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The Red King pulled his tattered cape tighter around his shoulders, unable to stop the shivers wracking through his body. He was somewhere deep inside a cave, freezing wind carrying down the tunnels, screaming at him. Leave? Or come closer? He couldn’t tell what it was saying, but it didn’t matter, in the end. He couldn’t just leave, he’d learned a long time ago that that was not how it worked.
After losing everything, there had been void. It wasn’t blackness, or even nothingness. The concept of being had not existed at all. Just pain, the Inbetween, and then light, once more.
He started down a trail through the caves – at least that’s what he thought it was, rough stone worn down by countless footsteps. The wind ripped tears from his eyes, the droplets crystallizing in midair before falling to the ground. He could feel the frozen streams of blood against the icy surface of his crown, too, as he pinned his ears back.
The first time he left the Inbetween, he hadn't been able to open his eyes. He could hear it all too well, fireworks and shouting, and so much commotion. He could taste the blood in his mouth that wasn't there. He couldn't tell that the shouts were happy ones. He didn't know those existed anymore.
He just curled up on the hard ground and pretended not to exist until the Inbetween took pity on him and realized his wish.
The cape fluttered out of his grip, and he looked down to find that the tips of his fingers had gone blue. He didn’t turn back to pick up the cape – if he had, he might never have gotten up again. He just trudged on, curling his fingers into his shirt for any semblance of protection it could offer.
The second time, he was staring down narrow shaft, a rickety rope ladder swinging gently back and forth inside, as if someone had just stepped away from it. It was quiet, was the first thing he noticed, mere whisps of sound seeping up through the hole in the ground. He’d recognize that voice anywhere, even as hushed as it was right then. He leapt for the ladder, practically sliding down the side of it in his haste. A streak of red remained in his wake. At the bottom, there were figures clad in black. Flashes of green and purple. His feet hadn’t even touched the ground properly when he was back in the Inbetween.
If there were such things as feelings there, he would have cried.
If he squinted, he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. He wasn’t sure whether that was in a physical or a metaphorical sense himself, yet. But it was something to work toward, for sure. However excruciating that work was. His legs shook violently underneath him, but he had to see what was at the end. Who was at the end. Because it was him that this was all about. Not the King, not really. It always lead back to him.
The third time, he nearly fell. He was standing high above a gaping chasm, rushing water twinkling at the bottom. He thought he saw double, but really, it was just two. Two on the bridge across from him, two in the farmhouse, two on the deck of the ship. Down below him, inside the hideous, beautiful building he was standing on, he only heard one. He leaned down to look through the window. Just a glance, he pleaded. His feet slipped out from underneath him.
The Inbetween hugged him close and pulled him out of the dive.
He arrived in a crudely decorated chamber. Empty. But there was sunlight, just outside, and he collapsed as soon as a ray hit him. He curled up on the barely-warmed rock, jagged spikes tearing at his already ruined clothes. There was no one there. There was no point.
The fourth, he had been wrapped up in warm red blankets, silky-soft as they slipped from his body. There was noise outside his door, sounds of people living their lives. All he wanted to do was go down. He raced through labyrinthine hallways. Down, down, lower still, even as he arrived in the basement. He needed to go lower. He needed to go smaller. A tiny, furry body brushed against him, and the Inbetween struck down.
This furry body was different. Larger. Colder. But still better than the chill of the air. A curious, wet nose poked at his cheek, and the creature leapt over his head, a streak of white fur, glowing majestically as it rose to its hind legs in front of the sun. It padded closer, pressing against his side to finally curl up under his chin. He twitched his arm, the mere shadow of a pat, but it seemed like it appreciated it nonetheless. It started purring.
The last time, it had been wet. He laid between tightly packed rows of sugarcane, barely able to pull himself out onto the circle of grass they surrounded. He wrung ocean water from his clothes. At first, he looked the wrong way, toward a precariously narrow bridge connecting the island to a dark forest on the mainland. But he saw it as soon as he turned. It was leaning up against the side of a hut. A small, homely place. Flowers in the windows, two figures barely visible through it. But the bright red shield pulled his eyes lower. He remembered. He remembered.
The Inbetween lead him away before the tears could start falling down his cheeks.
More little white creatures slipped out from every nook and cranny in the cave, surrounding him in warmth and in safety. They licked at the tears trickling down his face. He already knew what was coming.
A fuzzy outline of a man came into view at the other end of the path leading straight toward the Red King. The Inbetween pulled him gently away, just before the sun could reach under his hood.
* * *
For some inexplicable reason, Martyn slept on the floor that night.