The Weight of the World

by G M Archer

  Considering Jess said there was only one other girl, I knew who this had to be. She was porcelain skinned, with long dark hair, swooping red lips and blazing sapphire eyes that made mine look like a gloomy pool of blue mud.

  “Are you . . . Atlas?” she stopped, furling her brow.

  “And you must be Monica,” I extended my hand, having to look up considering that she was a head taller than me.

  “Yes,” she shook my hand like it was a wet rag, quickly withdrawing, “You are defiantly . . . not what I expected.”

  “How so?’ I tested.

  “You look just like any other citizen, I guess. I suppose it does good for people like the Voltaren residents to have such a homey idol,” she smiled, the same smile I used at long ceremonies and greeting weird old foreign dignitaries.

  What a spectacular first impression.

  “Well, I suppose you would look the same way if you’d just hiked across half of Viafinis,” I said as pleasantly as I could manage.

  She gave a fake, crisp laugh, “Oh, but I did! We came all the way from Forscythe.”

  Why was she wearing her hair down? What good did that do in a swamp? How was it not frizzy?

  “Well, I went from Forscythe to Voltaren, and then back here,” I said through the teeth of my smile.

  “When you come from the Terminus Empire, sweetie, then we can talk,” she gave the same grin.

  Alright, I was done here. So much for going into it with a nice opinion. I started to walk away.

  “Is that ‘thing’ up there yours?” she asked with a disgusted expression, motioning to the fort.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than ‘that thing’,” I frowned.

  “I mean, I’ve heard that you rode a giant cock around, but,” she trailed off.

  I bristled.

  “If you were informed on such subjects, then why did you need to ask if he was mine?” I said, “How many other giant roosters are there around here?”

  “Whoa, whoa, no need to get snappy,” she crossed her arms, and spoke patronizingly, “I have some questions, and I’d like you to be reasonable.”

  “Fire away,” I said immediately.

  “So does the castle have any good weak points to break in at?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, I’ve never tried to break in,” I shrugged.

  “How’d you get out?” her false smile fell away at my sarcasm.

  I hesitated, a mistake, but spoke, “Joseph’s a knight, and I’m a princess, we just walked out.”

  “Varrick just let you walk out?” Monica pursed her lips.

  “It’s not like he had me locked in a high tower or anything,” I said sardonically.

  “Does Varrick himself have any notable weaknesses?” she waited anxiously.

  “It doesn’t matter if he did, you couldn’t get through the Guild around him,” I said, that answer actually honest.

  “Theoretically, if there was no Guild around him? If he was alone and I was there a sword in my hand?” she waited.

  I snickered, “I’d like to watch you try to fight Varrick. You’d lose,” I informed.

  She gave a sly smile, “Hm. I’ll watch the look on your face when his head rolls down the castle steps.”

  I stiffened, “You are not going to kill Varrick,” I said sternly.

  She scoffed, “It’s almost like you have feelings for him or something, how pitiful.”

  “It’s not like we grew up together or anything!” I threw my hands in the air.

  “No need to get so defensive,” she held her palms up.

  I breathed heavily, pinched the bridge of my nose, and looked up, “Okay, what’s your problem? You obviously came barreling out of the gates hating me, so what’s your justification for that? What have I done, specifically, to you?” I crossed my arms.

  “You and your family are the reason I am an orphan,” she said indignantly.

  “Join the club, there’s a lot of those around here, apparently. First of all, I am an orphan too, which leads me to second of all, I’m literally not related to anyone in the castle. Third of all, that means I have done nothing that has affected you,” I said, holding up fingers as I went, “So don’t play the pity game with me.”

  She blew a strand of her immaculate hair out of her face, “How dare you even compare your perfect groomed life to mine.”

  “Okay so we’ve made your first accusation irrelevant. So are you threatened by me? Jealous? Do you think I’m competition? Like this is some game for the throne, is that what’s going on?” I raised an eyebrow.

  She laughed, sharp and quickly, “Don’t flatter yourself, you poor sweet little girl. As if someone like me,” she leaned down to my height, got directly in my face, “Would ever even consider someone like you a challenge,” she pulled away, looked me up and down, “You pathetic excuse for a princess.”

  My fists clenched. I was dimly aware of how bad it would look if I hit her and broke that perfect nose. She could have made her point without the petty insults.

  She turned her chin up at me and strutted away, walking back towards the camp. I waited to go the same way so I didn’t have to follow her.

  She wasn’t going to chase me away from the fort, however. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of intimidation. I resumed my mission to find Hale and question him.

  As I walked through the gate, I heard Monica’s voice call out, boiling my blood once again.

  “Oh, honey, have you met Atlas yet?” she sang to someone.

  “Atlas?” a male voice said.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  No. No way. Not Possible.

  I was hearing things. The sirens had gotten to me.

  I turned slowly, eyes locked on the equally shocked ones of the man on her arm.

  My eyes were wide, but my teeth clenched, “Donovan!?”

  Chapter 20- By the Weight of the World

  Lafayette grabbed his luggage case, strained to lift it and dropped its substantial weight with a crash onto the floor. He kicked it over, walked to the front, and gingerly flicked open one latch. The other buckled and snapped, the case exploding open and strewing papers across the office floor.

  He narrowed his eyes, combing the papers with an angry grumble. Only a select few were actually his documents, the rest was a plethora of small parchments mocking two words in immaculate handwriting. They had not been there when he’d left Wolfsden.

  He cursed, kneeling on the floor and slinging the two into different piles. Accumulating a reasonable sized collection of the tiny papers, he scooped them up and flung them into the fire, the flames flashing blue for a moment as they consumed the parchment.

  He shoveled what was left into his case, tried to shut the damaged thing, and left it on the floor. He looked from it to the door a couple times, and then his watch. He cussed, grabbing nothing but his hat and cane, and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

  He descended the grand staircase briskly, pointing to a servant boy below, “You!” Lafayette commanded.

  The boy stopped, a stack of books in his hands, struggling not to drop them as he snapped to Lafayette’s attention.

  “Yes, My Lord?” the boy called from behind the volumes.

  Lafayette dropped a substantial pile of gold on top of the books, the boy eyeing it with a surprised hunger.

  “Go to the castle and tell the king and James that I will be joining them shortly,” Lafayette continued to walk, “And that I am painfully aware of how late I am already.”

  The boy shook off his shock from the coins, turning and calling out, “What do I tell them you are occupied with?”

  “A meeting with an old business partner,” Lafayette said simply.

  He turned into the kitchen and exited the manor out into an alleyway. He placed his hat on his head, breath freezing out in whisps as he looked up at the sky, tracing the constellations with his eyes, a natural compass. He looked down, eyes shaded, and continued in the direction he wanted.
r />   He crossed the empty cobblestones of the street, nonchalantly strolled across the lawn of someone else’s estate, and jumped a short metal fence. He paused before a dirty stone wall, black moths gathered around a doorframe in the bricks. He looked back, the castle far to the north. He’d walked a block, yet he was in the lower city, in his own factory district. What an inconvenience.

  He gripped the black doorknob in front of him, gooseflesh rippling across his skin at its chill. He opened it, walking into a dark hallway. Familiar arches, taller than a ship’s mast, rose above, overcome by dust and decay. Haphazardly placed blue torches added to the sharpness and unpredictability of the shadows, the hall stretching on like a great ribcage into a barely visible room.

  “Close the door!” an ancient voice shrieked to his side, “Close it! They’ll get out!”

  Lafayette gritted his teeth, “Shut up, Eve, I know about the door!” he slammed it shut.

  She skittered back into the darkness. Against his better judgement, he took a glance at her. She was nothing but saggy skin on sloping bones, her eyes darting around wildly, skeletal hands trembling as they endlessly turned an apple core around in her fingers. Her hollow eyes shot to his and she froze, trembling like a caged animal.

  He adverted his gaze and walked on. Behind him she continued to fill the air with babbles about Cain, the fruit, the serpent and the door, the door, the door. He shook his head, marching the rest of the seemingly endless trek to the sound of his own ominous footsteps on the dark walls, avoiding stepping on the littered piles of bones.

  He exited out into the main chamber, able to see nothing but a few massive roots that alluded to the size of the tree they were attached to, lit by bits of wood burning in blue flame.

  Lafayette stopped, partway down the stone bridge of ruins, tapping his cane, “Honey, I’m home!” he sang, his voice booming across the space.

  The resounding echoes drew dark silhouettes out of hiding. Shadowy figures meandered silently towards him, opaque black bodies punctuated by featureless faces and dots of white eyes in the hollows of their skulls. Most of them were just rudimentary forms now, but bits of bone and flesh was still partway visible on a few.

  Remnants. Stuck in purgatory. Though used to them, they still made him uneasy, especially with the attention of so many on him.

  “Dear sir,” Lafayette leaned on his cane, “Your pets are making me uncomfortable. Perhaps you could be bothered to come do something about them.”

  He caught a movement to his side, angling his head.

  They man was lounged out on the root beside him, “They’re technically your fault. But aren’t they just darling?” he smiled, flashing pointed teeth, “They keep me in such charming company with their aimless staggering and endearing noises such as agonized moaning and the occasional tormented scream.”

  “Yes, wonderful, Mortem,” Lafayette grumbled.

  “So cynical, just the way I love to see you,” he clasped his hands at the side of his head, swooning.

  Mortem jumped to a stand, the sweeping horns over his head catching the shine of the light. He smiled, his slitted violet eyes lazy but amused.

  “What do you want?” Lafayette said flatly.

  He skipped down the tree, closer to Lafayette, twirling his long ebony hair through his hands, “Freedom, power, chaos, a virgin sacrifice, to be able to fly again. I’ve found I’m also fond of strawberry wine.”

  Lafayette rolled his eyes, “Let me rephrase. Why have you sent an annoyingly excessive amount of letters lately? That much magic must be draining and painful, and such efforts are usually beyond your sloth-like and self-preserving nature.”

  “Pssh,” Mortem waved his hand, “Don’t reflect your flaws onto me.”

  “Your good mood disgusts and worries me, explain yourself,” Lafayette demanded.

  He drummed his fingers together, “I suppose you do know that my pleasure is anything I know will upset you.”

  Lafayette turned on the heel, turning and walking back towards the hall, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Mortem started a smooth slow pace down the wood, a smirk twisted across his face, “Such a rush you’re in, Slade, am I keeping you from something?”

  He stopped, “Lafayette. My name is Lafayette now.”

  “Oh, yes, my silly silly memory. It’s easy to overlook trivial things when eternities pass with my every waking breath. Which leads me back to my original inquiry? Why are you fretting about being punctual when time is irrelevant anyways?” Mortem shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Sadly, I care that I’m late. Stop stalling or I’ll leave,” Lafayette warned.

  “Tsk, tsk,” he clicked his tongue, “It is sad. I enjoy watching your humanity melt away. Do be assured that such worry will melt away with time, all burdens do.”

  “Get on with it,” Lafayette said.

  “Is it Varrick? Are you going to go see Varrick? How I love Varrick!” he clapped, “All this delightful killing,” he gripped his heart, pretending to tear up, “In the fear of dear little me.”

  Lafayette grumbled.

  “I’m going to take an absolutely wild assumption and say that they have no idea where you are either. Because that would be just,” he motioned around carelessly, “atrocious. That you were engaging in such affairs,” he leaned all the way back, jutting a leg out and pointing dramatically down at himself, “With mwah.”

  “Your superfluous tendencies never cease to amaze me,” Lafayette started to walk away again, “I grow tired of listening to you entertain yourself with the sound of your voice.”

  “That’s all I do all day anyway. Speaking of listening, did you know James can hear me? I bet you did. Shame, shame, his condition is. You know, I could repair his dysfunctionality if he’s just make a pact with me,” Mortem tucked his hands into the long sleeves of his robes.

  Lafayette stopped, “I do recall that a pact requires the death of your last ally.”

  “That doesn’t trouble me,” Mortem puckered his lips.

  “Thank you, Mortem, I feel loved,” he said sarcastically, “I’m leaving.”

  “Do you feel loved, Remus?”

  “Lafayette.”

  “Whatever,” he said dismissively, “Do you feel cherished?”

  “Shut up about your stupid loophole,” Lafayette did not turn, facing away from him.

  “If you were sensible you would have kept your enemies close and your friends and family isolated. You should have known better, I came with a warning label even,” Mortem’s smile grew, “And yet you didn’t. You succumbed, in weakness, and what a gaffe it was.”

  Lafayette kept walking.

  Mortem stopped, eyes widening, and he suddenly started laughing, descending into a mad hooting cackle, “Oh, that was unexpected! It only gets better for me, when it rains it pours.”

  Lafayette resisted his curiosity for as long as he could, and ultimately succumbed, turning, “What!?”

  Mortem danced around the top of the root, chortling, “Guess what just happened over at the castle! Guess! Guess! C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

  “‘Fun’ is never ever a word that I will associate with you,” Lafayette crossed his arms.

  “Nor I with you, you wet blanket,” Mortem pouted, then grew demanding, “Look into my eyes.”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Lafayette angrily did so.

  He was immediately overlooking James and Varrick. James read out loud, a raven on his outstretched arm. Lafayette only caught the last part of what he was saying.

  “For we’ve killed-”

  James trembled, Varrick demanding answers.

  They boy shrieked and lunged, slamming his fist into Varrick’s face, he fell backwards with a flash of blood. He took the boy’s legs out from under him as he moved to strike him again. The Guild responded, seizing James’s screaming form.

  Lafayette forced himself to look away. Mortem giggled wildly.

  “No,” Lafayette began, closing his eyes “No. He wouldn’t. Why wou
ld he attack Varrick? No. You made that up. That’s one of your illusions.”

  “My imagination would concoct something much more violent than that, surely you know. Isn’t the truth painful? Shocking? Not even I can compete with the brutal harshness of reality,” Mortem studied his hand, his fingernails transforming into claws and then back again.

  Lafayette made the mistake of looking back at him.

  He was immediately assaulted with the image of James being stuck by the knights.

  Lafayette adverted his eyes, “No, no. I need to get back to the castle before those stupid knights beat him further or worse-” he turned.

  “Ah, so you do care. How pitiful. Wait, wait, that was simply an unexpected but excellent prelude for what I brought you here for,” Mortem’s demonic grin split across his face.

  “I will see no more from you,” Lafayette kept moving.

  Mortem sauntered down to the very tips of the roots after him, “But it’s something you need to know,” he sang out, “Don’t you want to know why James attacked the magnificent King Varrick? What upset him so?”

  “I’ll find out when I get there,” Lafayette stormed on.

  “It concerns your family, and the Journeyer,” Mortem smiled as his words halted Lafayette.

  “The what?” he turned slowly, trying to force himself not to.

  He met Mortem’s eyes.

  A scene unfolded of a wooden fence under dark cedar limbs. He “stood” beside a blazing fire and amongst stone faced bandits. His eyes flicked to each condemned brand on their dark armor, and some on their flesh. He looked up and froze, the white mask of a Journeyer cutting out in a tree above. A girl scrabbled by him and he startled, reaching for her as if he actually could. She screamed, holding a useless pair of swords up as the huge bandit came for her. Lafayette wailed, hands out against the swinging mace. It went through him like he wasn’t there, because he never was, smashing through her swords. He saw in strike her. He saw her fall, her skull smashed and body limp. The scream that tore out of his throat shattered his heart as it went.

  He collapsed, trembling, the image burned into his mind. He could not remember the last time he’d felt the urge to cry, and now it threatened to overwhelm him.