Challenge of the Muse

Challenge of the Muse

We all have nightmares. Dreams so terrifying, so mentally chaotic that our bodies, as a form of protection, subconsciously block the majority of the memory from our conscious mind. This, in turn, keeps the world from becoming a desolate land of paranoia, so concentrated with insanity that we begin to lose the sense of what is 'sanity.'
That is the disadvantage of owning a muse. The walls we build up are broken, decimated, flooding our minds not only with those brilliant thoughts at the top of the Bestsellers list, but also the twisted visions that have brought us haunting movies like The Ring. In fact, the entire concept of torture was first invented by a man with a powerful muse.
Once word got out that the cause of terrorists, such as Osama bin Laden, and even Adolf Hitler was their ownership of muses, they were banned from our world. To be caught without one is ensured imprisonment for the muse, and punishments for humans range fro charges of hiding a criminal to the death sentence, depending on their apparent intended use.
So why am I telling you that there are two of them in my basement?


---†---

"Are you awake?" I asked, touching the Muse's shoulder with a gentle nudge. He groaned in response, dark violet eyes blinking open, focusing on mine.
He sat up in a position I recognized, from experience, as defensive. One callused hand shot up to the back of his head, brushing his fingertips over the bloodied gauze. "Who are you?" he asked, slowly regaining composure.
"Prince Tate von Wahnsinn," I answered automatically and, despite what his expression suggested, honestly. "My brother cleaned and dressed your wounds, as well as your friends." I shuddered; his mere presence was beginning to draw out last night's creatures, as though my surface memory of it wasn't enough. "Do you have a name?"
The blond teen (probably about a year or two older then me) hesitated, but nevertheless replied, "Axel." He glanced to the opposite side of the room, where Nikolas was re-bandaging a slim, frail-looking teen's leg wound. "How is Christiaan?"
I shrugged. "My brother is a great medic. He'll be fine." Axel began to relax, to my relief. I honestly couldn't tell if he was subdued, or if he would attack at any second. Not that that is what Muses do, that is. "So what happened?" I asked. Ever since I had discovered the two, stumbling in the ominous wood behind my family's home, I had gathered all sorts of fantasies of their trial. Likely my imagination had been driven by their influence.
Bounty hunters, bleeding rivers, disappeared, imperial destruction, adventure-bound heroes, hardened, deceptive criminals-
I clamped my hands over my ears, trying to block the flow of inspiration.
"Are you familiar with the terms, 'Pitchforks' and 'Torches?' " I nodded, and an entirely new series of suspicions fell upon me.
Murder, injustice, framed, forbidden affection, monster, refuge, vampyric disease-
"Why are you here?" I forced out, trying to tie down the theories. "All Muses are supposed to be back in Begeistern."
Axel repositioned himself into an Indian-style seat. "Someone was desperate, losing faith in, well, everything." He glanced at his friend still sleeping, once again. "He wanted to help, the idiot."
"Help?" I frowned. "How?"
The Muse shook his head sadly. "Have you looked out the window recently, Tate?"
"I guess."
To my surprise, he stood up and briskly walked to the window of the basement. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I have a tiny basement. Even though I'm underage and not yet allowed in the main palace of our family, I do live in a big home. The basement has many half-windows, but the eerie feel of the basement is due to the fact that all of them are covered with thick, velvet curtains. He drew them open then.
I winced, not yet used to such open sunlight. I preferred the dark crevices of my room. In fact, it was a miracle that I had even ventured outside into the woods at such an ungodly hour.
My eyes traced the world's outlines; I saw the woods, first, a river of white birch trees, snow still clinging to the dead branches. The shining white ground, painted across any surface. The small, black, well-kept buildings the few servants we owned lived in. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. "Yes?" I asked, emphasizing my confusion.
He sighed, and I heard a small cough. Christiaan had woken in time to hear the story. "Not that long ago, the grass was actually green, you know."
"Yes. It's called winter," I interrupted. He scoffed.
"That's not what I meant." He took a breath. "Perhaps you haven't noticed, but your winter seems to be extraordinarily long. Almost two years in length. You live in such an rural area that you mustn't have noticed the entirety of this."
I was getting impatient, but I simply couldn't get up and leave, ignoring his arrogance, as I normally would of. From the corner of my eye, I saw Nikolas's worried face, but something told me he was more worried about Axel's tale than my safety in relevance to the Muse.
"I...that is, it is not unusual. It has been documented before."
The Muse looked at me with an almost knowing smirk, and again shook his head. "What's your favorite color, Tate?"
I frowned. "Why? Can't you just stay on one topic for more than two questions? What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm getting there!" he snapped. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to respect your elders? Raise your hand? Speak when spoken to? Geez, kids these days!"
"Es tut mir leid," I apologized quickly, bowing my head in shame. "Green. Lime green."
He marched over to his friend, to the large messenger bag next to it, and pulled out the exact color I had specified. Following that was a small sketchbook, and he then handed both of these to me. "Please, draw me something. Anything."
I took the pencil into my trembling hand. What was he trying to prove? I quickly doodled down a flower, clad in lime green. He watched the process intently. A thin, uneven line. Four oval-shaped loops, connected to a circle in the middle. My flower.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked, and then grabbed my hand. He pulled it maliciously across the page, transforming the pathetic flower for something of grand beauty, decorated in flourishing petals. I had only seen such a creation in my dreams. "Looks better, huh? I mean, come on, that first try was down-right hideous."
"So?" I said. "Why does it matter who is a better artist?"
"Don't you get it?" he said angrily, and I was grateful he had released his grip, because he was pounding his fist against the floor in frustration. "You know as well as I do that Muses cannot create on their own. They've no mind to. All we do is amplify your abilities to what they are capable of! This is yours!"
"No," spoke Christiaan for the first time. "It is what he could make it, if he weren't so frightened of the consequences."
I started to squirm. "What consequences?"
"Listen," Axel said, ignoring my inquiry, "Let's make a deal. We'll come back in two days, and if by then you have created something worth creating, I will tell you."

---†---

"It's a, uh, cat," I explained, trying to hide my embarrassment. It would have been an easier goal if the two Muses hadn't been snickering all the while. "See, uh, these are the...um, kind of, like, ears, and uh..." I swallowed. "This pointy thing, I guess, is supposed to be a tail, and uh..."
"I thought it was an armadillo," Christiaan offered, a smile on his boyish face. "But I guess cat works, too."
I let out a long sigh. "It was a cat, but then I...I wanted to make it...special. It just came out all wrong."
"It's certainly..." Axel grinned. "Creative."
"But, it looks bad," I protested.
"So what?" they said in unison.
"In any case," Axel continued, "at least I can recognize it apart from every other cat drawing I've seen." He winced. "Well, animal drawing, anyway."
I shook my head. "I guess..."
I hate being left in the dark. I was growing cold with fear. What could they possibly have meant by this exercise? Why did everything in my live have to be a puzzle?
"Burn it," someone said, and all three of us turned to see who it was.
"N-Nikolas?" I choked out, confused beyond words? He had been the one who had always encouraged me, and now... "Why? Is it bad?"
"Yes. It's bad. It's very bad." He turned to glare at the Muses. "I should have never allowed them to survive. Look at what they've done to you!" My brother was beginning to shout, and I wasn't sure who to be afraid of anymore. "When have you ever, before this, worn earrings? I know you got your ear pierced when you were young and ignorant, but you've never actually donned the silver rings! I thought you were more mature than that!"
I began to shake. "I-I...I-I mean, I thought it looked okay, a-and--"
"Okay? You look like a freak! Is that what you want?"
Axel stepped forward, easily topping Nikolas's six feet two, and the two side by side was intimidating.
"He's seemed to have lost that tie he'd been wearing, as well. No big deal, right? Or are you appalled that he decided not the wear the same thing he's been wearing for months?"
What were they talking about? Both of them seemed furious. True, I rarely changed outfits, and when I did it was in accord to my brother's. That is how it had always been. My world had always been black and white. Why...why were the lines smearing, grays leaking across the pages? That was...wrong?
I fell to the floor.

---†---

They gathered around his grave, dressed in starched blacks. No one spoke. No one cried. No one moved to place their flower on his casket first. All of their eyes were trained on the tombstone, lying to the side, awaiting the moment he was lowered into the earth and it could be placed atop of him.
Prince Tate von Wahnsinn
3rd son of Edward von Wahnsinn
Son, Brother
3075-3090
died

None of them knew that this had been their change to take back the world. None of them knew it was important. None of them knew they should have added, behind the word 'died', 'of conflicting conformity and creativity.'
Or a broken faith.
A broken heart.