The Sapphiri

by R Gene Curtis

  “And she knew that Wynn would never look in the library, and if he did, he wasn’t observant enough to notice a misplaced table,” I conclude.

  “You know where this leads, don’t you?” Somrusee whispers next to me.

  I do. Once I realized it was a map, I knew where it wanted me to go. The map leads to the room I shared with Somrusee.

  “Yes,” I say, though I want to go there less than I wanted to come here. I haven’t been in that room since the night I left this library. I swallow hard. There were a lot of memories in the library, but I can’t imagine going back to the jail cell we called our room.

  “Will you come with me and see what’s there?” she asks. “I haven’t been back since we got here, and I don’t want to go by myself.”

  So, I’m not the only one who has been avoiding the place. I don’t want to go, but I find myself extremely curious about this map. I nod, and Somrusee takes my hand. This time I grasp it willingly and lead the way back to the stairs.

  When we get to the room, I keep hold of Somrusee’s hand. She pulls against me, but I keep my grip firm and she understands. I don’t want her to light the torches. We don’t need to see the room well. I remember it perfectly, as I’m sure she does also. Somrusee in her za’an outfit. The pain in her eyes each day as I came back from working with Buen. Each day as I ignored her yet again.

  The smell of the room and the feel of the air flowing through it overwhelms me anyway. It smells fresh, like it’s been raining. This is how it smelled the day of the attack when Wynn killed all of those men with a flick of his finger. Somrusee told me to go find him.

  I grasp the candle until my knuckles turn white. I march through the room, pulling Somrusee behind me until we make it to the space she slept. It’s a hole in the wall, with barely enough room for a person to stretch out in. I crouch down and crawl into the space, and Somrusee follows. Her body bumps against mine as I maneuver to the end of the space. I don’t see anything. Somrusee leans against my back and reaches around me. I try to move to the side as her fingers explore the wall. After a few minutes, her fingers stop on a stone. She gives it a few yanks, and it loosens and then comes out of the wall.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t find this during all those lonely months in here,” I whisper.

  Somrusee laughs. “I was too busy pining over whether or not you’d ever notice me.”

  I’m glad it’s dark so she can’t see the expression on my face. Not much has changed, apparently.

  I reach into the wall where the stone was, and I pull out a small rod. It’s about as long as my candle, and about the same thickness. I roll it around in my fingers. It may be small, but it’s heavy, like it’s purposely weighted. I can’t tell what it’s made of, but the ends both glow blue. The blue glow comes from sapphires, which are attached to the rod. I pull on the gems, but they are stuck onto the rod.

  Somrusee reaches around me into the hole and pulls out a sheet of wadded up parchment that looks like it’s as old as this world.

  “There’s nothing else in there,” she says, after running her hand around the hole a few more times. She crawls out of the cubby with me right behind her. That was awkward.

  I stand and start to stretch, but Somrusee is already next to my hand holding the candle, reading the parchment in the dim light. I squint over her shoulder and read the writing scribbled across it.

  How to save the world. That’s a gruesome title. Or optimistic, maybe?

  Below the title is a sketch of a person, apparently with glowing eyes, standing over another person. He holds the rod between the two people, over their two hearts.

  Somrusee looks at me, catches my eyes to see that I’m done with the page, and then she flips it over. On the other side of the parchment is another sketch. The Sapphiri lies on the ground, and the other person stands with a torch in her hand.

  “What does it mean?” I wonder.

  “It’s kind of creepy,” Somrusee whispers.

  “Kind of?” I certainly don’t want to be the Sapphiri in this sequence of events.

  We stand there in silence, considering the paper, trying to deduce another interpretation other than the obvious.

  And then a crash outside startles us both. I jump enough that I fumble with the candle, and it leans out of my hand and lights the scroll on fire.

  Somrusee swears and drops the paper. She doesn’t look back at it as she runs to the window. Unwilling to let our strange discovery turn into ash, I stamp out the fire while the noise outside the castle gets louder.

  “Karu!?” Somrusee yells from the window.

  Just another minute. I keep stamping and then the fire is finally out. I pick up the parchment and run to the window to join Somrusee. The sight that greets my eyes turns my blood to ice. Hundreds of people carry torches as they approach the castle gate.

  I gasp and lean against the windowsill for support. Somrusee leans against me.

  I swallow, and a wad of saliva forces its way down my throat.

  I can’t see the end of the torches. They go across the bridges and on for forever into the city.

  What are we going to do? Quint’s guard can’t stand against so many people.

  The marching crowd moves forward until they fill the entire bridge. They move forward until they’re at the gate. I scream and lean forward, but it’s difficult to make out what is happening at the gate; my view is mostly obscured by the castle. Still, I manage to see Quint’s men step forward and confront the oncoming crowd with a fury. They push the crowd back until twenty men break off from Quint’s guard and run into the crowd of mobbers. The crowd gives the traitors a hero’s cheer.

  This is going south fast—I need to get down there.

  I stuff the strange rod and the parchment into my clothes. “Somrusee, I’ll take you to the servant’s quarters. You need to wait there.”

  She nods, knowing just as well as I do that she’s not trained to be outside. I scowl, and then I run. I hear Somrusee’s footsteps keep up with me out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs.

  I don’t look back.

  I streak past the servant’s quarters on the main floor of the tower, barely registering when Somrusee goes in like I asked. I fly across the room to the doors leading outside, and then I’m running across the bridge between towers. Knives fill the air around me, and I can’t imagine how the invaders are getting them up here. I feel a sharp pain from my ear, and warm blood trickles down my neck. Better my ear than my neck. I reach the end of the bridge and shove the doors open into the main tower.

  Quint trained men to fight, Somrusee trained Lydia to be a queen. We were making progress. What happened to make hundreds of armed men and women come to the castle tonight? How did our progress turn into a coordinated attack and a mass mutiny from the guard? Why did the people’s trust seem to erode more each day instead of improve?

  Where is Quint? Did he leave with the traitors? Where is Lydia?

  Swords sound from the front of the castle, but the main tower is dark and empty. My legs are burning now, but I keep sprinting. I don’t think we’re going to win this fight, and Lydia destroyed the only other way out of the castle just days ago. Our only way out is past that mob.

  It’s likely we will all die tonight.

  I reach the main castle doors, and I slow down, catching my breath and trying to understand the sounds that make their way through the heavy door. Metal clanging and men yelling. When I push this door open, will I die in a barrage of knives? Or, will I be shielded by Quint and his men? I don’t hear anything hitting the door.

  I take a deep breath and pull out my sword. I need to find Quint. It’s worth the risk of being butchered instantly upon opening it. I take a deep breath and am about to push when the door across the hall opens. I turn to see a slim figure as she streaks across the hall, her long hair flying behind her. I know that run; I know who she is. Why didn’t she find somewhere safe?

  “Lydia! Stop!” I yell.

  She does sto
p and stares into the darkness. “Karl?”

  “What are you doing here?” I shout. If the mob gets to her, it will be the end of everything.

  The door Lydia came out of hits the wall and swings shut, sending us back into darkness.

  “I’m going to fight with Quint, of course. Why didn’t anyone come and get me?” Lydia’s voice echoes around the hall, as angry as the shouts outside.

  “You can’t go out there,” I tell her. “You’ll get hurt. We need to get you out of here.”

  I hear her footsteps continue forward, towards me. “Run away?” she asks. “I’m the queen. Don’t you think there’s something wrong with the system here? Aren’t I supposed to be out there fighting and dying with my soldiers? How are we going to make a lasting change in this place if I’m always hiding in safety and luxury?”

  I groan. I don’t want her to get herself killed. “Lydia, you’re the queen. You’re the government. If you die, all hope dies. We need you to be safe.”

  I need you to be safe. Because I love you and I don’t want you to die.

  But, she doesn’t seem to be in the mood to listen to me. The speed of her footsteps increases, echoing sharply around the dark room. “All I ever do is nothing, and doing nothing doesn’t mean a thing,” she yells. “If I sit around tonight, this group will break through our guard and everyone in the castle will die anyway. The people have been planning this revolt for months. We’ve had this coming for a long time. I’m surprised we’ve been able to live here as long as we have.”

  “How do you know they’ve been planning this?”

  Silence. “I put copper around the city. They hate me, Karl. They hate Azureans.” Her anger turns into a sob, and her footsteps slow. She’s nearly to me now.

  “You’ve been spying?” I stare into the darkness, speechless. She put copper around the city? Spied on people? The words hit me like the rocks hit me when Wynn pushed me off the cliff in the western hills. Are all Azureans the same? Do all Azureans use their power to have an advantage over others?

  No, surely not Lydia. Or, was I wrong about her?

  “It’s not like that,” she says. “I put some copper around the city to listen to what people were talking about.”

  I shake my head even though she can’t see me. I can’t believe it.

  “I needed to know what was going on,” she says defensively. And then she starts moving again. I reach out my hand to catch her, but I’m too late. Lydia brushes by me and hits the doors at a sprint. They slam shut behind her, and I’m alone again.

  I stare into the darkness, confused, yet without anything to do except to follow her. I walk over to the doors and jump through them into a crouch, blinking rapidly against the glare of the lanterns in my eyes. I’m greeted by a sky full of knives, knives which come from the mass of humanity just a few yards away. Hundreds of torches illuminate angry faces. I start to move to the side, and a wad of dirt smacks my face, pushing me back the other way. I look again. It isn’t just knives in the air. Rocks and trash fill the air like we’re in the middle of a tornado. I jump away from another rock flying at me and manage to duck behind a pillar. About five feet ahead of me, Quint and a few men crouch behind a small barricade. The men lean against it, their heels dug into the bridge, and the mob pushes against them through it. Quint’s men on the edges of the barricade fight with swords, killing anyone who tries to come around the barrier. A remaining few soldiers hop around like mice, retrieving knives and tossing them above the barricade and back into the crowd.

  Many, many soldiers lie dead or dying on the ground in the heap of dirt, rocks, trash, and knives. I don’t need to count to know that most of Quint’s army is dead on the ground in front of me.

  Four holding the barricade. Two swordsmen. Two men jumping and throwing. That makes seven men, plus Quint who are still alive. We’ve been training an army of one hundred men. That’s a 93% casualty or mutiny rate.

  I’m a scientist, not a military man, but I know that’s not good.

  The mob has to know how close they are to victory with so few men left to oppose them. They shove and they push, and some even push their fellows off the bridge in their haste to get close enough to fight as I stare hopelessly on.

  This isn’t a fight we can win—our only hope is to stop the death and save ourselves. But I don’t see how we can do either. This bridge is our only way out, we’re not going to get over it.

  And then Lydia jumps from the shadows on the other side of the bridge and runs towards Quint and his men.

  “No! Hide, Lydia, hide!” I yell, but she either can’t hear me or she doesn’t want to.

  She makes it to the middle of the bridge, not close enough for Quint’s barricade to protect her, but no longer close enough to the walls to be out of the line of fire. A rock smashes into her shoulder, and she stumbles back. She straightens and steps forward. Does she have dirt on her fingers? Is she healing herself? A knife pierces her hand, and she stumbles backward again. She pulls the knife out of her hand and steps forward again.

  “Lydia!”

  I abandon the safety of my hiding place and run to her, stumbling over dead bodies and groaning as I get a rock to my stomach. By some miracle I make it to her without dying. I put my arm around her shoulder and force her to move forward. She stumbles over a corpse, and her weight pulls me down with her as she falls. My knees scrape against the ground, and something flies over my head, brushing my hair. Was it a rock that would have smashed my face if Lydia hadn’t stumbled? Or was it a knife that would have taken my eye out?

  To our right, one of Quint’s men falls off the bridge with a knife lodged in his shoulder. Six, plus me, Quint, and Lydia. Our numbers are waning fast.

  “I can’t,” Lydia sobs from the ground next to me. She’s curled into a ball, and tears shine on her face in the flickering light. I leave my arm around her shoulder. I’m not sure if she wants to talk to me, or if she cares if I touch her.

  This is where we die, I realize. Instinctively, I pull Lydia into a sitting position, and then I pull her close.

  She doesn’t resist, and I feel the heat from her tears as they soak through my shirt. I take her hand. She didn’t heal it—it’s covered in blue blood.

  “I can’t, I can’t,” Lydia says again and again.

  “Can’t what?” I shout over the noise.

  “I can’t kill all those people! What kind of monster would I be if I slaughtered all of them? I can’t protect this castle without…without becoming…”

  “Wynn.” I say it, and I’ve seen it. Lydia knows I’ve seen it. I’ve seen Wynn slaughter armies ten times greater than this one. I’ve seen people die from the mere flick of his fingers. He held on to his power with everything he had. Our little band of nine people out here could beat this mass of humanity that’s pressing on us now, but if Lydia rules with that kind of power, is the world better off without her?

  Lydia isn’t a monster who tried to spy on people. She wanted to understand them. Lydia would rather die than become Wynn. I would rather die than become Wynn. A wash of acceptance flows over me with that thought. I thought I was going to die before, and I’m willing to die again. Anything to avoid becoming Wynn.

  “I will not become Wynn.” Lydia’s words echo my own thoughts. Perhaps they’re my own thoughts—she is touching me. But there it is, a declaration. Her tears stop and she shakes her head slowly. “You’re right, Karl. I’m not him. If these people don’t want me to be their queen, I will not be their queen!”

  “Is it that simple?” I shout. History books don’t exactly tell tales of queens who resign and live happily ever after. Especially when they’re cornered without an escape route.

  “It is. Let’s get out of here.” She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand and meets my eyes. The sorrow and helplessness that was there moments before is gone, replaced with resolve and determination. I have no idea why—there’s still no way we’re getting out of here. She pushes away from me, and I already miss the moment w
e had together, my arm around her, next to her in the moments before we would die. I have no idea what is going to happen now.

  A knife streaks across the ground towards me, and I jump over it to avoid having it slice my foot. Lydia’s moved carefully to the barricade and is looking over the side of the bridge down to the ground.

  “I’ve been experimenting with hemazury.” Lydia looks over her shoulder and yells at me. “I think I can save us.”

  She spits off the bridge into the dirt down below, and she spits at the dirt on the ground next to the barricade Quint and his men are desperately trying to keep in place. Saliva interacts with things to produce energy. Back in the mountains when Lydia spit, dirt flew around us, making a hole where the saliva had gone. This time she spits again and again. The saliva interacts with the dirt as it did in the mountains, making energy and filling the air with dirt. Dirt fills the air, blows with the wind and gets into my eyes. Lydia keeps spitting and the dirt clouds get so thick it becomes impossible to see the flying knives and garbage all around us.

  I crouch lower, even less sure now what Lydia is trying to do. I crawl towards her, until I can make out her shape through the flying dirt.

  How is this helpful?

  She’s moving quickly. She rubs her good hand on the deep cut in her right hand, covering it in blood. Then she runs up behind Quint and his men who are holding the barricade. She spits on her fingers and mixes saliva with the blood. Carefully, she reaches over the barricade and starts to move her hand in rapid small circles, like she’s waxing a car.

  The dust in the air turns to rock. Blue blood with saliva reduces energy. The dirt, combined with saliva and blood, turns to rock, and it seals to and extends the barricade. Lydia keeps spitting on her hand and waving it around in the dirty air. As the seconds pass, more and more dirt and moisture harden into an icy mixture of dirt and rock that gets higher and higher as Lydia climbs onto the men holding the barricade. And then they let go because it isn’t moving anymore. The rock that Lydia creates gets thick fast—it’s at least eight inches thick everywhere she’s touched.