The Weight of the World

by G M Archer

  Donovan looked at me and smiled, “Give yourself some more credit. You are very inspiring.”

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.” I said with a happy shrug and began to trot in the direction of the stables.

  “Of course you heeded his words,” Joseph mumbled when he caught up to me.

  “He gives very sound advice,” I said with a nod.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “You’re like a father to me, Joseph. I can’t help but fancy the boys you dislike,” I winked at him.

  “That’s a very sensible course to take”, he whispered sarcastically till I elbowed him in the ribs, fearing Donovan was in hearing range.

  Joseph took a glance over his shoulder at the boy. There was something he wanted to tell me, away from any others’ ears, which filled me with an anxious curiosity.

  The whinnying of horses and the sound of hooves on cobblestones alerted us that we’d reached the stables. Despite the flurry of activity- the anvil being struck with the purpose of new horseshoes, hay straying dust as it was tossed, and the smell of oil as saddles were polished- there was an undeniable grim atmosphere about the workers as they toiled. None sung or whistled as they typically did, and movements lacked all enthusiasm, eyes dull and depressed.

  A few heads turned towards me, and a limited amount of bows were directed at my person. I felt a bit more at ease here; people like stable boys, ironically, didn’t find it necessary to view others from a high horse as the upper class did.

  Donovan cleared his throat, then sharply clapped his hands. Many of them acknowledged this, and I caught the fearful and desperate gaze of a sandy-haired boy, his hands trembling as they gripped the reigns of a black stallion. I recalled Joseph’s words about Varrick’s rage.

  Having gathered satisfying interest Donovan spoke simply, “Your Princess is here to address you! Heed her words well!” he motioned to me with a sweep of his hand.

  I gave a bashful wave at first, but seeing the disinterest in my sheepish actions, I hardened, speaking with authority, “I know that morale is low. But with the kingdom in constant war to the south, the king is stretched thin. He cares for you all deeply but you must understand that the weight of the crown is heavy and taxing! You are all valued citizens of Viafinis and even more valued members of Forscythe Castle, and with these rolls you are called to serve His Majesty and the empire alike! In this time of tests you must rise above depression, conquer fear, and become greater than your resentments- especially those held towards your fellow men!” A pleased grin spilt my face as they clapped and nodded approvingly.

  “Yeah, but it ain’t our war. It ain’t our cause”, the sandy-haired stable boy started, with malice in his glare, “Varrick conquers excessively without any cause but his greed. Why should he punish us with the suffering he has brought upon himself?”

  Donovan gasped, his head snapping back in shock. His expression soured into a tense rage, and I put a hand out impulsively to stop his actions, the stable boy a somber unflinching visage.

  In those few moment that tension built to an anxious silence. Typical order would have me call his actions out against the crown, to mark his words as blasphemy. I looked down upon him with a face devoid of any emotion.

  “Sometimes one must realize that there is a cause and a purpose greater than them, and that anything with worth demands sacrifice. Only the weak-minded does not see beyond his own ordeals, ignoring the trails of the greater populous.” I let my tone grow sharp to drive the point.

  I finished the last statement, waiting a few seconds for the beginnings of several nods and slight smiles. I twirled my wide skirt away dramatically as I strode out of the stables, Joseph and Donovan still standing as wordlessly as the stable boy.

  “What was that?!” Donovan sputtered as he caught up to me, jogging.

  “What do you mean?” I scrunched my eyebrows together.

  “You should’ve made an example of him! If that little ingrate can get away with speaking out against the crown, what can the rest of the peasants get away with?! This is how anarchy begins!” He hissed out from between his teeth.

  I flinched at the word ‘anarchy’. Suddenly the pride in my actions congealed into a cold lump of shame in the pit of my stomach. My once upturned chin angled down, and I bit my lip.

  As Donovan began to speak again, Joseph jogged up to us, laughing as he clapped me on the back.

  “That was bloody brilliant!” He chuckled.

  Donovan opened his mouth, raising a hand as if to protest, but Joseph never saw him, continuing his praise, “What wit- all accented by regality!”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a servant approaching in the fawn and gold colors of Donovan’s family, the chariot symbol emblazed across his chest. He groveled up to us, bowing to Donovan and then whispering something in the boy’s ear. His blonde eyebrows jumped upwards and he gazed upon the servant in questioning disdain.

  “I’m afraid he unconditionally demands your presence, Master Donovan”, the messenger said, fearful of Donovan’s bristling form.

  He rolled his eyes, “It seems I’m being summoned by my father, I will return as soon as possible. Farewell,” he said, addressing Joseph and me.

  “Goodbye.” I said with a wave, but he was already trotting away from us, his servant shooting us a nervous expression before pursuing him.

  “That seemed . . . rather urgent . . .” I said.

  Joseph’s previous praise fell away as we entered the castle, an eerie sort of calm about the keep, the mood becoming even more prevalent in the grand hall. It was dark in the usually open and lively atmosphere, the huge oak doors and scarlet curtains closed to the sun and the rest of the world, and guards on stoic watch. We paused at one of the darkened windows, Joseph making a subtle motion towards the main courtyard that lay beyond, visible through a tiny crack in the curtains.

  I snuck an inconspicuous glance out the sliver of window that showed what lay beyond, a small crowd gathered uneasily. Several held wooden signs, the first one I caught was off a bright red rooster reading ‘better dead than branded’.

  My eyes drifted to one man holding a poster of Varrick, nailed crudely onto a board with obscene devil’s horns upon his head, and his eyes scratched away in what appeared to be blood. I flinched back, shocked that the people would protest in such a way, and began walking with Joseph again as a guard moved in our direction to encourage us on.

  The servants that slinked by in fearful silence were undeniably curious, taking a few sneaking peaks at the windows as they passed them, but also eyeing the guards around. Questions buzzed through my mind like angry hornets as I wordlessly followed Joseph to the tutoring room, our entrance interrupting Alexandra’s book sorting

  “What’s going on?” She asked, seeing Joseph’s bitter expression, “You two are always in the middle of trouble, and I can sense it brewing.”

  Joseph looked at me grimly, “Varrick had a factory worker executed this morning. The story is so skewed at this point, I’m not sure who’s at fault. Varrick claims the man led a blasphemous revolt to sabotage part of the smelting works in one of the shipyard factories of Icarus Industries, killing a large group of children and other workers respectively. The worker pleaded that he was falsely accused, that the factory had a machinery failure due to cheap labor and shoddy practices. He was sentenced to death by the very dramatic firing squad, and gave an apparently riveting speech indicating that Varrick was so deranged and weak at this point that he would be willing to kill any that remotely threatened him in his madness. He was inheritably influential, as you’ve seen, he caused quite a tumult.”

  I bit my lip, “I knew people were getting uptight about the drafting into labor and army service . . . I just didn’t know they were that on edge.”

  I looked in the direction of the throne room, as if I could see through walls. I couldn’t imagine Varrick acting in such a way.

  All my childhood memories betrayed the thought that he could give such a command sim
ply out of rage or paranoia. Of course, he had been more solemn since coming back from his crusades in the west, but I had always attributed that to his sacrifice of adventure for the responsibility of the throne. Thus, he could be a stern leader, unrelenting in his beliefs and purpose, but he had never been a callous king.

  Joseph broke my thoughts as he moved the desk and rug to one side of the room, along with other various fixtures that made up the intricate study, Alexandra’s deep concern at his previous words morphing into displeasure.

  I touched my lips, “Was my speech something that could really lead to anarchy?”

  “What speech?” Alexandra glanced wildly between me and Joseph, twitching at the last word.

  “No, it was brilliant, I told you. You were a leader with compassion- what would make you think otherwise?”

  I opened my mouth to answer when the maid cut me off, “Anarchy!?” she squeaked.

  Not paying much attention to her, Joseph had his hand behind the bookshelf, searching, “Where is her koras, Alexandra?”

  “I haven’t done a thing with them”, she huffed, “not that she needs such vulgar weapons.”

  Grateful that she had taken interest away from Joseph’s previous inquiry, I walked over to assist his search.

  “It seems you’ve misplaced it”, I mused, not particularly to continue his aggression at Alexandra, though it was amusing.

  He shot her a scornful look that she promptly returned.

  He stomped over to the window and tore a board out of the floor beneath it, drawing out two short training swords from the hidden nook. Alexandra stormed to the door in response and swiftly locked it. She stomped back over and disappeared behind the desk with a book clenched tightly in her hand.

  “You know ya love me, Alex”, Joseph teased, handing me a weapon.

  “Keep telling yourself that”, came a grumble from behind the desk.

  I slipped out of the crinoline, jerked the scratchy gloves off, loosened my corset, and lastly made sure Donovan’s rose was secure in my hair before stretching gratefully and facing him with sword at the ready. I bowed and he returned the gesture, both of us lunging forward- the sound of dulled metal clashing as we leapt and twirled like lethal dancers across the room, all my focus on blocking the old soldier.

  The advantage in strength had always fallen to him, while I attempted to compensate in speed. One mistake and my wrist twisted, his sword cracking across my fingers. I yelped and he jerked back, waiting.

  “Alright?” he raised an eyebrow.

  Alexandra’s eyes were visible over the top of the desk, a furrowed glare.

  I shook my hand out, “Yes, it’ll just be a bruise I’ll cover up with those stupid gloves.”

  I heard Alexandra give a ‘humph’ before again retreating to her book.

  Sword again at the ready, I faced him, but his eyes were distant, and he scoffed “I’ve told you before, this is nothing like a real battle. There is no dancing and parrying, no mercy, just killing and moving on . . . or falling. . .”

  I frowned, searching myself for something to say with no way to empathize with his experiences, but by the time I opened my mouth he’d snapped out of his reflections, giving a barrel chested laugh, “But you won’t ever need to concern yourself with that nonsense!”

  Again he snapped back into battle-ready position, locking blades in combat. As he moved I saw an opportunity in his stance, a way he held his arm and took it as a test, twisting my blade to catch the handguard on his.

  I hooked it and sent it sailing out of his hand. I was ecstatic with my initial success, till the blade flipped across the room, shattering, and sailing out of the study window. Joseph was just staring at me dumbly, and Alexandra had shot out from behind the desk, staring at the broken window in shocked horror.

  “Oops. . .”, I whispered.

  “That was fantastic!” Joseph said, throwing his hands in the air.

  “No! No it was not!” Alexandra ran over to the shattered window, hands clenching her bonnet, “How are we going to explain why a sword came flying out of the schoolroom window!?”

  A nobleman below had noticed the damage, without having actually seen the aforementioned weapon come out the window, and was now approaching at the glass pieces with a bewildered expression, Alexandra jumping out of eyesight as his gaze shifted upward.

  Joseph did not seem concerned, leaning nonchalantly on the desk, “I think I’ll tell them it was you’re fault, Alexandra, considering you’re such a terrible influence on her.” A mischievous grin crept over his face.

  She whirled around with a great twirl of her skirt, an expression on her face that suggested she meant to strangle him.

  But the mood was broken by a desperate knocking on the door. “Atlas, Atlas, let me in!” Came a frantic whisper.

  “Donovan?” I said.

  Alexandra pulled the curtain to, swiftly crossed the room, and unlocked the door for him. Out of breath, he jumped into the room as if wolves were at his heals.

  “Varrick- going to execute- the protesters”, he huffed.

  “The ones in the courtyard!?” I gasped.

  He nodded, hands on his knees.

  Joseph’s eyes grew huge, he stammered once, then squared his shoulders “Stay here, the lot of you. I’m going to go talk some sense into him.”

  His armor rattled as he exited, Alexandra’s fearful eyes fixed on him till she turned to us. She sighed pitifully, “I’m not going to be able to stop you two, am I?”

  “From what?” I started in ignorance, but Donovan grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the door.

  I took a final glance at Alexandra picking up glass pieces, her back to us, before we rounded the corner and she was out of sight. When we made it to the grand hall, guards were trying to get a gathering crowd of servants away from the windows in vain. The roar of the mob was loud and unrelenting behind the glass, racketing around the courtyard like the screams of ravens.

  I jerked Donovan back before we fully entered the room and drew any attention to ourselves, guiding him through corridors and avoiding guards till I found the window I wanted, jumping out of it and into the kitchen’s herb garden. Gripping his wrist all the way, we jogged around the castle, through the kitchens where the protests of chefs and maids fell upon indifferent ears, our pace never slowed.

  Similar callouts were received as we flew through the halls, but we were one addition to the chaos the castle was in anyway.

  As soon as we heard Joseph and Varrick’s angry voices cutting out, we crept around the final doorway. The open doors to the war room revealed them surrounded by guardsmen.

  Varrick seemed to take no heed to Joseph, addressing the guards, “Start with warning shots at their feet. If they do not yield, start executing the ones in the front row and so forth until they do so.”

  I grabbed Donovan’s upper arm, daring to not even breathe as Joseph stepped forward, “Varrick, you cannot just slaughter the innocent-

  “I am doing no such thing. The actions of the mob outside are unlawful and dangerous. I am simply punishing criminals, and I did not ask for your opinion in this matter, Joseph”, Varrick bit back plainly.

  Of course, Varrick radiated authority without speaking a word, so his vindictive tone only assisted in his intimidation- as threatening as a drawn sword. However, even with his regal confidence, the respect the men had for Joseph kept them from taking any action.

  “Do not do this”, Joseph drew close to him, his voice a bear’s growl.

  Varrick flinched, and with the small sliver of weakness, he retaliated, shoving the older man away from him. Joseph tripped backwards, toppling against the wood floor with a crash of his breastplate.

  In the dismaying silence thereafter, I felt Donovan’s arm slip out from my hand as he moved forward, my fingernails scratching at him, a futile effort, as I realized, too late, what he was doing.

  “Stop it, Varrick!” He barked.

  As the king spun, I realized how appalled he was that J
oseph had fallen in such a way, but his horror quickly morphed into rage.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, boy!?” he whirled towards Donovan, his navy cape flaring out around his tall and thin, silver-armored form.

  His barred teeth as menacing as those of the roaring wolf on his breastplate.

  He looked quite mad in his rage, typical dark circles around his eyes, umber hair barely combed, spilling out over his polished crown, and his anchor beard was surrounded by unkempt stubble.

  Donovan froze like a captured doe, his initial bravery struck down in Varrick’s gaze.

  I ran out.

  Joseph got to his feet, his gaze falling on the scene in stunned dread.

  “What are you doing!?” Varrick addressed me with a mix of shock and fury, “This is no place for a princess!” his lips curled further upwards in a snarl, but, as always, he wasn’t looking at me, instead it was if he was disregarding an invisible form.

  The guardsmen were aghast, and I supposed it was at my impertinence at first. Accessing the situation, it soon struck me that my appearance was a contributing factor as well.

  Here stood the unwanted heir, wild hairs free from my bun, corset loose and untied, make-up mildly smeared, and my whole form sprinkled with twigs and leaves.

  Dignity slipping through my fingertips, I spoke, “Varrick, think clearly. What is the populous going to think of you if you respond to this with deathly force? It will only strengthen the hate for the responses of the crown, and so any peaceful alternative-”

  Trying to remain calm, he spoke through clenched teeth, “You do not understand such matters. This is not your place to command, Atlas.”

  The guards were shifting with unease now, torn in loyalty and morality. As I glanced between faces, I had to stifle the urge to cry, I was fool enough already without such an outburst.

  My lip quivered, “And it’s not your place to treat the people of Viafinis this way, Varrick!” despite the silence, I whispered quiet enough only for him to hear, “To treat me this way.”

  His nostrils flared and his head roiled back, “Alright, if you think you have the maturity, if you think you deserve better, if you think you can lead, boast your intelligent preaching, your swaying words, and explain your choice to the populous after you make it, Atlas. You’re in control, you give the demand- execute the protestors, or”, his hand snapped towards Donovan, pointing like a rifle barrel aimed to kill, “execute him for his protest of the throne.”