"When snow falls, the kingdom dies. The Light will leave. Dark will rise.
Only then will the leader rise, out from ashes and hidden from prying eyes."

"Well, that's helpful." The young man who spoke rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms over the bright red vest he wore and stared intently at the man across from him.

The other man sighed and placed the golden scroll from which he read on a long table. "William," he warned, "I'm just reading the words."

William glared at the dark-haired man, squinting his hazel eyes at him. Words would do nothing against enemies. "Yes, Father, I know. It's just..." He slid down into the chair behind him and shook his head. "Stressful."

His father laughed shortly. "Stressful? You try ruling it. New Murae attacks every day, the ruler of Arium refusing to help--it's not enjoyable, I'll tell you that."

William bit his lip, thinking hard.  His father had a point. "May I ask a question?"

"Go on."

"Why do we not--"

He was cut off by the creaking of the conference room door being swung open. Seven people--all of noble standings and each from a different country--filed into the large room and sat down at various places at the table.

The king silenced his son with a wave of his hand. "Willkommen," he called to the new arrivals.

A chorus of greetings sounded, all in different languages. William grimaced at the slightly too-loud voice of Mustara Shiraz, who sat next to him. He whirled to face the tan skinned, black haired man and quickly bit his tongue, swallowing the annoyance that built up inside of him.

His father would have his head if he lost patience.

Instead of snapping, William just smiled and nodded.

"Thank you for coming," the king said. He stood  from his chair and backed away from the mahogany table, fists clenched. "The country of Zelgwyn has for too long been under attack by an army--an army we know only by the name of--"

"Murae." William cocked his head to the side, just then noticing the plump, white-haired lady at the end of the table, dressed in large, square fabric pieces that shone like the sun. She hadn't been there a few moments before, he could swear it. 

A glint of a necklace caught his eye. It twisted a reds, oranges--fire, it seemed. 

She saw his gaze and tucked the chain back under the bejeweled dress. "The Murae army--yes, we are all very aware of them, Adolf."

William turned back to his father, waiting his response to such an informal address. The older man just sighed. "Yes, the Muraes. They have killed many of my people in war and i what we believed to be safety. So far, they've tried to attack the castle, but have been unsuccessful in doing so. We--" he spread his arms out, gesturing to all at the table "--need to be prepared for when they do get in."

"Do you not have ze weapon that could kill zem?"

William bit back a laugh. What a stupid question. Of course they had the weapon.

The king slowly turned his head to look at Monsieur Gingembre. "Yes, we have it. We just..." he trailed off.

"We prefer not to use it," William finished.

More like it wasn't finished yet.

The powder-faced man sniffed and pursed his lips, a haughty look in his eye.

William almost laughed. It's not every day you get corrected by a 'boy.' And why wear so much make-up?

The king caught his son's eye and shared a silent laugh. "We don't wish to use that unless it is absolutely--"

Blam!

William jumped what felt like a mile high. His heart thumped wildly against his chest.

The door to the meeting room flew open, leaving a pale woman shaking in the hall.

Mother?  William rose from his chair, panic taking control of his movements. "Mother, what is it?"

Her eyes danced with fear. "The--the Muraes. They've--"

She stopped and stared down at her pink gown. Deep red petals of blood blossomed at her stomach. Her knees trembled slightly, the buckled.

"Ida!" The king ran to his wife.

Mother!

William stood still in his place at the table, unsure of what to do. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of his mother falling to the floor.

The room was so silent, they could've heard a pin drop.

Then the arrows came.

The stain glass window at the end of the table exploded into fragments as the first volley of flew through. Shouts broke from the end of the room. William ducked, barely avoiding the flying weapon that was aimed straight for his head.

Mustara Shiraz was not as lucky. The arrow pierced his neck, stuck there, the point completely through the skin. He clawed at his throat, eyes bulging, red veins popping out from the whites of his eyes.

William stared at the choking nobleman beside him for a split second then ran, leaving the dying man. The warmth drained from his cheeks, cold sweat started to form against his hands and face. 

It had to be a nightmare. It had to be. 

The screams and moans from around him begged otherwise. 

Somehow, the boy kept from panicking. The scene whirled around in slow-motion; the white-haired woman tugged an arrow from her leg, blood pooled around the fallen form of Shiraz, the man with the face full of paint was nowhere to be seen, and the queen--

The queen. His mother. 

Another crash of shattered glass reached his ears and before he could think, William hit the floor. His father and mother were only a few feet away, at the wide open doorway. 

He reached out a hand and grabbed a fistful of his father's robe. Warm, red liquid stained his fingertips. "Father, what do we do?"

William's mother coughed. Sweat and blood mingled together on lips, painting them with swirls and lines. The king and queen met each other's eyes, then in one millisecond, the queen was cradled in her husband's arms as he stood.

"This way, William," the king commanded.

William stood and took off behind his father, running to where he led. Muted cries  still echoed from the conference room.

How many have died?

The last image of Mustara Shiraz popped into William's mind. The man's eyeballs bulged and cheeks puffed as he screamed in horror while clawing at his throat, trying to stop the process of choking on his own blood.

It was something William never wanted to see again.

It was something he knew he would see plenty more times that day.

William pushed away his thoughts and ran on. They went past fallen knights and servants, all of their throats sliced open by what looked to be a claw, not a sword. Red stained the  floors, turned them into a checkerboard of black burns and dirtied grey stone.

"Here," the king panted. They stopped at a white wall with no markings on it, only stained with the crimson smear of blood. Like she would break, the king placed William's mother against the stone and bent beside a fallen guard. He grabbed the man's shoulders and started to lift him away from the corner the family stood in. Once he was far enough away from the walls he let go, leaving the man to fall to the ground in a heap.

The respect for the dead had to be forgotten.

"Father?" A high-pitched screech interrupted William's thoughts. He glanced around quickly, looking for the man who had to have screamed. 

No one was in sight.

Heart racing, he tried again. "Father, why are we stopped at a wall?"

The king ran his hands up and down the bricks, searching between each crevice, crack, and nook there was. His fingers caught in one of them. "Ah," he breathed. With one quick push, the wall shook. A long, loud groan came from stone grinding against stone to become a slim opening large enough for a grown man to slip into.

William's mouth dropped open in surprise. "How long has that been there?" he squeaked.

His father didn't answer immediately, just picked his wife up again and twisted into the room.  William followed him.

"A while." The king gently sat William's mother back down on the dark floor and grabbed the hilt of the sword on his belt. He  clapped his hands on William's shoulders. "Do exactly what your Mother says, you hear me? Don't question her."

Wait, what? Where's he going?

Before William could reply, the thumping of feet reached his ears. He turned to the door and was immediately shoved back. The king ran out the room and forced a small smile.

"I love you," he muttered. The wall-door slid shut behind him.

William bit his lip. His father was gone. Dead. Even though he still breathed outside the room, there was very little time left. No one tried to take on an army alone, not even a king. Especially not a king.

He wouldn't see his father alive again.

He turned to his mother who--somehow-- dug through a wooden chest barely bigger than a gift box. Glass bottles with different colored liquids sailed over her shoulder and shattered near a fluttering curtain.

The curtain.

Careful not to step on anything that his mother had thrown across the room, William made his way to the midnight curtain. His fingers brushed against the rough material and with a quick pull, he peeked out the window.

While the room he was in was black, outside was many different colors. Orange and red flames blanketed a piece of the castle; red blood of soldiers was visible  from many stories above. Men in oil-like armor flung stone and stabbed anyone they could with silver swords. 

And there was white.

White snow fell from the sky, not even starting to cover the ground and rooftops. It fell over the lifeless bodies of men and women, over the drawbridge and the gateways.

A false omen of safety.

All of the sudden, the phrase his father had said earlier--not long ago--came to the top of his mind. He drew in a breath and mumbled the words, "When snow falls, the kingdom dies."  Dread filled up his stomach. The stupid scroll that his father read from earlier in the day wasn't lying. Coincidence? Maybe. But it was  too coincidental to ignore. 

Thuds and cries against the wall made him turn. Muffled voices yelled from behind the door. He could vaguely hear steel bang against steel.

"William, here. Now."

William made his way to his mother and crouched down beside her. Tiny beads of sweat lined her forehead and upper lip. She moistened her lips and grabbed his shoulder.

"I love you. Your father loves you. Remember that." Her voice cracked at the end. What looked to be a droplet of perspiration fell down her cheek. 

Tears. 

William drew his eyebrows together. She would make it out of there with him. She had to. He couldn't lose two parents.  "I know, Mother. I love both, too. But why--"

"Xylo."

Pain sped through William's body, like white hot fire spreading through his veins. A hand covered his mouth, holding back his scream. His skin stiffened and tightened, turned as rough as the bark of a tree. The blood running through his veins slowed to a halt. The left side of his chest burned and clenched as if a hand had suddenly smashed his heart.

Everything just stopped.

With as hard as William squeezed his eyes, a tear should have fallen. None did. All the liquid in his body dried up. Nothing moved--everything was just still.  He tried to gasp for breath he couldn't get and closed his eyes, waiting to die.

But there was no death.

What happened to me?

Slowly, he cracked his eyelids open. The floor moved from under him, shaking and spreading out underneath his feet. He looked down.

That's not the floor.

His mother's face loomed in front of him, much bigger than it should have been. Flecks of blood glistened against her lips. 

I shrank! I'm small!

"A nutcracker," Ida whispered. Her eyes watered. She grabbed something on the ground and held it out to William. "Take this. Crush it when you've found the one that will help."

What?  William opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't. His tongue stuck to the bottom of his mouth. His lips wouldn't move.

I'm wood. She turned me into a wooden doll! What on earth?

His mother placed him on the ground. Something brushed up against William's back, then a stabbing pain shot through him. His mouth dropped wide open. His mother's hand barely touched the tip of his nose. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it eventually. Just remember the rhyme, and remember my orders."

Then his mouth snapped shut. Something stuck in the back of his throat, not moving.

The wall-door screamed as it opened. William felt a push to his back and fell on his face, covered by his mother's hand.

"Where is it?"

William stifled a gasp. It's a Murae. They're here.

The low, inhuman voice asked the same question again. Neither time did William's mother answer.

"Fine," the man declared. A sharp whoosh of something followed, then a snap of bone breaking. The hand that covered William lightly relaxed on top of him.

Mother!

A scream welled up in William's chest, but no noise came. No groan, no shout, no words. 

Footsteps faded from the room. Three quick clicks followed the halting of the noise.

"I'll find you, boy! I'll find that staff, too!"

If William could have vomited, he would've. Instead, the rhyme his father read to him circled around and around in his head, repeating over and over.

When snow falls, the kingdom dies. Light will leave, dark will rise.

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This chapter is dedicated to  because without their writing contest, I wouldn't have gotten the idea for this story. Thanks guys! 

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Translations

Willkommen = Welcome

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