The King

In the two years that passed since Brian formed his alliance with the rebel orphans Zach and Matt, things had drastically changed. Time seemed like it had flown entirely out the window, Brian’s old life unraveling before his eyes while his new life was being knit together from the pieces. He enjoyed the new rebellious lifestyle he had grown to call his own.

Over time the three boys had found a small abandoned shack in the village, and slowly began to call it ‘home’. They enjoyed having a secret place of their own where they didn’t have to worry about hiding in someone’s barn or shed. They enjoyed being able to sleep in without worrying they would be found in the morning and shooed away.

As Brian’s talent for distracting the merchants grew, the boys were able to move on from food items to clothing, giving them the ability to look less threatening to the townspeople, which came in handy. They had also salvaged various items of broken furniture that others had left abandoned on the sides of the streets. They lived by the virtue, ‘One man’s trash, another man’s treasure’.

Yes, Brian had grown accustomed to such an unorthodox way of living. He could hardly even remember anymore what it was like to have a home with his family and his nice things. The whole world was now his home.

The boys laid out on the grass, dried and clothed after their evening bathe in the river. The night was cool and calm, spring having finally turned to summer.

Brian smiled as he laid with his two closest friends, the stars twinkling overhead in the midnight sky.

“We really should try for the roast pig more often,” he overheard Zach say to Matt. “I don’t think I’ve tasted anything quite like it.”

“I agree, it was quite enjoyable,” Matt added. Brian, feeling the rumbling began in his stomach and slowly rise, smiled to himself. Inhaling deeply, he let out a loud belch that echoed across the water, surely making its way to the opposite bank. The three boys all erupted into fits of boyish laughter.

“I take it Brian also agrees,” Matt stated through his laughter.

“I think I ate like a pig, never mind the actual pig we had tonight,” Brian commented, forcing his laughter to run out. With a deep sigh among all, the three men settled down again, gazing up at the sky.

“Say, Matt?” Zach finally spoke up.

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever wonder what those sparkly dots up there are? I see them most every night, but I’ve never really contemplated them for more than a few moments.

“They’re uh…” Matt began, clearing his throat as he went on. “They’re fireflies. Flying up in the sky every night,” he finished, knowing full well he had made it up, not really knowing what the dots were himself.

“Oh. I always thought they were balls of burning gas, millions of miles away…” Zach trailed off, feeling the embarrassment flood over him as Matt exploded in another bout of laughter.

“Burning gas? Are you serious? That doesn’t even make sense, Zach,” he howled.

Brian on the other hand had fallen silent. Looking up at the twinkling specks in the sky always reminded him of his father. He had once told Brian years ago, ‘Just look to the stars, and I’ll be there’.

“What do you think they are, Brian?” Zach then asked, trying to move the conversation onward so Matt would stop laughing.

“Well, someone once told me…years ago…that when our loved ones die, they become their own twinkling dot up there with the others. And that, no matter where we go, or where we are, they are always watching over us,” Brian explained, searching the stars for one that could have possibly been his father’s.

This time both Zach and Matt exploded in laughter.

“You’re not serious…” Zach said, clutching his sides as he laughed so hard it hurt.

“Who in their right mind would conjure up a story like that?” Matt giggled.

Brian laughed nervously to himself, feeling his heart pang in his chest as his friends made fun of him.

“Yeah…pretty stupid, right?” he asked, trying to brush off the pain he felt inside.

“Stupid? It’s downright ridiculous!” Matt howled once more, Zach joining in, but Brian wouldn’t force the laughter anymore. Not when he could slowly feel his heart breaking.

Sighing, he got to his feet and trudged his way down the bank of the river, stomping out his frustration as he headed downstream. He could hear his friends’ laughter die down from behind him, but he just kept going.

“Was it something we said?” Zach asked as he and Matt sat up, watching Brian leave.

“I don’t know,” Matt answered, but he knew it was their laughter that had upset Brian – he just didn’t know why.

One Brian was out of sight of his friends, he stopped, looking out at the swiftly moving water. He could see the moon reflected in the rippling surface of the river, and he looked up to the sky one more. Thinking back to his father, Brian reached up to touch the silk cravat around his neck. It carried the seal of his kingdom, and he had never taken it off since he had run away. Despite the fact that it had slowly begun to grow dingy, Brian still would never untie it from his neck. Until now.

Suddenly Brian felt anger grow in him. Anger for the death of his father, anger for leaving home. Anger for the fact that the king had said he’d always be watching over him. But inside, Brian still felt alone.

In a fit of rage, Brian tore the silk cravat from his neck. Picking up a rock, he wrapped it in the cravat before pitching it forward, away from his body and into the river.

And without looking back, Brian walked home, finally letting go of the one thing still tying him to his old life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few days later, the Friar back at he overthrown kingdom hobble his way down to the river’s edge, a pan in hand. Like every morning, he planned on collecting water for the day to take back to his home.

Reaching the bank, the Friar knelt on the rocks along the water, lowering the pan to begin collecting. The morning was just like any other.

Until he spotted an unusual piece of cloth, fluttering in the current of the river as a corner was pinned under a rock.

Curious about the material, the Friar dropped his pan, reaching out and tugging the material free. It was made of a fine silk, he could tell, even though it was waterlogged. Examining the piece closer, the Friar realized he recognized the print. Though it was faded and stained, he could clearly tell that the cloth was a cravat, and the print was none other than the print that Prince Brian had once worn.

The Friar through there for a moment, wondering how such a rare fabric would have made its way downstream, if Brian had been buried years before.

Then, a thought struck him.

The prince was out there, somewhere. And he was very much alive.