by Jeramy Goble
Jularra scrambled back from the stage and shot to her feet. The music continued, though the musicians had ceased playing their instruments and began shaking as if laughing. Their torsos gyrated while their faces contorted in gaping guffaws, though no sound of laughter came from them.
The queen kept walking backwards. Her eyes remained locked on the group of musicians until she slammed into someone behind her. She whipped around and found another twisted face laughing silently at her. The music, still coming from an unknown source, continued to crescendo until it hurt her ears. Jularra fumbled around and bumped into others. She reached desperately past these familiar strangers, over their shoulders—reaching for what, she didn’t know. Her eyes started to water. She needed out, but as she reached the edge of the crowd, the columns began to melt.
Jularra started to sprint towards them, but the architecture was warping too quickly. She came to a stop after a short slide and froze in panic as the flawless marble melted together and seeped into the empty space between; whatever dimension that defined the area was becoming blurred, and only the courtyard inside the peristyle seemed to be navigable. She was trapped.
She flung her hands up, palms open and fingers stretched, wanting to test whatever was happening, but she couldn’t bring herself to focus. The music persisted, though faded down some. In its place, the crowded courtyard was now starting to make noise of its own. Within seconds, intimidating laughter from hundreds of people flooded her ears. The crowd’s noise conflicted abrasively with the continued music.
This isn't happening.
The queen turned deliberately. Though confusion and fear had monopolized her thoughts so far, she was finally able to think and consider. What was happening wasn’t reality. She knew someone—or something—was intentionally working to frighten her. She had to hurry. She had to work out what might be going on and who might be doing it. Her fear ebbed a bit at the thought of being able to confront the source.
Jularra continued to turn, taking in the perverted crowd which had surrounded her and closed in on her. Each face was mangled in malicious pleasure as they laughed, though none of the sounds seemed to be in sync with the people and their faces. As she searched the scene for something that would give her more information as to what was going on, she saw an odd figure moving through the crowd a few ranks back. The black form shifted up and down in size, never any higher than the shoulders of the person it was behind at any given moment. Jularra only saw hints of the black shape through the little slits of space between torsos and arms, but it started to weave closer to her. She didn’t know what it was, but she was ready to challenge it. She would not be afraid any longer. She took a deep, steadying breath, then leaned forward and started to march back towards the black figure.
Just before she reached the crowd, the black figure slid out from behind the closest person and revealed itself. The figure grew another foot in height and finished taking its shape.
The Voidwarden.
Jularra crashed back into her earlier state of panic and fear. She backed up a few steps before turning around and sprinting towards the melting perimeter once again. This time, she made no effort to stop and avoid contact with the dripping columns. She didn’t care. But just as a fresh burst of adrenaline rushed through her veins, she slammed into something—a physical barrier where the columns were melting. She bounced slightly from the impact and started to feel around for a way through as the wall continued to drip.
Nothing. There was nothing.
Left, then right, she slapped her hands all over the invisible barrier for ten feet in both directions, but she was trapped.
She backed away, still staring at the melting border, her eyes watering again. She turned around to face the Voidwarden again, only to suddenly catch sight of it in her periphery. She jumped and screamed—the creature was almost close enough to touch—and flung herself back against the melting wall.
“What an enchanting evening,” the Voidwarden commented softly. Its face was the only one in the courtyard not smiling. The rest of the mob continued to stare, their smiles fueled and arranged by some mechanism of the Voidwarden’s.
“This reminds me of so many other celebrations of victory,” it continued, flowing around the floor in slow circles. “So many ancestors of yours, so similarly pleased with themselves, enjoying the spoils of war.”
The Voidwarden’s voice continued meandering in the area between the queen and the possessed crowd.
“One celebration in particular springs to mind,” it said in an almost-innocent lilt. “The celebration of the triumph over the Nurudians. Though that party was held long ago—by the first in your line of predecessors, in fact—it is still to this day one of the most impressive displays of debauchery I can recall.”
The Voidwarden smiled and snorted as he remembered.
“And at this celebration, just like that one, and every one in between…”
The Voidwarden abruptly stopped, turned, and shot over to within inches of Jularra’s face.
“…I was not invited!”
As its anger pierced Jularra, hundreds of little appendages shot out from its center mass to penetrate her clothing and slide against her skin. Jularra instantly began to shiver. Her throat hardened from the desire to scream being simultaneously stifled by fear. Sadistic feelers danced across her clitoris and nipples. She felt even more of the evil extremities swirl across the small of her back and work their way up the scar along her spine. Jularra couldn’t help but register the initial sensation of sexual stimulation, and felt instant shame, then disgust, as a result. At the same time, the scar from her ceremony, so many years ago, felt as painful and fresh as it did when she received it. She was being humiliated again. Violated—again. She had no power at that moment.
“Rarely have I had to go to such efforts. Rarely have I had to remind a queen of Acorilan of her obligations.”
Jularra swallowed and forced some of the fear from her face. It can do whatever it wants to do with my body, she thought. It will not have my fear.
Its voice lowered, but the scratchy overtones remained. “Do not offer pitiful excuses, or feign ignorance of the time frame. The first of your line swore to me that each of her descendants would be forever in my service, and you know full well the terms of that agreement. The deadline to begin your compliance is approaching, and you do not appear, smell, feel, or taste as if you are expecting. I would suggest you work to rectify that, immediately.”
Jularra’s lip quivered. Her cheeks and eyelids twitched. She wanted to speak, but didn’t want her voice to break. She risked it.
“How do you know if I can even have children?” she asked. Her voice only gently trembled.
The Voidwarden sent a wave of movement through its numerous extremities, and brought them around to Jularra’s stomach. They then slid down to her waist, and then to her pelvic area.
“All you need is seed. It will grow,” it answered.
As the Voidwarden finished speaking, the black form retracted its hundreds of thin fingers and backed away from her. Though its shape was still nebulous, it started to take on the silhouette of a human form. The portion where its head should be formed a mouth. It joined in with the rest of the crowd, silently laughing. The mouth stretched and contorted to a revolting shape; the disgusting thing's laughter started to make noise, and with it, the volume of the crowd increased.
Jularra lost sight of the Voidwarden in the crowd just before blackness overcame her vision. Though she couldn’t see any longer, she felt the change in the arrangement of her body. As soon as she could register the thought that her eyes were closed, she popped them open. She had returned to her previous position of kneeling next to the musicians, who were once again holding their instruments. From what she could tell, she had been returned to reality. The waking nightmare had ended.
She breathed in deeply, but her chest shook. Jularra wanted to cry, but was distracted by one musician’s lingering, twisted smile. She stood up in defiance, but
as she did, the apparently oblivious musician shook the grin off and went back to playing. Still desperate to escape, Jularra swung around to inspect the rest of the scene. The columns, sky, ground, musicians, and frolicking crowd had all returned to normal. But the point had been made. It would be some time before she returned to normal.
Jularra’s mind evaporated. She lost feeling in her legs and started to sweat. She wiped her eyes and scanned the courtyard. Everyone looked familiar and alien all at once. She needed Korden. She just wanted to see him and hear him.
Stunned sober, she took off in a hobble and waded through the crowd. No one cared or noticed that anything was wrong. They hadn’t been shaken to the core, and their alcohol levels were managing just fine. Her stomach started to boil up. Vomit crested the top of her throat, but she kept it down. Jularra dipped and swerved, dodging some drinkers, clumsily banging into others. The few that did notice threw out a sincere apology at obstructing the queen, but their lowered inhibitions prevented them from caring more than that.
Before another belch of vomit could try to escape, she saw Korden a few feet away, holding a comrade’s blade and admiring the etching. She steadied herself as much as her panic would allow and walked over to him.
“Hi,” she said to Korden; then, with forced heartiness, “Oh, what a gorgeous blade!”
She looked back to Korden.
“I’d like to speak with you a moment.”
“Of course,” Korden obliged. He turned to his companion and returned his sword. “Beautiful craftsmanship! You’ll have to let me know what other kind of work he does.”
Korden’s friend nodded and slapped him on the back as he started off with the queen.
“I just needed to ask you something,” Jularra clarified, making every effort to keep up her stoic charade. She pointed at a room outside the peristyle. “Over here.”
The two of them made their way swiftly through the courtyard, only interrupted a few times with salutes and cheers. Jularra’s heart skipped a beat as they reached the outer courtyard perimeter—previously a melting, invisible wall—but they passed by the columns without trouble. About twenty paces later, they entered an open vestibule and faced out on to the party. The noise and music, while still loud, was now far easier to hear over. And much to the reassurance of Jularra’s emotions, a good portion of the light from the courtyard didn’t make it into the vestibule. Her eyes were free to water without fear of showing weakness—though if she were to show it, she would only ever allow Korden to see it.
“How much have you had to drink?” she asked.
He laughed and wrinkled his nose. “What?”
“How much?”
He brought his hands up in sober confusion, one pointing at the drink held in the other. “This is just my second. I’m quite behind, I’m afraid.”
“No, it’s just... I need to tell you something,” she said.
Korden let his hands drop. He tilted his head towards the light to try and catch her eyes.
Jularra swallowed and looked around, almost in disbelief that she had been released from the Voidwarden’s temporary grasp.
“It was here," she said hoarsely. "It was right here. The Voidwarden.”
Jularra’s voice cracked towards the end. Korden’s eyes grew wide as hers glistened with a curtain of fresh tears.
“I can’t believe it!" Korden glanced around in the darkness. He rubbed his chin, then his cheeks, and then let his arms drop. Why?” he asked. “Why now? Why here?”
Before Jularra could respond, Korden reached out for her. He cupped her face in his palm and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
“Forget it. It’s just me now,” he whispered, struggling to hold her gaze. “It’s just me here with you. Are you all right?”
Jularra let her focus fall from his face. Her vision blurred as she stirred her strength and came up with a spoonful. She looked back to him. Her eyes hadn’t let any tears fall, and they were drying.
“Yes,” she said in a whisper. She nodded a few times, if just to help convince herself. “Yes, I’m fine. I just can’t handle seeing that thing anymore.”
The realization slowly seeped in that the Voidwarden had indeed left the party. Jularra took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let her head roll once in a refreshing stretch. Feeling suddenly exhausted, Jularra stepped backwards and collapsed on to the only stone bench in the vestibule. She ran a hand through her hair.
Korden didn’t immediately follow. “What happened?” he wondered. “Did it say anything? Did it do anything to you?”
“It… altered my vision,” she said. Her hand waved in front of her face. “I saw some of the most revolting sights I’d ever seen. It was trying to scare me. It worked.”
Korden sat down next to her.
“It knew I wasn’t pregnant yet. It threatened me over how much time is left.”
She vaulted up from the bench and began pacing in a rage.
“Fuck, Korden! I’m running out of time, and I don’t want to fucking do it! I don’t want to die early, or enslave any child of mine to a future of the shit that comes with being an Acorilinian queen! Damn it!”
With each curse, Jularra slung her arms in various directions. Korden’s gaze fell to the ground as his eyes danced frantically about.
“We need a plan,” he blurted.
Jularra collapsed inside. The gate holding back her denial crumbled. Her mind started to resign to the truth, though her will scratched and resisted. She turned towards the courtyard but remained in the vestibule’s shadow, watching from a distance as her people sang, laughed, drank, and ate.
They’re safe. They have food, and a future. I can’t jeopardize that now.
Tears fell from her face, and she made no effort to prevent them as the Voidwarden's words climbed to the top of her mind.
All I need is seed.
Jularra slowly turned back to Korden. His face was worn from a despair she hadn’t seen in him before.
She stepped delicately over to him.
He sat silently, his face shifting from despair to a look Jularra knew well. It was a familiar expression of concern and love that she had seen thousands of times—going back to when she first emerged from the mountain as queen. She needed him now, just as she needed him then. But this was different.
She straddled his legs and slowly lowered herself onto his lap. Korden reached up and wiped her tears away with his thumb. She renounced her conscience and leaned in for a kiss.
Ten
The love that Korden and Jularra made left complex embers in their eyes which smoldered for weeks after the night of the party in Brinnock. Though most of the heat surged up from Korden’s heart, their subsequent conversations and interactions—while initially awkward—stoked the fresh flame of both their lust.
But distractions and obligations postponed any follow-up encounters. Jularra wrestled with her newly-evolved feelings for Korden, which were mixed up in the guilt she felt for using him the way she did. Any chance for them to discuss what transpired was constantly interrupted, and each day that passed after their sensual night was a restored brick in the wall that had been built between them over the years. They knew it, recognized it, but didn’t fault the other for it. It was just the way things were. The status quo would always be what defined their relationship, no matter how fervently they might wish otherwise.
The business of Acorilan and its newest territory monopolized their energy and attention for weeks after the successful annexation of the majority of Torguria. After remaining in Brinnock for a few days with a contingent of Bedrock and Spire, Jularra moved on to tour the neighboring towns and cities to collect a more thorough understanding of the spoils she'd won for her people.
After a month spent assessing and evaluating Brinnock with a newly installed magistrate, Jularra felt she had enough information to monitor and rule her new territory intelligently, and prepared to return to Morganon. She met with Korden before her final departure.
“We've re
ceived the final tallies,” Korden called from horseback.
Jularra stood next to her own horse, glanced at him, and then looked away again.
He trotted over to her and dismounted. “We should have enough supplies for our people as well as the Torgurians, and enough to sustain us while we work to rehabilitate our fields.”
When she still didn’t respond, he chuckled.
“What?” she said, distracted.
“Do you have any idea how much your face twitches when you’re thinking? Calculating?”
She registered Korden’s words even as she finished up a few other topics internally.
“Jularra?”
“Good! Plenty of supplies? Good,” she clipped cheerfully. “It was worth it. I’m so proud of our forces.”
Jularra hadn’t looked directly at Korden since he rode up. He leaned in and tried to catch her eye.
“Do you still doubt your decision to attack?”
Jularra shook her head, inadvertently frustrated that he couldn’t read her mind. “No, it’s not that. Not at all. This needed to be done.”
Korden leaned back and turned to his horse, squinting at the morning sun. “Is there something wrong?”
Jularra glanced at him before cutting back to a caravan of wagons carrying grain back to Morganon. “I went to see a piss prophet this morning.”
Korden looked down and shifted his weight while recollecting the term. Then he whipped his head up as Jularra looked straight at him for the first time.
“I’m fairly sure I’m pregnant.”
Jularra gave Korden time to reply, but he didn’t speak immediately. His mouth hung open while the rest of his face seemed frozen in place with no discernible expression. Biting her lip, Jularra squinted with silly curiosity at his frozen silence.