The Knight's Eyes

26: APPLE CORE

ALSIN POV

He plucked a green apple from one of the lowest branches of an apple tree hanging over the garden's silver fence. He cleaned it with his shirt and took a good bite. Its natural sweetness excavated his mouth and its juice ran down the side of his mouth. He wiped a hand across his chin before it dripped off the edge and onto his clothing.

Sir Alsindad Larius leaned his elbows onto his knees as he chewed, eyes focused afar. Blackened treetops sat beyond a spiked fence at the bottom of the courtyard's steps. A small dirt road was visible in the midst of the bare trees, disappearing into the foggy darkness. Morning had passed with him deep in thought, eating all of the apples he could reach from his position.

What was going on in the dungeons? Why did Nightingale need the little girl? How did she die? How was his father doing in his cell? Was Walta safe? Did they think he was dead? If only there was a way to send a message that he still lived. He bit again into the apple and gave a frustrated groan. His stomach cringed with his bitterness.

It wasn't hard to see that the witch was powerful. She managed to slam him into a wall with one hand. Magic, Abebe called her power, but witches can't produce magic. If he was still in Terra and the topic of magic arose, everyone would agree there was no such thing. However, here he was alive after succeeding through the Doom and Dauntless and witnessing the most unnatural obstacles. Terrans faintly knew the existence of mystic beasts due to Summer Terror and random warg attacks, but magic was never included. Now Alsin could see the truth: Mystic Realm was not given its name because it sounded good but of what dwelled within its kingdoms.

He swallowed another bite and stretched out the tension in his neck. If only he had a weapon, a sword perhaps. The only sharp objects he had seen in his week of chores were those of the wraith guards, Kaahiss' claws, and Abebe's knives. The idea did come to him once to steal a butcher knife, but now after being a victim of one of Nightingale's performances, the knife could easily be yanked away.

His skin crawled causing the hairs along his arm to stand. His chewing paused and he straightened his back to look to his left. Standing only steps away was the grumpy Curl.

"Why are you out here?"

Alsin scuffed, "What do you think?"

"Go back inside, now."

"I'm enjoying the sun."

"Kaahiss wants you in the kitchen."

"Tell him I am relaxing."

His hand went to his sword. Alsin stared at it and had the urge to see if he could hold it or would it simply be air and evaporate?

"Agh, alright, you bloody shadow," he grumbled and rose to his feet. "Can't have any peace around here."

"When you die, you'll get your peace," he heard Curl say before disappearing into the air.

Alsindad paused for a few seconds, letting his words process. He growled and chuckled, "I'm not dying anytime soon, arsehole."

Taking another bite of his apple, he entered the gate into the garden. He hummed the tune to his mother's favorite song. He recalled his conversation with Abebe earlier. Singing did calm him when he was younger. Actually, it helped soothe his wild imagination that gave him nightmares at times. It also helped him during his years in Armshood and Knighthood until he succeeded and graduated. Never had he took the time to really indulge in his voice after mother's death.

The dirt path stretched horizontally through the large garden before taking a sharp right towards the glass doors of the kitchen.

"Let your voice be the breeze hmhm," he smirked, took another bite and groaned. He always wanted to know why apples never tasted the same. This one was quite sweet and very juicy and possessed a tiny edge of sourness that made his mouth explode. Maybe Abebe would bake him an apple pie one day.