he bowed to the Fir Tree, just as lowly and respectfully as he had for the Maple, and the salamander was at his side once again.
DROSSELMEYER CURSED, PUSHING, CUTTING branches out of his way as he chased after the remnants of the Oak Tree, her drum banging loudly in his ears, mocking him.
"I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive!" Was the chant that came with every pound, both the voice of the Oak Tree and Edel whispering it in his ear.
He could just see her, through the leaves, her brightly colored clothes a beacon in the deep green, but how would he kill her? He had wasted his knife on the girl.
Drosselmeyer grit his teeth at that thought.
That stupid girl, a thorn in his side.
She ruined his plans, she was supposed to be nothing more than a prize for Mytho, nothing more than a pretty little thing to hang on his arm, but now look at what she had done!
He moaned out into the sky in his grief.
He should have known what trouble she would cause as soon as she stepped out of that carriage with Edel behind her.
The stupid woman having not aged a day since before he cut down the Oak Tree.
Taunting him with her prophecies.
But they would see who the true seer was, when the Oak Tree was finally laid to rest, and that stupid girl bled to death.
AUTOR WANDERED IN THE woods, lost and confused. "Hello?" He called out. He was sure that something had to be in this godforsaken forest.
It wouldn't be so feared if it wasn't.
"Hello!" He called out again, more in frustration than anything. He mumbled a light threat under his breath, and kicked the dirt.
No harpies?
No sphinx?
Was Fakir going through the same thing?
Maybe that was the challenge, maybe it wasn't fighting against monsters and solving riddles like everyone was raised to believe, but just solving the labyrinth.
He didn't have a compass, and when he looked to the sky, however cloudless it was, he couldn't find the sun.
"This isn't fair!" He yelled out. "What am I supposed to do?!"
"What you want to do."
Autor cried out, but when he looked around, there was no one present, not a single soul.
"You don't want to be King, do you?"
Autor looked around, trying to find who owned that voice.
"You won't get far if you don't answer."
"Who are you?"
The voice tsked. "Answering a question with a question?"
"S-sorry." He stumbled. "No. Now answer me!"
"I am the Maple Tree. Here to guide you home."
Autor avoided… avoided something and cast his eyes to the floor. "I have no home."
"Why? Because you are not the Queen's son? What does that matter? In her heart you are hers."
Autor shook his head. "It's not that. Who am I?"
"Who are you? Who you were raised to be, or who you were born to be?"
"Born."
The voice paused and Autor wondered if he had imagined it in his loneliness. "You are Felix Autor, Duke of the House of Verstand."
Autor sighed in relief, but it was unexpected. "I mean-"
The Maple Tree chuckled. "It is what you want. So I will ask again, what do you want?"
"I want-" Autor shook his head, he had never been asked this before- well, not never. There was one annoying little girl who had asked him. The corner of his lip turned up. "I want to go out into the world. In search of knowledge. Of answers. Anything."
"I see. This is why we do not test you the way Fakir is being tested. You see, why should we when that would be of no advantage to you?"
"Why not just kill me then?"
The Maple Tree was silent. "Because it would make Ahiru sad."
Autor knit his eyebrows together. "Why does she matter?"
"Perhaps I should restate this." He cleared his throat. "We care only for the wishes and desires of the King and the Queen, whoever they may be. Killing you would hurt her heart."
"Do you want to kill me?"
The Maple was silent. "I've wanted to remove nuisances from my forest before, yes. But you, you don't bother me so much. Perhaps it is because you are more knowledgeable than others before you. Stay with me, until his run is complete, and then you may go home."
Autor smiled and nodded, he sat on the forest floor, his gaze set on admiring the Great Maple Tree.
THE SALAMANDER LEAD HIM to a clearing, clear of even grass and wildflowers, and he heard it, the sound of two swords clashing against each other.
Fakir stepped out onto the forest floor and saw two knights in the midst of a battle.
"I'm glad you're here." A voice said, an old one.
"Why?"
"You can break them apart."
"What?" Fakir looked around, trying to find whatever tree was talking to him.
"They have been at it for hours. A simple misunderstanding, but will they listen to me? No! Of course not."
Fakir looked out to the two warriors. It didn't seem like they would listen to reason.
"What are they fighting about?"
"Huh? Oh, nothing new."
Fakir's eyes roved over the forest, trying to decipher which tree stood out, the one that spoke out. "Should we stop them?"
"What do you think I've been doing? Sometimes there is nothing you can do but wait out the aggression."
The aggression, however, appeared to be great, every strike of the sword was slashed with abandon, with strength and malice, grunts and shouts filled their makeshift arena.
"If we do nothing they'll kill each other." Fakir reasoned, but even he was hesitant to step out into the fray.
"Ah, that's true, but then there will be no more fighting. What would you do, young man? Would you pick up a sword and try to beat them? Two against one is hardly fair."
"But I can't just-" Fakir groaned, stop talking to the tree and figure out what needs to be done. His eyes traveled to the floor and he sat down in the dirt. "Alright." He said. "I think I get it."
"Do you?"
Fakir looked around him, still unable to see the great tree that spoke.
Fakir brushed away the leaves until his pallet was cleared and took out the maple twig.
Two warriors.
It was easier to see when he knew their names, or at least had their face in his mind.
He started by recording their actions, the strikes and parries, their steps forward and then back, his mind focused on their weapons, but when they parted his hand stayed with one hand, the knight closest to him.
The hand squeezed the hilt of the sword, numb from holding it for so long, and sore from never letting it slip from his grasp. Forearms aching from using muscles that seldom got used, biceps curling and uncurling, shoulders stiff, neck a dull throb, his face, no.
Her face.
Covered in sweat, pieces of hair falling and getting stuck to her cheeks, covering her eyes, but there was no way to fix it without removing her helmet.
Then he felt it.
Her rage.
Her passion.
Her determination to knock her brother on his ass.
At the sight of the enemy sword, and as metal clashed with metal, Fakir jumped to the hands of her brother.
His back about to give out, his teeth gritted, his lips mangled into a grimace, his brows furrowed, then Fakir saw it too.
The unfairness of it all.
The irritation.
The blind anger.
Fakir pulled himself from the earth, staggering to his feet.
"Stop!" He called out to them, but would they listen?
"Are you ready?" The voice returned.
Fakir looked around him, his eyes scanning the treetops, but felt something against his hand.
He looked down at the sword that tapped his hand.
Fakir took the hilt and pulled it from the earth and raced towards the brother and sister.
Their focus was on each other, and that gave him the advantage.
With a cry, they backed away from one another, catching their breath but still ready to pounce, but before they could, Fakir stepped in and challenged the brother.
"Don't turn your back to me!" The sister called out.
"You'll get your turn." Fakir told her as he cast a heavy glare at her brother. "You're a fool."
"And who are you to call me a fool?" The brother panted, raising his sword high above his head and charging. "When you've challenged me?"
The brother let out a battlecry and all Fakir had to do was wait.
Wait.
Wait.
When he saw the white's of his eyes through the slots of his helmet, he stepped aside.
Fakir watched as the brother crashed into his sister, awkwardly aiming his sword away from her heart.
Fakir watched as they fell to the floor. He knocked their swords from their hands, before offering his.
"You think your anger is worth fighting for, but not death?"
The sister pulled the helmet from her head, her long hair falling over her shoulders, and she threw it to the floor before she turned on her brother, who still sat on the forest floor.
"You almost killed me!"
"Yeah, but I didn't!" He pulled his helmet from his head, tossing it to the side, he groaned and fell onto his back.
"Just admit it!" She crossed her arms.
"No! Never!" He sat up on his elbows. "I didn't do it!"
Fakir recognized their voices, and their features after the flush from exertion calmed. The siblings from the house of Stärke, Valerie and Berinhard. They were a few years older than him, but still acted like children.
"What happened?" He asked, but this time when he posed his question, they both turned to him and started gabbing, their stories and words overlapping. "One at a time, who's the oldest?"
Valerie raised her hand.
"Berinhard," Fakir said. "What happened?"
Berinhard stuck his tongue out at Valerie who gaped at Fakir. "Well, sir, she thinks that I lost the joust on purpose, so that the Black Knight could win."
"And did you?"
"No!" Berinhard glared at Valerie.
"You so did! You just couldn't give up the chance to let the Black Knight win." Valerie rolled her eyes.
"And why does that matter?" Fakir asked, trying to ignore that once he was the Black Knight.
Valerie huffed and crossed her arms. "It brings dishonor to our family."
"Is that all?"
Berinhard raised his brows at Valerie, and she glared at him.
"Ugh, no!" Valerie pouted before letting out a deep groan. "I made a bet that Berinhard would win." She turned on her brother. "And you just wanted to see me lose money, didn't you!"
"Valerie that's stupid! I make you buy me stuff all the time, as far as I'm concerned, that's my money too."
Fakir watched the two disagree, and as stupid as it was, it still caused strife. They bickered as Fakir thought. It wasn't as simple as giving her her lost bet back, it was about her wounded pride. She lost, and as much as Berinhard was a graceful loser, she was a sore one.
"Valerie." Fakir called out her name and gained her attention. "If he admits that he lost on purpose, would you be able to put this behind you?"
Valerie pursed her lips, and gave an unconcealed glare to Berinhard. "Perhaps."
Fakir sighed, and turned to Berinhard. "Can you accept that?"
Berinhard sighed. "I guess, but I didn't lose on purpose! I was truly bested."
"You're the Queen's Knight!" Valarie bemoaned, "How could you lose?"
"There's always someone better, Val." He said, a slight bitterness to his tone.
Valerie sighed, she rubbed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Can you promise that you didn't lose on purpose just to spite me?"
"Val, I promise that I lost because, and only because, the Black Knight was truly the better warrior."
Valerie turned to her brother and stuck out her hand, and she raised him to his feet.
The two turned to Fakir, they placed a closed fist over their hearts and bowed lowly at the waist before disappearing.
And Fakir found himself face to face with a great elm.
"Well done!" The Elm Tree praised. "I am quite impressed with you, dear boy. Take this for me, will you?"
A small fox made its way out from its burrow under the Elm Tree's roots and held in its mouth a stick.
"I shall present this to the Oak Tree for you." Fakir took it and offered his own bow.
"Ah, catching on! Good, good. You will need it."
Fakir nodded, taking the warning to heart, and followed after the salamander.
"Where to next?" He asked gently, watching the creature crawl over fallen leaves and messing the dirt. He was led away from the Elm Tree and a soft breeze blew past, and was surprised when his feet wandered past the salamander, as if he knew where he was going.
He did, somehow.
It was almost as if he was being beckoned, and he found himself by the great lake, reflecting the blue sky and covered in the gentle ripples caused by the wind and waterfowl.
It was vast, and it was relieving to see something besides the green forest, as if there was more to this place than just talking trees.
"Fakir."
Fakir stiffened, and slowly he turned towards who called out for him.
"Fakir, come here." She called again, and his eyes widened when he saw the drooping branches of a weeping willow.
He followed the voice, parting the branches like a curtain.
"I'm so glad you've come."
EDEL'S PEN STOPPED, AND she let out a short gasp, the sudden sensation, the rapid pulling, as if her very soul was being dragged into the forest.
"Why did you stop?" Rue asked. "You can't stop!"
Edel stood, obeying the call of the Oak Tree. "Do not worry, Rue, there is nothing more to be scared of."
"What? Miss Edel, I'm very sorry but Ahiru is lost in that- that forest! With a dagger in her-"
"I'm very aware of the situation." Edel called over her shoulder. "Ahiru will be alright."
Mytho wrapped his arms around Rue, and she curled into his side. "Miss. Edel." He said.
"Yes?" Edel paused in her steps, but like the retreating waves, she could not stand completely still.
"You promise that Ahiru will be safe?"
"Yes."
"Autor?" He asked.
Edel nodded, taking a hurried step. "Yes."
"And," Mytho paused. "And Fakir?"
Edel turned to look at him. "Most of all. Yes, he will be safe."
Mytho let out a sigh of relief, he placed his lips on Rue's temple. "We will wait for your return."
Edel smiled and nodded, but she wouldn't return. She would have no need.
As she passed the Queen, Helmia reached out and grasped Edel's hand.
Edel gave her hand a soft squeeze. "They will all be safe and alive by the end of the day."
Helmia let go, but her eyes bore into Edel's back as she made her way out to the forest.
"THIS… THIS CAN'T BE real." Fakir said, shaking his head as his mother placed a gentle hand on his cheek.
"I'm sorry, but it isn't." She took his hand nonetheless and pulled him deeper into the blanketing branches of the willow tree. "This is real, however." She placed her hand on the trunk of the tree, and then placed Fakir's there.
"Why are you showing me this?" Fakir asked the tree directly, but they did not speak back.
"Are you tired?" She asked him instead. "Sit down, won't you?"
Helmia gestured to a root that curved up and created the smallest bench.
Fakir swallowed, failing to see the challenge and took the seat.
"Would you like something to eat? I know you skipped lunch."
His stomach grumbled and she pulled from the tree a plate and put it in his hands.
"Is this real?" He asked.
Helmia kneeled beside him, and nodded. "It is."
He picked up the loaf of bread, poked at the piece of meat, and brought a blackberry to his nose, to smell it. He put it in his mouth, and it tasted sweet, staining his finger tips.
It was real.
He devoured the plate.
"What time is it?"
He had to finish soon, he couldn't stay here long. He promised he would finish before the sun set.
He was tired of being by himself, he missed Mytho, and he wanted to be in the presence of his mother.
He took an unsteady breath when he inevitably thought of Ahiru.
She was waiting for him too.
It was selfish of him to stop and eat.
He sighed, and placed the plate on the floor, and stood.
"You're going?" Helmia stood and took his hand.
"I have to finish."
Helmia shook her head. "No, you don't." There was a sadness in her eyes. "There is great danger ahead, I don't want you to go."
"There is nothing in this forest that I am not ready for."
"Stay. Please?"
Fakir shook his head and stole his hand from her. "You're not my real mother."
"I know."
"And I've already wasted enough time here."
Fakir started walking away, wondering why he had wandered off from the salamander.
"Fakir wait, please? Rest, you're so tired."
And as she said it, his steps faltered, as if he truly was tired after all.
"No, there are still two more challenges. I'm losing sunlight."
"What you're losing is strength, come here. Sit down. Tell me a story." She asked.
Fakir shook his head, his eyes blinking as they grew heavy.
She pushed at his shoulders until he fell, and she leaned him back against the trunk of the willow. "We can make up for all that lost time, isn't that what you want?"
Fakir gave her a bleary look. "What I want is to be home."
Helmia nodded. "I know, and you are. Look all around you. The clear blue sky, the sun shining through the leaves." She leaned towards his ear. "Look out at the lake, you can just see it."
As if on command, a sudden breeze parted the branches and Fakir got a clear view of the lake.
He leaned into her as she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, as she brushed his bangs from his eyes.
"Tell me a story."
Fakir closed his eyes, the feeling of warmth still present on his skin. "A long time ago, there was a mother, and she had a son. He was taken from her, and while she could do nothing, her heart mourned her loss. She watched lifelessly as palace maids and bookmen raised her two sons, one by blood, one by love. All the while her real son watched from the shadows. He watched her walking around corners, he watched her steady stride, and the day he met her, the day he was introduced, not as her son, but as Fritz, as Mytho's friend.
"He watched her stare at him blankly."
Helmia said nothing, but he felt her tears fall onto his face.
Fakir pulled away from her cradling embrace and placed a hand on her cheek.
"I may not be your mother." She said, his thumb wiping uselessly at her cheeks. "But in my heart I feel her pain. Oh Fakir, she loves you. There wasn't a day that went by where she didn't mourn you."
Fakir looked away from her.
"Fakir." She said, her hands grabbing at his face until he met her eyes. "Fakir, you cannot ever let your love fail, because love will never fail you."
"I never gave up on you."
Helmia smiled. "Yes, I know, and you saved me." She pressed her forehead to his. "You can save your people."
Fakir nodded, but watched as her smile faded.
"Fakir, your next challenge is not something to be taken lightly, it is not like the others, and you have to be careful."
Fakir nodded again.
"Promise me?"
"I promise."
"Then take this." Helmis produce a long whip. A branch from the willow tree. "And show it to the Oak Tree."
"I don't understand." Fakir shook his head but took the branch. "What was the challenge?"
"The challenge was to put others before yourself." Helmia placed her hand on the back of his neck, and rubbed her thumb over the shaved hair. "To put your people first."
Fakir looked down at the branch. "But I gave in, to your temptations of food and rest."
"Oh, my dear, there is no temptation in food or rest. It's a silly thing all humans need. But your heart." Helmia moved her hand and placed it on his chest. "Your heart knew what needed to be done, even if it meant sacrificing yourself."
Fakir nodded, and watched her hand slip away. "I-" He cut himself off, he raised his head, to look for her only to find himself alone.
He slipped the whip into his pocket with the others and stood.
Fakir took one last look at the trunk of the willow tree. He pressed his hand to her bark and pressed his forehead there.
He walked out from under the willow's blanket and found himself face to face with the salamander.
"Sorry. I walked off."
Salamander nodded and waddled away, expecting Fakir to follow, and follow he did.
He looked up at the sky. He was running out of time, the sun slowly falling to the west.
Fakir continued walking, but turned his face back to the path set out before him, but found that he was alone.
"Salamander?" He called out, there was a sharp wind. He was alone. "Salamander!"
There was a crack, like the branch of a tree breaking under pressure, it was cold, as if the summer sky suddenly turned to autumn and then chilled into a winter blow.
There was the scratch of pen against paper.
Fakir gasped loudly and fell to his knees.
Like a monster was at his back, digging its claws and shredding his skin, he could almost make out the letters that spelled out words on his back.
One word, over and over again, but still casting a spell on him nonetheless.
The sharp K that covered his entire back.
The unforgiving I that ran down his spine.
The swift N flying up before falling, only to fly up again.
The curving G that claimed him.
Over and over the word was carved into his back, pushing him deeper and deeper into darkness.
He fought against it, he did his best, but perhaps that wasn't enough.
He stood on unsteady feet, his vision blurred and failing, but he could make out the path before him, he had one thought, to run away from whoever held the pen, that if he could just get out of sight, that would be enough.
But he fell again, and he heard the wailing of a baby, he felt snow blowing coldly against his face and arms, as if he was out, caught in the snow storm. He rose and stumbled to the baby, perhaps if he could save it despite his own pain, he would win.
He grit his teeth, and stumbled against a tree.
KING, KING, KING, KING, KING, KING, KING, KING, KING, KING, KING, KING, KING.
He could feel the pen break past layers of skin, reaching past muscle until it etched his bones, but now the sound of the wailing child was clearer, he saw a mound of snow, strange in the summer forest, and he raced towards it, falling to his knees when he reached it, the cold melting through, and his hands unfeeling as his fingers brushed the chest of the infant, with barely any hair, and no teeth at all, its balled up fists and kicking feet, Fakir could only look at the birthmark that stretched down the baby's shoulder to his hip.
Suddenly the wailing stopped, or at least was replaced with a different kind of wailing.
On his back, drops of rain pounded into his skin, drenching his shirt and seeping into the wounds that only existed in his mind.
He looked to his left, to the west, and the bank of snow was replaced with rocks that he clung to as waves crashed at his legs. There was a shape in the distance, a blue dress, long red hair.
Ahiru.
Even through the pain, he let out a sigh of relief, and tried to call out to her, but he watched her sluggishly drag herself down the dock, something in her hands, her wailing had stopped but her face was still stained with tears.
She walked past him and all he could do was reach out his hand, stretching out the skin of his back trying to reach her.
His fingertips just grazed the hem of her dripping dress and she disappeared.
He saw Autor sitting under the Maple Tree, some debate being spoken over the rustling of the wind blowing through the leaves.
He stood in the doorway of the chapel where his mother, where his family and the Nobles who supported him stood with their gazes cast out to the forest, waiting for the outcome.
He was back in the forest, and when he rose to his feet, his head span, he did his best not to fall.
Fakir watched as Uzura ran into the glade, to the tree stump, where she scrambled up and sat on the rings.
He stumbled towards her, but nearly fell back when Drosselmeyer burst out of the forest.
"At last." He said, breathing heavily, his face red with anger and exhaustion. "At last I have you."
Uzura turned her head to look at him, she stuck out her tongue. "I want Ahiru, zura!"
"Ahiru is dead." He snarled.
"Dead?" Fakir reeled, nearly falling to the forest floor.
"You can't kill what isn't meant to be killed, zura!" She shouted. She stood and jumped on the tree stump. "I want Ahiru, zura! I want Fakir, zura!"
Drosselmeyer heaved out a final breath as he stalked towards the child. "You will get no final wishes. You will only receive death."
"Don't you dare touch her!"
Fakir's mouth fell open when out from the forest came Ahiru, her hands holding on to the reins of his horse and he sighed in relief.
Drosselmeyer had only lied.
Of course it was only a lie.
Ahiru let go of the reins and took uncertain steps towards Drosselmeyer.
K
"You." Drosselmeyer snarled. "You have evaded my hands for far too long."
I
"I don't know what you mean." Ahiru shook her head, her eyes flashing to Uzura, to make sure she was safe.
"I don't know what you have done." Drosselmeyer shook his head. "But I cannot control you."
N
"For a while I thought you, too, possessed some inkling of the Oak Tree's powers. But what does that matter? When I can kill you now?"
G
Drosselmeyer stepped forward, faster than he should have been able to, his hand flashing to Ahiru's stomach.
"Don't touch her!" Fakir longed to say, but his teeth were clamped tight in pain.
Fakir watched Ahiru's eyes widen, he watched the arch of blood that trailed out from her, he watched the dagger being pulled from her side.
"No!" He cried out and the scraping stopped. There was a pain like no other that gripped his heart, an overwhelming grief as he refused to believe his eyes.
He caved in on himself, free from the pen, but he grasped his stomach, unable to stop the gut wrenching realization that he had just watched Ahiru die.
Fakir opened his eyes and looked to the ground, placed in front of him was a slim branch, a walnut and it's leaves still clinging on.
He gripped the branch and shoved it into his pocket, his heart pounded in his chest.
The Königsspiel wasn't over yet.
AHIRU CRIED OUT AS she felt the edges of the dagger rip at her skin one last time.
"No, zura!"
Ahiru's knees buckled, and she knew she didn't fall gracefully, that she would wake up with a bruise the next morning.
She placed a shaking hand on her stomach, and looked up at Drosselmeyer who turned on Uzura, the knife raised above his head.
"Oak Tree, it was a mistake to try and survive." Drosselmeyer taunted. "In the end, it is I who knew how to use your gift best. It is foolish to disagree."
"I'm not foolish, zura!" She shouted, "You're stupid, zura!"
"And in the end, who stands tall?"
Uzura took a deep breath, "I do, zura!"
Drosselmeyer laughed, and when she tried to scramble down from her perch, he grabbed her arm.
Ahiru watched as he dropped the dagger. She watched as a white light covered both him and Uzura, soaking her eyes in blinding light.
Ahiru brought up a hand to block it, and when she put it down, both Drosselmeyer and Uzura were gone, replaced only by a towering Oak Tree.
FAKIR CALLED FOR THE salamander and whistled for his horse.
The horse came first, galloping to him and brushing his nose against him, he put his foot in the stirrup when he heard the shuffle of the salamander.
He looked down at the creature. "Lead me to Ahiru."
The salamander looked over its shoulder, peering down a clear path.
"Thank you." Fakir nodded to the salamander before giving his horse a sharp kick.
He leaned forward, his gaze set on the path before him, and as he neared it, he saw a blinding light.
He cried out and pulled his horse to a stop, turning it away before it was blinded. "What-?"
He waited until the light lessened and when he looked back, he saw a tree that towered over the rest, and when his eyes fell to the ground, he saw white.
Fakir kicked the horse again, whipping it's reins and only stopping when he was in the clearing.
Fakir jumped down from the horse's back and ran to her side.
"Ahiru."
She blinked her eyes and gazed up at him, giving him a smile. "Fakir." She said, "did you win?"
"I don't know."
"How did you find me?" She asked.
Fakir placed his hand under her head, he had been too scared to touch her before, but his eyes traveled down her white dress to where her hand rested and where the white was slowly stained red.
He placed his hand over hers and peeled it away.
She whimpered.
"Shh. Shh, I'm sorry." He pulled her into his lap, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow.
"You didn't stab me." She said, smiling, she closed her eyes. "It's okay."
"It's not. Don't close your eyes, idiot." He rested his hand on her cheek, pushing at the corner of her eye with his thumb until she blinked them open. He felt a tugging at his pocket.
"I'm glad you're- you're here, Fakir. I- I don't want to be alone anymore."
He shook his head. "You're not alone."
"Fakir, did I tell you who I was?"
Fakir shook his head, his thumb passing shakily over her cheeks, the corner of her lip. "Yes, many times."
"My- my dad was a fisherman." She sniffled. "I was su- supposed to…" She drew off, her words growing softer.
"Keep pressure on your stomach, I'll get us out of here."
"Fakir, wait." She said. She lifted her hand and ran it up his jaw to his cheek. "I don't want to move."
"We have to."
"I want- I want to stay here." Her eyes fluttered closed and she swallowed hard. "I want to stay here with you. Stay here with you holding me."
"I'll hold you back in the castle."
She moaned, her face contorting in pain. Her face losing pallor, the pink of her lips growing pale.
He felt something land on his head, and Edel burst through the forest, but he paid her no attention.
"Fakir." A voice called, but one unfamiliar to him. "You have succeeded."
Fakir's eyes rose away from Ahiru's paling face and looked up at the Oak Tree that shaded them, the setting sun casting him in her shadow. "What does that matter?" He asked, his voice gruff.
"Is this not what you wanted?"
Fakir looked away from the Oak and to Ahiru, she smiled at him, and mouthed her congratulations, too weak to give her words volume.
Fakir ignored the Oak Tree, whatever words she spoke next, he ignored the hands that touched his shoulders.
He only looked at Ahiru, the golden light highlighting the pale color of her hair, making the blue of her eyes shine, casting half her face in shadows.
He had wanted to win, he had wanted to set things in order, where his mother was his mother, where the crown sat on his head, not for glory or for power, but love.
His fingers curled into her shoulder and he pressed his forehead to hers, he felt something slip off his head, and looked at the six branches that had been twisted and cobbled to form a crown.
"Fakir." He heard her call out to him, and he pressed his lips to hers.
And in the light of the dying sun, he won.