The Prince of Warwood and the Fall of the King (Book 2)

by J. Noel Clinton

  “Your Highness!” Henrick gasped urgently. “Come quickly. It’s your brother! He’s just arrived, but he’s…he’s seriously injured, sir!”

  Chapter 26

  Unknown Powers

  The King and Henrick sprinted into the crowd with Xavier racing after them. As they zigzagged through the campsites, the sea of people parted from their path and knelt at the sight of their king, which made the sprint to wherever they were going all the easier. Even so, Xavier found it difficult keeping up with his father when he was in an outright sprint, and soon he lost sight of him. If it hadn’t been for the wake of bowing citizens, he would have never known where to go. Then, the trail of curtsies vanished, and he found himself standing in front of three campsites.

  “Xavier?” a sweet voice called from behind him.

  He spun around. Even with disheveled hair and a smudged face, Lana Applegate was still beautiful.

  “Ah…ah, Mrs. Applegate!” he gushed breathlessly.

  “Are you looking for your father?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, suddenly feeling awkward.

  “Well, he’s in that tent with your uncle right now,” she told him, nodding to the nearest tent.

  Suddenly, Michael Spencer’s voice bellowed out, “NO! Damn it! Jer, no! I won’t let them take it! I’d sooner die! Do you hear me? I’d rather die!”

  Xavier started toward the tent when Lana arms encircled him and pulled him away. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go in there right now. Why don’t you come and sit with me for a spell?” she suggested, leading him away from Spencer’s yells.

  They sank on a log in front a small waving fire, but Xavier’s eyes were fixated on the other tent. He listened miserably as Spencer’s screams intensified.

  “I have some hot tea and biscuits. Would you like some?” Lana asked, prying his attention from the agonizing yells bellowing from neighboring camp.

  “No, ma’am,” he muttered and looked into Mrs. Applegate’s beautiful face. He didn’t mean to stare at her, but he couldn’t help himself. Maggie had looked so much like her mother. It was like staring at Maggie twenty years older. “Maggie!” he thought with despair and turn away.

  “You know it’s not your fault that Maggie’s dead, don’t you?” she whispered, stroking his cheek.

  He nodded, but he didn’t look at her and didn’t speak.

  “She really enjoyed your company, Xavier. She talked nonstop about you, especially after Old Christmas. It comforts me to know she was so happy in her last days,” she finished with a sad smile.

  “But,” he muttered, tears building in his eyes, “she wasn’t! We had a fight. I messed up.”

  Mrs. Applegate looked down at him and shook her head. “She told me about that. Now, I’m not saying that using telepathy on her wasn’t wrong and that it didn’t bother her, but she wasn’t herself. She was sick with the super flu, and she overreacted. I’m certain that her feelings for you would have outweighed her irritation, and she would have worked it out with you. Besides,” she smiled down at him, stroking his hair out of his eyes, “even your father struggled with this issue when he was young. But his indiscretions got him into some serious trouble when he was about fifteen. It led to a legal judgment, and it was months before Lucy spoke to him again.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  She looked at him in wonder. “You mean you haven’t heard about this?” Xavier shook his head. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t have,” she muttered to herself before continuing. “Lucy was his first love. Everyone in the kingdom thought she would be the next queen, but following the incident, they never dated again.”

  “What did he do?” he asked, his interest sparked.

  She gave him a coy smile. “Well, that’s a question I think is best answered by your father.”

  Suddenly, a loud crash came from Spencer’s tent.

  “Sire!” a deep voice yelled. “You must hold him down! If we don’t amputate now, he will die!”

  “No!” Spencer screamed. “I swear before God, Jer, if you let them do this, I will cut yours off in your sleep! I mean it! I would rather die!”

  Xavier listened to his father’s voice drawl smoothly behind the tent, but he couldn’t understand what was being said. Then, an older man with wild white hair pushed his way out of the crowd and slipped into the tent. Simultaneously, loud, argumentative voices burst from the tent, and within seconds, several men rushed out with indignant, flushed faces.

  “Hmm, that’s odd. I wonder why the healers are leaving,” Lana remarked, standing.

  A moment later, the elderly man reemerged from the tent with Jeremiah following close behind him. His father looked furious and was spouting a few selected words at the older man. But the man wasn’t listening. Instead, he frantically scanned the area as though he was looking for something or someone.

  “Where is he, sire?” the man spat impatiently at the king as he continued to scan the crowd. Then, the old man’s eyes fastened on Xavier, and he grinned. “Xavier! Come, young sire,” he called, waving the prince over to him.

  Xavier approached the man with misgivings. He looked and sounded oddly familiar. When the old man bent down to eye level with him, he was sure he knew the man but just couldn’t place him.

  “Your uncle is gravely injured. He will die unless you help him. Will you do it, Xavier?” he whispered urgently.

  “Abraham, he’s been through too much; he can’t do this!” Jeremiah growled, stepping protectively between the old man and Xavier.

  Whoa! Did his father say Abraham? Was this man Abraham Vincent, the prophet? It couldn’t be! He looked…well, normal! It was as if his scarred face had never existed. Though he had to be close to seventy, Abraham looked youthful and strong.

  “He can, and he must,” Abraham insisted firmly, his face rigid. The men stood in a staring dead lock until Abraham growled, “Lord, you’re a stubborn man! Listen to me, sire. Xavier must do this because it is meant to be. This is his first taste, his first realization that he’s meant for more!”

  Jeremiah immediately softened and whispered, “But, Abe. He’s only a boy.”

  Abraham nodded, frowning. “I know, but unfortunately his calling doesn’t recognize that. Look, I appreciate your fatherly protectiveness, but Mike will die unless the boy does this! Only Xavier can save him, Jer.”

  There it was again! He was the only one who could save someone, first Robbie and now the prophet. Once more, Xavier had a distinct feeling that the people closest to him were keeping something from him. His father nodded and looked down at him with both awe and pity.

  Abraham stooped to look at the boy again. “Do you recognize me, young sire?”

  “You’re Abraham Vincent, but what happened to your face? How come it’s not…scarred?”

  Abe laughed deeply and heartily. “I’ll explain that some other time, boy, but right now, we have more pressing matters to take care of. Come,” he instructed, taking him by the hand and leading him into the tent. His father followed, silently watchful.

  Governor Bracus stood over a cot of blood-soaked linens. As Xavier moved farther into the tent, his stomach dropped at the sight of Spencer lying motionless with his dark hair plastered to his forehead with perspiration. His legs looked as though they had been caught in a meat grinder, and Xavier’s stomach twisted at the sight of them. For a moment, he thought he might throw up and staggered away from his uncle’s motionless body, but Abraham stopped his retreat. The instant Abraham grasped his shoulders, Xavier felt anchored and the feelings of nausea dissolved.

  “Take it easy, boy,” Abraham soothed, and Xavier stiffened with shock. It wasn’t what Abraham said to him that stunned him as much as how he said it. He hadn’t said the words aloud; he had used telepathy! Xavier turned and stared up at the old man in wonder. “We don’t have time for this, Xavier. Your uncle is dying,” he continued nonverbally. Xavier’s gaze snapped back to Michael Spencer, who began moaning fretfully. The prop
het released his shoulders and moved to the other side of the cot, watching him intently.

  “Put your hands on him, boy. Place one on his head and the other on his chest,” Abraham instructed softly, and Xavier complied without hesitation.

  “King Wells, Xavier will need your help to relax and reach into the depths of his rejuvenation powers.”

  “But I don’t have rejuvenation p…” Xavier began.

  “If I say you do, boy, then you do!” Abraham snapped. “Now, sire, stand behind the boy and place your hands on him,” he continued. Jeremiah did as he was told without rebuttal or question.

  With his father’s hands on him, Xavier immediately felt more relaxed and confident. He listened to the prophet’s low, smooth voice.

  “Close your eyes and relax. Concentrate on your father’s hands stroking away all your fears and constraints.”

  He did just that. He inhaled deeply and focused on his father’s hands caressing his head, back, and shoulders. All his worries left him.

  “Now, shift your concentration, boy. Envision your uncle; can you see his face? Can you see his agony and pain?” Abraham’s voice penetrated into his peaceful, hypnotic state.

  “Yes.” he gulped.

  “Good. Now think about what you wish to happen; concentrate on what you want to accomplish. Picture Spencer’s legs. Can you see the wounds? Think about them healing and ending your uncle’s suffering.” Abraham paused only a moment as Xavier obediently focused on his uncle’s legs. He could see the deep, bone-exposing wounds and cringed.

  “Easy, boy. Now, you need to really focus; this is the hard part. Imagine the wounds closing. Concentrate. Can you see the bleeding stopping? Be diligent. Envision the bleeding stopping and the wounds healing back together. Concentrate, boy!” Abraham hissed.

  Xavier’s brow twisted and creased as he desperately tried to see the images Abraham was describing. Beads of sweat strung across his forehead as he watched with his mind’s eye as the wounds on Spencer’s legs first stopped bleeding and then slowly closed. He panted for breath as the vision drained him of all his strength, and he fell into his father’s arms, exhausted.

  Jeremiah slowly lowered him to the floor and stroked the moist hair away from his face.

  “Are you okay?” he murmured.

  Nodding, he finally opened his eyes. Abraham stood on the opposite side of the cot beaming down at him. With a quirked brow, he nodded toward the motionless man on the bed. Xavier struggled out of his father’s arms, stood, and looked down at his sleeping uncle. Mike was pale, but the strained look of pain was gone, and he was resting peacefully.

  “Look at his legs, Your Highness,” the prophet called softly as he pulled back the blood-soaked sheet. All that remained of the grotesque wounds were angry red scars carved in Spencer’s legs.

  Xavier felt everything around him swirl as the ramifications of what had just occurred flooded over him. He looked at each man’s face in turn. Aside from Abraham’s elated face, the governor peered down at him with wide-eyed awe, and his father wore a guarded expression as if he was waiting on Xavier’s reaction.

  “I did that?” he whispered.

  “Yes, son, you did,” Jeremiah confirmed quietly.

  “Yes!” Abraham agreed, still beaming down at the boy. “You accomplished what no healer could. You saved your uncle’s life and his legs from amputation.”

  Xavier shook his head against this declaration, as Robbie’s accusations pounded down on him like a jackhammer. “You could have saved him and you didn’t. You didn’t!”

  “No,” he croaked. “It isn’t true.”

  The prophet’s smile dropped as he watched the boy’s face twist into torment. “Oh,” he muttered almost too quietly for anyone to hear.

  But, Jeremiah had heard and shot him a bewildered look before turning back to his son. “Xavier, it’s okay. You’ve saved your uncle’s life. I know…”

  “What, Father?” Xavier demanded. “What do you know? You didn’t seem surprised at all that I could do that!” He studied his father’s forlorn expression. “That’s…because…you already knew! Isn’t it?”

  “Xavier, I…” Jeremiah began.

  “Isn’t it?” he snapped.

  His father’s eyes flashed with anger. “Son, I don’t appreciate this tone…”

  “Well, I really don’t care whether my tone offends your or not, Dad! Why didn’t you tell me I had other abilities? Why didn’t you…hang on!” Xavier paused, glaring up at his father as other thoughts occurred to him. “That’s what Dublin meant when he said it was a glimpse of what was to come. Robbie was right! Wasn’t she? I could have saved Mr. Minnows. I could have used some other unknown ability and saved him!” Xavier screamed as tears flooded his eyes and spilled over his cheeks.

  Jeremiah stepped forward to comfort the boy, but he jumped out of his reach. “No! Don’t touch me! Just…just leave me alone!” he moaned, pushing past the men and running out of the tent.

  Xavier plunged into the crowd, trying to put as much distance between himself and the men, but there was no way he could outrun the guilt pounding at him. As he hurried past campsite after campsite, he noticed people were beginning to part and kneel, which could only mean one thing; his father was near. Xavier glanced over his shoulder and saw his father jogging after him. He tried to sprint away and lose him in the dense crowd, but it was futile. His father was too fast and had him in his grasp within seconds.

  “Let me go!” he raged with strangled despair. “You should’ve told me!”

  “Son, please calm down.” Jeremiah’s breath swept across his neck as he whispered, “Let’s go back to the tent and discuss this.”

  “No! I’m not going anywhere with you! You lied to me! You lied! Do your loyal subjects know what a liar you are?” he spat loudly.

  He was goading his father intentionally, but he didn’t care. Xavier was beginning to understand his father’s explanation of why sometimes people seek physical pain to ease an emotional pain, and at the moment, Xavier would welcome a spanking, a slap, anything to take his mind off the guilt punching away at his soul.

  “Xavier,” his father warned, his strong fingers digging into Xavier’s arms.

  “You’re a liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!” he yelled, taunting his father like a schoolboy chastising another classmate.

  Jeremiah hoisted the boy over his shoulder and began carrying him through the staring crowd.

  Xavier pummeled Jeremiah with punches, kicks, and taunts. “Put me down, you jerk! Put me down! You’re nothing but a big fat liar! I hate you! Liar, liar, li…”

  Finally, the king’s tolerance was spent, and abruptly, he dropped the boy to the ground, turned him roughly, and swatted his backside with two quick, sharp blows. He spun the boy to face him, pinning him with steely eyes.

  “That’s enough!” he growled and watched as the boy’s lower protruding lip quivered.

  “Sire?” Abraham’s voice called quietly. “Get him to your tent. I hadn’t realized he’d react this way… We need to talk, the three of us.”

  He hoisted the now sobbing boy into his arms and made his way through the crowd and into their tent on the small plateau. He didn’t lower him until they were inside his tent.

  “Xavier, you need to stop crying,” Abraham ordered firmly. The men waited patiently for the boy to calm before continuing. “Now, you asked your father a tough question back there, and I’d like to try to answer it. You see, as the prophet, I have seen and can foresee things your father cannot. He couldn’t answer your question honestly because it’s more complex than that, boy.” He gave a ragged sigh as if contemplating how to continue. “Could you have saved Mr. Minnows? No, you couldn’t. At the state you were in following the super flu, there was no way you could have done anything to prevent Dublin Minnows’ death. Even if you had been fully recovered, you couldn’t have done anything about it. Now, could you prevent it a few months from now? Maybe. In a year from now? Most likely. Five years from now? Most definite
ly. Your father didn’t lie to you. He gave you the only answer he could.” Abraham paused a moment, watching Xavier as his explanation soaked in. “Even if you had been able to save Dublin, I would have interfered.”

  “What?” he hissed unbelievingly. “Why? Why would you try to stop me from saving Mr. Minnows?”

  Xavier wasn’t sure he would answer, but after another long sigh and a sideways glance at Jeremiah, he answered quietly, “I’m not sure you’re ready to hear this or that you’ll even understand it.” He sighed again. “But there are three types of destiny. There are destinies that are so volatile that they must be altered for the betterment of humankind. Saving your father and keeping possession of the King’s Key is an example of this kind of destiny. If your father had died, or if the key had fallen into LeMasters’ possession, it would have resulted in a catastrophic effect. Secondly, there are indiscriminative destinies. These destinies are neutral and wouldn’t cause any significant change to the future if altered. Then, finally, there are adverse destinies. If these destinies are tampered with even in the slightest way, it would cause a chain reaction of events that would wreak havoc in the delicate equilibrium of human existence. I’m sorry to say that saving Dublin Minnows’ life would have been the latter.”

  “What?” he hissed. “There must be a mistake! Mr. Minnows wouldn’t hurt a soul! How could changing his…destiny cause so much trouble?”

  “I’m sorry, Xavier, I can’t tell you that right now. Yes, Mr. Minnows was a great man, and believe me, if I could have changed his destiny, I would have,” Abraham concluded, suddenly sounding very old and tired.

  Xavier opened his mouth to argue, but Abraham raised his hand, silencing the boy.

  “Xavier, hasn’t everything I’ve told you thus far come to pass?”

  Xavier clamped his mouth shut and nodded.

  “Have I ever lied to you?”

  He shook his head yieldingly.

  “Then I’m going to ask that you trust in me and believe what I’m telling you now is the truth. Let me take the burden and guilt from you; there wasn’t anything you could do. This is simply how it was meant to be.”