Sapiens

1. Sapiens

“It happened again.”

Sapiens noticed the strength in Fabian’s blow falter. He blocked his sword with ease.

“When?” Fabian asked.

“This morning.”

“How?” Fabian wondered for a moment if Sapiens was only tricking him to make him lose his concentration. “It’s only ten, and you seem fine.”

“I’m always fine afterward.”

“Are you?”

Sapiens blocked Fabian’s wooden sword one last time and lowered his own, touching its tip to the trimmed blades of grass. “I don’t know. I don’t … know.”

“You should see a physician, Sapiens. You said you’d see one if it happened again.”

“It only happened twice,” Sapiens lied. “It’s not serious.”

“When is it going to be serious, then?” Fabian’s voice rose before he glanced in the direction of the servant standing by the palace door. He lowered his voice. “When you run out of breath completely and die?”

Sapiens didn’t answer. He looked away at the crepuscular rays lighting most of the Western Garden. It was a cloudy day, but the sun finally managed to find a way. He smiled ever so slightly.

“Hayden!” he called out. The servant by the palace door advanced with a tray that held neatly folded towels, which the two young men replaced with their practice swords.

The servant took a step back and waited patiently as Sapiens and Fabian wiped away the sweat from their intense—albeit short—spar. At a nod from the Prince, he advanced to accept the towels and present water for the two gentlemen.

“Thank you,” Sapiens smiled. “Will you get Lord Fabian the archery paraphernalia, please?”

“What the Prince means is, ‘Will you bring the Prince the archery paraphernalia so Lord Fabian can teach him to shoot properly?’,” Fabian snickered. Sapiens laughed, and Hayden chuckled, quickly looking down.

“I have to leave soon, actually,” Fabian said more seriously. “No archery today. Thanks, Hayden.”

“As you wish, Lord Fabian. Your Highness,” Hayden bowed and walked away with the cluttered tray.

Sapiens’s soul seemed burdened again the moment Hayden left. Fabian wondered what to do about him. One glance at Sapiens and he decided to go for a gentler approach.

“Let’s take a seat,” Fabian said. He walked his friend to the nearest bench. It was a beautiful morning. Autumn was the best time of the year, he believed.

“Why do you think that happens to you?” Fabian asked when they’d settled. “I mean, what do these … incidents have in common?”

incidentsSapiens absently held a hand to his heart. He struggled a few moments before he finally said, “I dreamed about D-Dad.” Sensing his chest begin to tighten, he tried to distract himself. His hands fumbled with the pommel of his real sword, his father’s sword.

“For the hundredth time, Sapiens,” Fabian said, his voice not unkind, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“For the hundredth time, Fabian,” Sapiens whispered, almost breathlessly, “it was.”

Thoughts swarmed his mind. Not that they’d quietened for days, but talking about it seemed to make it worse. And of course his father’s death had been his fault. Whose else could it have been?

“I dreamed about Mom too,” Sapiens added, perhaps trying to fight the pain with a different pain. “It was …”

Sapiens’s lips faltered. He saw his parents before his eyes, young, happy, carefree. They looked different from how he remembered them, especially his dad. In the dreams, he didn’t have a beard, his blue eyes looked unburdened, and his laugh was contagious. And his mom …

I’m almost there, darling, a voice overcame his mind like a cold glass of water after spearmint.

I’m almost there, darling,Sapiens stiffened, looking around him with little hope. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that voice, and it wasn’t the first time he couldn’t locate its source.

“Hey!” The alarm in Fabian’s voice woke Sapiens up. “Is it happening again?”

Sapiens blinked and noticed that his breathing had been starting to race. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Tell me again what happens to you, exactly,” Fabian said, seemingly unable to drop it. Sapiens understood. If things had been reversed, he’d be losing his mind over the worry for Fabian.

Sapiens exhaled. He moved his hand from the sapphire pommel of his father’s sword, his long fingers now twiddling. “When it happens, I … I can’t do anything. It’s like … I turn into stone. No, wait. That’s not how it goes.”

He closed his eyes. “I can … move. I just … It’s like my thoughts become my enemies, Fabian. It’s like they compete to see which one can take me out first. Everything I dread, everything I hate, comes at me all at once, and … I feel I’m about to die, sometimes, or perhaps that I would rather die. But … it ends.” He didn’t need to worry Fabian with further details. “It ends, and I can breathe again and move and go about my day. Like now. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sapiens. You should see a physician.”

“I don’t … think it needs a physician. It’s my head. My head does this.”

“How?” Fabian wondered. “It’s your lungs. You can’t breathe, right?”

Sapiens wished to explain how it was about the fear that crippled him, how he shouted to himself over and over that it would end, that he was safe, yet how his voice never got through. He may not have a name for it—he may not even be sure it ever happened to someone else—but he just knew it wasn’t physical.

He revisited Fabian’s words. “I … actually breathe too much,” he corrected with a grin.

“Sapiens,” Fabian glared at him, “see a physician.”

“Fine. If it happens again.”

Fabian cursed under his breath. Sapiens found himself snorting.

“Look, I haven’t been getting any good sleep for a week now,” Sapiens went on with more ease, his faith in the everyday life restored when he could laugh. “It’s the stress. Besides, there’s the coronation.”

Sapiens’s voice faltered a little. He hoped Fabian wouldn’t notice, but he did.

“You still can’t get used to the idea?” Fabian gently said.

“No,” Sapiens admitted, breathing normally becoming, once more, a challenge.

“I don’t understand what you have to worry about, Sapiens. You were born to do this. Your father always said that⁠—”

Fabian stopped speaking. Sapiens knew he had more to say and appreciated that he read the signs. Sapiens had done a great job not thinking about his father’s death for five years now. He was not about to ruin that even if everything was pointing him toward remembering.

“Sapiens …” Fabian looked around, leaning closer. “King Robert is not the best king. I have nothing against him, but he’s not fit to rule.”

“What makes you think I am? Just that I was born into it?”

“I trust you; that’s what. I have known you my entire life, and I know you have it in you. But him … Sapiens, the situation is getting bad. My pay used to be enough for the three of us and I managed to save some. Now it’s barely enough to get us by.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sapiens’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Because my pay is personal to me, but I’m trying to make you see how bad things are. You … you can make this right. And that pact with Erphia. I know you can make it happen. And schools,” he gave his friend a quick pat on the back.

Sapiens rubbed his eyes tiredly. His chest hurt from the hyperventilation earlier that morning, and his every muscle ached with the tormenting lack of sleep. He knew Fabian was probably right, but it didn’t change the truth: his coronation was one month away, and he was wishing for any miracle to stop it from happening.

“Let’s go out,” Sapiens said. “You’re free this afternoon?”

Fabian raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t it look strange to have a commoner on the horse next to yours?”

“Not if I’m a commoner myself,” Sapiens smirked.

“The King still hasn’t noticed?”

Sapiens shrugged. His uncle, King Robert, was a man who hated responsibility. His most eloquent skill was evading it, and he did it by living in his own head, not keeping up with much of what happened around him. Whenever asked, his answer was simple: a king was always busy. It allowed Sapiens to do whatever he wanted, though, so he didn’t complain much. That and an immovable faith in the authority that comes with the title …

“What do you say?” Sapiens said, now more excited. “Just you and me to the Gates this afternoon. I want to see how things are in the city.”

“I wouldn’t miss the chance,” Fabian said. “Meet you here?”

“No, I’ll come to you. Might even drop by to greet Aunt Margaret and Natalie. I miss them terribly. It’s been years!”

Sapiens noticed Fabian shake his head with amusement, and it hit him that Fabian’s mother might be troubled by the Prince’s visit, feeling she had to go out of her way to prepare the house to host him. He was about to take it back when Fabian said, “They’ll be delighted to see you.”

Sapiens didn’t know whether Fabian was only saying that, but before he could pursue the matter, Fabian spoke again. “Hey, I’d better go now,” he started to get up. “Natalie is already mad at me for going out on my day off. Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes, yes. I’m already fine,” Sapiens said.

“And you will fetch that physician if it happens again?”

“Yes.”

“Liar,” Fabian smirked. “Oh, before I forget …”

Sapiens watched him walk to a brown leather satchel lying against a tree trunk. He picked it up and walked back to Sapiens, handing it to him.

“Did you like it?” Sapiens reached out to take the satchel, which contained a book.

“As far as ethics goes, that wasn’t so bad,” Fabian said.

Sapiens chuckled. For years, he’d been trying to make his friend see how great books on ethics, doctrines, and different faiths and ideologies were. This was just his latest failure. “I’ll return it to you full this afternoon,” he held up the satchel and gave a nod, a promise.

Fabian nodded back. “See you at, say, five?”

“Yeah, alright,” Sapiens said. “See you then.”

Sapiens watched Fabian walk to the palace gates. He couldn’t bring himself to move for a long time; he sat there in the garden following the clouds, trying to shush the voices in his head. When he grew tired, he headed to the stables in search for his old friend Percy.

* * *

“Good morning, Your Highness,” said the friendly voice of the groom.

“Good morning to you, Kian,” Sapiens smiled and headed to his horse, Percy, his friend since he was five. He touched his palm to the stallion’s warm skin, a sense of safety washing over him as Percy’s big brown head turned to nuzzle him. He chuckled and caressed Percy’s face, breathing more easily.

“How’s Juditha?” he started, still caressing Percy. “She’s in her seventh month by now?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Kian couldn’t stop grinning. “If I may, sir,” he added, “it means so much to us that you take the time, Your Highness. It is … so great of you, sir.”

Sapiens smiled, looking away.

Juditha used to be a maid in the palace. Of the counted maids they had, she was his favorite, sweet and kind, not as much into gossip as the other two. She and Kian had gotten married about a year earlier. Due to her pregnancy, however, she had to stay home; hers was a little rough, it seemed.

Sapiens found it only natural to check up on Juditha’s health; she was part of the household even if she no longer came every day to the palace. But he usually found himself lost before words like Kian’s because he knew they were genuine. He answered officials just fine because it was all sheer flattery, memorized words, but when faced with honesty, Sapiens felt small.

“It must be exciting to await a baby,” Sapiens finally said.

“Very!” Kian grinned, then seemed to remember to whom he was speaking. “I mean, it is very exciting indeed, Your Highness, though we can’t settle on a name.”

There were so many good names Sapiens personally liked, but he’d never given thought to what he wanted to call his own child. He’d considered marriage—he was almost King, so it was, in fact, becoming a matter of urgency—but he’d never met a girl who stole his heart the way his father had always described his mother did, so having a child wasn’t even on his mind.

“I’m sure you’ll find the right one,” he said. “And … I think a child raised right will always be remembered, no matter their name.”

“Wise words indeed, sir,” Kian smiled.

Sapiens nodded as Kian took leave, appreciating the groom’s sensibility. Kian often saw him talk to Percy, but not even his eyes ever made fun of him; he would simply take leave and give him space.

But this time, no words came out. He tried—his mind couldn’t stop racing with all those thoughts about the strange dreams, the stranger voice he heard many times a day, and the unwanted memories that intruded, shrouding him in misery—but he couldn’t form even a whisper.

Five years. His heart was painful against his ribs. Why now?

Five years.Why now?He touched the pommel of the sword in his scabbard, moving his fingertips over its sapphire. He wished his father would speak to him. He wished some power would course through him, give him strength, give him wisdom, give him the help he knew he needed. He was just a child supposed to bear the weight of a kingdom.

In the dark of the night, Sapiens had argued, shouted, pleaded never to be King, and his father had listened. “We’ll talk when I get back.” And that had been the last he’d ever seen⁠—

“This is too much,” Sapiens shook his head. He sniffled, looking around him, holding his chest again. His hands trembled. “No. No, I won’t let this happen to me again.”

He focused on his surroundings and forced himself to breathe. His mind kept wandering back to that night, rage filling him up, fighting for control, but he forced one deep breath after another despite the shaking and ache.

Percy made a sound, touching Sapiens’s face with his snout. Sapiens reached out his unsure fingers and held onto the stallion’s face, allowing himself to feel the warmth, the heat, Percy’s breath, the smell of hay and fodder, the chill that came with the breeze that burst through the stables’ open door.

He let it swallow him.

“You’re so lucky, you know,” he whispered. “Your life is simple. You don’t know what it’s like to live with all this complexity. How about we trade places?” he grinned, taking another deep breath through his trembling lips. “You be the King of Agatha and I just be Sapiens, a simple horse with all the time in the world to contemplate.”

He chuckled to himself, his chest lighter. “I don’t think I can read as a horse, though. Perhaps being human is not so bad. If I turn into a horse, would I want to read?” he scratched his chin, pursing his lips. “Would I still be who I am if we traded places? Do you think I am who I am because I’m a human, or am I who I am because I’m Sapiens, regardless of what I am or ever become?”

wantHe lost himself in thought for a few moments until Percy moved, interrupting his thoughts again. He chuckled at himself.

“Fabian is lucky too, you know. He’s always so sure, like you. Me, on the other hand …” he huffed. “This head of mine will take me to the ends of this earth if I let it. And yet I never seem to find my answers.”

There came a soft silence. Sapiens absentmindedly tickled Percy below the chin, thoughts free to wander. He was unaware of time pass, but his rumbling stomach brought him back to reality.

“Thank you for this conversation, Perce,” he patted his old horse on the back. “You are a brilliant thinker.”

Sapiens enjoyed one last nuzzle from his brown steed before he left the stables with a bow to Kian at the door and a heart that kept chuckling at himself. For a moment, all his troubles seemed far, far away.