The Man Who Swallows Nightmares

rough draft | 02

HE OPENED HIS MOUTH. His jaw barely wide to sweep in the magic. The particles were like snowflakes that graced themselves down on the emerald fields of his home. More like his Kingdom. He'd never forget this taste. Each magical spark had its own flavor: sweet, juicy like a crystal apple, salty like rainbow popped corn, and hot like the cinnamon and nutmeg zesty oranges. Yes. The magic that was created all around him and through others. His people.

Why didn't they see he was going to make the Kingdom of Thrive regain their power? Regain the resources that will sustain them for all the generations. Why couldn't his brother, Nicholas, understand? Listen to him for once.

The flavors swelled on his tongue. Then with just a simple thought: Bow.

The magic flowed through his thoughts and his hands. Every knee bowed. Men and women groaned. In unison, shields, swords, and long bows with arrows clanged on the mud. The battle stopped between his army and the rebels. Enforcers with fire and earth abilities had their arms stuck on the ground. No finger could be lifted up. Ruby sleeves and navy body uniforms were all in one position.

He grinned. His word made his rebellious citizens obey. The swirls of tastes turned against themselves and began to burn his tongue. His grin disappeared as he tried to cover his mouth, he moved over to the side and spat out the magic. Only one person knew of this.

The more I used their powers, he thought, the burnt stayed in my mouth.

King Malachi swallowed back his bile. Never allowing them to see his weakness.

He took one step closer, his heel dug into the squishy mud; there was no more emerald grass, footprints covered the battle ground which was once a hill. It was here his favorite place to play Knights and Sword fights with Nicholas. They would switch high grounds to see if the myth was true. His brother's laughter reminded him of a crow. A loud cawing and yet it pleased him.

Good away memory. You are the past. Nothing more.

Behind Malachi, there his castle was. The granite stone held together for centuries by his forefathers, and their fathers, and their fathers as the history claimed. Time and weather could not touch it. Each passing year, an addition to the wings showcased their wealth and new resources. This time, Malachi knew the golden foxglove and starlight lilies would encapsulate the majestic splendor that this Kingdom needed.

"This must end." His voice echoed in the open field, pulling from a nearby soldier's power to amplify. "If you do not heed my words then I will have no choice."

A man pulled himself off the ground. Sweat poured down his forehead. Body shook with a fierce velocity. "Brother."

Nicholas.

How did he not notice him there? Was it because of the gash on his forehead? That was unlikely for him to have because Nicholas's power was to weave newness in a person: healing. Was it because his eyes held nothing but pure disgust as Nicholas's lip curled? His ability to power through the suffering underneath Malachi's power to devour magic particles and nightmares? Malachi tasted no fear from Nicholas.

A sour and burnt soup was all Malachi could sense on his tongue.

"Let our people go," Prince Nicholas declared. "Do not force them into retrieving what is not ours to get."

"I'm not explaining myself to you." King Malachi took several steps forward to Nicholas. "I've done enough talking. You wouldn't listen."

"I could say the same for you." Nicholas's golden hair fell into his hazel eyes. From his gash, blood ran down onto his eyebrow and created a trail down to his jaw. Royal blood. "Forgive me, brother."