Grim

by Anna Waggener

  After stepping down, Jeremiah peered back into his own unlit carriage.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

  Erika gave him a hard, cold look.

  “Fine,” he said, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Wait here.” He went down the sidewalk alone, horses whinnying and tossing their manes as he passed.

  The archway that surrounded the common was lit by lines of gas lamps, and the smooth cut of the stonework became a mirror under their flickering glow. Jeremiah followed the hallway into the main room, where the altar stood ready for services. The king waited behind the podium, in the same place he’d stood to conduct services every morning for millennia. He ran his fingers back and forth over the silver edges of the ceremonial dagger. It had gained new meaning for him, since the handle now had his own death note carved into the bone. It was fitting, maybe, to be set free by the same knife that he had used so many times before. He looked up when the door opened and saw Jeremiah walking toward him. The king smiled, or tried to, and set the knife back on the podium.

  The princes were the only ones in attendance.

  Jegud walked over and clasped Jeremiah’s hand, leaning in close to his ear. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Michael has the kids,” Jeremiah said.

  There was a pause.

  “Don’t ruin this for Father.” Jeremiah pulled back a little in surprise, but Jegud kept hold of his arm. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Jeremiah said. “I’m going to wait until after the service.”

  Jegud nodded and stepped away.

  Jeremiah took the hands of his other brothers, wondering if this wouldn’t be the last time he was ever allowed to do so.

  At the end, he came to his father, who stayed an arm’s length away from his youngest son.

  “You came,” the king said.

  “I did.”

  The moment stretched awkwardly.

  Then the king reached for Jeremiah and pulled him to his chest, hugging him as he’d never done before.

  “I loved your mother,” he whispered. “I would have done anything to save her. I would have done anything.”

  “You exiled her.”

  “I know. There are things you do as a leader that you would never dream of doing as a man. I had to.”

  “You didn’t do it as a leader,” Jeremiah said. “You did it as a coward.”

  The king drew back. His mouth was open, his eyes half closed as he stared at the ground between them.

  “If your stepmother had stayed, then it would be different now, Jeremiah,” he said. “Do you see how history can be twisted? How intentions can be perverted by time? You are right to call me a coward, but only because my wife ran away.”

  “Put my mother back in the crypt.”

  “Oh, Jeremiah.” The king shook his head. “We all have to fall into our places as they come. That is no longer mine.”

  “Would you, if it still was?”

  “I’m not a man for hypotheticals,” he said. “But yes. That was my one great mistake in life. Can you understand that?” He looked his son in the eye. “I made her into a whore instead of a queen. For that, you can blame no one but me.”

  Jeremiah reached for his father’s arm, but it was too late. The king had already turned away. That was one thing that, Jeremiah could see, would never change.

  The king picked up the dagger. His old fingers traced the bone handle, thanking it. The carvings felt alive in his hands, electric and comfortable. He brought it to his eldest son.

  “Please,” he said. “I’m ready, Gabriel.”

  The eldest prince took the knife from his father and weighed it in his hands. He had seen these services every morning of his life, but this was different. Everything that he had ever heard about being freed no longer applied. No longer mattered.

  The king lay down on the altar, resting his neck against the raised cradle. He smiled.

  “Do you know,” he said, “I’ve probably been in the common a million times. But I’ve never really seen the sky from here.”

  All six sons turned their eyes to the open ceiling, where a blanket of stars winked down at them like a silver city. When they looked back at the altar, their father had faded into a blur of white mist.

  Gabriel crossed the room, his brothers close behind, and leaned over the king.

  “Go to peace,” he murmured, lifting the knife above his head.

  He brought it down with all his strength. The blade slowed when it sank into his father’s soul, but, with a quiet grunt of effort, Gabriel forced it toward the stone beneath. There was a click, as the tip of the dagger touched the bed of rock, and then Gabriel sprang backward and the king’s soul rushed up through the creamy handle of the knife and swirled skyward, churning like the slender tail of a cyclone. When the last of it was in the air, the knife clattered against the altar and a rush of wind spat the funnel out through the open roof. The soul split overhead with a crack like dry thunder, and the pieces drifted, as fine as gold dust, back into the soil of the Middle Kingdom.

  Gabriel carried the knife back to the podium and laid it down with gentle respect. The altar had collected a thin layer of powder-fine dust, which he would gather and send to the crypt for interment.

  He could hear his brothers behind him, coming out of their own separate thoughts, but he didn’t feel up to facing them just yet. Instead he stared at the cold blade of the dagger and at his hands, thin and pale in the lamplight. He tried to remind himself that this was what his father wanted. That he had only ever done what his father wanted.

  Michael and Jeremiah were bickering in low voices as they passed by behind him, but still, Gabriel held himself from turning. Perhaps it was for the best that they were being split by law. He knew that it had never been Jeremiah’s fault, but it remained that the simple fact of his existence had always been a strain on the family. His father had tried to ignore it, but the weight settled on his own shoulders now.

  He felt that he had to do what was best for the Kingdom as a whole.

  Michael and Jeremiah stepped out of the common, still bickering.

  “Why would you even bring them into this?”

  “Why not?” Michael asked. “You did.” He shook his head, laughing softly to himself. “When you tried to marry off their dead mother, you made the entire court concern itself with the well-being of the children. How would it look if we let them starve alone in the Passing Woods?”

  “You’re crazy, Michael,” Jeremiah whispered.

  “I’m the mad one now? And who brought a human soul into the picture? It wasn’t me, certainly.”

  “Erika has nothing to do with it.”

  “Erika has everything to do with it. A human in the palace. You’ve been trying to corrupt my family all your life, Jeremiah, ever since you wormed your way into the cradle. But then, I guess that it comes from your mother. You inherited something other than guile from her after all. It’s a pity that it was still something filthy.” A footman leaped down to open the carriage door, but Michael waved him away. Instead, he took the brass handle in his own hand and gave Jeremiah a long stare.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Michael laughed again. “Nothing, Jeremiah,” he said. “I want you to do nothing but leave us alone. Have a nice life in the Colonies. I hope that there’s nothing catching.”

  “I’m sure that you won’t leave me long enough to find out.”

  The second prince grinned. “You’re probably right. But only time can tell.”

  “And what are you planning for the children?” Jeremiah asked.

  “That’s no longer of your concern.”

  “Do I need to remind you that your duty is first to the people?”

  “You need not remind me of anything, Jeremiah, because you are wrong. My duty is first to my family. Besides, the children of that woman are not my people.” He smirked. “Well, other than the little one, I guess.”

  He ducked into his carriage, but the l
amps near the opposite door cast a flickering glow into the box, and Jeremiah could see the face of Rebecca Stripling, bent forward in sleep.

  “You bastard.” He grabbed Michael by the back of his coat and pulled him out of the carriage and onto the walk. Michael slammed against the cobbled ground. He lay there for a moment, motionless, and then let out a low, rolling laugh as he ran a hand through his hair, where his head had hit the stones.

  “Oh, Jeremiah,” he said, propping himself up. “You’re going to regret that.” He transformed into a cloud of twisting vapor and sped away.

  Jeremiah didn’t pause to check the children. He sprinted back to the entrance of the common, almost toppling Uriel, Selaph, and Jegud in his break for the door.

  It didn’t take much for them to make up their minds, and the three of them turned en route and dashed after their half brother, none of them really knowing what he was after.

  Erika had been waiting just outside of Jeremiah’s small carriage when she saw the scene, and she pulled her coat tighter around her waist and ran over to the open door of Michael’s coach to see what the matter was. As she drew closer, the footman turned and looked down his nose at her. She ignored him and stuck her head into the carriage.

  She clapped her hands to her mouth at the sight of her children.

  “Megan?” she gasped. Relief swept over her, making her heart pound hard. Suddenly everything made sense, everything was right.

  Rebecca and Shawn were sitting at the front end, side by side, eyes closed and shoulders moving in slow, sleepy breaths. Megan, on the other hand, lay curled on the floor, with her knees under her chin, wearing a high-collared dress a size too small for her and looking very pale.

  Erika reached in and ran the tips of her fingers down her son’s cheek. His eyes fluttered open as sleep slipped away, and he took a moment to adjust to the dim light.

  “Mom?”

  “Shawn.” She pulled him out of the carriage and wrapped her arms around him, rocking him like a crying child against her chest. She almost laughed with the release, she felt so free. Shawn melted against her.

  “What happened?” she asked him, allowing herself a smile. “How did you get through?”

  “There was an angel,” Shawn said. “Mom, we —”

  But Erika’s eyes flew open and she jumped away from her son.

  “You!” she called to the footman. “Your master — what was he thinking before he left?”

  “He was thinking about a knife, madam.”

  Erika gasped and felt Shawn push her toward the common.

  “Go, Mom,” he said. “Hurry.”

  He didn’t wait to watch her leave. Instead, he turned back to the carriage and shook Rebecca awake. Megan he was more careful with. He had seen her breathing a few hours ago, before they had been put to sleep, but he had also seen her die. He did not know which would be the more permanent.

  Jeremiah came back into the hall with pounding footsteps. He saw Gabriel first, standing behind the podium with a hand over the blade of the knife. Then he saw Michael, who waited, arms folded, a few feet away.

  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Michael,” Gabriel warned. A tinge in his voice suggested that, in reality, they both knew what Michael argued, but that the ground was too dangerous for Gabriel to even consider it. “You’re tired,” he said instead. “We’re all tired. Go home. Rest yourself. He’ll be gone by week’s end and you won’t have to think about it any longer.”

  He looked over when Jeremiah walked into the room.

  “This is a bad time, Brother,” Gabriel said. “What is it?”

  “Listen to you,” Michael spat. “Calling him brother as if you claim him. You’re just as bad, Gabriel. You’re the crown prince and you’re just as bad.”

  The doors thumped shut again, and Uriel, Selaph, and Jegud came running down the hall. They froze at the threshold of the room.

  “My God,” Gabriel snapped, the first touch of anger that any of them had heard from him in a long time. “Why are all of you so determined to make this as difficult as possible?”

  “What are you doing, Michael?” The outburst came from Uriel, and all eyes turned to him.

  “I’m fixing things,” Michael barked. “I’m doing what everyone else is too weak to do.”

  “You didn’t tell me anything about this.”

  “It was unplanned.”

  “You can’t do this,” Uriel hissed through his teeth, gaze flicking to Gabriel. “Not here.”

  “It’s not about what you think.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s never been about what you think.” Michael turned away from his baffled little brother and began an advance at Gabriel. “Give me the knife, Brother.”

  “No.”

  “Give me the knife.”

  Gabriel picked it up from the podium and pointed it at Michael.

  “Go home, Michael.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “As the Kingdom’s heir, I order you to forget about this and go home.”

  “Kingdom’s heir?” Michael quipped, chuckling. “Take it back please, Gabriel. You don’t deserve to call yourself that.”

  “And you do, I suppose?” Jeremiah asked.

  “I suppose so, yes,” Michael replied, without taking his eyes away from the dagger.

  “Stay out of this, Jeremiah,” Gabriel said.

  “Yes,” Michael said. “Stay out.” He took a step forward, and Gabriel took a step back.

  The other brothers began to fall away themselves, trying to stay out of range of the impending scuffle.

  Michael took a few more strides toward his older brother, and Gabriel answered them by retreating even farther. Michael laughed.

  And then, without warning, Michael ran.

  He tackled Gabriel and pinned his arms against the cold marble.

  “You wouldn’t kill me, would you, Gabriel?” he whispered.

  Gabriel forced himself back up, but in doing so, he lost his grip on the knife, and it skidded out of his hands. Michael scooped it up and leaped back to his feet. He cradled the blade between his hands. Carefully. Lovingly. He held it up.

  “The one mirror in our family’s entire Kingdom,” he said. “Remember the legend? That the dead always see their reflections in it before they give up their souls?”

  Erika burst through the doors at the end of the hall.

  When she saw Michael with the knife, she froze.

  “The muddy little whore is here,” Michael announced. “Tell me, Jeremiah, what did you do to make her seem so like your own mother? Or do all sluts just look the same?”

  “Leave, Erika,” Jeremiah ordered.

  “No,” said Michael. “Stay, Erika. Since this is all about you and your battered soul.”

  Erika took a cautious step forward.

  “Don’t,” Jeremiah said, desperate.

  “Ignore the rogue, dear,” Michael said. He retreated a few paces, giving Erika a wide berth for moving into the room.

  She darted forward.

  Jeremiah groaned.

  “Don’t be so distraught, Jeremiah. It’s only because she loves you.” Michael chuckled. “But that’s right, isn’t it? You can’t love. How ironic that your own mother’s curse would come back to you. But with a bit of a downgrade, if I might say so.”

  “I can love,” Jeremiah said. “I loved you, Michael. Or have you forgotten that we used to be brothers?”

  “Brothers,” Michael spat. “Wipe your mouth, Jeremiah. It’s bad to lie on judgment day.”

  “Michael,” Gabriel said. “Put down the knife. Please.”

  “Oh, shut up, Gabriel. You’ve ordered me around plenty enough. You were lucky to be the firstborn. Your soul’s too haughty for anything but.”

  The doors opened again, and the Stripling children came in, looking wary.

  “What a pretty little party,” Michael said. “Come on, then. Join the grown-ups.”

  The children started forward, more b
ecause they saw their mother than because they were listening to Michael. Shawn set Megan on her feet next to him. His first mistake. He let her run along ahead, arms open to their mother. His second.

  Michael scooped her into his free arm and knelt down beside her.

  Rebecca screamed.

  Shawn saw the glint of the knife and knew better than to try anything. He grabbed Rebecca by the arm and dragged her on to the cluster of princes. Erika took Rebecca into her arms and pressed her, shaking, to her chest.

  “What do we have here?” Michael breathed, his cheek close to Megan’s. “A little dead girl.”

  He spun her around and ripped open the top buttons of her dress, showing them the clean cut through Megan’s back. Off to the side, Selaph flinched and looked away, as if wounded himself. Erika tightened her grip on Rebecca. The world disappeared around her and she felt herself going limp, her knees beginning to buckle. “No,” she moaned. “God, no. Oh God, no.”

  Rebecca gripped the front of her mother’s blouse and sobbed into the black silk. “I’m so sorry, Mom,” she said. “We didn’t know. We came so far, but we didn’t know.”

  Erika heard the voice of her eldest daughter, but couldn’t process the words. She was focused on Megan’s pale skin and the thin line that went down into muscle. Down into her spine. The room was spinning.

  Michael twirled Megan back to face their audience.

  “You see,” he said to Jeremiah. “I needed to get to you, and so I had to get to her.” He pointed the tip of the knife over Megan’s shoulder at Erika. “Has it worked, Erika?” he said, with a smile. “Do I have your attention now?”

  Erika buried her face in Rebecca’s hair.

  “And you, Jeremiah,” Michael went on. “Do I have yours?” He twisted his free hand through Megan’s hair and jerked her head toward him. Skin stretched white across her throat and eyes forced to look at the city of stars, Megan began to cry.

  Selaph and Jeremiah stepped forward in the same instant.

  “Please, Michael,” Selaph begged. “Some time to think. There is no turning back from where you are going.”

  The second prince looked at his little brother as if charmed by his innocence. “There has never been any turning back,” he said. “That’s the best part; I can’t lose ground.”