His Worst Memory

"Abomination...Abomination..." The whispers followed the little boy in ragged clothes as he walked down the steps of the road. Wild grass grew through the cracks in the road. If a stranger had entered this part of the palace they would have thought it was part some ancient ruins.

The kingdom of Londaros was a rich and powerful kingdom, its people hardy from the cold northern winters and long campaigns of war. The king had built a palace that was famed for its opulence and the beauty of its women.

However, tucked in a corner of this slice of heaven lay an isolated little island, on which a black and ugly tower jutted out among vines and ruins of previously conquered kingdoms. Surrounded by a treacherous lake and a walkway that only appeared once a day, no one wanted to go near it.

The servants waited impatiently for the boy, who made his way slowly towards them.

He was six or seven years old, in clothes that even the worst of servants would not wear. Hollow cheeked and bone thin, he looked starved. Around his thin face, a thick blue band covered his eyes.

Despite the ragged clothing and desolate appearance, he carried himself with dignity as he walked down the path towards a wall where three servants waited.

"Why can't he just die, along with that wretch of a mother. Why are they still here, polluting our kingdom?" The leader among them asked, he spat on the ground, "He's a curse who'll get us all killed."

"I wish we didn't have to come, today of all days. I heard that all the foreign dignitaries are coming to here." One of them said as he stretched, "The Dragon Festival is starting once the sun falls down. I even bought some masks especially for it. That stupid little scum sure is taking his time."

The little boy held high, and pretended not hear them. He dropped the basket in front of the sneering servants.

"This is the third day you've brought rotten food with mold." The little boy said coldly to the servants, "Do it again and I'll cut you down."

The servant laughed, "Right away, little majesty." He then swung his arm to slap the boy's face.

Though his eyes were covered, the boy dodged the blow. The servant fell to the earth, grunting in pain and cursing, "You unclean thing, you cursed scum!"

A small foot came down on his mouth with surprising strength, breaking the man's teeth and causing him to faint.

The boy looked down at him, and while no one can see his eyes, they could feel his distain for them, "I am your prince, the eldest prince of this nation. You would do well to remember that."

His faced turned to the two remaining men, who took a step back. They looked away from the blue cloth that covered the boy's eyes. He turned around to go back to the Tower of Isolation.

"You're Disgusting, an abomination... why don't you just die?" A servant in blue cursed at his back, the other, in red looked at their fallen comrade, "That little boy is evil, why doesn't the king just kill him?"

Everyone in the kingdom knew the story of the cursed prince, who was born evil. He was the shame of the nation, the eldest son that the king didn't even bother to name.

"That mother of his is a Grandmaster Mage. One of the two in the kingdom." The man in red sighed, "She's powerful. That's why the king has this filthy pair locked up. If it was me, I would have killed him the day he was born."

"I heard that when he was born, the sky turned red. When he opened his eyes, half the people in the palace died." The servant said in a low voice, "If it wasn't his mother protecting him, the king would've killed him on the spot."

"It's alright. The king's married again, there's two healthy princes in the kingdom." The other servant answered, "Once his mother dies, the mutt will die too." They chuckled.

"Where's my things?" The red clothed servant cried, he clutched at the bag that had been had his side at one point. "The little brat!" He tried to follow the road towards the tower.

"Don't!" His companion cried, but was too late. The man hit the invisible barrier with a thud, with a scream of pain he passed out.

"Stupid." The man in blue sighed. The magical barrier only opened for a few seconds a day, and only a few feet or so at that. Enough time and space for a little bit of food to be pushed through to the inhabitants. Now, how was he going to carry these two across the moat?

The boy climbed the dilapidated tower to towards the highest room. There, a woman in chains sat, her frame as thin as his. She was a stunning woman, despite the hunger and exhaustion that left indelible marks on her figure. Her clothes were rich but worn, they had once fitted her like a glove and now hung onto her shoulders desperately.

Around her, chains thicker than her legs chained her to the floor, pooling around her like black snakes.

"My boy, is that you?" Time had not eroded her lyrical voice, rich and lilting, it carried like the last note of a violin reverberating in the cool air.

The boy held up a bag, "I brought some food."

She looked at the bag and smiled, "I should scold you for injuring that man, but they deserved it. You did well."

She coughed, a terrible sound that racked her body, even shaking the heavy chains. The boy rushed to get a pitcher of water and poured some of it into a cracked cup.

The woman wiped her lips and shook her head, "It won't help." She looked at him, "My time is nearly up."

The boy stood there a little lost, he had known this day was coming.

He took a deep breathe to calm down, "I know."

She smiled sadly, "You are doing what I told you. Good." She took his hand, "Mourn for me when no one can hurt you, because if they see you hurt, they will use it to destroy you."

"I won't let them." He promised. She smiled, "That's my boy."

She continued, "The barrier around this tower will last at least another year. Take this time to prepare. You must escape to your uncle in Dycathion. Your father...he will kill you the first chance he gets, once he knows that I'm dead."

The boy lower his head, "I understand." He bit his lip and said nothing.

"My child." The woman reached out as if to touch him, "The most precious thing in the world."

"Only to you." The childish voice was emotionless.

She shook her head, "One day they'll regret treating you this way. Your magic will be stronger than anything this world has seen. They will reap what they sow."

"But is what they say true? Am I really cursed to destroy the world?" The boy asked after a moment.

The woman shook her head, "They are ignorant people. They fear what they don't understand. Your cousin has the same affliction, even if it was a little different. It appears once every generation in the Cursed Line. Something went a little wrong, and you and your cousin both inherited it."

"But they made him a king." The boy argued, "They call him a gift of heaven. A god on earth. Why do they hate me. Why do they say that I signal the end of times?"

"Fools." She said simply, "People place their trust in magic and prophecies, ones that have been passed down from the Fae and Folk. Those words are not to be trusted."

"Then I hate them. The Fae and the Folk. They caused this." He said and winced, touching the thick cloth band around his eyes.

"It bothers you still?" She asked, concerned.

He nodded and then shook his head, "I'm used to it."

"I wish I had better material." She said weakly, "Then you would have been able to see more."

The boy shrugged, he didn't say anything, not wanting to upset her more.

True, all he could see were shadows and shades of blacks, but even that was better than nothing.

He looked at the his mother and wished that he could see her face clearly. What did she really look like? He wondered. What was the color of her eyes? What did she look like when she smiled?

"Will I ever be able to remove it one day?" He asked and touched the cloth. She was silent for a moment, "If you find the right person." She said softly, "It took nearly everything I had to create it. Go to your uncle and asked him to take you to see the Lady Supreme of the Light Mages. She made the cloth of light for your cousin. She will be able to help you."

"Will she be able to cure my eyes?" He asked her.

His mother shook her head, "I don't know. But do not try to take off the cloth on your own. I've spelled it so that it can't come off. Your magic is too uncontrollable, if freed, it will destroy you."

He nodded, "I won't, mother."

She coughed again, her hand was starting to fade. The chain that had held her to the tower now fell to the floor with a clunk. It broke into a thousand pieces of glittering lights.

Mother and son stared at the chain for a moment. She stared into his eyes, "I love you. Take care, my son." She faded faster and faster, like grains of sand passing through an hourglass.

"I'm sorry." The six year old boy, who had been starved, beaten, and spat on every time he met anyone was losing the last person in the world who cared for him, he whispered again, "I'm sorry."

It was he that had caused her death. If he had never been born she would have been a happy, healthy woman.

"You are my greatest pride. My joy." She said with a brilliant smile that seemed to make her body glow with peace and happiness, "And you have overcome so much, I go in peace."

"I love you, mother."

This is the last moment of weakness I will allow. He told himself. I am alone now, so I must be strong. She raised me strong.

He stared hungrily at her face, a woman who had used the powerful of magics to protect him. A woman who had been dead for more than a year now.

What he saw now, was the disappearance of her soul.

She had died last year in the spring, her sicknesses and her constant use of protective magic to keep him alive had cost her physical body. He had found her soul beside her lifeless form, staring at him sadly, chained to the tower.

He had burned her body in secret, for no one must know that the only person who loved him was now dead. There was a little locked room in the tower where her ashes lay.

He would never forget that time, the smell of human flesh melting in the fire. The bits of charred bone that wouldn't burn. Sometimes he woke up screaming in terror. In those moments her spirit would comfort him, saying that she was still here. She would always be here.

And now? he wondered. What would he do in those endless nights? He looked at his mother, whose face was half faded at this time. He wanted to run into her arms just once more. It had been a year since he had felt the touch of another human being.

He wanted to be a child, but he had never been given the opportunity.

He stopped himself. He must be strong. He could not cry. He was alone, and no one would come if he cried.

The last of her disappeared, and she left this world with his name on her lips, "Take care, My Killian."