Blurry Memories: Siv and Lukus

Chapter 4

The sun was setting, bright rays flooding parts of the castle, and washing out the dim color hidden by shadows. Siv had sat with Ebba for a long while on that bench, just talking. He didn’t often get to do that. Just talk, without having to be careful who would hear and judge. There were ears in every part of the castle. But the garden, that bench, it was like it was protected, by some faint aura, that kept people away. It was welcoming, when you were looking for a spot to be alone. Either completely, or alone with another. It was like something magical protected it from prying eyes and ears.

But Siv knew that was absurd. Magic was not real. Not here. Maybe in the books he’d once read as a child. Or the stories his brother used to tell him to get Siv to sleep. The stories of The Before. When creatures dwelled the lands who no longer existed. Powerful, magical beings. They died out long ago, in the Great Wars. Siv recalled learning about it briefly in his lessons as a child, but remembered even more of what his father had told him as a kid. Things that were passed from generations down. Of the fight between humanity and these creatures. The loss of so many on either side. And eventually the loss of an entire group of beings, the magic lost with them. Rumor, or myth, said that magic flowed into some human veins, when they mated with these creatures. That a rare boy was prophesied to save the world with those powers. Siv only laughed as a child.

Scoffing at the memory of his naiveness as a child. He’d asked his brother if it were true, the prophecies, and both boys would run around the castle pretending they had magic powers. Well, as much as they could until being told to calm down by a guard, maid, or some adult they were bothering.

Siv thought of that memory on his way back into the castle, when yet again a servant stopped him. “Crown Prince, there is someone here for you. The guards deemed him harmless but curious. You are to meet if you wish, with him, in the library.” The servant walked away quickly, going back to his normal duties. Siv questioned it. He really was not in the mood to have a meeting, especially with someone who will likely just ask questions.

Often, dukes of far away places, or Princesses from noble kingdoms, were sent with hopes of marrying the Prince, or gaining a friendship with Brynholt. Siv's curiosity struck him. Usually, they would ask for the king. It seems strange, and rather implied. That this person had come for Siv specifically.

The walk from the entrance of the garden to the library felt longer than usual. The warmth and safety vanished as he walked through the large corridors. Servants bowed as he passed, echoing steps in the opposite direction. Guards straightened, eyes following him. He was always being watched. Always. Recently that had given him comfort, but often it made him feel as if privacy did not exist for him.

The library doors loomed before him, tall and dark oak, carved with the sigils of kings long dead. Siv hesitated before pushing them open. He considered turning away, telling the servant he was busy, postponing this for another day. Instead, he stepped inside.

The library smelled of dust and old ink, of leather and time. Shelves stretched upward like stone pillars, heavy with books that had outlived the people who wrote them. Siv had always found the place unsettling, not because of anything it held, but because of what it remembered. Actually, he loved books, he would just rather read them in the comfort of his own room.

Someone stood near one of the tables, hands folded loosely at his side.

He was tall, just over six feet, with an easy confidence in the way he carried himself. His dark hair had streaks of silver at the temples, giving him an older experienced look, though his face was youthful, sharp, and arresting. Well, what Siv could see of his face. He had some sort of handkerchief, a dark grey, covering his mouth and nose. Likely from riding in on the roads leading to Brynholt. His tunic was gray, cinched at the waist with a brown belt, and a forest-green cape fell lightly over his shoulders, patterned with subtle leaf-like embroidery. Gloves covered his hands, and his boots made no sound on the stone floor. Every detail felt deliberate, almost like he’d stepped out of a storybook– or a dream.

The man turned as Siv entered and inclined his head, not quite a bow. The strange clothes and slight nod gave Siv the assumption that this visitor was from the Southern continent. Weird.

“Prince Siv,” he said, in a thick accent. “Thank you for coming.”

Siv frowned slightly. “You asked for me.”

“Yes.”

No title. No hesitation.

Siv crossed the room slowly. “That’s unusual.”

The man smiled faintly. “So I’m told.”

There was something about his voice– calm, measured, as though he were not afraid of this place, or of Siv. It unsettled him more than arrogance ever could.

“You have business in Brynholt,” Siv said. “If it concerns the kingdom, it should be brought before the king.”

“It concerns you,” the man replied. “Though the kingdom is tangled up in that, whether it wishes to be or not.” With the heavy accent and mouth covered, Siv walked closer to better understand the man. Now standing with only the table between them.

The man, noticing, pulled the mask below his chin. Siv stood in a bout of shock. He was very very handsome. Well, by societal standards. The man's bright blue eyes, contrasting his dark eyes, and strong nose, contoured by high cheekbones and full lips, all gave him a very masculine nature. The man smirked slightly, noticing Siv’s shock. Siv looked down for a moment, steeling his face. Jealous. That's what he told himself this feeling was.

“You don’t know me,” SIv said, remembering what they’d been speaking of.

“I know you favor the western garden.” the man said gently. “The bench beneath the ivy. You sit there when the weight becomes too loud.”

The words land like a misstep on stone.

“That information isn’t difficult to obtain,” Siv said sharply. “You could have watched.”

“I could have,” the man agreed. “But I didn’t.”

Silence pressed in around them. Somehow the expression on the man's face made Siv feel as if he weren’t lying.

“Speak plainly,” he said. “What do you want?”

“To remind you,” the man said, “that forgetting does not mean it is gone.”

Siv let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “If you're here to tell me old myths, you've wasted your time. I know much more about my lands than you ever will.”

“Do you?” the man questioned.

Siv opened his mouth to retort, but fell short when he noticed the brooch clasping together the cape that the man wore. The man followed Siv's gaze and placed a hand upon the brooch. It had the Myrkall sigil on it, a snow owl perched on a branch, three stars above its head. The three stars represent the three gods who were said to have created the northern continent. The owl being the most abundant animal to have ever lived in the kingdom.

The man removed the brooch from his cloak, setting both items on the table before Siv. He pushed the brooch closer to Siv’s side, offering it for him to look at. Siv hesitated, but reached out and lifted it off the table. It weighed more than it looked, likely made of solid gold. Expensive. This man was no normal citizen of the southern continent. Gold was rarely found in the South, only ever traded from the northern continent for the abundant rubies found in the south. Siv didn’t bother hiding his expression as he looked at the dazzling pendant. This like this weren't often found.

“Who are you?” Siv breathed.

“Does it matter?” Replied the man.

“Yes, it does. If you wish to be in this castle, and speak to me, I must know who you are, and that you are not a threat.”

“You guards deemed me no threat.”

Siv only glared at the man.

“My name is Jax Berström,” the man finally said after a stretch of silence and a stare down. “I am from Torsbjerg in Rödfall of Vastlund, in the Southern Continent. I am 20 years old.”

Siv only squinted, and yet still his gut told him this was the truth. He likely wouldn’t get any more personal information from him, and didn’t want to. And yet he said, “You are no duke. I know the Lord of your city, Duke Sture. What business do you have with me? Like I said, you've likely wasted your time.” Siv lightly tossed the brooch back onto the table, the sound of it sliding towards Mr. Bergström, heavy, metal on wood.

He did not argue. Instead, his eyes flickered, just for the tiniest moment, and the shape of his pupils seemed… odd. Too vertical. Siv blinked. It was gone. “I have a question for you.” Jax said, just as Siv was thinking of taking a step towards the door, as if he could see the intention on his face. Even stone cold as it was. Siv did not answer, only stood still, so Jax continued. “Does a thing stop being real,” he asked,”because it no longer announces itself?”

Siv felt it then, not fear, exactly, but a subtle wrongness. The air seemed heavier, as though the library were holding its breath. The light from the high windows dimmed, not fading, just… quieting.

“My brother,” Siv said, grounding himself, “would have enjoyed this conversation. You should seek him instead.”

“I will,” the man replied. “At the Lake Camp.”

Siv’s head snapped up. “How do you–”

“You and Lukus remember differently,” he cut in. “That difference matters more than either of you realize. Different sides of the same coin. Two parts of a story, only whole when together.”

The visitor stepped back, already retreating. “Be careful what truths you chase, Prince Siv. Knowledge has a cost– and it is never paid by only one.”

Before Siv could respond, the man grabbed his brooch and cloak, turned, and walked away. His footsteps were swallowed by the shelves. When the guards entered moments later, confused and apologetic, there was no sign that anyone had been there at all.

Siv left the library alone.

He found himself standing in the garden again, staring at the bench. It looked the same. Felt the same.

Still, the thought repeated in his mind, magic is not real, and for the first time, it did not bring him comfort or a laugh.

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That night, he dreamt of the conversation. He awoke in the night more than once, pondering over it all. Who was he? What did he really want? Why did he know that stuff? Where did he get that brooch? So many questions plagued him that he could not rest. He was Jax Bergström, of Torsbjerg, Rödfall, in Vastlund. He wanted to… remind me. He likely traded for the brooch. He had no answer in his mind, for how he knew the information he did. If he believed that he was not watching. Maybe he paid someone to tell him. Despite his basic clothes, he seemed wealthy. He was clean, and had money if he’d traded or bought the brooch.

Or maybe it was all to spook him. To make fun of him, get him worried, after his brother had left. After everything.

He would think about it no more, he decided, and closed his eyes once more. Drifting off into a deep slumber, he did not dream again.