Ezra Vosk had never always hated being a prince.
He hadn’t left the palace grounds since he was a young boy and from what he remembers of the outside world, it was magical, in every sense of the word. He remembers the cacophony of voices in the market every Sunday when his mother, Osla, the Queen of Amaathos, would sneak out of the palace grounds with him tucked under her cloak. He could never see that well in front of him as she shielded his identity from the townsfolk but he always clung to her side nevertheless, light from the outside world always spilling through her various flowing, ornated garments.
The townsfolk never suspected the Queen and the Prince to be among them. They would go about their business, often just walking endlessly, absorbing the energy from the people simply living, interacting and on the odd occasion, Weaving.
Life outside of the palace was indeed, truly magical. Some individuals were masterful in the art of Weaving, a mysterious power enabling it’s master to accomplish super human feats. Ezra lived for the days he would witness the art being performed.
He remembered the day clearly, when the man with power to create gold from stone tried to single handedly buy out the entire market or when the man with the power to heal began to announce the arrival of God, to demonstrate his own power as God itself. The King did not tolerate such claims. Ezra watched with his mother, unbeknownst to the soldiers sent by King Aslar, as they dragged the man who claimed he was God towards the palace never to be seen again and never spoken of.
It was the first time Ezra saw the true power his own father held. The power of the people. And in a world where powers manifest in individuals sometimes from birth, there truly was no power to surpass that. With the power of the people, the King remained on top as leader of Amaathos. The source of his power, granted and passed by his predecessors, not only the power of the people but the power which many crave, the ability to grant and remove a person’s ability to weave.
For a long time Ezra didn’t understand at the time how his father truly acquired this ability, assuming he earned it as King, but as time passed, he aged and his mother grew more ill. She spoke to him, their last conversation before she passed away. When the two of them were alone, she spoke of a world before the Veil.
Queen Osla lay gently on her bed, beads of sweat trickling down her face, her smile frail but nevertheless her eyes shimmering with love for her son.
“Do you remember the dream you had when you were little Ezra?” Queen Osla spoke quietly. Ezra assumed it was because she was too faint but she was lowering her voice to avert the curious ears of the guards posted outside her door.
“Ehrm…” Ezra pondered, trying to recall eventful dreams from his fourteen years of life.
“You were so very afraid” Osla began looking away from Ezra and shifted her eyes to the ceiling above her, decorated with floral patterns, each petal more beautiful than the last. “You told me about the end of the world. That you saw the Veil, which protects our city, shatter and fall to the ground, exposing us to the world outside.
Ezra remembered. However, he wondered why his mother would speak about this now. He remained silent and never looked away from her face, even though hers was turned away.
“You were terrified. I held you in my arms as you trembled and recounted your dream to me. You spoke of the creatures beyond the Veil ravaging our city. Taking the lives of everyone, including me and your father. You stood alone, atop the palace, looking down at the lives of everybody you knew being taken. Such a horrid dream for a young boy to have, don’t you think Ezra?”
Ezra sighed and shuffled his chair towards his mother’s bed and took her hand in his. “I do, mother. A horrid dream and nothing more, just like you told me.”
Her eyes suddenly locked with his. “You must never let that happen my son.”
He grew cold as he imagined the events had actually happened and he shook his head and painfully smiled. “That will never happen mother. The Veil has stood for thousands of years and nothing has ever breached it. No creature has ever passed through.”
“And nobody has ever left” she exclaimed, to the surprise of Ezra.
Ezra moved his hand from his mothers and looked behind him, to see the door was shut, nobody else around them. “Why would anybody ever want to leave, mother?” He whispered softly. “We’ve been told that the outside is not safe and that there are creatures still roaming from the Great War, ready to slaughter anybody they encounter.”
“Exactly” she pointed at him with emphasis. “Just like we’ve been told.”
“Are you trying to say it is a lie?” Ezra asked confusedly, hanging his head.
Osla didn’t reply at first. Then she rubbed her forehead as if she was trying to sort out a million thoughts. Then finally, she slowly leaned forward and turned towards Ezra taking his hands in hers. He looked up towards her and saw something in her eye. A truth.
“Your father is the most powerful man in this city. He holds the power of the people and the ability to share weaving but did you how your father gained his ability? He wasn’t born with one at all.”
Ezra thought for a moment and remembered his studies. He was what one might call a bookworm and he prided himself on knowing the history of his people. “The First King of Amaathos was the Sage Buurick. He fought in the Great War and when the city of Amaathos was about to fall, he erected a Veil around the city to shield us from the devastation outside. Time went by and civilization carried on within this cordoned off part of the world and as the Sage aged and passed away, he granted his power to his successor, a righteous man, Calvaria. Each King, as they passed, shared their ability with the next and here we are two thousand years later, with father being the King of Amaathos and holder of the Truth of Buurick!” Ezra hadn’t realized he had stood from his chair as he talked excitedly about his peoples history. He had always loved the history of Amaathos and yearned to know the story of the time before the Veil, before the Great War when the world was full of people, but now they were alone.
Osla smiled, “My clever prince,” her hand was stroking his face lightly. “you love your father don’t you?”.
Ezra was taken aback. “Of course I do mother. Father is a great man. The people respect him. He is the leader of Amaathos and the holder of the Truth. I hope to be a great leader like him when I am older.”
Osla closed her eyes and sighed, she lay back on her bed and patted the space beside her. Ezra smiled and lay down beside his mother on her bed, his legs curled up to his stomach, his head gently resting on his mother’s shoulder.
The two sat in silence for a moment, until his mother spoke softly.
“The power that has been granted to your father. The Truth of Buurick is a physical … thing”.
Ezra remained silent, curious where his mother was going.
“Your father calls it a Shard. I’ve seen it taken many forms. A stone, a ring and even as a tattoo in your fathers more rebellious years.” She chuckled before losing her rhythm of breathing and coughing roughly into her other shoulder.
“A material that changes shape and grants a power as strong as fathers?” Ezra asked intrigued.
“That’s right Ezra. Your father once told me a story about the Shard and its role in the Great War. In the time before the Veil ever protected us from the outside, or before it ever kept us prisoner within” Osla spoke shakily.
“Prisoner?” Ezra asked incredulously. “Mother, we are not – “ he began but Osla cut him off.
“A Shard must be a part of something, right Ezra? You are a clever boy, think what something that powerful can do, and where it must have come from? People are greedy by nature. Your father was passed knowledge which spoke of the Great War and how the people of old fought over the Source of all energy in the world. Nobody knew what the Source looked like but they hunted anyway until eventually, they found an incomprehensible Source of power thought only to be that of God itself. In their greed, they stole it for themselves. A power higher than them brought upon a cataclysmic event due to their sins which resulted in our city, within this Veil, being the only survivors in the world.”
Ezra was a history buff but even he didn’t know this, nobody did. Their people were the last people in the world because their ancestors stole from a higher power? The thought would be seen as sacrilegious and people would come to blame the wielder of this Truth. The King of Amaathos, his Father.
“Why are you sharing this now, Mother?” Ezra wondered, meeting his mother’s closed eyes.
“Because you have shared something with me, Ezra. Your dreams.” She replied simply before shifting her face to a passionate and fierce look. “So don’t let it happen Ezra. Do not let this city fall to the creatures outside but especially, the creatures within, who bask beneath this greed, beneath his greed.”
“Fathers?” Ezra whispered.
“Your father is a great man. But great men can have terrible secrets.”
“What are you talking about mother? Father was chosen to be successor, from the King before him, and they were chosen by the King before that and it goes on and on… the Truth passed to those that are worthy!” Ezra began to raise his voice. Although he was prince, it was simply a title to the current King’s son, but it wasn’t always the case that the crowned Prince would receive the King’s power.
“Not only has the Truth been passed down through the ages, but also a Soul, Ezra.” Osla now was no longer attempting to be quiet. Ezra was absolutely bewildered.
“Your Father, and his successor, and his before that, were all the same man, on the inside. The soul of Sage Buurick, passed down to keep hold of his Truth for eternity. A new shell chosen to be the previous Kings successor.” Osla could see the shock radiate from Ezra’s face.
“Don’t fret son. Your father is still your father. A good man, through all of his lifetimes. But I fear his obsession with his longevity will be his down fall and this city will fall with him. You need to know the truth because he needs somebody to lead him through the dark.”
Ezras mind was spinning. His father was practically immortal, clinging onto chosen hosts through the ages. The same Sage who had brought ruin upon the city in the Great War. Could he possibly be trying to live long enough and atone for his sins? Was he perhaps hoping to one day free the people to resolve his guilt? Ezra didn’t know what to say.
“You’ll promise me you will watch over him?” Osla asked, relaxing her body and repeating the same question quietly over and over until Ezra took her hand.
“I’ll do my best to watch over father. He is a good man and cares about the people”.
“That he does. But in his guilt and greed he may make the wrong decision” Osla spoke before breaking into a hysterical coughing fit.
“Mother! What decision?” Ezra groaned through the searing painful cough of his dying mother.
In reaction to his mother’s growingly coarse cough, a doctor entered the room followed by two nurses. The doctor put her hand on Ezra’s shoulder and spoke gently. “My Prince, if you could please give us a moment.” She ushered him outside, his eyes were locked on his mother but his feet moved respectfully.
The nurses swept beside his mother with needles and medicine, the thought of his mother being prodded turned his stomach.
The doctor led him outside and closed the door over gently. He stood next to two guards who looked still as stone. He looked is feet and wondered what ‘decision’ his mother was referring to. He muttered breathlessly, “I love you, Mom” and lay back against the wall.
That was the last time Ezra saw his mother, Queen Osla alive.
The next six years went by quickly, his already sheltered life from the outside world beyond the Veil, made even smaller by his isolation in the palace without his mother. His father was far too busy, leading his followers to apprehend those who are born naturally with powers, and assessing their threat before they become a threat to the people, or pulling the Veil down around them.
Ezra was now twenty years of age, a young studious man, motherless, isolated and now growing to hate the history he had once loved, knowing the truth, the greed, and the pain of loss.
Ezra Vosk had never always hated being a prince.