The Problematic Prince

Amidst the chaotic, slanted world, Bjorn pressed on through the crumpled carriages.
Doing his best to dodge broken glass and weave past sharp, jagged metal shards.
He discarded his coat and wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow.

   “Erna,” he called out every other step.
“Erna.”

   The name became a desperate call, echoing through the train like a ghostly wail.
Unfazed by the slippery, snow covered floor, Bjorn moved through the carriages with determination.
With each cabin door he opened, loose glass rained down and he was met with gruesome scenes, but the broken bodies of those who had not survived the crash did nothing to deter Bjorn.

   “Its too dangerous, your Highness, we’ll take care of it,” said the volunteers as he passed them by,  digging out what survivors could still be saved.

   As Bjorn reached the final door of the cleared compartment, he waited for the rescuers to swiftly clear the debris and prise open the dented door.
He watched them with blank eyes and idling for a moment, he was made aware of the pain in his hands and looking down at them, he could see they were all cut up.

   “There are people,” one of the volunteers said, who was jimmying open the door.

   Bjorn could hear their startled cries.
Forgetting about his bloody hands, he pushed his way through the throng of people and debris into the newly excavated compartment.

   “Wait, its not safe,” the volunteers were saying as they followed him in, but he ignored them.

   In one of the guest compartments of the second class carriage, he saw a form half buried under furniture.
It looked to be a slender woman, with flowing brown hair and with the volunteers busy with the newly found survivors, Bjorn leapt into the room and started tossing the furniture aside, uncovering the badly contorted body.

   Gingerly, Bjorn turned the body over, his heart could not prepare him for what he would see, Erna or not.
There was little relief as he did not recognise the face of the young girl, who looked to be sleeping.
She let out a moan.

   Bjorn comforted the girl until a couple of the volunteers came to help, then he went off looking for Erna, leaving the room without turning back.

   He went through each compartment.
Sometimes he would find a dead body, other times he would find someone trapped by debris and he would work with the volunteers to free them, but there was no sign of Erna anywhere.

  Bjorn felt devastated with each cabin he went into.
The further he went into the train, the closer he came to the areas completely engulfed by the mud slide and the worse his chances of finding Erna alive became.

   His throat itched and scratched as he called Erna’s name, but he ache never reached his mind as it was turned to a singular concern.
His safety was second to finding Erna, his health was not even a factor.

  In the depths of despair, memories of Erna flooded his mind, beginning from the moment the rural girl arrived in Schuber during springtime.

On the betting board, wagers were being placed.
He viewed her merely as a gamble, a source of fleeting pleasure, worth nothing more than squandering money. He summoned the courage to partake in the absurd bet solely because of Erna.

   Was this love? He didn’t know.
At present, it was a feeble justification in seeking solace in such a desperate time.
He had disregarded it as a matter of unimportance, all that was important was finding Erna. 

   Rumours abated that Bjorn mistreated anything gained through money and it seemed that Erna was no different, but won through a bet or not, he pursued the woman because he desired her.
There was no malice in his actions when he had swept her away from Pavel Lore that fateful night.

   He did not intend to blind Erna to what was going on around, to keep her compliant.
Whether it was Walter Hardy, the dross of the marriage market, Pavel Lore or even all the rumourmongers, Bjorn thought he was protecting her.

   Looking back on it now, he could see it was something he did knowingly, wanting to keep her docile and compliant so that his own life would be made easier.
The proposal was just like that too, quiet, discreet and harmless.
It put it forward as a proposition to save a young girl from marrying a brute, but in reality, he was the brute, the abuser, the selfish poisonous mushroom.

   If his hand had not come up, would he even have bothered with Erna?

   He knew the answer to the questions before he even had chance to finish thinking about it.
In truth, he would never let her go.

   “ERNA!” he called out in a painful rasp.

   Bjorn kicked open a door to reveal the dismal presentation of the third class cabin.
Without the section divides, it was a grizzly scene. 

   Gasping for breath, which carried the distinctly metallic stench of blood, Bjorn moved into the carriage.
He scanned every body, every lifeless face and looked into all the desperate eyes.
With each face he saw, it was becoming harder to recall what Erna might actually look like.

   “ERNA!”

   As Bjorn called out the name, demanding a response, snow drifted in through shattered windows and dusted his hair.
Raising his sad eyes up, he gazed at the sky.
The image blurred before him, as tears welled up.
He wiped the tears away, pressing his palms into his eyes.

   He had wanted to beg her not to leave him.
He still hadn’t told her that he loves her.
How cruel fate was, to deny him that one simple statement.

   With trembling hands, he wiped his damp face, his gaze fixated on the door to the final compartment.
His eyes were cold and sunken as he realised this was where Erna was, where else could she have been? The thought sparked a little hope in his chest.

   “Your Highness, you can’t go in there,” a volunteer said, he was moving to block the door with barbed wire.

   “GET OUT!” Bjorn growled.

   “Its completely buried in there, no one could have survived.”

   “GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Bjorn said again.

   “There’s no survivors, your Highness.”

   Bjorn was done asking and shoved the volunteer out of the way and stormed the door like he was possessed.
There was only one compartment left, so it didn’t make sense to say there were no survivors in that compartment, Erna had not been found yet.

   “Your Highness, its too dangerous,” the volunteer said behind him, he did not move to stop Bjorn any more.

   Bjorn pulled at the door, he kicked and punched and used all his might to try and prise the door open, but all he was doing was cutting up his hands even more.

   “Bjorn,” came a familiar voice, “calm down Bjorn.”

   “Leonid?” Bjorn said, looking over his shoulder.

   “What are you doing?” Leonid sighed.

    He was already made aware of Bjorn’s reckless behaviour by the Mayor and the other survivors as he came down the train.
To witness his brothers madness first hand was even more distressing.

   “LEAVE ME ALONE, LEO!” Bjorn shouted.

    He wiped his hands on his blood stained shirt and turned back to the door.
He looked exhausted, but a fierce fire still blazed in his eyes.
It was as if he had been possessed by demons.

   “The Grand Duchess is not in there, Bjorn.” Leonid hurried over to Bjorn, placing himself between him and the door.
“I found the Grand Duchess, lets go.”

   Bjorn looked at Leonid, unsure if he had heard his brother correctly.
Leonid placed his coat around Bjorn’s shoulders and guided him out of the train.