by Simon Archer
My friend gripped the top of her cane with thin and pale knuckles. Gripped with a sense of purpose, my own nerves took a step back, and determination to help flew to the front of my focus.
“What can I do?” I offered. “Do you want me to carry you down or walk with you?”
“I am simply not ready,” Em explained. “I cannot go next. I need you to take my place.”
“Are you sure that’s all?” I asked. “Because I don’t mind. You know I’ll break all the rules, I don’t care about decorum.”
“I know,” Em said with a small, grateful smile. “I just need some more time to work my way up to it. Please, take my place.”
“Okay,” I said.
I straightened my back, squashing my own anxieties in the face of a new purpose to help my friend. I walked to the announcer and whispered the change in his ear. Unphased, he simply nodded once and proceeded with the program.
“Martin Mark Anthony, son of James and Nina Anthony,” he shouted, my legacy echoing in the dance hall.
The minute I stood at the top of the stair, overlooking the nobility of Insomier, the nervousness flooded back. The thoughts of showing off my gift like a circus animal clouded my mind, and I wanted to hurl. While I was ready and willing to help Em, I foolishly didn’t think about my own mental state. I wasn’t prepared for the silence, the anticipation, and the expectation that came with standing before a crowd of this size.
In an effort to alleviate some of the nausea bubbling up, I lifted my gaze straight ahead and refused to look down upon the nobles. Across the hall from the grand staircase, at perfect eye level, was a stained-glass window. It was dark and rather lackluster, unable to show off its brilliance in the evening.
Nevertheless, my eyes navigated through the individual pieces of glass. I distracted my mind by trying to figure out the full picture, instead of focusing on the seconds that dragged into minutes when I still hadn’t done anything, where I stood shaking in full display before a room full of people. People who judged me, who whispered about me. These people who expected me to save them when most did everything in their power to push me away.
The impulse to run pulsed through my veins. I could kick off these shoes and bolt back through the door. I could call out to Ffamran, and he would be there in seconds, ready to carry me away, if I asked hard enough.
As I puzzled through the stained glass, my mother’s voice came to me. It was a reminder, something she had always told me when making decisions in my life: “What can you live with?”
I used this same question when deciding to fall down a well and come to this world. Once again, the question entered my thoughts and halted them, refusing to move until I had a proper answer.
What can you live with?
Instantly, I knew I couldn’t run. Not only because I wanted to save face, but in my heart of hearts, I wanted to save these people. I wanted to help the citizens, and I needed to use my gift to do that. Right now, I needed to show them what I could do, so that later, I could save their sorry asses. I couldn’t live with myself if I abandoned them, no matter how undeserving and ungrateful some of them might be.
It was then, the moment I decided my next step forward, that I figured out the image in the stained glass. It was a decorated circle with a jagged line running through it from top to bottom. It was King Garham’s symbol.
King Garham, like me, traveled to this foreign land and healed it. He became their king and ruled them despite his own doubts and the rejection of gifts offered to him. I wasn’t asking to run the place, but like that man before me, I would help them. I had more gifts to be able to help them.
I held out my hands and called to the light. I spoke to it gently, begging it to show only a sliver of itself. The light obliged, and my fingers glowed in response.
There was a smattering of gasps in the crowd, but I continued on despite them. I circled my arm outward, burning an image in the air for all to see. With two fluid motions, I drew the symbol of King Garham with my light. It glowed large and intimidating in front of me. Once I completed the jagged line down the center, I waited for but a second, gauging their reactions.
The room fell into a crackling silence, like the whole crowd was on the edge of a cliff, waiting to jump. Instead, it was me who took the step forward, who took the symbolic leap of faith into the light.
I walked through the glowing symbol, the light illuminating my face and body. When I stepped down, the image burst from behind me and disappeared as I descended. It was quite the sight, like my own fireworks show. I couldn’t help but smirk a little, especially when a single whoop burst from the audience. That one voice started the cheers, loud enough to rival Eamon’s, as I finished my display.
I let myself chuckle as the nerves dissipated. They floated away into the applause. In a moment of reverence, I looked up at the stained-glass window and at Garham’s symbol, which had, once again, appeared when I needed it. But when I stared at the window, my eyes rounded in horror at the sight on the other side of the glass to the weather outside.
It had started to snow.
41
Diana
“Look, it is snowing.”
I heard about the snow before I saw it. The noble couple next to me pointed in joy to the sight outside. My head snapped to attention and followed the lady’s direction.
Light flurries fell from the sky. They flew down at a slanted angle, at an easy pace. If the sight were not one of such ominous doom, it would have been pretty snow. Something magical and pure. Instead, the sight was tainted by Hennar’s promise.
Alona appeared at my side, her worried expression matching my own. “We have to get to Martin.”
I nodded once in agreement and darted forward through the crowd. We positioned ourselves at the back of the ballroom to get an unimpeded look at our friend. He was undeniably handsome in that purple vest with those form-hugging dress pants. Even from as far away as I was, I could see his nerves as if they visibly rolled off him.
Then, in true Martin fashion, he did the unexpected. The illuminated symbol of King Garham was one of the smartest moves he had made since this introduction process started. It was a symbol of peace and unity in our kingdom. It represented our beloved late king, who we all agreed with on a fundamental level. It displayed Martin’s solidarity with Insomier.
When he walked through and descended the stairs, I could not have been prouder of him. I smiled so wide my face hurt. My enthusiasm could not be contained, so I released a cheer, starting the chorus of them. Martin deserved so much more than that, but for now, it would have to do.
Until the celebration was cut short by the arrival of winter and the impending dread surrounding Hennar’s promise.
Alona and I pushed our way through as politely as we could, but it eventually got to a point where the crowd surrounded Martin. This was typical of new inductees. Everyone wanted to congratulate them and welcome them to court. Then they would usher him away to make room for the next inductee to descend.
We witnessed this happen, Martin being crowded away. I could not see his face through the group of people. I elbowed Alona, utilizing her height to our advantage.
“Where are they taking him?” I asked, eager for information.
“Over by one of the food tables,” Alona reported.
Reluctantly, I let her take the lead, considering she knew where we were headed. I had to get to Martin. I had to let him know what was going on outside. Part of me hated to ruin this celebration for him. My own expectations of the evening wilted. I wanted him to whisk me into a dance, and then I would apologize for my stupidity earlier. I wanted to right the wrongs that lay between us. It felt as though we were standing on two sides of an ocean.
I knew he came to visit me when I was recovering. Sometimes I would pretend to be asleep just so I could enjoy his presence. But whenever I awoke, he would leave. Martin’s hurt from my betrayal ran deep, and I sensed it might take more than a dance to return us back to normal, but dammit, if I w
as not going to do everything it took.
“Alona!” Martin called out.
“Martin!” Alona responded, forgetting any sort of expectation or decorum.
I jogged to keep up with her long legs, which still were pretty fast despite wearing a gown, until we reached Martin on the edge of the dance floor. He literally shoved his way past some nobles, not bothering with apologies. It was clear from his wide eyes and rapid breathing that he had seen the snow.
He rushed up to Alona, and they gripped each other’s forearms, looking only at one another. I always knew they were friends, and I worked hard at repairing my own relationship with Alona, mainly for Martin’s sake. But this look, this embrace was something past friendship. I realized that my goal to reunite with Martin might be different than I’d anticipated. And strangely, I wasn’t sure if I minded that.
“Where is the king?” Martin asked, getting to the point. “We need to stop this whole thing.”
“Why?” Alona wondered, confused.
“Don’t you see?” Martin gripped her arms tighter with urgency. “This is the perfect place to infect some of the most important people in the kingdom. Of course, it would snow tonight.”
“He is right,” I said, injecting myself into the conversation. Both Alona and Martin turned to look at me as if they just noticed I was there. I stood stiff and straight, assuming a soldier’s exterior to hide my hurt. “It is the perfect place for Hennar to strike. If he still has an infiltrator in the court, then they could be here waiting for his signal.”
“Well, they’ve got it,” Martin said with a gesture to the window and the snow. “We have to get the king to order everyone out of here.”
“I do not think we should do that,” I argued.
“They’re not safe,” Martin protested with a glare.
“But the perpetrator is most likely in this room,” I reasoned. “We have a better chance of apprehending him.”
“Enough,” Alona interrupted. “We should let the king decide. We need to tell him and Rebekah. They have the most authority to evacuate everyone--”
I coughed, and Alona glared at me. “Or sniff out the traitor.”
As one, we moved across the ballroom, intent on approaching the king at his elevated throne. King Atlus’s station was situated on the east side of the ballroom. It was not as elegant as his actual throne, but more of a muted version. It only rose two steps to give him a good view of the dance floor and the proceedings.
When we reached the middle of the ballroom, we saw the king reach a hand up to his crown. He closed his eyes, almost as if in pain. However, the king would not allow for such weakness, so he simply removed his crown and rubbed his temples.
“Oh no,” Martin gasped beside me. Unexpectedly, he called out, “Sire!”
His voice interrupted the proceedings, and King Atlus looked up and out into the crowd, searching for Martin. However, once he raised his head, the king inhaled sharply, and his features contorted. His whole body tensed until he collapsed forward with a groan.
Rebekah and his other personal guards rushed to his aid. My instinct was to rush forward with them, but a hand on my arm pulled me back. It was Martin who had a hold of my forearm. I looked at him and noticed he was fixated on something. I followed his gaze and saw the king’s crown fall from his grasp. It clattered to the floor and rolled on its side.
As if by fate, the crown clattered towards the three of us and landed at Martin’s feet. He bent down to pick it up gingerly with two hands. For a second, I thought he was going to put it on his head, but instead, he slipped his arm through it and clutched it like a bag.
Then, with tremendous force, Martin turned to the crowd and yelled. “Ladies and gentlemen, you must stop eating and drinking. Right now. By order of the king, you have to stop all consumption of food and drink.”
“Who do you think you are, giving orders?” Madame Ella chided. She was inconveniently close to us, in a perfect position to defy Martin and diminish his proclamation.
“I am your healer, and I advise you, for your own safety, to cease eating and drinking,” Martin said with an authority that I had yet to see on him. It was like the crown had infused a sense of regalness and leadership into his bones.
“Our physician is the Minister of Health,” Madame Ella countered, “not some foreigner passing for a noble--”
With perfect timing, the Minister of Health coughed. He stood next to the Minister of Finance and her husband and sounded as though he were about to hack up a lung. Martin blew past Madame Ella and put two hands on Mister Moorly’s heaving chest.
His hands glowed, and while some people backed away from the sight, Mister Moorly was too weak to resist. Martin smoothed the Minister's shirt with his hands, searching his inner body. His eyes snapped open and caught mine. He nodded once, confirming our suspicions.
“We need to get the Minster to the infirmary,” I declared. I walked to the Minster and took his other side, intent on escorting him out of the room.
“What is it?” Madame Ella joked with a demeaning chuckle. “The corruption?”
The Minster chortled and got the nearby crowd to laugh nervously along with her, although not all of them believed her nonchalance. There were furtive glances and exchange of whispers, even from her husband to their daughter.
When neither Alona, Martin, nor I answered right away, the Minister of Finance’s laughter slowed and then fell into silence. She eyed Martin and then me and then Martin again.
“You cannot be serious,” she said, finally lowering her voice. “You actually believe that he has been corrupted, don’t you?”
“It is a possibility,” Martin answered, though his voice sounded like the words were lodged in the back of his throat. “That’s why I suggest you stop eating or drinking.”
“There is nothing wrong with the food,” Madame Ella snapped, almost offended. “I helped organize the menu myself.”
As if needing to prove herself, the Minister held up the wine glass in her hand and held it out to Martin as if to cheers him. She raised the glass to her lips, intent on drinking.
Suddenly, a bolt of light shot right in front of Madame Ella’s face and knocked the glass right out of her hand. It clattered to the floor and shattered. The breaking of glass seemed to still the surrounding crowd, like a spell had been cast over them.
Madame Ella slowly turned her head to Martin, who held out his arm straight and stiff. His fingers were outstretched, aimed right for her face. He showed no remorse as the Minister glared at him with a look ready to kill.
“You’re welcome,” Martin said as he lowered his hand.
“You insolent little boy!” the Minister snarled and outstretched her own hand as if ready to strike Martin. I stepped into the line of fire, ready to take the blow for him just as Ella’s daughter cried out in pain and bent over, clutching her stomach.
“Josephine!” Madame Ella exclaimed with a shriek.
Josephine’s cry sent off a chain reaction. All around the ballroom, various nobles bent in two and groaned. They popped up like fireworks, each exclamation and moan erupting from a different corner of the grand hall.
The three of us whirled about, trying to find the source of the next victim. And then the next. And the next. But then the cries culminated into a resounding chorus as half the court was consumed with unbearable pain, shakes, and a fever.
“It is a pandemic,” Alona whispered.
My training clicked into gear, and I searched for Rebekah, awaiting orders. But the captain of the guard was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, I worried if she too was struck ill, but then I remembered seeing her with King Atlus, who was no longer on his throne. The captain must have done her duty and protected the king by removing him from the room.
It hit me like a blow to the head. By default, I was now in charge.
I dashed for the throne, and fighting against all of my worries of treason or blasphemy, I launched myself on top of it. I stood in the nearest and highest place an
d shouted orders out to my fellow guards.
“Guards!” I began, my voice rivaling the announcers. “Escort all of the ill nobles to the infirmary. Only those afflicted will be permitted to leave. Everyone else must remain in the ballroom.”
Cries of protests rose as the guards followed my orders. The doors snapped shut around the ballroom. Bouts of chaos broke out across the floor as the guards sorted through the nobles. We managed to split them into two groups: those in pain and those that appeared healthy. We checked the temperature of each noble before they were led out of the hall. Some of them had to be carried, unable to stand on their own.
Once the system operated on its own, I hopped down off the throne and made my way back to Martin and Alona, who were over by the food and drink stations. They looked over each and every tray and dish, Martin’s hands glowing the whole time.
“That was an impressive display of power,” Alona joked, trying to lighten the situation.
“I did what needed to be done,” I replied, not meeting her playful tone.
Like a dejected puppy, Alona hung her head and focused back on Martin.
He looked up at me as I approached. “I can’t find it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The corruption,” he lowered his voice when speaking the word. “I can’t find the source of it.”
“Your light cannot sense it?” I wondered, confused and worried by that pronouncement.
“No,” Martin said, his own voice indicating his concern. “How do you and the guards normally discover it?”
I gulped, knowing that we had never revealed this system on purpose because it exposed me and my gift. “Rebekah's gift allows her to see people for who they really are. When I… enhance her ability, Rebekah is able to look beyond the physical plane and see magical things and what they truly are.”
“Like the corruption,” Alona filled in.
I specifically didn’t mention how Rebekah needed to orgasm for her gift to work, but by the look in Martin’s eyes, he already seemed to know about that little detail.