The Weight of the World

by G M Archer

  the weight of the world

  THE CONSEQUENCES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: BOOK 1

  G. M. ARCHER

  TO MY MOM-- A CONSTANT SOURCE OF WISDOM AND INSPIRATION

  Table of Contents:

  Prologue

  Chapter 1- The Execution of Routine

  Chapter2- To Escape the Nightmares

  Chapter 3- And Take Revenge on Existence

  Chapter 4- Binds Us all to Unique Realities

  Chapter 5- And Tears Away From All We Held as the Truth

  Chapter 6- Thus We Have Forgotten About Lost Depravity

  Chapter 7- Fighting Agony for Absolution

  Chapter 8- Chased by the Shadows of Our Past

  Chapter 9- Only to be Deceived Into Unpredicted Misfortune

  Chapter 10- Disregarded by What is Deserved

  Chapter 11- Living to Pursue a Broken and Peculiar Fate

  Chapter 12- We are Destroyed by Our Own Noble Intentions

  Chapter 13- Praised Only in Victory

  Chapter 14- Misguided by a Hero’s Promise

  Chapter 15- And Consumed by the Jealously of Entitlement

  Chapter 16- We Wade Through the Mysteries of another Age

  Chapter 17- Surrounded by the Misunderstandings of Our Rage

  Chapter 18- Swallowing Pride with the Poison of Acceptance

  Chapter 19- Confused by the Dark Devices and Burdened

  Chapter 20- By the Weight of the World

  JOB 30: 29

  Prologue

  “Go west,” Varrick’s hands trembled, shuddered as he wrapped a tattered cape around his arm, “That’s all that awful, wicked letter said . . . ‘go west’,” his eyelids drooped, his eyes burned.

  The back of his eyelids revealed again the flashing images, swimming with fire and screams.

  He snapped to attention, and General Hale caught his gaze.

  Hales’ lips twisted into a snarl. His hands twitched as they crashed flint and steel together, pitiful sparks vanishing around the kindling.

  “We’re going to die. We’re going to die- all those men died- over a letter with two bloody words, Varrick?” his bloodshot eyes flicked away.

  “It- you don’t understand- fate called in those two words. It- It was . . . inevitable. Yet I could not imagine- the outcome- I would never wish that upon any-” his words trailed away, attention caught by a sound further up the ridge.

  He could see nothing; the light was scant. The sun cast a sickly-grey purple, still hidden below the horizon.

  Varrick licked his cracked lips, “We’ve run all through the night,” he rasped.

  Movement whisked through the trees beside them, close enough to blur through their vision.

  Hale lurched forward, hands fumbling across the ground. His stiff fingers finally seized the stock of his musket, twisting the barrel to point at the woods.

  Varrick held his breath, waiting in the silence.

  The seconds slugged by, and Hale slumped, his aim jittering.

  The shadow emerged from the woods, a figure of liquid grace as it moved to the top of the ridge. A rippling white cloak spun around the armless figure, the smooth simple features of the black mask vaguely reminiscent of an owl.

  Hale’s brow quirked, his bloodshot eyes flashing white as he spun the gun to face it.

  “No!” Varrick screeched, lunging in a frantic scramble for Hale.

  Hale made no motion save his thumb slipping across the hammer once, succeeding the second time he jerked it down.

  “It’s a Journeyer,” Varrick pleaded, taking slow, deliberate steps towards Hale, “It’s the reason we’re alive. It saved us,” his voice shook but remained stern.

  Hale’s finger slid down towards the trigger, “It’s another servant of that monster,” he hissed.

  “It’s a Journeyer,” Varrick started to reach out, “They’re judges. It’s testing us. We’re being tried.”

  “Yes, yes we are,” his gaze stayed fixed on the eyes of the mask, “We’re being tried to slay it.”

  Varrick seized the barrel of the gun, twisting it from Hale’s hand. He pulled it close to his chest as their eyes locked in exhausted fury. The Journeyer was impassive, the first light catching on the gold patterns of its robe.

  Hale spasmed, “Fine! You’ve seen where your leadership, where your wisdom, has gotten us thus far! Fool Prince, your quest has left you with blood all over your hands,” he waited expectantly for some reaction.

  Varrick wavered. The riffle tugged at his aching arms, his vision blurred slightly as he spoke, his head throbbed.

  “It saved us. The Journeyer saved us. . .it kept us alive . . .”

  The Journeyer cocked its head, so subtle of a motion he wondered if he imagined it.

  Hale flinched back from it, his gaze snapping back to Varrick, “Why only us? Why only us from all those men then?”

  “I- I don’t know. In the darkness, among the dark figures, it- it was there. It saved us,” Varrick turned from Hale’s glare.

  “Madness,” Hale trembled, “You don’t know what you saw in that chaos,” he snapped a finger towards the Journeyer, “It stalked us, and holds us here, bickering, while that . . . thing, that monster comes to finish us like the rest.”

  Varrick’s foot twisted out sideways, his leg strained and collapsing.

  Hale lunged forward, twisting the barrel in his hands, hand slamming to the trigger. The shot cracked through the air.

  A bullet thumped against flesh, a flower of blood blooming slowly out over the Journeyer’s chest. A woman’s gasp rasped out from behind the mask. She faltered, stumbled, but did not fall, turning away from them in a slow jerking pattern, her grace lost to the shuddering.

  Varrick’s mouth hung loose, the situation suddenly snapping back into a morbid clarity as adrenaline flooded him. He slammed the gun into Hale’s blank face with a crack.

  Blood spurted from his nose and he gaze a gurgling laugh as he slammed into the ground. He jerked back, and Varrick raised the gun over his head like a club, teeth flashing.

  Hale barred a snarl in return, “You failed. You failed your men. You failed here. Go ahead and strike me down, I have no desire to live to a day where I see you on the throne.”

  The gun whistled through the air as he brought it down, stopping short as the Journeyer disappeared over the hill with another soft cry. He turned back, his breath heavy, gaze shifting between the rage of Hale and the gun in his hand.

  In the hesitation, Hale scrabbled to his feet, fleeing into the dark of the woods. His sound of footsteps grew rapidly distant then disappeared entirely.

  Varrick blinked slowly, the gun falling from his hands. He walked slowly towards the rising sun, his feet trailing over the blood trail to her. It was not far but she was still walking, the blood seeping down her back to soil the white of her cloak.

  She turned to look at him, and collapsed.

  He staggered to her. She coughed and spasmed, her breathing ragged.

  He knelt beside her, gently removing the mask from her head with a weak hand. Her copper hair stuck in places to her face, her eyes, one blue and the other green stared at him in some form of recognition.

  “Thank you, Varrick, for-” she struggled for more words, her lips quivering.

  He put a hand under her, feeling it soak through with the familiar warmth of blood “Thank you for what?” he leaned closer, “Who are you?”

  She whispered something, her eyes glistening.

  “What? What did you say?” he encouraged, brow scrunched in anxious confusion.

  “Take me,” she gripped his arm, nails biting through the fabric, “Take me to Lafayette.”

  Chapter 1- The Execution of Routine

  I gazed with an almost pit
ied disposition at the wealthy rabble that plagued the castle garden: the narcissistic crowd that walked stiffly about in perfect wigs and tight corsets, daintily stroking roses and avoiding bees. I scorned myself for the disdain I felt for them. I suppose it was because I was convinced they had similar notions about me.

  “Princess Atlas!” Alexandra’s voice came harsh and scolding as she busted in.

  I cringed.

  “Why are you still in your pajamas?!” The elderly maid put two fists on her hips, the edges of her lips angling downwards.

  She began shuffling through my clothing, setting things aside that appeased her.

  Her blue eyes were like steel from behind her round spectacles, a disapproving look directed at my unmoving form. With a sigh, I rose and selected a dress from my closet, which was immediately taken from my hands and replaced with a lacy bulbous one.

  I frowned, “It has a crinoline skirt.”

  “I know”, Alexandra insisted, “They are all the rage, put a little care into how you are presented.”

  “It’s terribly uncomfortable.” I said, my frown morphing into a scowl, “I can barely sit with it on.”

  Skepticism took over her face. I couldn’t pull the wool over her eyes.

  “Is that your reasoning, or do you plan on sparring with Joseph?” She raised an eyebrow.

  I rolled my eyes. “I spar every Wed.”

  “And I wish you wouldn’t. What’s the purpose of it anyway?”

  I turned away, tuning her out as she began the usual rant about an old warrior teaching a Princess swordplay.

  I cut her off, “he was assigned to be my personal Guild Knight, and he’s doing spectacularly. If we’re going to discuss the practicality of things, what’s the purpose of learning Latin-? Or the name of every flower in that awful garden-? Or how to home spin the perfect bonnet?”

  “Those are things every Princess should know!” her nose furled in disgust, “Not how to wield a broadsword.”

  “I prefer to double wield koras,” I trailed off with the way her face twisted up.

  “Atlas! Stop it! I’m just- You can’t-With all the anger and controversy surrounding your brother we don’t need people questioning things like why we’re teaching the Princess how to fight!”

  I crossed my arms, turning away from her as an old argument burst to the surface, its tensions ever hot with confliction “You mean Varrick.”

  “No, I mean your brother,” her voice took on a tone of cautioning anger.

  “No, he’s not.”

  “Yes he is, don’t you start this!”

  “Don’t live that lie!” I didn’t mean to raise my voice as high as I did, but it was where the debate took us.

  “I’m living no lie!” Alexandra stiffened, “You are of the royal family!”

  “Do not mock me!”

  “He’s the king and you are a princess! You are the next heir!”

  “He is the king, and I’m- I’m nothing! Do you really think they’d accept me as an heir if it came to it!? Do you not hear the gossip, Alexandra, do you see the stares!? The people drift away till none stand with me! I’m still in this castle as nothing more than a pretty figurehead because they can’t just ‘get rid of me’! I-”

  “That is enough! You were raised in this castle, by the Queen and King and therefore you are a Princess! How do you think Mary or Leopold would feel if they saw how you felt now? Even if you did not come from their blood, they acted like you did- is that not enough for you!?”

  “That’s just the problem, isn’t it?” Tears began to well forth “They’re not here now. They weren’t here to see that stupid nursemaid rat out about a baby in the castle gutters. They weren’t here to see that equally stupid alchemist prove she was right with his ‘heritage test’! I don’t think Leopold ever even knew, and not that Varrick didn’t already know- he was old enough when I was found to remember anyway! At first when he inherited the throne he acted like he still loved me, but he’s cleverly distanced himself and now he’s so ashamed he won’t even look me in the eye, much less show any sort of sentimentality!” I stopped before I broke down sobbing completely, averting my eyes to look at the ground.

  Alexandra and I had fought this argument before, and no matter how many times I wailed about it, there was nothing to be done, and never would be. It only led to pointless yelling, and repeated grievances.

  Mustering my training on behavior, I looked up with a solemn expression and in an awkward silence I finished dressing, letting her tie on my corset, put me in itchy lace gloves, and slip on the crinoline without a hint of complaint despite the fact I now felt like a wooden doll and had difficulty breathing.

  “If nothing, it’s good to look captivating for Master Donovan”, She attempted to lighten the mood.

  I smiled dryly, but a mild blush formed in my cheeks, “Donovan is here?”

  Alexandra painted and powdered my face, and grinned “he most certainly is, waiting for you by the Convolvulus plant, summoned by your pigeon you sent last night.”

  My smile widened.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to want to wear a bonnet?” she asked with a rhetorical tone.

  She expected the shaking of my head, tying my hair into a bun of braids, examining me up and down till she was satisfied with my appearance.

  “Would you like an escort? Or would you rather me stay and tidy up your late night musings?” she asked, motioning to the mess of ink and papers across my desk, and took a glance at my unmade bed.

  “I’m sure I can make it across the garden without being eaten by a dragon.”

  “Ah but you would like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked with a wry smile, eyes darting out from underneath the wild strands of her white hair that had fallen from her bonnet. She held up one of my attempted sketches of a gryphon.

  “Wrong to learn to fight. Wrong to learn about the old beasts and the forgotten magic of Viafinis,” I scoffed.

  “Your pigeons can find anyone in this world as long as you know their name. Is that not magic enough for you?”

  “So what? Varrick’s ravens can do the same thing . . .” I trailed off with the warning in her gaze.

  “They are but a tiny remnant of legends the world is forgetting,” I began again, “All wonder was forgotten when mankind lost the Library of Souls. The history we are making has no room for the tales of knights and dragons, of fairies and gryphons from our past . . .” I sighed longingly, “This kingdom has nothing left to offer now but snobs and smog. Lafayette’s towers of factory smoke overshadow magnificent towers. Mundane comfort is more desired than innovation or adventure.”

  She gave an exasperated sigh, “If you devoted half your time into something useful besides being cynical and burying yourself in fantasies, you’d be unstoppable.”

  I rolled my eyes as I bid her farewell, strolling out of the castle and into the garden, poised like I was royalty in every movement. I navigated the garden with grace, curtsying when necessary to the passing upper class, they returning the favor or bowing when etiquette called for it. Shame their actions were born from requirement, lacking true respect. The men gazed upon me with an air of pity, and the women drew close to each other and whispered gossip and scandal.

  But finally eyes met mine that lacked the vindictive embarrassment the others had. I smiled as he came forth and embraced me, then stepped back to look in my eyes and grinned, flashing ivory teeth.

  His blonde hair was combed in the typical style, flowing and handsome, and his chiseled features and jaw, along with his dark eyebrows, made his chocolate eyes more alluring.

  My face grew warm, “Hello, there, Prince Charming.”

  “Call me Donovan. A warm hello to you too, Your Majesty. What a magnificent dress you are wearing today. It does so compliment your eyes, though I must say it pales in comparison to their blazing blue.”

  My smile widened as he lightly kissed the lace over my knuckles.

  He looked about, and then with a flourish he picked
a blue rose from the bush beside us, “And such a beautiful blue flower, but I think it would look much better tucked in your golden locks.”

  The blush lit my face like fire as he tucked the flower into one of my braids, and he leaned close, as if to kiss me, but startled back as Joseph rounded the corner. Donovan coughed slightly, and shot a look at his feet while his hands clumsily combed through his hair.

  “Ah, sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds,” Joseph scoffed as he scratched the short, thick salt and pepper beard that covered his face.

  He was wearing a silver ribbon to tie back his hair today instead of his favored red or black, presumably to match his armor.

  “Expecting a battle, Joseph?” Donovan rapped his knuckles on the man’s breastplate as he approached us.

  “This ole’ knight looks dashing in armor”, Joseph insisted, “Mostly because it hides what ale’s done to my gut”, he muttered the last part with a slight upturn of the lips.

  “Atlas”, he began to address me, but took a glance at Donovan for a moment, decided against his apprehension and spoke, “Varrick put a butler out of a job this morning because he was mildly late, then he gave a quite violent scolding to one of the stable boys because his stallion had a limp. They’re all pretty wound tight over the whole thing, and I was wondering if you might consider addressing them, just a few words to raise morale?”

  I scoffed, “As if they’d listen to me.”

  Joseph crossed his arms “I bet they would.”