Sky Song: Overture

by Meg Merriet

  “Captain,” I said.

  Dirk offered an admission of understanding. “Yes. Onward. We’ll advance to the war room. That’s where we’ll likely find General Rex.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  He smirked. “Of course I do. I grew up here. West wing, lower level.”

  We moved on, entering a regal hallway. A Duskman saw us and started to run, but Dirk grabbed him and ran his sword across the man’s throat. These men weren’t armed, which suggested that even if Lord Terrence had given up my landing point, he might not have known about the hydrogen airship or our plan to take an arterial tunnel into the heart of the castle. It made sense that Maive would provide him the minimal amount of information in case he was ever compromised. He knew about the green stagecoach that was to bring a rebel hero to the library at a specific time, and that was all. This boded well for Maive. If Rex didn’t have her knowledge, she might not have been captured.

  We continued on foot, slashing down anyone we met on our way through the palace. Some of them shouted, “Breach!” but did not manage to alert their allies before we cut them down.

  A door flew open as a behemoth Duskman burst into the corridor, firing a mini-gun. He stood almost seven feet tall, his body solid with muscle. I leapt behind a stone column. Saul jumped in front of Dirk, acting as a human shield for his prince. He died honorably. The bullet spray killed five more of our men, including Ned and the only medic we had with us.

  Blood mist went everywhere, painting our faces red. I whipped around the other side of the column and came up behind the brute, driving my dagger between his ribs. I usually struck the heart with this attack, but I had not accounted for the man’s size. He swung around to hit me and I ducked.

  Baker came out of cover. He fired his filched automatic into the man’s shoulder. I finished the brute with Millicent, landing a shot between his eyes. When he fell dead, I dived for that fine weapon of his.

  The mini-gun had a temperature gauge and a ribbon of ammunition that hung down like a bicycle chain. Lifting it took all my strength, but I propped it up against my hip and aimed low down the hall.

  Duskmen exploded out of the war room, wielding ornamental rapiers. I squeezed hard on the trigger. The six barrels spun like a beast inhaling. Then a noise like a hundred rattlesnakes on Skye shredded the air. The gun felt like it might fly right out of my grasp. An onslaught of bullets burst forth, decimating the officers. The corridor filled with quivering gore and the Blue Dusk uniforms turned violet as men collapsed into a heap. The wand on the temperature gauge went all the way into the red until the glass shattered. The metal scalded my hands and I dropped the gun, cracking the marble floor. Blue Dusk assistance arrived with pocket automatics.

  “Get down!” Baker shouted. Our men ducked behind columns and used the mound of dead as a barricade whenever they fired at the opposition. The stench of gunpowder, blood and excrement filled the air. Just when I thought that vile scent couldn’t be worse, it would amplify as more shots fired and more men went down.

  “Stand down! I have your precious witch, Derek!” bellowed a voice from within the war room, deep and gravelly. Maive’s muffled cry rang out.

  Dirk ran ahead, emitting a desperate wail.

  “Captain! Don’t!” I chased after him. Someone needed to protect the true king of Elsace. Our brothers threw down cover fire as Dirk and I stormed the war room.

  Rex had retreated into a deeper station. Dirk rushed the inner haven, kicking open the double doors. General Rex sat behind an ivory desk with Maive on his lap. She was muted by an iron apparatus affixed to her jaw and her arms were wrapped in bandages. Her hands had been amputated.

  Rex held his rifle aimed at the door and shot Dirk in the stomach.

  “Captain!” I cried, clasping him in my arms. His legs twitched beneath him and we crumbled to the floor together. Everything slowed. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

  General Rex lifted his sword from off the desk—that same curved sword with the sapphire tears along the hilt—and in one swift movement, cut open Maive’s throat. Her blood trickled down the hilt, down the sapphires and down around his pale fingers. She trembled against the iron jaw brace and her eyes went wide. Rex discarded her to the floor, pointing his rifle at me now. Maive had known the risks of spying on the Blue Dusk. I knew this, and yet seeing her body so mistreated was too much for me.

  “Maive!” Dirk cried, shaking.

  “If I’d known you would make it so easy, I’d have killed her sooner,” said Rex, coming towards us. “Never trust a witch, and if you realize one is working against you, be sure to bind and gag her to prevent her casting. I may have taken it to the extreme, but I am a careful man, even when I snuff out causes that are damned from the start.”

  He stuck the tip of his rifle flat against the side of my head. I swallowed my sick and readied for death, berating myself for my every mistake I’d made along the way.

  “You are the one who is damned,” I whispered, “Regardless of how this battle ends, your Blue Dusk will fall. We still have the princess. The people will never lose hope so long as she lives!”

  Rex pressed his rifle tip harder against my skull. “You think I’m afraid of some little girl? I will find her and when I do, I will have her drawn and quartered in the old square.”

  All these years yearning for justice, I was to be shot down by the demon who set me on my course in the first place. I had failed my parents, my king and my country. I mouthed the words, “I’m sorry,” just before Rex pulled the trigger.

  His gun jammed. The instant I heard that click in my ear, I grabbed the shaft and pulled him down to the floor. I aimed Millicent at his head and shrieked, already imagining the act of blowing out his brains. A savage force consumed my soul. I wanted so desperately to pull the trigger and be done with him, but I knew I could not. Not yet. For to save my captain’s life, we had to move our reinforcements and medics into the castle at once.

  “Tell your men to surrender!” I said, cocking the revolver.

  Rex nodded. “Stand down!” he roared.

  The Rotters were able to enter the command post. I issued the next order to them. “Take Rex to the gates and complete the surrender! Get a medic in here as soon as possible! That’s the priority! If Rex tries anything, shoot his cock off.”

  Our boys marched Rex out at gunpoint, announcing that the Blue Dusk was surrendering. The surrender had a ripple effect and I could hear swords and guns dropping throughout the hall.

  “No, Clikk, how could you?” growled Dirk. I held him, compressing his wound with his Rotter bandana. The red rising sun expanded like a supernova and his blood soaked my knees. “How could you let him live?” he slurred.

  “I’m saving you.”

  “He killed Maive.”

  “You think I didn’t want vengeance? Rex murdered my parents. I’ve spent the last decade wanting to kill him, but instead I’m saving you. Your life isn’t your own anymore. You see that, don’t you? You’re to be our king.”

  Dirk seemed to understand me, or at least, was too weak to argue. He shuddered and nestled close, tucking his chin. “You’ll take care of Molly for me, won’t you?”

  “You’re going to live.”

  He coughed. “Dammit, Clikk, just promise me.”

  “I will,” I said. “You know I will.”

  “I need to tell you…”

  “Shh, save your strength.”

  “If I’m… gonna die,” he sucked up a deep breath and laughed off the pain, “I want to impart some wisdom ‘fore I go.”

  “Shh.”

  “I loved her.” His extremities trembled and his muscles clenched. “I never told her more than once or twice. Not sure why it’s always been so hard for me.” He clutched my sleeve, his face turning white. “I never had the gift of foresight. I thought we had time, thought…someday I would awaken a better man, and everything would settle, but that isn’t how it works, Clikk. You have to seize the day…” He passed out. I felt f
or his vitals and detected a faint pulse, growing fainter. I screamed medic until my throat burned.

  Men arrived with a surgeon. They carried Dirk into the war room, cleared off the war table and laid him down.

  “You, kindle a fire. The rest of you, leave. I need the room,” the surgeon said. He did not waste a second before digging his steel tongs into Dirk’s flesh.

  I went out into the hall, hardly able to see through my tears. I lamented that moment I let my captain—my prince—rush the war room in a fit of passion. This fight would be a waste if he didn’t survive. Without Dirk, whom would we follow? Molly was stronger now than ever before, but she did not have the life experience to be a great leader like Dirk. Some corrupt advisor could easily manipulate her and Elsace would fall back into chaos.

  The men were clearing out the carnage, lifting the last of the bodies onto a cart to clear a path through the hall. I overheard some of them whispering about Dirk and theorizing what might be done if he didn’t make it. The battle was won, and we had taken the palace, but nothing felt finished as we waited for news on our leader’s state.

  Baker stood amongst a few others who sought medical attention. He was a little battered and bruised, clutching a bundle of gauze against his forehead, but his bleeding was not profuse. My heart trilled in my chest. I marched towards him, path unbroken.

  Baker shot me a subtle salute. “Look who’s still alive,” he said. His smirk softened as I grabbed a handful of his dreadlocks and kissed him, nearly knocking him over. He held the back of my head as his other arm locked around my waist. I pulled back, not entirely sure what had come over me.

  Baker guided me away from the gawkers who were commenting on our affectionate display. We found a deserted corner and he took me into his embrace. I rested my face against his collar and could feel my own tears drenching his jacket.

  “Clikk?” he asked.

  I couldn’t explain myself, but I didn’t want to apologize either. “I’m just so glad you’re alive,” I said. “I couldn’t stop him in time…” My voice became too hoarse to make words anymore.

  Baker kissed the crown of my head. “Dirk’s tough. Have faith.” He touched my face, catching my tears with his thumb. “Is my friend Clikk actually crying?” he said. “Never thought I’d see the day. No tears, Clikk. We’re alive. And you just kissed me.”

  “I might do so again.”

  “I won’t object,” he said, and so I looked up from my sorrows and kissed him once more.

  The doors to the war room burst open. Everyone turned to see the surgeon coming out covered in Dirk’s blood. He removed his gloves and pulled down his facemask so it hung from one ear.

  My entire life, I’d been unlucky. We orphans tend to believe our existences are inherently cursed. We feel unwanted, undeserving, unhappy and above all uns, unlucky. I’d known loneliness, bed bugs, food shortages; I’d been robbed, beaten, humiliated and hungry all my life. Perhaps the steel ring was lucky; perhaps not. But on this day of the battle for Locwyn, the fates looked down and took pity on us.

  “I’ve removed the bullet, cauterized the wound and sewn him up,” announced the surgeon. “His internal organs are intact. He has a good chance of surviving!”

  All those years of ill luck had led to a series of miracles this day. Every last one of us in that hallway applauded the doctor. Someone began the chant of, “Long live the King!” and I grinned until it hurt, shouting along with the others who had fought for Dirk’s return to power. It was victory, true victory over the Blue Dusk.

  “Let’s open the shell!” I cried.

  For eleven years under a tyrannical reign, only the elite who lived in one of the seven spires had any view of the sky. I aimed to change that forever.

  I darted down the hall and followed metallic sign markers until I found my way into the central control room. Baker and several other Rotters came running after me. We examined a long panel of switches and levers. One of the switches was larger than the rest, so I flipped it, and a light came on in an adjacent room. What had been a mirror was now a window and it revealed a chamber with a scale model of Locwyn mounted on a platform. I twisted a knob on the panel and on the other side of the plated glass, a tower on that model shifted. Overhead, the castle rumbled and shook, and that was when I knew that whatever I did to the miniature would affect the actual city.

  It was no different from any puzzle. As the model through the observation window moved, we heard machinery cranking as the very bones of Locwyn shifted. I fiddled with the controls until I opened the replica like a flower. It was the best lock I’d ever cracked, for when we went outside, we could see the sky overhead. The sun emerged over the horizon, burning like ruby fire.

  Throughout the old square, the rebels began a chant of “Rise! Rise! Rise!” The citizens of Locwyn joined in, banging, clapping and stomping in rhythmic accord that erupted into a mighty cheer. History would record Prince Derek as the savior of our nation, but in truth, he was only an intrepid leader of people who had saved themselves.

  XX. Song of Ramona

  I followed Dirk into the candlelit belly of the castle. This was the first place he wanted to go upon regaining consciousness, and though the surgeon objected to his travelling, Dirk grabbed a rifle off the wall and went hobbling away on it until a Rotter brought him a cane.

  I’d never been particularly fond of dungeons. This one was miserable, with not a single window or place for ventilation. The air was thick with mold spores and I had to cover my mouth with a rag.

  Dirk wielded a torch and bid the warden to give us the keys to the cells. We navigated the dark tunnels, Dirk’s cane echoing each time it rapped against the stone. We came to a door with a tiny slot in the bottom of it. I unlocked it and Dirk fixed the torch into a holster in the corner of the room. Rex was inside. His uniform was rumpled and stank of piss. Someone had already given him a beating. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the socket dislocated.

  Dirk had the curved saber on his belt. He unsheathed it and handed it to me. Gazing upon the tear-shaped sapphires, my heart filled with fire.

  I never thought this moment would be laid at my feet in such a way. I sometimes fantasized about seeing that sword in battle and going after the man. I’d chase him down and tell him who I was and why I had come to kill him. This wasn’t anything like what I’d pictured. The Cerulean Knight was now shackled to a wall, degraded and abused.

  “You orphaned me,” I said to him, hoping the words might inspire my hate to flurry. All it did was remind me that killing him would not bring anybody back.

  Rex spoke to me in a dry, tired voice, “Every warrior has orphaned a child at some point in his career.”

  “Quiet, maggot,” said Dirk, striking him with his cane. “Take your vengeance as you please, Clikk. Do not kill him. He is to be tried for his crimes and I need time with him as well. I’ll be just outside.” He handed me the saber and left, closing the iron door behind him.

  Rex laughed weakly, his voice like a scythe scraping against brick. His face was vague in the torchlight, but he had the same pale skin and blue eyes of the knight who cut my throat.

  “Do you remember me?” I asked.

  “What’s wrong with your voice?”

  I lifted the torch from its holster and held it so he could see my scar.

  Rex laughed, but this time it sounded like he was crying too. “Oh my stars,” he whispered, gasping. “I do remember you. Oh… oh what was your name? Oh what did they call you? Little Rowena… Rosana?”

  This vengeance was hardly a gift. “So you do remember.”

  “Many of my little angels blur together, but I took you just after we killed the king. How could I forget my little blondie girl in Shale? Hadn’t seen a blonde for months until you came running out of that farmhouse. I remember how your father begged me to leave you be. I do regret he died without seeing us couple.”

  I told a certain narrative to Baker, the same narrative I repeated to myself until I believed it, but in trut
h my mother had died of illness during the drought leading up to the revolution. The crimes committed that day were the same, but the victim of outrage had been none other than the pitiful child called Ramona. I cut Rex’s cheek with the tip of his own sword. It was sharp, deliciously so. And it hurt him. He tried to hide it, but I could hear his teeth grit at the sting.

  “Ramona!” he exclaimed with abrupt laughter that reverberated in the cell. “Your name is Ramona.”

  “A name you will never forget again, I assure you.” I crouched before him. “Now I’ve had a long time to think about what I should do if I ever found you. I decided I should try and share with you the full torment of being forced. I could sodomize you, of course, use you up and leave you bleeding and humiliated, but your days are numbered and I shouldn’t want to rob you of the full experience. So I should gouge out your eyes with a hot spoon, cast you into darkness to show you what it is to never feel safe again in your own skin. I should fill your cell with rats, so they dig away at you in the night, burrow holes in your gut as you think of me, as you wonder if I’ll return, if I’ll kill you or if I’m watching you from the shadows, dreaming up new tortures to inflict in the morning. And you shall think of me until it drives you mad, for that solitary image of my face shall be seared into your mind’s eye and shall not cease to haunt you until you are dead in your grave.”

  Rex closed his eyes. “Do it then,” he said. “Do to me what you think is just.”

  I wanted to kill him, bestow my justice on his head for what he had done to me. It would be so easy. The trial didn’t matter.

  Let Dirk despise me for losing control in this cell and damn the consequences. Killing Rex might not bring anybody back, but at least it would satisfy the agony of hating someone all my life.

  I sheathed the saber. “Why bother?” I spat. “All these tortures combined cannot amount to my suffering, and frankly, it would give me no joy to harm anyone like that. I think I will leave you in this cell, let you feel the sting of being sentenced to death at your trial. Know this: I will see your sword dismantled. I will see you buried with no headstone and the world will forget you ever existed. In time, I will forget you too.”