History are what made us. In the most grappling light of existence, we seek to understand—to comprehend, the uniqueness and boundaries of our system that makes us who we are now. That idea also implies to the creation of the world—when gods finally touched the breathing world and see it as good, away from anything formidable by universal laws.
"Gods have their own unique denomination." my mother whispered under the signs of her frail lips, white as snow and like cracks of thunder.
I am sitting beside her in this lonely, gravely-punished corners of her prison cell. Both arms are chained and binded to another prisoner on the succeeding cell so as to anticipate their prison break, one must cut not one, but both of his or her arms to have higher chances of breaking free.
Nevertheless, it is every man for himself when you are near the gallows or when finally, a scythe is coming to reap your soul altogether.
Knowing my mother, she would rather accept her fate than to live as if she was dying every day. Truly, to see the beauty of death is the most peaceful thing in this world. She coughed suddenly and break my thoughts as an aftermath. I looked at her and can heed my heart demolishing.
One blink she slowly makes will be my own harbor to the gallows. A cup of pain I didn't know will be served, crucifying my body.
She was still my mother. The fleeting moments we had when I was a child were the only happy memories I keep cherishing. When I have my world with her, that's when gods took her away from me.
She was incriminated by law. She broke the commandment of refraining Winged-ones to explore the Hunters' land. Although it is for good measure due to my wing complication occuring before, a specific herb must be acquired to keep me alive, one herb that can only be found a hundred feet below us.
Now, a case made the viscounts feel so empowered — a motherless child due to disobedience
She swallowed afterwards. "I wanted you to know that story but then again I fail again as your mother." she looked away towards the cell's metal bars as the chains in her neck clamor like bells.
After a short minute, her gaze drawn back against me. This time, her eyes are more stiffened, more stoic against mine.
"The gods have their own potentials that gave them advances compared to the other gods. Although we have not been in touch with them and we never did know our occurance to the world, it is said that the gods divide Heath like a woman being defiled and been tasted part by part and so, the realms are bestowed upon each god." her eyes hid a diminutive fire behind the curtains of her lids. I stared at her intently but part of me wanted to know why she's telling me this.
She knows more than enough that my uncle, the hand of the king, educated me twice as hard as the other scholars.
"But before the designation of realms, the gods already showcased their powers and created sons base on their capacity to give them special abilities and power. The first sons of Heath are reckless and barbaric. The chronicle tell us that they ride demons and ancient water creatures. They perform spells and witchery." her voice is calm and serene, a complete silence to the distraught of this building.
Seeing her eyes flicker at the moonlight like the gaze I've witnessed when they took her away from me and made me watch, her son, to the arena where they strip her off her clothes and defile her with countless soldiers and monarchs. And then, cut her wings.
Her glorious wings, from the blood of the king and the great general.
Beads of sweat started to form on my temples and on my hand as my heart flush with anger.
"Of course, the gods did not approve the mess they had made and see that too much freedom can open anarchy to the land so gods created the second sons, in image of them and a power so great, they can kill the first son from dawn to dusk." I heaved a deep breath. My anger resuscitate in more fury as I hear the clunks of the metal bars while soldiers pull prisoners like a bag of sack from the other cells.
It is time.
I heard a disturbance of voices and loud cries.
The king ordered you death by hanging and so that the king do not owe you kindness, your last words won't be honored and chronicled.
A shriek returned to the soldier's speech. My ears almost bleed at the sudden shrill as my attention goes beyond my mother's metal bars.
A child is binded to the floor as his mother cry in agony. My body weakened at the sight.
"We are the second sons, my child." she softly pull my face away from that scene and made me look at her teary-eyes. That is the moment my anger manifests in my face and in my tightly-crumpled fists.
I do not understand. I thought a child can be pardoned. It's in the law. Goddamn! I have known the law like a memory.
"It is too late for me to tell you our origins like other mothers to their child and so my motherhood goes away." she smiled so sweetly like I am a child again, trying to pull my knowledge from a horrible violence. However, I am agitating with stuttered and sharp casting of breath.
"You do not need to tell me this again. Uncle already told me this story and my position to the monarch." I muttered under dark undertones as her eyes gain a sense of worry.
"Gods created the second sons so we would be like roosters piling up against each other. So that generation will kill generations." she glides her callous hands continuously on the surface of my skin. All I know is that image circulates throughout my system, it pumps out disbelief and betrayal.
It seeks for both what must be amended and what is the reason behind this.
They promised fairness and equity.
"Mother, I do not know what—" I exasperated promptly between this close distance between us.
"Gods wanted assurance that no one will revolt against them." I lowered my head as my eyes addressed the floor. The loud weeping of the mother across our cell rings to me like vibrating silver and metals. It recoils to my ears as my eyes went blank.
"Fangs are smithered to kill." my mother hummed at my ears. She rubbed my hair as my eyes rest blandly to the music of cackling metal bars in front of us.
It is over. A finality I do not know how to face. Before she rise from sitting at her deathbed, I grappled for her hands and kiss the back of her palms softly. I clenched her frail hands one more time before the bars clang again.
Her words became muted as if I can hear a partial of it and then she left. My eyes starting to heat up in resistance to tears. I knew this day will come. I knew what will be her demise. I prepared for this and one word from her can crumple me into pieces I do not know possible.
I've spent my adolescence living in conversations, smiles I can give to her before she go but the past few days, I am restless and sleepless. My heart scrunches at the thought.
I may lost contact for a decade or so but heaven knows how I wish I can visit her months prior to the government order.
But law is law. An hour before the enactment of the order will be given to relatives and loved-ones. Nothing more than that. No letters and contacts especially to those who are punished from defying a high order which was defied by my mother too.
I do not know what to say nor what to come up with her speech. She always speak like she speaks to herself alone. Even I cannot decipher her codes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I did not watch my mother this time. I did not burn my heart even more at the sight of her head surrounded by a thick rope, her feet hanging in deep darkness.
This tradition of the royal order is known to be the most horrifying. Death by hanging will always and must happen at the solstice. That is the time a bunch of execution happen at the capitol and the city grounds are filled with sorrow, fear and blood. By nature, The Solstice occur annually. Aside from the quick death, the body will lay at the capitol a few more hours before the sun rise and when the sun reaches it peak, intense heat will incur and can burn the corpse in the process.
It is practical. Officials won't take time to dispose the corpse, and ashes can fill in the lungs of the people as they seguè to their thoughts of how cruel the higher ranks can be.
"You are not going to visit your mother at the capitol?" my uncle, Sir Gerard Rosvald, stated in a flat manner. Rosvald is the Great General's younger brother and this Great General is also my mother's brother. So by sequence, my mother is the eldest, the general being the second son and Rosvald being the youngest.
Rosvald took care of me when my mother was captured and my grandfather, the king, ordered Rosvald who is never a caretaker of children to look after me and essentially be my father figure.
"Why would I speak to the dead?" I glanced at him while holding an old book. A source that proclaims system of pardon from crimes with specificity to children or minors.
And then, I saw him put a cube of sugar to his coffee cup on a small table meant for reading.
I glanced back again to my book and pay no attention to what he is doing. "The solstice is coming in two hours exactly." he gruffed. I am still in front of the counter, waiting for the owner of the bookstore which is my uncle as well.
"Or you might just want to sniff your mother's ashes. Your choice." I heard him took a sip and imagining him making a shrug.
"Winged-ones are akin to colder climates. We are weak during the solstice and cases of skin burns are relatively high." he chuckled dryly. Rosvald mastered herbalry and advanced medicine. He was the first coordinator of the first-built hospital in the civilization.
So as the law being my first passion when it is deeply rooted on my mission to reconcile the case of my mother to the Golden Circle, Rosvald pulled some strings to push my screening examination to the prestige law school in the capitol. I owe a lot to a man I did not met prior to the issue with my mother.
"As I observed," I remarked. I heard him grunt as he stood up, carrying his coffee. Then, I watched him walk oddly with his big book pinned in his arms and white cup of coffee in his left wrinkly arms. I almost think that with the way he's struggling to go at the counter, he might ruin a perfectly-ironed, dark brown jumpsuit and white polo.
Gods forbid this man. He said it will be excruciatingly hot today and still drinking coffee.
I scrunched my forehead in confusion as he sigh like I am the most difficult man-child he must help. He asked for my book with his hand and gave me a receipt so I can return the book the next week.
"I'm buying it." I blurted out when he was about to take the receipt from the machine.
"I'm not going to pay for it." I sigh. Heavens, this man never change. I took my wallet and gave the payment to the book which is also overpriced.
"Thanks." I flatly added before taking the book with me.
"Hey! Wear your coat!" he exclaimed as I make my way to the exit. I wave my hand to let him know that I will.