Whippings In The Snow

“Young Master, please-,” Sir Fredrick’s armor constantly clashed into one another as he ran at a neck-breaking pace to try and keep up with him.

“I really gotta go, Fred, I’ll be back before dinner though! Tell father and my brothers not to wait,” and with those final words, Roland took off. Abiro’s gallops sent him soaring over the training grounds.

The wind rushed through his hair, the frost of the evening nibbling on his nose as he and his steed took off through his father’s fief. The land was covered in inches of snow, and the beauty of it all always seemed to take his breath away.

The snow rose in small bursts as Abiro, his father’s prized racing horse, ran towards the edges of his father’s dukedom. The mansion in which he’d been raised seemed like a smaller and smaller pinprick on the horizon of the nearly setting sun.

An overwhelming sense of freedom and relief overcame him; finally, an escape from expectations. From the watchful eyes of his older brother, who always looked at him as though he came short of all his grand assumptions. Or even his younger brother, skilled in only the sword, a sweet child turned bully. Roland could never will himself to keep up with the tutors, constantly failing to rise above the challenge presented to him by his family.

A dullness sank into his heart, and in an attempt to try and shake off the sudden gloom, he looked around. The sun was barely on the horizon now, a soft illumination on the icy fields that surrounded him. Yet perhaps due to a lapse in his understanding of time, or something else at play, he no longer seemed able to understand where he was. The houses and homes that always seemed to speckle the horizon, no matter where he went, were suddenly absent. It was just him and his steed in the biting cold, wind gradually picking up, harsh against his exposed skin.

The scandalous outfit he’d picked out earlier to have a bit of fun at Sir Fredrick’s expense now felt poor in taste.

“Hey girlie, do you know where we are?” Roland softly cooed into Abiro’s ear. The only sign she’d heard him was the soft twitch of her ear, as if she were too proud to say she didn’t know either. Leading both of them to trot in a circle, their footprints leaving harsh divots in the snow, the only sign of life this far out in the region.

“Let’s look for cover, I’m sure a search party will be out in a couple of hours,” the soft assurances, an attempt to soothe both their worries. Yet he knew the chances were slim, he frequented the pubs and the peasantry, often not returning until the next day, when the summoning of food would call him back home.

On the very edge of his peripheral vision, he saw a dark landmass, a collection of trees isolated in the tundra. In each gallop closer, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

“There’s a small enclave in that snowy mound over there, girl, let's go.” He tapped her stirrups softly in an attempt to move her closer, yet each attempt had her rearing back.

“Hey-” as if shocked, Abiro reared upwards, forcing Roland into a messy dismount, trying his best to avoid getting trampled. Abiro’s cries were horrifying, sounds she had never made before, in all the chaos she took off, disappearing in the snowy unknown.

“Fuck.”

The cold was setting in harsher than before; no longer did he have another body to share warmth with.

“This is great, Roland, you always said you wanted to go camping, right? This is perfect!” Each word wrought a chatter out of him, his fingers going completely numb; he could no longer feel his nose. His eyes had become harder and harder to open with each blink.

The cold was harsh, and the beautiful isolation of it all now brought only overwhelming dread.

Roland shoved the snow around, attempting to clear the area more, felt hopeless; each push of the snow outwards always brought more collapsing inwards. Yet, one more final push brought a startling yelp out of him; his glove snagged on something sharp, nicking his fingers underneath. The blood brought some comfort, as its heat both warmed and chilled his hands.

“What the-”

It’d been a small piece of metal; it fell off a round bead, something made of bronze, he assumed. Its exterior was worn and weathered beyond belief, loosely hanging on a thick metal cord, something he’d seen used by some of the workers at home. He couldn’t quite remember for what, though?

Grasped in his fingers, he felt himself pray, for anything- something to happen. His head felt heavy, and the earlier adrenaline from the shock was wearing off; it felt as though he was a candle going out, no longer able to sustain himself as all the wax had melted away, leaving a wick to stand alone in the harsh cold.

Eyes closing, he sensed it was his end, one that was foolish and most overwhelmingly stupid.

***

“Sir! I think the young master is waking up!” The irritating sound of a maid’s voice caused Roland to grumble in dissatisfaction. Trays clattered, and the numerous shoes moving around in chaos forced him to rouse awake.

“Who- what are you doing here? What time is it?” Roland asked, the sun peered in through the curtains, drawn to a tight close as if he were a coma patient.

“Sir, do you truly not remember?” Worry etched the maid’s face, her brows furrowed, and slight sweat dripped down her chin. Signs of exhaustion showed on her face; she looked as though she hadn’t slept in days.

“I really don’t recall how I got here- Or really anything from the past few days,” Roland said. In an attempt to get up, he realized his arms didn’t have the strength to push himself upward. Each attempt harder than the last as his vision danced.

“Young Master, please, sit down! I’ll go fetch your father. Please don’t try getting up. You’ve been asleep for a week or two now.”

With that, the maid scurried off, more pep in her step than Roland had ever seen in someone at her age. Truly dire circumstances bring out the most absurd scenarios.

“Hello? You’re finally awake.”

Roland jumped in alarm as he looked around, trying to take in the sight of whoever just spoke.

“Stop that, silly, there’s no one here physically. I’m Thamus, the necklace you picked up.” A slight laugh in his voice as he chuckled at Roland’s actions, strange without another person there physically.

“Truly? You’re not jesting, are you?” Roland said whilst looking around one more time, unsure if this was all some grand prank his younger brother was pulling on him.

“Truly. Now to get down to business, as I’ve introduced myself, I think it’s time you do as well.” The voice seemed expectant in the brashness of his claim, as though he were owed it through the simple fact of his own existence.

“Well, since you’ve asked so kindly,” slight sarcasm in his tone as he continued, “My name is Roland.”

“Oh? No last name? Perhaps a peasant has gotten its clutches on me, fitting, I suppose.”

“What? No!” Somewhat aghast, Roland proclaimed, “I’m Roland Valtair, second son of Duke Valtair of the Northern Isles.”

A slight harumph at the end of his proclamation, as though he were a child proving his point.

“With a Dukedom on your back, surely you wish to be heir?” the necklace’s voice salacious, “I can help you know-”

“I’m good,” Roland cut him off, “I’ve got all I need. Honestly, I hate responsibilities. I only wish I could be more independent, I suppose? Away from my family.”

He lay back against the pillows of his bed, arms coming behind him as though he were as carefree as one could be.

“Oh? Well, I do know a thing or two about business-”

“I’m good, too much work.”

“Well, how about just investing in businesses I know will flourish? I have a keen eye, you know? Surely enough, it would be enough to give you the independence you seem to crave?” The voice sounded somewhat desperate, but its idea piqued Roland’s interest.

“Really now? How would a necklace know anything about such things?” Curiosity filled his voice.

“I wasn’t always a necklace, you know, at one point I was a wise sage, I helped around this dukedom and many others until my death,” the voice carried on with the same dull tone most sages always seemed to have.

“Sure, sure, I believe you,” Roland said, waving his hand about, trying to end the monologue early, “You’ll have your work cut out for you, but I’m not very busy, so why not?”

***

The days carried on, and Roland started his own fund; Thamus helped him flesh it out. The spring sun started melting the snow away; a couple of inches still remained, yet it’d become far more pleasant. They were a far better team than either of them ever imagined, strange in its own uncanny way.

Roland felt hopeful for the future; his recovery was finally over from his time spent in his coma, and it all felt so beautiful. The castle was no longer scary as he finally had someone on his side, a friend. Thamus’s commentary was always in his ear as he seemed unable to help himself when making snarky comments about the staff, or even complaints about his family when he thought no one was listening.

Perhaps that’s why the death of his youngest brother felt so sudden; his death polarized the needs of the family over the needs of the dukedom. His father and eldest brother seemed like they could no longer agree on what was right or wrong, whether to investigate the incident further or let it rest; his eldest brother’s eyes never seemed to leave him. Either in concern or a sense of conspiracy, Roland couldn’t tell, yet that feeling of pinpricks on his neck never seemed to leave him.

That was until the winter gala arrived, at the start of the new season, leaving autumn to rest in its beauty and colors, when the shocking news of his elder brother’s passing came to his attention. A poisoning, they’d said, someone spiked his drink, a scullery maid, one that no one would assume, had done it. Nothing felt right, and with each death, his father became more and more paranoid. His office constantly a mess, and his eyes always looked at Roland as though he suspected his middle child to be the perpetrator of it all.

Maybe it would’ve stayed that way, uncertainty and constant suspicion, but as the days crept closer to the new year, gaps in Roland’s memories started appearing. One moment, he was resting his eyes in his study, the next, he’d be in the kitchen eating lunch. Or even, preparing for bed would be interrupted by him waking up alone in the halls. It all felt so strange. Thamus’ voice was the only comfort when he’d awake without a clue where he was.

Yet, as he seemed to rise once again from his slips from reality, he woke to his father beneath him. Eyes looking up at him in horror.

“Thamus, I never meant for it- you’re sick, it’s been so long.” His father’s voice was breaking apart as each breath in caused more blood to choke him out of his airways. “Just leave Roland alone, I beg.” His words drifted from themselves, half-formed in that way the dead always seemed to master.

“What the fuck.” Roland looked around. Everything felt misaligned, as though this were surely a nightmare. His father’s expectations getting to his subconscious once again, surely?

His body jerked around, unsteady, limbs trembling as he tried to remove himself from a bloody crime scene.

“Calm yourself, please, Roland.” Thamus’ voice was soothing, yet why was it? Where was he? What was going on?

“Thamus, what’s happening? Why am I here? Why is my father lying beneath me- Why did he say your name?” Each word came out taught, his own fear causing him to hyperventilate each word as he felt truly mad.

“Bodily possession is far easier when you’re asleep, you know? It was so easy to bribe people here and there to put things where they don’t belong.” Thamus’ voice was neutral, so unlike his usual self, “Your family has a lot more enemies in this castle than you’d think, your younger brother especially.”

“I get that- But why? What do you have to gain?”

“Nothing truly, but you know I was never a sage, not truly. I was at one point in time, your father’s whipping boy,” his voice disgusted, either at himself or his father, Roland couldn’t tell.

“He was always getting in trouble, you know? Always leading to me getting the whip for his misdeeds. ‘Couldn’t help himself, he said,’ never taking the brunt of the punishments was what it was, he never learned,” The necklace burned hot, Thamus’ anger coming off in waves as he seemed to relive the past.

“I had a bright future ahead of me, smartest in my class, everything your father failed to understand I picked up in a matter of seconds.” Pride in his voice as he proclaimed his feats of the past.

“One day, he thought it smart to sneak into his father’s study, grabbed a foreign delegate's prized map, one of a kind. He thought it was some toy to be tossed about, ended up too close to the fireplace- in the end, all he had was the embers crumbling in the fire.” Thamus’ voice stuttered for a moment, his feelings swinging between anger and pain.

“He blamed it on me, you know? Said I told him to fetch it, that I wanted a look at it. I was always praised for my genius, always sneaking books from the duke’s library. Perhaps that streak of thievery made it all so believable.” his voice was filled with spite, still ruminating in the injustice of it all. “They banished me, thought it kinder than any other sort of punishment the foreign delegates brewed up for me.”

“Still, he was just a boy, just like you were! It’s been years-” Roland started.

“Do you know how it feels, Roland? Each step like glass in your heels, your legs so numb you can’t tell where each foot lands. The pain was both mind-numbing and exact, never letting you forget where you are and what you must keep doing.” his voice broke. “You barely faced the cold of the winter storm, but I bore the brunt of it. In all your life, you have never known the pain of skin cracking as your joints move to survive. Of the dryness of death creeping around the cold, wet corners of the icy tundra. It is maddening, Roland,” his voice had gained a crazed haze, coming quickly with each breath, leading him to the cusp of hyperventilating.

“I had to do it, I couldn’t let that monster’s blood line continue,” his voice stark.

“But then I met you- you were so funny, so bright, being near you made me feel human again-” his voice was shaking, “Yet I couldn’t let it go, I knew he had to suffer, had to watch his family die before he did, just so I could finally rest.”

Thamus stopped answering after that; no shaking of his container, nor damage to it seemed to wake him. Only then did the loneliness start to sink in, an empty dukedom, no family nor friends to fill it with. Just Thamus and an assortment of servants, surely set to leave, the death of an entire family is never a good omen. Each breath empty, Roland felt as though he’d never left those icy hills and plains. As though he were still there, isolated and alone, yearning for someone, anyone.