Killian sat up. The monster was gone. He staggered to his feet, but everywhere he looked there was only more white light. “Fedya?” he sputtered. “Where are you?”
He saw the stained glass window, shattered into nothing more than jewel-toned fragments. The blinding light shone through it like a beacon and soon it filled everything. There were no more walls, no floors.
Killian walked toward it, fingers outstretched, and it wrapped around him, tugging him forward. He didn’t look back. Then he was gone.
I
t was cold. Like a sentient being, the frost permeated through his coat, clutching at his flesh until it turned numb and stung like needles. Killian blinked once, slow, and the gray of sky, dark clouds swelled with snow, seeped across his vision.
Then, two small eyes looked down at him. A face. Killian blinked once, and a gap-toothed grin broke out. Killian blinked again, and his forehead began to pound. The gap-toothed grin giggled. Tiny. A child. Killian’s vision wobbled.
“Hello?”
The child giggled again, then ran away.
“Hey, wait,” Killian mumbled. He pulled himself up, entire body stiff as he managed to sit upright. His temples throbbed, and he rubbed his eyes, looking around. Tall red brick walls surrounded him, all completely identical and without markings. Killian sucked in a breath and wobbled to a stand, still glancing around for wherever the child might have run off to, confusion pounding his brain. Where was he? A narrow alley stretched in front of him between two of the buildings and he teetered down it without hesitation.
It was quiet. That was the second thing Killian noticed, after the cold. The alley opened up to a sidewalk, an empty street stretched out in front of him. But there were no people. No hum of conversation, or even the rumble of an automobile engine or clip-clop of a horse’s hooves against stone. There were only a few puffy pigeons poking at the sidewalk, casting sidelong glances at him as he slowly continued down the street.
The buildings were all the same color of deep brick red or slate-gray stone. A puff of air clouded in front of him with each breath, his nose and ears already turning pink. He shivered violently and called out again, “Hello?”
He half expected to hear the bells from the castle in response. But there was just another trill of a pigeon, and Killian walked on. The shops were all closed, and he saw nothing but shadows as he tried to peer inside. He paused at his reflection. The bruise was gone from his neck. He brushed the skin tenderly, but no trace of pain remained. His heart began to pound, panic clutching his heart.
A small newspaper box sat on the corner of the sidewalk and Killian knelt down as he approached, staring at the headline. Thick, unfamiliar letters stared back at him. Then the paper shifted and Killian blinked. The letters began to twist and contort until they slowly settled into a new formation and he could read what they said.
THE HERALD WEEKLY Eskor Fall 009.017/ 1915
The words danced across his vision, burrowing deep in his mind as he slowly straightened up. His breathing grew tight as he scanned the icy, empty streets.
Eskor.
He looked back down at the newspaper, repeating the headline in a silent whisper. 1915. One year before the Peace Summit even took place. One year before it all fell apart. What was going on?
A glimmer of gold reflected off the glass, blinding him momentarily, and he turned around. A tiny shop was nestled among the taller buildings, its windows drawn wide, the glass embossed with intricate gold letters. Still dazed, he pulled away from the newspaper box and walked toward it.
The store’s windows burst with the red and green hues of miniature trains and trucks. A hand-carved rocking horse with yellow yarn hair was piled high with dolls of every size. They smiled at him with their pretty painted mouths and bright blue eyes, their pink and orange dresses puffed up around them as they hugged brown and white teddy bears in marching-band uniforms. One bear in particular stood larger than the rest, holding two cymbals in its paws, its deep green uniform stitched with gold thread.
Killian traced his fingers across the golden letters, unfamiliar with their swooping curves and accents. He took a few steps and stopped in front of a second window.
The toys gave way to a table stuffed with every imaginable piece of candy. Caramels and peppermints, toffees wrapped in bright colored paper, hunks of fudge sprinkled with almonds and thick bars of dark brown chocolate. A tiered golden platter boasted piles of powdered cookies, all wrapped in cellophane and tied with red ribbons. In the center of the table stood a towering cake, dripping with white icing and topped with pink roses.
Killian paused and peered in closer until his nose touched the glass. A gust of wind whipped by, knocking a few snow flurries into his eyes, and he pulled away, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. When he looked back at the cake, he frowned. No, not roses. Pink tulips.
A jingle of bells tittered in Killian’s ear. His eyes widened and he spun around, heart skipping a beat. He knew that sound.
“Fedya?”
The name died on his lips as a tiny person darted across the street. He recognized the child’s giggle, and he could see her now, a little girl with curly black hair. She peeked at him one last time before disappearing behind the folds of a woman’s long, black skirt. The woman shushed the girl quickly before looking up and she stopped, her eyes meeting Killian’s.
She was pretty, with long dark hair and bronze skin. Familiar somehow. But no, that didn’t make any sense. He was in Eskor. Eskor.
She spoke, and Killian practically jumped. She was real. But her words sounded strange, and he couldn’t understand her. He shook his head, dazed. “What?”
“Do you know where you fell?”
Her words jumbled in his head, just out of grasp, bouncing inside his skull. Killian blinked slowly, trying to sort everything out. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, do you need a bell?”
There. He heard her now. Every word loud and clear. He stared at her, lost, his hands dangling uselessly at his sides. Not Astrocian. Not the Common Language. Yet he understood her.
The woman smiled and reached into a small embroidered purse, pulling out a tiny, silver bell. She jingled it once, the sound sending renewed chills coursing down Killian’s spine, and offered it on her palm. Killian stared at it, and then carefully picked it up, his fingertips brushing across her palm. Her skin was warm.
The little girl giggled one more time, and the woman turned back to her, grabbing her hand. She whispered something, then nodded at Killian with a final smile. He didn’t respond, still staring at the bell as they walked away. When he finally looked back up, they were gone.
Then he saw the palace.
Swirling turrets and domes stabbed into the sky. They spun with rich hues of gold, purple and red, glittering like gemstones. Sapphire doors lined the walls, all flickering silver with snow. It looked crafted by the hand of some giant god, inset with perfectly round windows that reflected like mirrors, and a tall, gleaming gold fence that wrapped around it all.
The breath whisked out from Killian’s lungs. “Wow.”
Set on a horizon of crimson and gray, it twinkled like a mirage, its snow-capped towers glowing against the cloudy sky.
A screech of tires, and an automobile swung down the street. Killian dodged out of the way, scrambling to the sidewalk as a horn blasted.
“Hey!” he yelled, before realizing that he had been standing in the middle of the road.
He watched the vehicle swerve out of sight, the rumble of the engine fading away, leaving him once more in silence. His heart pounded, whole body shivering as he looked back at the tiny bell. This was all real. He jingled the bell once, but its ring sounded empty, hollow. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he slowly started down the street, not sure where he was going, but it was better than standing around alone. Someone had to have an answer, know what was going on.
The street curved and opened up to a yawning courtyard that wrapped
around an enormous building, not as large as the palace, but just as opulent. Its domed roof was covered with large pieces of stained glass, its wide doors swung wide open, letting crowds of people file inside. They all wore thick cloaks like the one Fedya had given to Killian what seemed like so long ago. A loud thrum of voices carried out from the open doors, mingled with a light touch of some instrument he didn’t recognize.
Killian picked his way around the maze of parked vehicles and carriages toward the crowd. Tall, bronze statues lined the pathway up to the stairs; serious faces that stared down at him as he quickened his pace.
He cleared his throat, not certain exactly who he was speaking to. “Excuse me?”
No one glanced at him, their voices growing louder and more excited the closer they reached the building. He craned his neck up as he was swept along with them.
Inside was even more beautiful than he expected. The glass ceiling reflected down on the mass of people, sprinkling them in pale pinks and violets. The windows were patterned after flowers, their petals and leaves swirling together in a kaleidoscope of color and shape. The floor sloped down to give way for hundreds of plush, velvet seats. A stage was set up front, its dark curtains already drawn up to reveal nothing but a single podium and a dark blue flag dotted with three stars and a crescent moon.
“Right this way.”
A man in a black coat steered his arm, ushering him down a row of seats. Killian tried to wriggle his way out of the crowd.
“Excuse me, could you—”
“Step along. They will direct you to your seat.”
He couldn’t pull away, pulled by the crowd until he reached another man in an identical black coat and a large mustache, directing everyone to an assigned chair.
“Sir?” Killian tried to stop as he reached him, but was nearly trampled by the line clamoring behind him.
“Excuse me?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Take your seat.”
“But—” Killian tried to squirm out of the way, but there was nowhere left to go. “Can you tell me what’s happening? What is this place?”
The man shot him an irritated look, and continued ushering on more people as he answered, “The ceremony will begin as soon as the hall is filled. Are we going to have a problem?”
“No, but I…”
The man stopped ushering for a moment, turning and glowering directly at him. Killian swallowed and lowered himself into a seat, and the man went back to directing people into the surrounding rows.
Killian looked around as the theater grew more and more crowded. Aside from the exhausted-looking men in black coats interspersed around, everyone looked excited. Small children and wrinkled faces alike stared eagerly at the podium, and soon the heavy cloaks were shed as the building grew almost unbearably warm.
The lights dimmed and a wave of electrified silence swelled over the audience. Killian hunkered down in his seat, his nerves jittering as the double doors slammed shut. A single spotlight burst to life upon the stage, and the room held its breath. Then the clicking of boots and a single figure walked on.
It was Fedya.
Killian almost didn’t hear the rising of applause as Fedya stepped up to the podium, or the anthem of violins that struck up with a powerful tune. His rushing heartbeat faded away, the panic fled his body. All he saw was Fedya.
It was like they were meeting for the first time all over again, back in the ballroom where Fedya’s cheeks flushed bright pink and Killian’s heartbeat quickened. Only he didn’t look like the same, humble man he’d met that first night.
Instead, Fedya was dressed in a powder-blue coat lined with black fur; a satin sash crossed over his chest and his glossy knee-high boots reflected off the shining spotlight. As usual, his long hair was pulled to the top of his head, but it was held in place by a dazzling gold crown inlayed with rubies that matched the rings and earrings that dripped from his ears and fingers.
He had never seen Fedya look so extravagant.
“Ladies, gentlemen and all. Welcome.”
Fedya’s voice, through magical means or otherwise, carried out across the auditorium, and suddenly Killian no longer cared where he was. He didn’t care about the strange world and the beautiful palace. He didn’t care about the gruff mustached man or the sea of people that surrounded him. None of that mattered anymore.
“Thank you for joining me on this day.” Fedya spread out his hands and nodded. “Please, rise in national prayer.”
The audience shuffled to their feet in a unifying wave, and Killian quickly stood among them. He lowered his head, only to realize everyone held their heads tilted back instead, arms crossed in front of them, and he did the same. Another chord of violins picked up, a slow yet powerful tune.
When it ended, the audience remained standing, but they all turned their heads back down, staring at Fedya expectantly.
He raised his left hand, palm up. “Czar Andrei.”
His voice rang, bouncing off the walls. The audience repeated in whispered tones. Fedya lifted his other hand in the same manner. “Czarina Izabella.” Again, the audience repeated. Then the room fell dead silent.
“May their souls rest in eternal peace and endless joy. May their legacy live on in endless bounty. May their memory never fade.”
“Rest in eternity.”
He lowered his hands and nodded. “In everlasting light.”
The audience eased back down into their seats, but Killian’s body moved like lead. Fedya’s words still ricocheted in his ears, swirling in his mind as he struggled to grab a hold and make sense of them. Slowly he looked around, and he saw their tears. Men with stiff lips and hard eyes and women dabbing their cheeks with embroidered handkerchiefs.
His stomach rolled in sudden realization. This wasn’t a celebration. It was a remembrance.
Fedya shifted, and beneath the bright white light, Killian could see beads of sweat starting to drip down his forehead. Fedya didn’t wipe it away, though, sucking in a deep breath as he continued.
“Our country is in pain. But from pain, comes strength and a rekindled desire to overcome adversity. From turmoil, come new awakenings. Now is the time for that awakening.”
The crowd shifted in their seats, leaning in just a little bit closer.
Killian’s head spun. The violent churning in his stomach refused to cease, and his skin began to prickle. The pounding in his head and chest returned tenfold. He wanted to look away, Fedya’s voice growing distant, until he too began to look like a faraway figment.
“Have faith in one another, and lay your trust in your government. Already negotiations are in the process of being made, and soon, we will crown not only a new Czar, but a powerful ally that will help to carry us forth in what is sure to be the greatest generation this nation has ever seen.”
The room swelled in near palpable anticipation. But Fedya fell silent, and slowly, his eyes began to widen. He shuffled back, almost as though he had lost his footing, and he quickly licked his lips.
“He…”
He stopped again, his voice almost cracking. He cleared his throat, bus his breath was audibly shaky. He swallowed again. “Soon we will have…”
All at once Killian could see him again. It was like he was the only person, sitting there in a crowd of thousands as Fedya tripped over his words for all the world to see. Only there was nothing he could do. Nothing, but sit and watch in helplessness as Fedya finally fell silent.
“Uh…”
A minute of pure silence felt like a lifetime. Fedya stood, frozen in place, staring in soul-crushing terror at the sea of faces in front of him. No one spoke. No one did anything. Then there were footsteps, and from the depths of the curtains, another figure appeared.
Killian stared at a ghost. Only his flesh wasn’t pale, his body whole and unbroken. Dmitri strode across the stage without pause. Dressed in snowy white, he looked like the Heavens themselves. Killian couldn’t move, even as the crowd ar
ound him burst into tumultuous applause. Their shouts of joy and stomping of approval slid away into a haze, as the man that once lived made his way across the stage and over to Fedya.
“Thank you, my brother.”
He sounded like a mirage, and all at once Fedya seemed to startle out of his stupor. But it was too late now. Dmitri stepped in front of him, blocking him from view as he faced the crowd and raised his hands, palms facing the sky.
“Please, join me on this very special day, in rising up and partaking in a prayer to bless and welcome a new beginning. In two moons’ time, we will usher in the reign and protection of our allies in the north. Ladies, gentlemen and all, we shall strive to nurture and honor our traditions as we celebrate a time of remembrance, honor, and rebirth!”
The audience burst into a frenzied applause, jumping to their feet. Killian’s own spell was broken. He scrambled to stand, trying to spot Fedya through their outstretched hands. But Fedya was already walking off the stage, disappearing into the black curtains.
Killian’s eyes widened. No. He couldn’t let him leave. Fedya was real, Dmitri was alive. Killian lunged out of his seat. He had to get to him, talk to him. Find some way to make sense of everything.
The crowd ignored him completely, swept up in cheers and endless praise. Then the sound of bells rose up, small at first before rising into a roar of clanging praise. Killian scuffled through the row before darting out into the aisle. The mustached man from before instantly spotted him.
“Return to your seat!”
Killian ignored him, sprinting down the aisle toward the stage. He had to get to Fedya.
“Stop!”
There was the other man. And another.
He dashed down another row of seats, trying not to topple as he squeezed through the waving hands. He scanned the walls, but the double doors leading outside were still closed. Then he spotted a narrow door without marking near the bottom of the stage.
FAIRYTALE Page 17