The Walking Man
Kingdom
The Walking Man, he was The Walking Man. He didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t know if he would ever get there, but since he was The Walking Man, it didn’t matter. The roads he went down were quiet and tranquil, and all the trees that hadn’t been destroyed kept him company, swaying whatever leaves they had left in the warm, fragrant breeze, carrying on conversations with The Walking Man because there wasn’t anyone else left to talk to, not anymore.
The Walking Man took back roads and main roads and side roads and roads that went nowhere, it seemed. But since he wasn’t going anywhere anyway, it didn’t really matter, did it? He was sure that he would walk forever and never leave his father’s kingdom, for the land stretched out that far. Forever far. So The Walking Man, as a man in court had named him many years ago, kept walking.
But there was no court to return to now, like there always was before. There was no King and no Queen and there was no love or life left. There was just The Walking Man and his feet that never stopped, day after day, on dirt roads and roads lined with rocks and roads blocked by fallen trees and roads made of tiny pebbles, past streams and ponds and other things that should have been full of life but were not.
“They destroyed the castle and the kingdom,” he told the trees solemnly. “You’re lucky to have survived.”
And the trees swept their leaves in agreement, and The Walking Man went on, satisfied.
At night, he spoke to the fire he made, into the glowing embers and cracking knots of wood, watching the yellow sparks and listening to the things they had to say, for they knew many things. He told them his story - it was time he spoke of it.
“The King and Queen were killed,” he said, solemn. “The entire court was killed, except for myself.”
The fire crackled its sorrow and grief for The Walking Man.
“I left my home and I have been walking ever since. Many years, it feels like, but in reality, it has been but one.”
The Walking Man stoked the fire, trying to keep it going while his tale was being told. It roared in gratitude.
“I grew up without knowing that my father’s kingdom wasn’t the only one,” he said, and there was bitterness in his voice. “So when the other kingdom came, riding over the foothills, I did not understand.”
“My mother did, however. She stowed me in a secret room, with strict instructions not to leave until there was no noise left or unless she had opened the door herself.”
The Walking Man laid next to the fire, and the flames danced in his eyes, but he did not see them. He was seeing his mother’s soft face, feeling her cold hands as she caressed his face in goodbye.
“‘Happy birthday, Prince Frank,’ she said to me before she left. My true name. I have not used it since.”
The fire was getting lower and lower, and The Walking Man knew that it was now time to end his tale.
“Never in my life did I dream of disobeying my mother, the Queen,” The Walking Man, Frank, said quietly. “But now I almost wish I had. I sat there in the secret room for many hours, and I heard the screams of men and women, the screams of my family and friends and finally… it stopped. And there was nothing. No noise.”
The fire was a soft blue now, a dull heat on The Walking Man’s closed eyelids.
“I kept my head high and I did not look upon death in its disgrace. I walked out of the castle, out the courtyard, and down the path, knowing that I would never return and at the same time, never truly leave.”
The embers could only glow in response.
“I ate what I could find, slept where I could, and kept track of the days by the revolutions of the sun and the number of my steps. It has been a year, Fire. I have left boyhood and become a man. Eighteen years on Earth, eighteen years of life.”
Sleep was tumbling around The Walking Man now, holding him in her ambrosial arms, covering him with her silken kiss. But he was not ready to fall into her comfort just yet.
“It is my birthday, Fire, and I am The Walking Man. I survived the terrible massacre and I will survive these long years alone, because I am the King’s son, I am Prince Frank, I am many things, and I will not succumb.”
The Walking Man, Prince Frank, the King’s son, fell silent. The embers winked out as he wrapped his own arms around the temptress Sleep, and he dreamt of his ruined kingdom.
The Walking Man took back roads and main roads and side roads and roads that went nowhere, it seemed. But since he wasn’t going anywhere anyway, it didn’t really matter, did it? He was sure that he would walk forever and never leave his father’s kingdom, for the land stretched out that far. Forever far. So The Walking Man, as a man in court had named him many years ago, kept walking.
But there was no court to return to now, like there always was before. There was no King and no Queen and there was no love or life left. There was just The Walking Man and his feet that never stopped, day after day, on dirt roads and roads lined with rocks and roads blocked by fallen trees and roads made of tiny pebbles, past streams and ponds and other things that should have been full of life but were not.
“They destroyed the castle and the kingdom,” he told the trees solemnly. “You’re lucky to have survived.”
And the trees swept their leaves in agreement, and The Walking Man went on, satisfied.
At night, he spoke to the fire he made, into the glowing embers and cracking knots of wood, watching the yellow sparks and listening to the things they had to say, for they knew many things. He told them his story - it was time he spoke of it.
“The King and Queen were killed,” he said, solemn. “The entire court was killed, except for myself.”
The fire crackled its sorrow and grief for The Walking Man.
“I left my home and I have been walking ever since. Many years, it feels like, but in reality, it has been but one.”
The Walking Man stoked the fire, trying to keep it going while his tale was being told. It roared in gratitude.
“I grew up without knowing that my father’s kingdom wasn’t the only one,” he said, and there was bitterness in his voice. “So when the other kingdom came, riding over the foothills, I did not understand.”
“My mother did, however. She stowed me in a secret room, with strict instructions not to leave until there was no noise left or unless she had opened the door herself.”
The Walking Man laid next to the fire, and the flames danced in his eyes, but he did not see them. He was seeing his mother’s soft face, feeling her cold hands as she caressed his face in goodbye.
“‘Happy birthday, Prince Frank,’ she said to me before she left. My true name. I have not used it since.”
The fire was getting lower and lower, and The Walking Man knew that it was now time to end his tale.
“Never in my life did I dream of disobeying my mother, the Queen,” The Walking Man, Frank, said quietly. “But now I almost wish I had. I sat there in the secret room for many hours, and I heard the screams of men and women, the screams of my family and friends and finally… it stopped. And there was nothing. No noise.”
The fire was a soft blue now, a dull heat on The Walking Man’s closed eyelids.
“I kept my head high and I did not look upon death in its disgrace. I walked out of the castle, out the courtyard, and down the path, knowing that I would never return and at the same time, never truly leave.”
The embers could only glow in response.
“I ate what I could find, slept where I could, and kept track of the days by the revolutions of the sun and the number of my steps. It has been a year, Fire. I have left boyhood and become a man. Eighteen years on Earth, eighteen years of life.”
Sleep was tumbling around The Walking Man now, holding him in her ambrosial arms, covering him with her silken kiss. But he was not ready to fall into her comfort just yet.
“It is my birthday, Fire, and I am The Walking Man. I survived the terrible massacre and I will survive these long years alone, because I am the King’s son, I am Prince Frank, I am many things, and I will not succumb.”
The Walking Man, Prince Frank, the King’s son, fell silent. The embers winked out as he wrapped his own arms around the temptress Sleep, and he dreamt of his ruined kingdom.