Don’t move. My eyes squeeze shut like a hiding child.  The air throbs with my enemy’s approach. Go away, goaway-goaway. Terror pulls the air from my lungs in an unwilling scream. Save me. Save me.

Dissonance presses against my heart; everything fades…

 

Flickering candlelight caresses my eyelids. “Abigail, can you hear me? Child?” Despite pain stabbing my body, relief floods my mind.  Scarlet streaks blur my vision as I open my eyes. 

 “My son did his best, but he was still worried about you.” Familiar molasses-brown eyes peer down on me.

“Joel?” Did I hear correctly? He doesn’t know how…he doesn’t even care. Joel’s father smiles and answers my unspoken question. “He was commanded to,”

Commanded? A strange hope stirs my soul. The King?

He slips an arm behind my neck, raising my head. “Drink.”  A clay mug sends up steamy plumes into my nostrils.

 I try to force down the bitter liquid, coughing and sputtering.

“Go back to sleep, Abigail.” He dabs my lips with a handkerchief. “Rest.”

My eyelids are heavy, so heavy…”What…what is your name?”

“Micah.” Distant breezes blow the word to my ears. “My name is Micah.”

 

Golden candlelight waltzes with the silver starlight shining through the open window. Pain slices through my body with no distinct pattern, intensifying its return. Maybe…maybe, it’s gone…My heads pounds with an evil rhythm.

The door creaks open, revealing a slender, boyish silhouette.  Joel. “Abigail?”

 “Joel…” I reply, warily.

He sits on the foot of my bed. “How are you?”

I close my eyes. “Thank you…for…”

“I was commanded to.” Joel’s simple words stir the longing in my heart. The King…

”Which side are you on?”

His face pales. “What did you say?”

“Why did you do it?” The vague pronoun tugs on my memory’s edge.

“I was commanded to.”

“Whose’s side are you on?” I scream. “The King’s? Or…”

Joel walks away, ignoring the object falling from his hand onto the bedspread.

“Whose’s side?” I whisper as the door closes behind him.

 I stretch my hands towards the object. Pain shoots up my palm. The room dissolves into a dark cavern. A faint glimmer at the end of a tunnel beckons, but my limbs are stiff with terror. An eerie, yet enthralling, melody echoes from the stones. “Micah!” I scream. “MICAH!”

A second pain pulses through my body, then disappears. Micah’s anxious face peers down at me. “What happened, Abigail?”

‘Joel dropped something…I picked it up… Who’s side is he on?”

Micah silently holds up a thorny gray rose.  “What happened?”

“A  tunnel…fear… evil melody.” I stare at his pale face. “Micah, what’s wrong?”

Tears speckle his face like rain.

 

I wake up to golden sunlight dancing on my sheets. A gray rose stands in a vase by the unlit candle. Micah sits next to me. “Come with me.”

Pain shoves me against the mattress. ‘I can’t move...”

Micah bends over, sliding his arms under my back. He drapes me over his shoulder, cradling my thin legs. “Hold on.”

“Where we going?”

 

“This is my garden,” Micah kneels and lowers me onto a blanket. Countless flowers sway in a gentle breeze. But terror’s memory lurks behind my eyelids.

“Micah, what happened…the rose…”

Micah closes his eyes. “What do you know?”

“You, Joel, and the King.”

“What about us?” He probes.

“You are Joel’s father.” I swallow hard. “Why would he help? He doesn’t know—or care. And when you said ‘commanded,’ I thought, maybe, the King… longing…” I lower my eyes, ashamed at my pride.

‘The King,’ Micah repeats.

“I asked Joel whose side he was on. I know the King …who is the other?”

Micah opens his eyes. “Not yet, Abigail. Not now.  Let’s start with the roses. Let’s start with the King. “

A golden blossom bobs nods agreement.

“Whenever a child is born, a rosebush appears outside. Some believe that the King himself plants each one, so they call roses ‘kings-heart.’   As the child grows, the rosebush mirrors the person’s heart.”  Micah nods at a rose above my head. “What does it tell you?”

“Your heart, strong but tender, reflects the King’s,” I stare at the tattered petals. “And your heart is broken for Joel.”

“Yes,” he pauses. “Sometimes it shows more.”

“Last night—“

“Your emotional defenses were low. The thorn gave you a glimpse into Joel’s heart…his soul.”

The eerie melody echoes faintly in my mind, each note like a dagger.

Micah snaps a rose from his bush, shoving it into my palm. Love floods my mind, momentarily defeating the fear.

 “Thank you,” I whisper.

“That’s enough for now. You should rest.”

“Wait. Who is the King? Why do I long for him?”

“Let me tell you a story,” Micah wipes my brow. “About the King. About roses. About evil.”

 

 

Clouds veil the sun, casting the roses into shadow.  “There once was a village who believed their thorn-studded roses showed purity and devotion to the King. They would not listen to the truth; thorns mark,”

“---self-righteous, haughty hearts.” Joel answers.

Micah nods. “But our story does not start with any of those roses, but with a scrawny, neglected bush. Though it grew mere feet from the well, it drooped from lack of care. This was the bush of Acai, a homeless waif who worked too hard for too little reward. The villagers crushed her heart, declaring that the longing for the king—the birthright of all—was only for the important.” Micah tightens his jaw.

 “One day, a ragged stranger came to the house where Acai was working. ‘In the name of the King, I beg for lodging. I have been turned away at every door—mercy, mercy.’

“’In the name of the King?You cannot belong to him. He would not give such as you so much as a drop of water. Get out!’ The stranger looked past the mistress of the house to Acai before turning to go.

“When Acai returned to the well, the stranger was waiting for her.

“’May I have one of your roses?’ He asked.

“’Why? They’re ugly and puny—like me.’

“The man knelt by her bush. ‘It could use some water,’ he stood and hauled up a bucket. “What is your name, child?’

‘Acai,’

“He emptied the pail onto the dusty soil. “What do you know about the King, Acai?’

‘Mistress always says he’d be shamed of me. ‘Cause he only cares about important people, with big roses.’

“The stranger cupped Acai’s filthy face in his hands. ‘She’s wrong. The King cares for everyone—especially those who others ignore. And he doesn’t care what your rose is like—he wants to help it grow into something more beautiful than you can imagine.” He laid a branch in Acai’s hand.

“Her dirty bud had blossomed into lush, pink, three-budded clusters. “Who—who are you?”

“His cloak fell to the ground, revealing a rich tunic embroidered with crimson roses. Love shone from his eyes like a beacon welcoming a weary traveler. “I am the King.”

“Acai’s rose dug into her palm. Suddenly, she ran into his outstretched arms.

The King ran his fingers through Acai’s tangled hair. “I love you, Acai. You are my daughter; I love you. Always remember that.”

Tears blur my vision. Physical pain pales next to this longing—The King.

Micah’s voice wavers. “The King—the King—“

Sunbeams peep out, caressing my face. Micah regains composer and continues.

“But someone watched who did not rejoice.” Micah continues. “Years ago, this man had uprooted and burned his bush in a final act of rebellion against the King. No one remembers his true name; his foes name him Deathroot. “

An ill breeze fingers my skin.

“Deathroot stepped in front of the King. ‘She is mine.’

“‘You have no claim to my daughter,’ The King’s eyes remained fixed on Acai.

“Deathroot snatched the rose from Acai’s hand. “How lovely,’ he sneered. ‘This is what I think of your precious daughter.” He ground the petals into the dust.

““Leave!” The King stood toe to toe with his enemy.

“Deathroot sprang at Acai. His fingernails tore a crimson line along her cheek.

“The King leapt at Deathroot. A powerful melody of ealing kisses and hugs on a stormy night burst from his lips.

“ Deathroot screeched in agony. But the sheer volume of his voice was unable to drown the King’s melody. The two songs collided in a tempest of dissonance.

“ Acai covered her ears, shaking at each blast from Deathroot’s throat. The King’s song drowned Deathroot’s chords like rain in the desert. Finally, Deathroot fled.

“The King turned to Acai. ‘Are you hurt?’

“Acai touched her bleeding cheek. ‘A little. Who was that?’

‘ The King pressed his fingers against her wound. ‘My enemy. He knows he cannot defeat me, so he tries to hurt my by hurting my children.’ The King knelt over Acai’s rosebush, propping up the tender stems. Some of the blood on his fingers brushed aginst the petals, darkening them. Darker than black, yet richer than crimson, it is a color no man can name. And ever since, the King’s Emblem is three dark roses.”

 

One word thunders in my mind. Deathroot. Mist covers my vision. My limbs shake. DeathrootDeathrootDeathroot…                

“Abigail, Abigail?” I barely feel Micah’s fingers on my wrist. “I can’t find a pulse !”

Evil chords wrap tighten around my throat with each syllable. DeathrootDeathrootDeathroot…                

“She’s not breathing!” Warm breath floods my nostrils, blowing back the strangling noose. But the notes beat faster, pressing my lungs. DeathrootDeathrootDeathrootDeathrootDeathrootDeathroot…

“Give her to me!” Clear yet unfamiliar…. Abigail, Abigail.  Strong yet gentle, another melody enters my mind. rescue, LOVE, rescue, LOVE…

Rescue grapples with evil hands, freeing my throat; while LOVE cradles me gently. I gasp with relief.

 Vague shapes slowly clarify into the pale figures of three men—Micah, Joel, and a stranger. I stare as the stranger whispers to Micah, then turns and picks me up.

 “Micah…” My words trail off. “Who…”

“Shh, shh, Abigail.”Micah kisses my forehead. “You’ll be fine.”

 

 

Cradled like an infant, I rest my head against the stranger’s chest. His heartbeat echoes the second melody… rescue, LOVE, rescue, LOVE… and three more swift beats whispering my name. A-bi-gail.

My eyelids flutter closed.

***

 

“Abigail, wake up.”

I gaze across a ribbon of powder sand to the ocean’s edge. Salty breezes whirl about me.

“Are you cold?” The man asks. “Here, take my cloak.”

“Thank you.” Softer than anything I’d ever known, the fabric drapes my body.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“No.” I close my eyes, weary as a wrung-out rag.

“Do you want to remember?”

I pull the cloak more tightly around me. “I—I—I don’t know. I’m scared...I think I have an inkling…it terrifies me.”

The stranger squeezes my hands. His face wrinkles with quiet understanding.

 “But—may the King’s will be done.” I finish.

“May the King’s will be done,” He echoes. “Do you really mean that?’

I nod.

Throbbing pain slices my palm, throwing me into a sea of memory.

“Abigail , you must go. ”

I stare into Joel’s hard eyes. “Not without you.”

“I cannot protect you from Deathroot,” His eyes half-close. “I can’t protect myself.”

“The King  protects us both.”

“The King?” Joel snorts. “Like he protected your parents? Like he protected your sister?”

 “Keturah returned to the King, and he welcomed her home.”

“She died! Your parents died!” Joel glances at the door. “He’s  coming. You must go, now!”

“Not without you.” Deathroot’s dissonance draws nearer. I freeze in terror. Rescue me! Help! Evil cords wrap around my throat… DeathrootDeathrootDeathroot…                

 

rescue, LOVE, rescue, LOVE… The stranger’s heartbeat booms in my ears, pulling me back to the present.

 “Joel convinced my sister to join Deathroot-- my parents died trying to save her-- I tried to save Joel?” My voice shakes. “What was I thinking?” The memory seems to belong to a different person.

“Do you remember the other name for roses, Abigail?”

“Kings-heart…” My fingers uncurl slowly, revealing the object lying in my palm: a three-budded rose.

I throw myself onto his shoulder.

“My daughter, my dear daughter, Abigail,” Sweeter than any minstrel’s song is the sound of my name from his lips

“Why did you come for me? Why did I try to rescue Joel?”

“Why did I come for Acai?” The King answers his own question. “Because I loved her. It wasn’t based on anything she’d done. She was my child. I loved her.”

“And Joel?” I stare into his eyes.

“Joel is mine, just as you are mine. He may not accept it yet, but I love him.”

“I didn’t trust him—I thought he was responsible—“

“No, Deathroot caused your pain. He doesn’t accept it yet, but I still love him.”

“I didn’t trust him—I thought it was his fault—“

“No, Deathroot caused your pain. Joel was merely a tool. Joel needs healing as much as you did.”

“Tell him I’m sorry—I forgot—“

The King lays a hand over my lips. “Tell him yourself.” He lowers me onto the sand. “I’ll be back.”

“Wait!” I scream after him. “When? How can I know?”

“I do not abandon my children.” He turns to smile at me. “Trust me.”

As I reach for his rose, I feel something on my chest. Underneath my robe is—

Not a scar—

Not a tattoo—

But the King’s Emblem.

Three dark roses.