by Casey Eanes
The Sar was young by Grogan standards, and his rise to power was filled with high hopes of his people. Chief among the tribal lords of his kin, Hagan walked in the image of his father, but he brought with him new vision of what the Groganlands could be. Willyn could still hear his booming voice in Rhuddenhall echoing across the throng of citizens gathered in the Red City to celebrate his ascension.
***
Hagan walked up to the podium, wearing only the simple black body armor of a commanding officer on the day of ascension. He refused to adorn himself with the traditional crimson garb of a newly ascended Sar. Most surprising was his refusal to wear the Helm of Rodnim. The helm was made by the first Sar, Hagan’s ancestor from ancient times. Rodnim the First conquered and unified the bickering Grogan tribes under his family’s banner. The helmet had always been worn as it passed down the family line. Instead, Hagan held the helmet by his side, its golden face shining red in the oncoming twilight. He insisted that his first public appearance would be as himself. Envoys from every Realm were gathered, and even King Camden from Lotte traveled to pay special homage to the new Sar. Willyn could still remember the rousing speech her brother gave that day:
“My fellow Grogans. Today is a new day. Aleph blessed my father, Wodyn the Great, with a strong, remarkable reign. He has been called back by Aleph into his care, but through him peace has been secured for not only our Realm, but for all Candor. The vile Realm of Riht is conquered, and its lecherous leadership exiled or imprisoned. We stand united, finally at peace with our other brothers and sisters.” He glanced over to High King Camden Pandarean. “The tensions we have had with Lotte are over, thanks to the hard work and friendship of High King Camden. He has brought much honor to my house with his presence here today.”
Camden stood smiling and waving at the jubilant crowd.
Hagan continued, “Elum is ready to trade with us once more, and our ties to our spiritual brethren in Preost could never be stronger. It is with these graces and blessings that my reign begins today.”
The city exploded with an uproar of devotion. Hagan paused as the wave of praise washed over him. He continued, “We will redouble the efforts now in this time of peace to reclaim the lost Predecessors’ technologies. My grandfather and father understood that real power comes from the might of our forces, but we cannot hope to remain strong if we do not advance.” Willyn stood near the podium as Hagan continued, her body alive with the electric energy showering over the city. The people loved their new Sar, and Willyn could not have been any prouder of her older brother. He was meant for greatness.
Hagan continued, “We owe a debt to the Predecessors, not just for the mechanics and infrastructure that we use for our own advancements, but also for their folly and pride.” The crowd’s roar died down as the new Sar’s speech took an unexpected turn.
“Our ancient ancestors serve us today with something much more important than rail lines or datalinks. The Predecessors give us a warning. A warning to those who do not heed caution. A warning for those who do not weigh the cost of wanton violence or destruction, but think only of their selfish pride.” The crowd was silent, and Willyn smiled at how quickly Hagan caught their attention. This was not the common speech that the Grogan Sar gave to the people. This was something completely different.
“These are lessons that we Grogans do not often consider, but it is good for us to reflect on this day that it is only by Aleph’s grace that humanity continues to exist on Candor. We are the last of the human race. All of us on Candor must walk in humility. We must not blindly surrender ourselves to pride or hatred. When we give into the hate that drove the Old World to ruin, we ensure our destruction.”
Hagan paused, allowing the silence to permeate the Red City. “We must make assurances that the downfall of the Predecessors does not mirror our own undoing. The Groganlands is the strongest Realm in Candor, and we must set an example not to uncover the Predecessor technology only to fuel and advance our military prowess. We have an opportunity to extend advancements in medicine and healing, in infrastructure and learning out to all of our brothers and sisters who inhabit this land, and secure peace across this entire Continent for generations. As your leader, I promise to hope for peace while staying prepared for conflict should it come. If we, the Grogans, can hope for peace while staying ready for war, I can assure that Aleph will reward our efforts.
He picked up the golden helm and placed it on his head. Willyn’s ears nearly burst under the thunder of people.
“May Aleph continue to bless you, the Groganlands, and all of Candor. So begins the reign of Sar Hagan the First.”
***
The booming bravado of Hagan and all the joy that accompanied it was now silent, and Willyn was forced to observe the twisted carrousel of machines upon which all her bleak hope was now placed. They would spin in their pattern with a maddening regularity, all in an effort to frantically hold back the dark extinguishment of her brother’s life.
Hagan’s chest shuttered grotesquely as an unnatural gurgling sound bubbled deep from within his throat. The ventilator wheezed, puffing a low click of fresh air though his paralyzed lungs. Then the small green dot would flicker with each new, weak heart beat. The pattern never changed and never stopped. With each cycle, Willyn was filled with anxious dread, certain that this would be Hagan’s last moment. But the messy and tangled mixture of tubes and wires that ran into and through Hagan’s body made sure his final moment never came. As long as the smattering of machines continued to do their job, the small flicker of life in Hagan continued to burn.
Willyn grabbed a damp cloth and wiped at her brother’s head, pushing away the small beads of sweat from his furrowed brow. She carefully observed his eyes and mouth hoping for a sign that her small acts of affection might bring about a sign of life, some sort of recognition. Some hope. She had only been home from war for eighteen hours, but in that entire time she sat tirelessly by his bedside, caring for him and watching over his needs.
Willyn smiled as she wiped at his cheeks with the white cloth and pushed back a lock of red hair that had fallen into his face. A question sprang from her lips, “Do you remember the time you ate all those mushrooms out in the forest? I had to take care of you then, too. You were so, so stupid. You insisted that they were safe and to prove it you popped one into your mouth." The memory caused a smile to wash over her, and she stared blankly, lost in it. "You threw up so much, but that was a good lesson you learned, wasn’t it? I never thought you would get better.”
In her heart she hoped that he would stir under the memory, but there was nothing. There were only the rhythmic beeps and clicks drawing her back into the grim fog suffocating the room. Willyn’s smile faded as her brother’s blank, despondent face stared back at her, through her, reminding her that he was suffering from far more than a bad case of food poisoning; he was dying. Whatever he was exposed to worked within him slowly, meticulously stealing one function of his life after another. Hagan started complaining of symptoms months earlier. He could not keep his food down and was having trouble sleeping. His insomnia eventually led to a ratcheting fever that peaked so high it brought him to seizure. In the following weeks, it exploded into a grand culmination of nothing less than a full-body shutdown. With each hour, Willyn saw her brother deteriorate before her eyes.
She laid her face against the side of the bed. Tears, unexpected and unwelcome, rolled down her cheeks as she wept into the clean linen that wrapped around her brother’s frail figure. The weeping grew into a full chain of sobs that racked and wrenched their way through her body. She bellowed out a low howl and finally collapsed beside her brother's bed, exhausted but relieved to release her grief. Willyn realized that for the first time in her life she was alone and she was powerless.
The terrifying fear rose within her. There is nothing I can do to change this. Any of this.
“You need to wake up, Hagan,” she said, squeezing at his hand, her fingers like a vise. “You can’t be like this! You are
the ruler of the Groganlands. The people need you.” Her voice trailed off as she wiped at her eyes and tried to gather herself. “I need you! I am not ready to be the Sar. I won’t be! You need to wake up. Please just wake up.”
Willyn’s plea rang hollow in the empty silence of the room. She gathered her composure and wiped her eyes dry. No one could ever see her cry. She buried any trace of her grief, and the guilt that had accompanied her tears faded into her cold, chiseled face. Hagan would have never stood for any tears being shed on his behalf. However, Willyn had not expected that it would feel so good to cry, to no longer be the Sar's sister, but to be Hagan’s. Willyn knew that any sign of weakness outside of this moment of privacy would not be accepted by her people. It was weakness. It was error. It was forbidden. But with Hagan she could always be herself. The thought of losing that freedom, and losing her closest and only friend, terrified her.
To lose Hagan was to lose herself and be trapped within the walls of her official position as General, or worse; Sar.
Hagan’s heart monitor bounced a thin, green line across its dark screen while another light flashed with each pulse. Willyn adjusted one of the knobs to turn down the annoying beeping noise that kept pinging from the machine.
“I wish we had some of the medical technology from Lotte or Elum for you.” The irony of Hagan’s former speech washed over her.
“Lotte.” Willyn’s heart sank back deep into her chest and slowed its beating. She swallowed the knot that twisted in her throat as she thought of the man she had just locked away. A new feeling ran through her: rage. She stood.
“Hagan, I have to go now. I have someone who knows what needs to be done to get you back.” She leaned down and kissed her brother’s cold, clammy forehead and made her way for the infirmary exit.
***
Grift Shepherd sat alone in the cold cement cell. One light bulb seared overhead, a single pinprick of illumination. Willyn stood behind the wall of shadows and gritted her teeth as she observed the man she personally ripped out of Lotte. Grift rested on his knees with his hands bound behind his back, a dirty, rough blindfold covering his eyes. He was stoic given his current state. He demonstrated no movement, no jostling, and no panic. Instead, he sat on his knees with his head down, quietly humming to himself.
Heat rushed to her cheeks as Willyn continued to observe the man that poisoned Hagan. Each childish note he would hum only incensed her further. It was as if he knew she was in the room with him and was toying with her, waiting. Her eyes narrowed and she moved into the light.
She sprung from the dark corner of the cell and sunk her boot into Grift’s side without hesitation. A loud crack rang out as Grift’s broken ribcage caved under the impact. Grift crashed to the floor his mouth agape, opening and closing like a fish out of water. He tried to steady himself, but his hands were tied so tightly behind his back that he could only writhe in pain on the floor. Willyn reached down and picked Grift up by his hair, yanking his face just inches from her own.
She stared into Grift’s swollen and bruised face and hissed, “Now that I have your attention, I have some questions for you, Shepherd.”
She slapped Grift on the cheek and pointed into the shadows behind her.
“You will want to answer me honestly every time I ask you a question. I am not the only pain lurking in the shadows.”
Grift groaned as he worked to sit himself up straight again. He growled a low answer, “Willyn Kara. Your reputation precedes you once again...I’m not the one that needs to be answering questions. I did not declare war after forty years of peace. I did not assassinate a king!”
Willyn’s fist exploded against Grift’s jaw, sending spit and blood across the cement floor. She ripped the blindfold from his face.
“Don't you dare accuse me! You tried to assassinate a Sar. And that is why you are here. You are here because of Hagan.”
Grift spewed a red spatter on the gray floor. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with shock. Willyn’s words caused Grift’s face to show an unexpected emotion; fear. He narrowed his eyes and evenly answered the accusation through his swelling mouth.
“Hagan was a friend. He is still a friend. I would have never attacked him.”
Grift did not break the stare with Willyn, even though blood was freely dripping from his mouth. Resigned, he continued, “Ask me what you want, but know that I did not harm your brother.”
Willyn reached into her pocket and threw a small metal vial on the floor between the two. She stooped to look at Grift, her eyes cutting into him like sharpened blades.
“Then explain to me how it is that we found this vial in my brother’s room with your prints on it?”
Grift stared at Willyn and looked down at the vial that had engulfed Candor in war. He continued to stare at the capsule as he tried to remember it, but there was nothing.
“Those prints were planted. I’ve never seen that thing,” Grift answered. The answer was matter of fact. Willyn could not deny that he was convincing. Grift continued, “You know better than to accuse me because of some fingerprints.”
Willyn snatched up the vial and put it back into her pocket. She calculated her next move. He would cave. He would cave and tell her what he did to Hagan.
“Then what about the surveillance video we have, Grift?”
The room fell silent as they stared at one another. Neither took a breath or moved. Willyn could see he had no idea of the video. Grift squinted his eyes and addressed Willyn not out of anger or remorse, but confusion.
“Video?” Grift sputtered. “Of what? There is no video of me attacking Hagan because I never stepped foot into the Groganlands without proper clearance.”
Willyn’s heartbeat sped as she stepped toward Grift and leaned to whisper next to his ear.
“I told you not to lie to me, Grift. I told you not to lie to me.”
A small screen flickered to life behind her and played a looping video of Grift stepping into Hagan’s private quarters and then re-emerging a few minutes later.
Willyn stepped back and locked her cold blue eyes on Grift, hatred pouring from them like a broken dam.
“I told you not to lie to me. You HAVE been to the Groganlands without border clearance as evidenced. The day after that video was taken my brother’s body started its full failure. This is NO coincidence, Grift! You will die by my hands, and I will enjoy it!”
Willyn stood and brushed herself off, as if Grift's presence left a cloud of debris on her. "I have other matters to attend to. I will have my friends come join you until you decide to tell them exactly what you used to poison my brother.”
Willyn started to step away but then quickly spun on her heels and slammed her boot into the back of Grift’s head. The blow sent his crumpled body tumbling across the floor. Willyn’s arms were shaking as rage poured through her veins like boiling water. All she wanted to do was tear Grift limb from limb. It would feel so good to make him suffer. She hesitated. She needed to know what was poisoning Hagan.
Control yourself. Hang on. You can kill him soon enough.
Grift let out a low moan as he started to lift himself from the floor. Willyn shoved down the building tempest within her enough to address Grift one last time.
“I believe I made my point, Grift. You don’t want to lie around here. Do yourself a favor when the interrogators come; tell the truth.”
She quietly slid from the cell and paced the outside hallway. Her boots clicked on the cold cement floor in a rhythmic pattern. Willyn felt like her insides were warped and twisted as she tried to shake the tempest coursing through her. Her inner voice chided her for becoming so volatile.
You nearly killed him. Then where would we be? Where would Hagan be?
The thought of Hagan made her hold a deep breath in her lungs to release the aggression from her mind.
I need to get back to Hagan. I can't stay here. Willyn could feel the magnetic pull of the cell. Back to Shepherd. Back into that cell to finish him off. She put her hand d
own by her sidearm. I can make him talk, said her rage. I can make him wish he had never set foot into the Groganlands. Her hand gripped the cell door, but the image of Hagan reappeared in her mind, illuminating her purpose.
No. The interrogators will pull it from Grift. He knows. He knows what we need. What I need. Just let them do their job and extract it from him. I need to be with Hagan.
Willyn settled the matter in her mind before forcing herself away from the door and back down the hallway. For the last few weeks she had grown accustomed to the roar of her rook’s engine and the cadence of its fifty caliber machine guns rattling off rounds on the front line. It made the silence of the hallway maddening. Without the noise of war drowning out her thoughts, all Willyn could focus on was the dreadful weight of her brother's condition and the violence blooming against the man that she knew had poisoned him. It was infuriating to think that she was so close to answers but was forced to wait.
Willyn jammed the button to open the elevator leading back up to the northern wing of the compound. The old, cracked button lit up as the gears moaned from deep within the elevator shaft. Once the door opened, Willyn stepped into the slick, chrome interior of the cabin and spun around to catch one last glimpse at the door holding Grift captive.
“I was just coming to see you. I thought you would be down here,” a voice whispered.
It pushed every ounce of breath from Willyn’s lungs, but she did not allow herself to flinch. Instead of shouting or jumping, her brain sent her hand to wrap around her pistol. In a millisecond, she redirected her hardened instincts, recollecting that she was back home, back in Rhuddenhall.
You don't pull guns on people in Rhuddenhall. Calm down.
The man who had blended into the back corner of the elevator spoke in parcels of regulated words, cold, even, and calculated.
“I am a bit shocked you didn’t see me. In your own world I guess. I can understand. You have been through a lot.”
Willyn turned to face the cold, gray eyes locked onto her. Blue embers locked into place, boldly unblinking against the eyes of Hospsadda Gran, an upstart and ambitious member of the Grogan Council.