“A white plucked rose is the rarest thing you’ll ever see.” A kind motherly voice said to a kid on her lap. “This is due to the natural purity of the rose.”
“But why do other flowers not have white petals mother?” The 5 year old Arn asked. “Why is the rose white?”
“Well Arn, the rose is white when it starts because that’s the way Aurora wanted it.” Leena answered happily. So many years of being a parent and it never got easier to answer these questions. The village on the outskirts of Renar often helped her since she became a widow, but she had to provide the education on her own still.
“How does Aurora make the white rose so rare if it’s how all roses are?”
“A very good question Arn, it’s because the rose petals are naturally absorbent of color and things with color.” Leena rather enjoyed answering questions, but Arn tested that enjoyment often, now especially.
“Why are the roses we see usually red?” Arn’s face was innocent and so was his question, but it became annoying still.
“Alright, that’s your last question Arn. Do you remember what makes a rose different from other flowers?” it was Leena’s turn to ask questions.
“Yes mama, roses have thorns on the stems right?” Arn looked sheepish for a moment, his face pointing ever so slightly down. “It’s why you told me not to go to the field, right?”
“You get no more questions. Ask again tomorrow.”
“Yes mom.” The 5 year old replied sarcastically.
“Good. Now, the thorns can prick your finger or hand of you try to pluck it, which makes you bleed, and your blood drips into the dirt that the roots of the rose are eating from.” Leena rubbed Arn’s arm where a long scar was. “You have this scar because when you were young you jumped into the field of roses.”
Arn pointed to his right knee. “But this one I got by tripping and hitting a rock.”
“Yes, that one was not done by roses. I’ll teach you the differences one day. But today, we need to finish this lesson.” She rubbed his knee, covering the scar. She whispered as she rubbed “may this scar go be with the stars.”
“Now Arn, after the blood soaks into the roots, it travels up to the petals and turns the petals red. By this point usually the one who’s blood is in the petals will finish picking the rose, stem and all. If the picker hasn’t done this, the blood will dry and become black, creating the slightly more rare black rose, the one that no woman wants to receive.” She said the last part sternly.
“Mommy, please tell me why a black rose is not wanted.” He was smart after all, took after his late father who had a way with words.
“You asked a question again.” Leena said matter-of-factly.
“I did not ask you a question momma, I made a request!” He got her there.
“Alright, well I’m only answering because it’s part of the lesson, though not as important.”
“Yay!” Arn exclaimed. He would use this to regularly get more answers in the future.
“The symbolism of the colors matches. The white rose petals symbolize purity and cleanliness. This is the rarest color to receive, and the most cherished at weddings.” Leena smiled and a tear ran down her cheek as she silently remembered the one white rose she received that was picked from Rin’s own efforts.
“The red rose petals symbolize effort and dedication, the breaking of a process. The blood is already there, but it’s plucked anyways, salvaging what is planned.”
Her eyes turned downward. “Perhaps the most sad is the black rose, symbolizing laziness or giving up when pain is felt, and death. Being given one is said to be a curse. A wish that the receiver will die.” Leena looked back up at Arn's eyes. “But you don’t have to worry about that. Girls seldom pick flowers, especially roses.”
Arn and Dirk got off her lap. Dirk smiled only a little, as if trying to feign happiness. “Dirk, you were so quiet again. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, mommy. I just already knew this.”
Leena’s eyes scrunched a bit. “And how did you know this already?” She had a guess. There’s a place she told them never to go, but didn’t tell them it held a rose patch.
Dirk looked over to his brother who looked a bit scared, and shook his head. “I heard it from a friend the other day when we were in town.” He said quickly.
The look of panic on the boy’s faces told her everything she needed to know. “Which one of you got hurt?”
Arn sheepishly walked up to her. “Show me where you hurt yourself.” She demanded softly. The boy lifted his left pant leg and to Leena’s surprise, it wasn’t a cut, but a scrape.
“I tripped and scraped my knee on a rock.” Arn told her. “But it feels better now!” He was grabbed just a second later, and Leena peeled off his scab before applying alcohol to it. “This is why everything thinks I drink so much. You boys need to listen and stop hurting yourselves. Especially you, Arn.”
Arn nearly screamed in pain, but instead just yelped loudly as if he was being injured. While he was expressing his pain, his scrapped knee was being wrapped in cloth. “There, this’ll keep you from getting stuff in it while it scabs over again. I trust you boys learned your lesson about roses?”
They both nodded with tears, one from pain and one from fear. “Good, then I’m going to the store. Because you’ll probably cut yourself again soon.” Leena wasn’t looking forward to the accusations of being an alcoholic, and her kids injuring themselves constantly didn’t help with her public image either.
As she left, the boys were already plotting to go to the meadow silently. They waited till she was out of sight, then went the opposite direction to see the pure roses again. Excitedly but quietly for the first few minutes, they skipped.
Finally they reached the meadow, and stood looking at the edge at first. “This is so beautiful, I don’t know why we’re not allowed to come here. We don’t have to pick the roses.” Arn said.
There Arn goes, with his solutions and cleverness. In truth, Dirk was getting tired of it. But the ideas often saved them from getting into further trouble.
“Come on, you don’t need to think of a solution for everything, just enjoy the view while we can.” Dirk pleaded. Arn responded by just walking through the roses, counting on his pants to protect him from the thorns like before. He stopped in the middle of the field, Dirk still at the edge.
“I found two roses that share a stem! Come here!” Arn was super excited. No one yet had seen 2 flowers from the same stem, in any flower. He squatted down and carefully observed the flower while Dirk trudged through the roses.
Eventually, Arn carefully held both sides of the rose, and plucked it upwards, not cutting himself at all. He held in his hand, a perfect, snow white rose.
Dirk saw this from a few feet off and got angry. He could already hear the townspeople praising Arn for his knowledge and capability. Doing such a rare thing would overshadow everything else.
“You liar, 2 flowers cannot come from the same stem!” Dirk said laughingly, while picking up the stone Arn scraped his knee against a few days prior. He carefully walked through the rest of the flowers with it.
Arn was too distracted by his feat of plucking the flower perfectly to respond. It was so pretty in his hands. “Mommy would love this, but how to give it to her?”
He was so distracted he didn’t hear his brother behind him or notice his brother’s shadow lifting up the stone. It came down on his head with a loud ‘crack’ and Arn keeled over, blood spilling for just a little bit.
Suddenly a light enveloped Dirk, and the last thing he saw in the meadow was the other flower attached to the same stem Arn’s rose was taken from, turning red.
He was brought into an area where everything was as light as looking close to the sun. Even the floor beneath him seemed to not be there, save for his feet. In front of him, a slanted table, and around him, 13 chairs. Some seemingly filled, some seemingly empty. The space between the table in front of him and the middle chair further, was a being with many arms and ears, but no eyes. It spoke, but not from its mouth.
“I have brought the boy. Let us discuss.”
A book hovering above one of the chairs sounded. “What is there to speak of? This child broke one of the laws and did the unthinkable.”
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Behind Dirk, to his left, a light spoke. “Quiet, Nercusamaito. There is surely a story, and passing judgement in haste may lead to worse consequences. Let us not forget that your knowledge failed when it isn’t supposed to.”
The book… shuddered? It moved slower now, its endless page flipping barely crawling. “Yes, Kreyada. My apologies.”
A voice from behind Dirk to his right, a… shape of… nothing? Something? Spoke. “Now, the failures of the god of knowledge aside.” The voice said almost sarcastically, and suddenly deepened. “And ignoring my younger brother, the god of everything, let us get started. You, Dirk, what was going through your head?”
“I wanted to be as popular as my brother, and thought if he got hurt again, mommy wouldn’t let him outside.” Dirk didn’t know why he responded, but he did. “I realized he got hurt on the rock, so I thought maybe the rock could hurt him again.”
A near living tree that looked like a person sitting in a chair next to Nercusamaito spoke. “The boy wanted to replace his brother. He could have grown instead!” he said angrily.
Directly across, a beautiful woman sat. Tall, with long legs and slender hips. Her body was fit, but not toned, and her chest wasn’t large. Not that you could see much, as her modest clothing would prevent you.
Her face however, was uncovered as her pearly hands and red fingernails. Her hazel eyes and long brown hair looked intently at Dirk, and he found himself feeling the same fear he felt when Leena caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.
“Now Tern, I don’t think the boy is evil, and I don’t think we should be making him feel fear. There is beauty in the admiration he has, and his willingness to admit when he’s wrong.” Her voice was like the birds in the morning, and Dirk couldn’t even focus on the words.
“I see your fear, and your confusion. I will be blunt, you made your little brother die when you struck him with that rock. He no longer lives.” Her face softened as soon as his tears started. “Do not fear, little one. He is surely beyond the sadness you carry with you.”
The tall lady stood up, and walked over to Dirk, pulling him into a hug. “I am Aurora, the goddess of beauty. Your mother would often pray at my throne in the church.” She whispered in his ear as he cried. He didn’t hug her back, and she pulled away.
The many armed man spoke again. “Do not leave your seat again, Aurora. You can fight for him where you are. Everyone else, do not leave your seats.”
Then, the pen on the table in front of Dirk lifted off the table, and wrote something in the air, the words hanging there. “Hurry up this process.” The pen wrote out.
The man with the many hands spoke again. “I strongly believe the disappearance of the god of Peace, Drest, had affected Dirk. We do not know a world without peace. I do not think we should kill this boy.”
Both of the seats behind him nodded. “Good, looks like the brothers of everything and nothing agree. Aurora, I already know you do. Tern, this boy will grow and help humanity. You must see his potential. And Nercusamaito, you have no say in the boy’s fate. In fact, do not speak the rest of the discussion.” As soon as the being with many arms said that, a pair of arms sprouted from the headrest of the chair where the book of knowledge was sitting, and forced his infinite pages shut. The arms were different sizes and colors, one white with black nails, one black with white nails.
“Now, for the rest of you, I propose we do punish the boy, with the mark of his brother. A scar, so people will shy from him at first.”
Aurora spoke first. “That’s too cruel for a boy, physical pain is not ideal. You must realize that it wouldn’t help, or even change anything.”
A pair of arms prevented Aurora from getting up in anger. The arms spoke again. “What should be done instead? The boy must be punished.” It said, it’s voice not wavering.
The brothers spoke next. “I think we should make him carry the rock he killed his brother with.” Kreyada suggested. “I could make him do it, and it’s not so heavy that he will drop it.”
“I think he should carry the rose that holds his brother’s blood, until his last day.” The thing behind on his right said.
“How do you propose that, Lechurada? He cannot hold it forever in his hand. And you, Kreyada, neither can he hold the rock forever in his hands.”
Dirk himself squeaked, and the arms silenced everyone else who wasn’t already silent. “I could carry them in my pockets. Just please, let me live.” He voice shook with every word.
The arms spoke again. “Aurora, what do you suggest for him to carry both the rose, and the rock?”
She thought for just a moment. “Embed the rose into the rock, and give life to the rock. It will be his defense while the rose can be his reminder of fragility of human life.”
The arms spoke. “I will add my own clause to both sides. He must always have the rock and rose with him, or else he dies. But the rock will also take the form the rock wishes when I give it life, and obey Dirk as he holds it. It will provide companionship and speak when he grips the rock with at least one hand, thus he will not get lonely.” The arms paused for a moment.
“This takes all your ideas and merges them. Now for my own clause, he will be a god. A lonely god, the god of conflict. Thus, he is a Dependent god. Should the world become as it once was, he will cease to be.” The arms paused again. “Is this acceptable, Ke?”
The pen wrote new words were the old ones once were. “Yes it is, make it so.”
“I, Fae, given life by Destiny, and with the confirmation of the Pen that created the world, Ke, do hereby punish Dirk with basic immortality, godhood, and his painful death should the rock or the rose it's fastened leaves his arms reach.” Suddenly Dirk felt a weight in his jacket pocket. “The punished is not to go back to his hometown, and will wander for eternity in his prime after he reaches it.”
Dirk suddenly felt a weight in his pocket, a great Wright. He put his hands into his pocket, and felt a stone.
Dirk pulled the thing out of his pocket, the rock he killed his brother with had black rose inside. As he held it, it thinned and got longer, more shiny, with a point at the end. A sheath grew around his new longsword, though he did not yet know what a weapon was. It spoke to him in his mind. “I am the god of weapons. I will remain with you until death or peace returns.” As he heard this in his head, he looked around, and realized he was back in the field of roses, with the black rose sword fastened to his hip with a new belt.
He looked down, and saw his brother, but had no time to mourn, as he heard voices. Several hours had passed while he had been in that place, even though it felt like only an hour. He ran, as tears once again brimmed and overflowed from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Arn.” He whispered painfully as he ran from the scene. Once he was far enough into the woods that he thought no one would see him, he stopped and panted. His vision began to fade slowly, and he collapsed on the ground before losing consciousness.
He woke up to hear the birds chirping, and rubbed his eyes as he sat up. Why was he asleep in a forest? The events of yesterday slowly came back to him when his hand touched the scabbard of his punishment. The cold metal reminded him of everything that transpired, and how one foolish action brought it all about.
Even though he wasn’t supposed to go back, he decided to go one more time. His hand gripped the handle of the sword and the 2 talked as he walked back to the house and village. When Dirk got back to the house, the door was open. Inside, the table was broken, and many things were shattered around. Blood was on the floor, though not much. And beside the small amount of blood, was a book. A book on flowers. He rushed out of the house and ran towards the village, hearing screaming once he neared it enough. A familiar scream he’d heard when Arn would injure himself. When he got to the village, he saw many villagers all gathered around the source. There was no display, no wooden beams or ropes.
Just many men gathered around a woman in the center, her screams now whimpers of protest as the men surrounding her all taunted her. “You couldn’t even keep your own son alive?” “Maybe she was a drunkard after all?” “Even your other kid left you.” “You're a failure of a mother, good thing you’re useful here.”
Dirk had heard enough, he grabbed the sword, and with his mind so woefully broken, the sword took over. “Hey, you guys. Don’t you know it’s not nice to hit someone defenseless.”
Some of the men looked back to see Dirk’s body, holding a sword, but with pitch black eyes. “We aren’t hitting her, we’re doing something else.” Though Dirk could not control his body, his mind was still free. And a tear fell from the blackened eye. Just one tear, as he ran and stabbed the first man through his gut.
“I am Nopaew, and you’ve hurt my Master and partner’s mother.” He cackled maniacally. The other men ran and tried to hit him, but each fist met only with the sharp end of a blade. “Tell me, do you know what happens when the soil becomes stained with blood? The purest flowers become corrupted. And from that corruption, I was made.” At this point, everyone had tried, and failed, to stop the boy. “Dirk wants to kill you himself, maybe I should let him?” Nopaew questioningly stated. Then, a quick slash and a man’s arm was severed. “Nah, I think I’ll save him the turmoil, and give myself the pleasure!” in less than a minute, the sword had killed all of them, and control was given back to Dirk. “She does not have much time. You should be the last person she talks to.”
Dirk ran and collapsed on his mother’s bruised body, crying into it. “Mommy, don’t go. I’m sorry I killed Arn, please don’t die too.” Her arm weakly held onto the back of his head as he cried into her.
“Oh, that was you? I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to teach you not to kill.” She said faintly. There was no coughing or pauses, just pain. “Please Dirk, grow up to be a kind man, and don’t let your mistakes stop you.” Dirk looked at her swollen face, and made a promise.
“I’ll be strong, so don’t die, mommy.” His choking voice mumbled in a way no one but someone who had heard him cry often would understand.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. Please, don’t bury me, just go and live. Let the dead rest in peace.” She told him. “I love you, Dirk. And that…” her voice trailed off as her arm went limp. Dirk stayed, and cried into her corpse. When he left, he decided to honor her wishes. And left her lying there, amidst the other bodies in the street.
But one last act before he did, is was to remove his jacket and place it on her, covering as much as he could of her, so her torn clothes and exposed skin wouldn’t be seen immediately.
He left with what little honor he had protecting her body from the nakedness she surely didn’t leave the house with. That village, while still holding a few people, would soon be abandoned, and word of a vengeful spirit called Nopaew spread from there like fire spreading through a dried forest.
The fear of Nopaew spread faster than the sword or boy that created the legend of the ghost. There was no longer a town or even roadside inn Dirk could go to that didn’t have one or two people talking about the slaughter. And each time, it filled him with rage to know he was living off bloody coins that the men carried.
