by A. J. Ponder
Mahrawyn’s finger pointed, torn by the light, crumbling, bone by bone. “You burn…save Tomas.”
The boy was standing with Arrant and Dothie-Xem, a sneer on his face.
“How can I save him?”
Mahrawyn? “Mahrawyn go,” Sylvalla said. “Suffer no more. Go! I command thee in the name of the Seven, the Mother, the Maiden…”
The monster who’d taken Mahrawyn’s form laughed. “We are the gods!”
“Not my gods!” Sylvalla shouted, grabbing Mahrawyn’s hand and not letting go.
It felt like falling. The god-creature was sucking her in, trying to absorb Sylvalla like the turncoat and were-wizards had been transformed by the other god-demons. Mahrawyn held on as tight as she ever had in Sylvalla’s nightmares, but this time she was pulling Sylvalla toward a soft spark of light.
Emerging into the world, Sylvalla found she was holding a spirit that glowed, not unlike the one that had escaped when the were-wizard had died.
“You are the sun…” Mahrawyn said.
“Thank you,” Sylvalla said. “Don’t worry, I’ll rescue Tomas. Somehow.”
The light from Mahrawyn’s spirit shot up into the preternaturally dark heavens. Now her spirit was gone, the monster that was the Maiden loomed above Sylvalla—with Mahrawyn gone, it was nothing but a pustulant tentacled horror.
Sylvalla raised her sword.
§
“You’ll be a hero,” the war god promised Dirk. “Join me. Cities and countries and whole continents will fall beneath our sword.”
“Hmm,” Dirk said. “I was telling Sylvalla that I was sick of hanging around the castle.”
“Yes,” the creature crooned.
Dirk held out his hand.
§
“Sylvalla,” the Maiden said. “I think I went about this wrong. You know, I can make you the hero you always dreamed of being. You will be adored, and your heroic feats sung throughout all time.”
Sylvalla could feel the heat upon her cheek. It was so nice to feel the warmth, know that her deeds would go down in the history books, that her sacrifices would be rewarded. “Yes, that’s what I always wanted.” Sylvalla sighed and wondered if those beginnings so long ago had somehow led to this. In a way, they had.
“You called to me, and I have come for you. Hold my hand, don’t shy away.”
Sylvalla held out her hand. “A hero,” she said, looking over to where Dirk was reaching out for the God of War.
“Dirk!”
This is not how heroism works. She remembered Dirk’s words from so long ago: “A hero is the right person, in the right place, at the right time, who, against the odds, manages to face their fears and selflessly help others.” He might not even have believed them, but Sylvalla did.
She swung wildly at the God-creature, and ran to help Francis, Dirk, Amarinda, Tomas and the wizards.
“Dirk!”
Dirk stopped reaching for the God of War, and pivoted to slash the body in two.
The body began mending, the two sides oozing together like tar.
Francis and Dirk weren’t the only ones in the fray, but it was clear that with their magically-enhanced swords they were the only ones landing any damage.
The wizards had been running around giving out magic antidotes and charms to the soldiers. Most of whom were too confused to join the fight, and had backed off. And none of this would stop the false gods once they decided to attack.
Amarinda had said to save the dragon, and that had worked. Now Sylvalla had one more task to do for her friend: save Tomas. He was standing between Arrant and Dothie-Xem, behind their wizard barrier, laughing.
Sylvalla ran right for Dothie’s barrier, and, like everyone else, bounced off.
Unlock, she thought, her little spell releasing a flash of light that Dothie-Xem, Tomas and Arrant shied away from.
The barrier twitched.
Nearby, wizards had noticed the fluctuation, and turned from Dirk and Arrant’s fight with the monsters to repeat Sylvalla’s spell.
Are their spells working? Sylvalla tried again, and the bubble fell apart in a flash of blinding light. She remembered Mahrawyn’s words: “You are the sun.”
Some more wizards, focussed on providing light, true light, so everyone could see the so-called gods for what they were—monsters.
Sylvalla wasn’t the only one to enter. Amarinda and the sparkling dragon also rushed to attack.
Butterflies wheeled away, to be snapped up by the dragon.
Sylvalla charged toward Tomas, as did Amarinda, her newly-acquired magic sword glowing.
“Toots!” Dothie-Xem commanded. “Come here.”
The dragon flew right at him. “Do not call me Toots!” fae shrieked. “My name is Tara.” Her claws ripped Dothie-Xem apart. The monster inside him tried to escape, but Sylvalla could see that it was as trapped as any moth in the light.
Arrant screamed and ran, leaving the shadow-monster that had inhabited him behind. “I’m free!” he yelled and ran right into the arms of Jonathan.
“Quick! Help me!” Jonathan yelled as Arrant squirmed, kicked and punched, but Jonathan would not let go.
Potsie threw a bubble. Together, they threw Arrant inside it.
“Tomas!” Sylvalla said, grabbing one hand.
Amarinda grabbed the other. “Tomas, forgive me.”
Evil laughter erupted from the little boy’s mouth. “No. I am the Harvester, and your god. You will kneel before me.”
Amarinda recoiled, but Sylvalla stayed firm.
“You are Tomas,” Sylvalla insisted. She tried to spark the light as she had before, but there was nothing left.
Fireballs and other wizard attacks tore the monsters apart. Sylvalla couldn’t let that happen to her little adoptive brother. She plunged her sword into the ground and held him tight. “Tomas.”
“I—I,” Jonathan stuttered. “I only know the blessing for prophets.”
“Please try, anyway.”
“Rest in peace, little one, find the paths north of the moon and south of the sun.”
The moon appeared at its mention. But the sun? Sylvalla cast Unlock. She hoped the tiny glow would be enough.
Rest in peace, hide from sight,” Jonathan said, tears falling. “Cast aside shade—”
The shade slithered out of the child’s body.
“—and embrace the light.”
Fireballs descended on the shade-thing, whatever it was, and the demon-god-thing erupted in a shower of sparks.
Tomas fell, sobbing to the ground. “Valla,” he said. “Dradon Sayer.”
Sylvalla and Amarinda hugged him tight.
“Thank you, Jonathan,” Sylvalla whispered.
“Now, I just have a few more demons to destroy,” Jonathan said, but before he could go and help the others, a gaggle of Bairnsley wizards traipsed through a wizard path and right into the middle of the battle. “See what I mean?” one demanded. “Do you feel it? That cursed woman's been using wizard spells and destroying magic. Kill her!”
“Witch Queen.”
“Witch.”
“Yes, it’s been a bad day,” Sylvalla said. “And I’ve got this shooting bright pain…”
A fireball sizzled toward her.
“Stop!” Jonathan shielded her. Despite his help, heat crackled against her skin. “Magic is still here, but something has definitely changed. For a start, I have a feeling Bairnsley’s going to have to accept girls into wizard school,” Jonathan said.
“But she destroys magic and our way of life,” Denowe protested.
“Ah,” Potsie said. “Those, I believe, were the exact words the seer showed you saying, Denowe. Dothie-Xem twisted them to mean more than dramatic exaggeration. Amazing how badly things go when words are taken out of context.”
It’s going to be a long night, Sylvalla thought, but as she was about to go into Queen mode, Francis pointed at Amarinda and shouted, “Behold, the sword in the stone!”
The cry was repeated by all the armies
across the battlefield.
Amarinda waited and waited, while Sylvalla and the rest of the crowd held their collective breaths. At last, Amarinda pulled the blade, thrusting it into the air to the delight of most of the crowd.
“All hail Queen Sylvalla, ruler of Havendale, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” Dirk shouted, and to Sylvalla’s surprise everyone took up his cry.
“I don’t even look like Sylvalla,” Amarinda protested. “It’s just the hair.”
“We’ll keep it that colour for you,” Jonathan said. “If you like.”
“Amarinda as Queen Sylvalla might even work,” Sylvalla said. “Amarinda, you’ll get to wear all the amazing dresses you ever wanted. And I’ll get to be a hero-queen and not have to rule.” She grinned.
Dirk grinned back.
Getting Happily Ever After Right
Avondale
Sylvalla couldn’t hold back the tears as they bowed their heads to remember their friends who’d fallen to defend Avondale and Scotch Mist and ultimately the Seven Kingdoms.
Fergus’ family had been invited at Amarinda’s insistence. They stood like enormous statues as far away from the wizards as they could, and cried great blubbery tears as Fergus was hailed as a warrior and friend. Torri’s life was celebrated with fireworks, a collaborative effort between Torri’s engineers and the wizards. Sparkling butterflies rained down to joy and a little consternation. Boos turned to cheers as the firework butterflies were consumed by multi-coloured firework dragons and plumes of sparkly red fire.
The fireworks provoked more tears from Jonathan. “Dad would have loved those,” he said as Cook and her new staff brought out piles of poppy seed cakes.
The thurgles also brought out refreshments, too. Sylvalla, Amarinda and Jonathan politely tried the strange biscuits. They were reminiscent of Cook’s poppy seed cakes, and if anything, they were even better—not that Sylvalla would ever tell Cook that.
“Mr Goodfellow senior had a good life,” Sylvalla assured Jonathan, knowing it didn’t make his loss any better.
“Yes, he did.” Jonathan smiled. “Anyway, he’s not dead. I’m not going to believe the wily old fox is dead—unless I see it, no matter what Potsie says.”
Potsie turned up, blinking owlishly from behind his thick lenses. “Jonathan, if you need to talk, I’m always here.” He put a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “He was so proud of you, and your entrepreneurship. You did what he never could: create a successful business. Which reminds me, Queen Sylvalla, have you had enough of being a queen yet?”
“Yes, it’s definitely time for Amarinda to take my place, but there’s one more thing I need to do.”
Sylvalla climbed to the top of Avondale castle, carrying a basket of lacy snow-queen flowers. So many brave men and women had given their lives, but there were some whose deaths would haunt her always.
“Tishke, I was a terrible queen. I think you’d have liked Amarinda better.” Sylvalla threw flowers to the wind.
“Dirk said you might be here,” Amarinda said, taking two flowers. “Mac and Torri, I’ll never forget you. You were my brother and sister when I had no one…”
One by one they remembered the friends they’d never see again.
§
After so much sadness, Sylvalla enjoyed seeing Francis and Amarinda laughing and playing with all the young princes and princesses she’d adopted into the royal family. It was nice seeing all the Tomases playing, although most of them were no longer called Tomas. Amarinda had decided they should be named more appropriately. Even her little brother no longer went by the name of Tomas, but Janus. Only the twins remained as Tomas to the outside world. Janus was adamant that he would not be a king.
“I want to be a princess when I grow up, just like you!” one of the twins said, picking up the poker from the fire and pretending to wave it like a sword.
Dirk giggled.
“Careful,” Amarinda said. “If Estha sees you with that, she’ll have kittens.”
“Dradon sayer,” Janus said, and ran to cuddle Sylvalla.
“You’ll be fine,” Sylvalla assured him. “You’ll be an amazing hero.”
“Not king.” The boy shivered violently.
“We can let your older brothers take that job,” Sylvalla said, nodding at the twins. “When they are old enough, I think they’ll make a great king.”
“So you’re not abdicating?” Francis asked Sylvalla.
Sylvalla shook her head, then nodded. “Kind of, unofficially. I mean being rulers of Seven Kingdoms will keep you both busy. Assuming that’s what you want?”
“And we are getting divorced?” he pushed.
“Again, unofficially,” Sylvalla said. “You are, of course, married to the beautiful Sylvalla, Queen of Seven Kingdoms, tamer of dragons. Assuming Amarinda will take you,” Sylvalla added.
Amarinda blushed a pleasant scarlet. Sylvalla tried to hide her smile.
“I’d be careful of Amarinda,” Dirk said. “She not only has a dragon, but I hear she’s a dab hand with a sword…” he trailed off. “Anyway, Sylvalla and I aren’t into this whole royalty thing. It’s…annoying. Much rather be off adventuring.”
“Mmm,” Sylvalla said. “So annoying. I don’t intend to hang around babysitting one kingdom, let alone all seven. You’ll just have to get them on side with that smile of yours. Although I did hear that this Amarinda person is the most popular person in the kingdom, practically a saint.”
Amarinda shuffled. “I like helping people get on their own feet.”
Estha rushed in. “Thank you for looking after the princelings; I needed a bit of a break.”
“Don’t you worry,” Amarinda said. “The new nannies and tutors will be starting tomorrow.”
Estha positively melted. Then she gushed, “Really? They’ll start tomorrow? Queen Sylvalla tried… I mean…Sylvalla… Queen Sylvalla, thank you so much.”
“And Villyus?” Sylvalla questioned. “Surely, you’re not intending him to teach?”
“Are you questioning my methods?” Amarinda asked.
“Just don’t lose Avondale, like I did. You know, Dirk and I will be keeping an eye on things.” Sylvalla softened her tone. “But first, the wizards have insisted I complete a ‘Safety with Magic’ course. I might be away for a while.”
Francis and Amarinda nodded solemnly.
“And that dragon of yours, Amarinda,” Dirk asked. “How are you going to stop it from eating people?”
“Don’t worry, after eating Dothie’s corpse, Tara’s gone off eating people. Bad vibes or something. Reminds fae too much of faer old life. But apart from that, fae’ll eat almost anything. Come with me, I’ll show you.”
Amarinda continued chatting about Tara like a besotted mother. “She’s still growing and needs a lot of food, but along with human about the only thing fae won’t eat is bacon. But Tara’s not above destroying baskets to get to the autumn apple harvest. And honey! Don’t let Tara near honey.”
Tara was waiting in the temporary dragon stables outside the damaged castle.
Sylvalla could feel the love radiating out of the creature. “They’re beautiful. How big do you think they’ll get?” Sylvalla asked.
“Fae,” Amarinda corrected. “No telling,” she added, gently headbutting the creature that had grown even larger in the last few days. It was already bigger than a horse, with teeth like diamond knives.
Sylvalla shivered and hoped it wouldn’t get too much larger, while Amarinda tossed Tara a couple of pumpkins and half a dozen parsnips.
Tara coughed.
Amarinda and Sylvalla ducked as fire jetted out of Tara’s mouth.
“What happened? What do you mean, hot?” Amarinda rifled through the basket. She pulled a couple of horse radishes from amongst the parsnips.
“Ah,” she said, and threw some apples.
“Um,” Sylvalla said. “Isn’t this dangerous?”
“Maybe.” Amarinda shrugged. “It was hard to forgive Tara after Fergus. But I did, and fae saved
us. Besides, Tara’s forgiven you, Sylvalla. Haven’t you, Tara?”
Tara looked sheepish and headbutted Sylvalla. Sylvalla smiled and sidled away, a little unsure about what Tara was forgiving her for in the first place, and a little too scared to find out. There was no way she wanted Tara for an enemy, not if Tara was Amarinda’s friend.
Building the New World
It was the anniversary of Amarinda’s coronation as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Sylvalla stood among the wizard students, in her wizard robes, between Jonathan and Dirk, watching as the official “Queen Sylvalla” stepped forward to open the new buildings that were meant to be a link between knowledge and governance. Amarinda managed to flash a smile, and look commanding and imperial. It was a real skill.
Maey, not so far away, threw Sylvalla a wink. To the hundreds of recovering prophets, Maey was their hero and their talisman. She was the one person who knew how to deal with the after-effects of possession and ensure their lives had meaning again.
Sylvalla winked back.
The ceremony was about as boring as expected, as Amarinda explained how Commander Grehaum and so many people had made this project possible. Maey the prophetess, Dalberth the prophet, Grehaum the wise, and hundreds of wizards had come together to create a place that represented truth and justice for all.
The only exciting aspect was Tara flying overhead, and even that was a little sad. “I used to be able to say I killed a dragon and got some respect,” Sylvalla whispered to Jonathan and Dirk. “But now it’s all aw, you didn’t hurt a widdle dragon, they’re so cute. I think Tara should be called a demi-dragon or a faery-dragon. Otherwise, it’s just wrong.”
Dirk and Jonathan laughed. It was nice seeing Jonathan laugh. After his father’s death, it had seemed like he’d never laugh again.
“What’s Amarinda doing?” Potsie asked Sylvalla as they walked away from the new library and learning complex.
Sylvalla shrugged. No way was she telling the old wizard her true feelings, she’d only end up having to memorise dusty old tomes and undertake hours of self-reflection, and she was so close to finishing wizard school. Instead, she teased him. “I’m sorry, I believe you’re talking about Queen Sylvalla of the Seven Kingdoms, dragon rider and hero.” She laughed. “But I agree, sir. Using a dragon to travel between the Seven Kingdoms as if the creature were nothing but a horse is wrong. Amarinda’s asking for trouble if you ask me.”