A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 44 - "Wilder, come back to me."

Wilder

The storm crashed over Wilder, sending him to his knees. The smooth wood of the ship's deck lay beneath his palms. He twisted his head and saw the blade coming for him. He stood, raised his sword but felt the fire as a sword was thrust into his side. Pain burned through him. He pressed a hand to the wound, feeling the thick wetness that was sticky compared to the slick rain that drenched him.

He lifted his palm and blood coated his skin. He lifted his eyes, seeing the face of Bates swimming before him amidst the curtain of rain. Gashes covered his body, all of them Wilder knew were ones he'd given. Had it been to Bates? He'd thought it was the soldiers coming for Lydia.

Lydia. Where was Lydia? He needed to... Needed... Lydia.

Wilder staggered away from the ghost of Bates, stumbling down the stairs to the main part of the ship. At the bottom, a face emerged from the storm, the man bearing a fatal chest wound. He lunged for Wilder, blood dripping from his hands. Wilder staggered back and the man smeared his death cross Wilder's shirt, leaving deep red streaks. Wilder pushed the man away knowing he was on his way to something, to someone.

Save... he needed to save someone... it was... Ly...He needed to save Lydia...

When he walked towards the mast, a group of soldiers surrounded him. Wilder blinked, trying to make sense of their faces but all he caught were pieces of them: a flash of green eyes, a set of crooked teeth, a birthmark on a neck, a scar on the back of a hand, short strains of blond hair, a once broken nose and wounds. All fatal. All caused by him.

A cut across the neck. A stomach spilling out its insides. An arrow protruding from a chest. A knife burned up to the hilt in a side. A severed arm dripping blood. A face missing an eye. A hole in the center of a throat. The stump of an arm, the hand lost. A leg wearing a cut that showed the bone.

All the dead men that had died because of Wilder came for him. Greedy, angry, demanding hands seized Wilder. He fought but knew it was deserved. Their lives had been taken by him, it was only right they come back to claim him. A hundred fingers grabbed at pieces of Wilder, tearing him away from the mast, pushing, pulling, forcing him to the edge of the ship.

Wilder stopped fighting.

This was their right.

A life for a life.

As one, the hands lifted him.

Hadn't he needed to do something?

There was someone.

He thought there had been someone.

What was the name?

But now he didn't know.

For a breath he drifted on the air.

Then the blackness of the water swallowed him whole.

The cold endlessness sucked him in.

Down and down the nothingness dragged him.

Wilder closed his eyes and let out a breath, letting the emptiness consume him.

As he was about to let go of it all, something soft brushed his cheek.

A spark of warmth encompassed his hand and tugged.

While the void called him, a voice like a siren beckoned him away.

Beckoned him back to the surface.

He hesitated.

He deserved death for all he'd done.

But the voice called again, a quiet plea.

It called to him.

It tugged him away from the utter darkness.

It spoke with kindness...need...

That voice needed him...

Wanted him...

Wilder opened his eyes as the soft brush of his cheek appeared again.

He looked upward where a little glimmer of light lived.

A single star in the ocean of the sky.

Wilder let go of the call of the void and took a breath.

The voice called to him and he rose to meet it.

"Please. Please Wilder, come back to me." 

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