Revenge and Rage

Matrew awoke to find himself in an unfamiliar room. He was lying in a giant bed, easily large enough to accommodate an entire family much less Matrew’s slender frame. The sheets were soft and silky against his skin, each tiny movement sending shivers down his spine.
The room was richly furnished with an elaborate wooden closet dominating one wall. The other wall had a enormous window through which the faint light of the three moons shone. Ornately woven tapestries covered the walls and a huge glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, although its light was extinguished.
Matrew could not help but think about the chandeliers, he wondered if he pulled on this one, would a secret door would swing open. He doubted it, but he would never know unless he tried.
Thinking of the chandelier and the secret doors they opened at home seemed to jumpstart his memory. It all came rushing back, a flood of memories bursting into his consciousness like a wave crashing upon the shore.
He remembered. The horror, the absolute fear, the heart wrenching agony of having witnessed his parents deaths and the soul crushing despair of being able to do nothing to stop it.
The incident replayed in his mind. His father’s meeting with the Chatune Ambassador and his refusal to move troops across the Jaykin plains. The ghastly, black shadow daemon which had torn his father limb from limb as Matrew had watched in stunned silence.
The panicked flight through the hidden corridors which had followed. The confrontation with the two men who had murdered his mother, their blood and death.
The overwhelming rage which had consumed him during the fight. The cold lifeless husk of his mothers corpse as he cradled it in his arms. The sting as useless tears trickled down his face and the fiery embrace of the flames as they consumed his home.
It was all his fault. If only he had told his parents about the secret doors, they might have been able to escape. If he had reacted when the shadow daemon had attacked his father, he might have been able to stop it. A small corner of his mind told him that this was nonsense, that there was no way that he could possibly have stopped it. That he too would have died if he had tried to rescue his father. Yet he could just not bear to listen to these thoughts and so he let grief overwhelm him. Lying in bed he cried until the sun dawned.
The sun brought with it realisation he was in the King’s palace, Pellar and Mayet must have brought him here after the fire.
He was the King’s cousin after all, of course the King would have welcomed Matrew after such traumatic events
Mayet, his fathers chief maidservant followed close on the heels of the dawn, she came to comfort Matrew in his grief and yet her own overwhelmed her. She was a sorry site, her grey hair was frazzled, the dark rings of sleepless nights hung below her eyes and tears of sorrow marred her elegant face.
She tried to comfort Matrew but he wanted no comfort, he just wanted to be left alone to drown in his sorrow. Eventually she left despondent at Matrew’s response to her care.
When she was gone Matrew fell back into the bed crushed with self-pity. He wept until his eyes were red and raw and the darkness of sleep finally claimed him.
Darkness. It reached for him, enveloping him, crushing him, tearing him asunder. The shadow penetrated him, filled him and yet there was no pain. There was a voice dimly heard and it whispered to him.
“They made me, I’m sorry,” a muffled scream punctuated the words.
He awoke to find that it was no dream; Pellar, lay on the floor, his veins opened, his blood soaking into the carpet. Matrew clambered out of the bed and crawled across to Pellar. He cradled the dying man’s head in his lap and his heart thundered a murderous beat.
Mayet discovered the pair almost an entire hour later and a single scream rung through the palace before she fainted. The scream brought guards running, clattering through the halls in their armour.
The first to arrive was breathless, his chest heaving as he drew the air back into his lungs. He was soon joined by three more, each breathing hard from the dash through the palace.
One vomited, another drew his sword, a third stood his eyes widening with shock at the scene before him. It was the guard who arrived first who took action he marched across to Matrew and with a swiftness which startled the young boy backhanded Matrew sending him sprawling across the floor.
The guard calmly reached down and plucked Pellar’s mangled head from Matrew’s limp fingers. The eyes had been torn from the head, each nostril had been split and flayed, the mouth had been carved into a hideous grin and into the forehead in large bloody letters had been carved the word TRAITOR.
The world seemed to spring back into existence, a small ugly man was bending over Matrew poking him roughly. Matrew tried to lunge for the small ugly man yet he found himself restrained.
His entire body was constricted by thick black rope. The kind that sailors used to tie down the sails in a storm.
A strong authoritative voice spoke, it was the voice that demanded respect, that commanded attention and brooked no argument. The words were calm yet powerful and Matrew could not help but listen.
“Calm yourself, Cousin”, it was the King. “We seek to help not harm, cease your struggles”.
Matrew ceased trashing about and straining against the ropes which bound him. He turned his head to regard the King.
The King was a young man in the prime of his life. He had thick black hair although even now Matrew could see that the hair on the crown of his head was beginning to thin, a curse of the family.
He was not a tall man although his shoulders were broad and his frame was well muscled giving him the look of compact strength. He was the image of a soldier although Matrew knew he had never been involved in a single battle. It was like looking at a younger image of his father and Matrew felt tears begin to well in his eyes.
“Untie me”, pleaded Matrew, his voice cracking with desperation.
“No”, said the King briskly, his tone indicating that further discussion would not change his response.
“Why?” asked Matrew.
“The Rage” answered the King, his voice softening sounding regretful and distressed. “You bear the family’s curse, an unquenchable rage when provoked, a doom which overwhelms every sense, throwing you into a bloodlust, leaving you nothing more than a mindless beast, a victim to your anger. Unless you can control yourself I will have no choice but to condemn you to a life held in the cold steel embrace of chains”.
Matrew felt his heart sink he remembered his father speaking to him of the Rage. It flowed through the veins of the royal family of Tulay and when it consumed someone they were left hollow, a shell of what they once were.
A mindless killing machine devoid of feeling or thought, bent on death and destruction.
One possessed by the Rage was infused with strength far surpassing a mortal man. Pain was a distant memory and in battle a man consumed by the Rage was nigh unstoppable.
But it came at a terrible price your very humanity.
“Now if you are calm, I will release you but I warn you, cousin or not any sign of anger in my presence will end with your death”.
Matrew relaxed, letting every muscle go loose, breathing deeply, he willed himself to remain calm. He had no desire to end his life here, he still had to avenge his parents and to do that he must live.
One of the guards flanking the King moved forward, slowly drawing a dagger from his belt. The Guard approached Matrew cautiously and began to saw through the thick rope which bound him.
The rope broke with an audible snap and Matrew gradually raised himself to his feet. Careful lest any sudden movement provoke the guards lining the walls. Each bore a small crossbow, loaded and cocked and each crossbow was trained on Matrew ready to take him down at the slightest sign of a threat to the King.
“I apologize your majesty”, he said formally giving the King a small bow and then with great apprehension he timidly asked, “what did I do”.
“You were found in your room desecrating the dead body of your fathers steward, Pellar” said the King in a sharp tone. “His head had been severed from his body, his tongue cut out and his eyes gouged out, need I continue”.
Matrew was silent, he had done all those things and yet Pellar had deserved it he was a traitor.
He had betrayed Matrew’s parents and they lay dead because of his treachery. Matrew was just glad he had been able to stop the blood flow before Pellar was able to bleed to death. Pellar had wanted it quick and easy but Matrew had insured that his death was long and painful.
“These are despicable acts of the foulest nature brought on by your condition and you can not be held fully responsible for your actions. Those possessed by The Rage are as much it’s victims as those killed. Because of the love I bore your father I will spare your life, but know that a relapse will result in your death”.
Matrew thought it best to just remain silent, he didn’t think that his cousin wanted to hear the truth. The truth was that Matrew remembered every single exquisite minute of Pellar’s agony.
Matrew was not possessed by The Rage, he was cursed by nothing more than a desire to avenge his murdered parents. It was a convenient cover though. The King may not have been so tolerant if he thought Matrew capable of such conscious bloodthirsty torture and murder.
It suited Matrew to let the King believe that he had been consumed by the Rage. He now knew who had been responsible for his parents murder and he intended to make them pay. Pellar had told him everything in an effort to placate Matrew. Now he had a name, a target and he would have his revenge.