Chapter 178: Southward

Chapter 178: Southward

Chapter 178

Southward

Sylas stared at the strange sight, perchance one that nobody would ever see again. Surrounded by at least eight-nine feet of snow, there was an entourage of people standing near the castles wide-open gates, eighteen wagons in total being pulled by forty-three horses, with fourteen more in the reserves.

Surrounding the wagons were hundreds of the confused souls, still wondering why they were doing something as moronic as migrating southward in the middle of winter--no, in the middle of the Cold Snap, the winter of winters. Nonetheless, it was a Royal Order, one stamped by the word of the Prophet, no less.Updated from novelbIn.(c)om

Everyone wore at least three layers of clothing, though still felt chill. Perhaps it was imaginary, as the sheer sight of the snow was enough to freeze ones soul, but it was chill nonetheless.

Valen sat in one of the leading wagons, flanked by Ryne who was currently sleeping, Derrek who was reading a book, and the head Butler and Maid on the opposite ends. He was told by Sylas to prepare for departure, but to not leave without him. As such, all he could do was remain seated.

He did so for nearly half a day longer before a commanding shout came from the outside, waking Ryne up at last. The young girl yawned as Derrek peeked out the window into the distance, his face growing strange at the sight he was witnessing. After all, there, in the distance, was a pair of... oddly dressed people. No, perhaps dressed was an overstatement. After all, one of them wore a simple, summer dress and was barefoot, while the other just wore knee-long trousers, of all things.

And yet, it wasnt even the strangest sight--for wherever they walked, the snow and the winter seemed to give way. There was a wide path that they had carved, it felt, where dry land reigned even deep in the Cold Snap.

Ill be damned, Derrek mumbled as he helped struggling Valen glance out the window as well.

Is... is that Sylas?

Seems like it.

Why... why is he topless? Valen asked, a strange look on his face.

Why is he anything? Derrek shrugged. Evidently, Prophets dont feel the cold.

Then what about the woman next to him? Valen probed further.

It seems... warmth of gods covers all those that are nearby. Perhaps, this is what he meant?

Sylas watched the long line of the wagons and people staring at him with gaping jaws, and the peeking heads from within the wooden frames. Asha stood by his side, holding back from snickering; after all, they all looked at him as though he were some kind of a beast rather than a man. Sighing and shrugging his shoulders, he pressed forward and crossed into the castle, limbering toward Valens wagon and stopping.

Everythings ready? he asked the Prince who, also, had a strange look on his face.

Yes. As you asked. Can I--

You cant, Sylas interrupted. Order the march, then.

How many wonder whether theres another life after, she said. Or whether theyll be reborn. How many are only shielded by the hope that sixty or ninety years wont be all there is to the life? Besides, what about those that die early? A nine year old child falls sick with fever, and dies. What about his certainty?

...

Theres no certainty in anything we experience, Sylas, she said, smiling gently. Everyone lives with the same fears of tomorrow. Its just that their tomorrow is soon, and yours distant. But the fear is the same--what after?

You sound like youre above it.

Hardly, she chuckled. I fear many things. I fear I might not remember my heart the next time you die. I fear you might not come back the next time you die. I fear that youll die after the boy becomes the King. I fear that the time will wane our minds and grind them down to the nothingness.

... man, I thought you had some courage, Sylas poked with a grin.

Isnt my greatest act of courage having fallen in love with a man who cant die?

Isnt mine having done to same with a woman who can?

Yes, but its a curse--for as long as you live, so will I. All the cards are in your hands. Not just of my fate. But theirs, too, she glanced back at the wagon. They had been walking along for nearly twenty minutes now, and the looks of shock still persisted. Dont disappoint us.

Haah, you really are a witch, Sylas sighed, looking up at the muddy sky. My tiny-teeny shoulders cant hold any more weight, you know?

Tiny? she looked at him askew. If they were any wider, wed call them a bridge.

...

...

That was a good one.

Thank you. As I said, I learn.

The road turned silent, at least at the front. Behind them, conversations unfurled like carpets, many of wonder and awe, questions blazing. However, there were no answers past one--Prophet. Every miracle was attributed to that, by wise and unwise.

Valen peeked out of the window once again and toward the front where the two were leading. It was as he promised--the journey was... smooth. In fact, he had to take off several layers of clothes as he was getting too hot. He wasnt alone--everyone realized that the temperatures were no longer even winter-like. It was as though springtime descended in full, in sight and in touch.

Taking a deep breath, the Prince felt his lungs fill with hope. When he was banished north, he thought he would die before he would see anything besides cold stone ever again. Hope was completely eradicated from within him, and he felt hopelessly abandoned and tossed aside. And yet, like a cosmic gift from the gods, Sylas appeared--a strange Prophet, unlike any other as the stories depicted them, took charge and gave him the dream--the dream of the throne.

That dream never changed, not even when he was crippled. It stayed strong and tall and burning. And now... now they were travelling south, led by the broad shoulders of a figure that seemed taller than the sky, unafraid. He would be King, his heart was singing to him. And he would wear a Crown. And for as long as he would reign, he would have a Prophet to guide him. His heart was singing relentlessly, and even his rational mind was slipping.

I will become the King, he thought. I really will...