by LV Lewis
The survivors of both explosions are recovering as she reaches the machine, and beginning a suicide run towards her position. Surveying the cavern, Amarie sees she is separated from all her other allies now. Her life is now in the hands of the only two elves that dedicated themselves to her.
“Protect me as long as you can. If they get too close, be sure to switch to melee. Don’t try and get cute with your bows,” Amarie commands.
I’m ordering them to die. She can feel as much in her stomach.
Amarie can’t afford to worry about that, either. The machine must be her focus. Only a foot away, the knives whirl in dangerous circles. Knowing she can’t attack the machine itself, she tries to find a way to circumvent its inherent protections. Remembering that Corilynn is at the center, Amarie begins to wonder how she can extract her friend, if that would be enough to shut down the whole thing, and whether doing so would kill the sprite. She thinks back to the goblin Musashan had brought to her and Gary, and the creature’s warning. Erihstoll seemed worried that Amarie would get to this point. What did she have that is so dangerous to the machine? It’s certainly not knowledge of how it works.
Her mind, processing her thoughts, those of her father, and all the kings and queens before him, reels with possibilities and theories, but none of them seem logical. The answer smacks her with the force of an actual blow. Erihstoll wasn’t worried about her knowledge; he worried about her willingness to try anything. He worried about her not looking at his machine in a logical manner. The answer becomes horribly clear.
I have to sacrifice myself. I have to take every chance.
Choke
Queen Amarie Vanyarin stands before the maw of a hellish machine. Spreading her arms wide, she says nothing as she throws herself to the mercy of gnashing knives. She feels them cutting her apart, feels the warmth of blood as it spills from a thousand cuts, sizzling on overheated metal. She hears herself scream as pain catches up to her consciousness, watches as her bodyguards look back in horrified non-understanding. The taste of copper invades her tongue, refusing to let go, coating her mouth and causing her to choke. The machine continues gnashing. Nothing slows down. Blackness encroaches the peripheral of her vision. Why is she still alive? Will the device not allow her to die? Was she wrong? Her vision grows dimmer, but she fights. She must find the reason why she wasn’t supposed to find this damnable contraption. Her sacrifice must be worthwhile. It must . . . but utter emptiness settles over her soul before she can make good on her word.
***
A lone voice wafts across the void. At once encompassing, yet non-intrusive, the voice begs to be ignored while demanding to be heard. Is this me? she wonders, not yet understanding who, or what, she is. The void surrounding her is a vast nothing, but so insular it strangles her. Information begins invading the void, so much at once that it hurts. She can’t make sense of anything. Still yet, that lone voice crisscrosses her horizon of understanding.
Slowly, the information transforms into digestible, autonomous items: memories, ideas, hopes, fears, and even love. She begins to take shape in the void. First, just a silhouette, but soon details emerge. Eyes, mouth, arms, legs, ears, fingers, and all the other bits and pieces that she once was. The voice drifts back to her, and she understands the words even through the buzzing surrounding it.
Will you talk with me? I have been alone a long time.
“Yes. I am Amarie Vanyarin. Who are you?”
I am beyond the realm of name or distinction. The only name you might know me by is The Beam, a distinction given to me by many in my care. Tell me, why are you here?
“I’m afraid you’re hurting my loved ones, and many more whom I may not know, but love nonetheless. I came here to stop the machine. Do you know of what I speak, and can you stop its function?”
I know the machine. It is the first time I have manifested in the physical realm of my own will. However, that form does only my original function, which is to be The Beam. I carry no impulse to affect the realm. Only you, and those like you who can manipulate me, can cause any kind of effect outside of The Beam’s continued existence.
“I want to believe you, but your physical form has been given a function, possessing several beings who are then hurting my people for . . . political power. Which seems quite beneath you. Do you happen to know who managed this feat?”
My physical manifestation has existed for millennia, a toy to play in. As I said, only one of your ilk can give it a specific purpose. I care nothing for politics, nor the pain brought upon your loved ones. I cannot begin to understand such concepts. Just to speak with you, I must disintegrate your existence and rebuild it within the Beam. If something found my manifestation in your realm, they would need only manipulate it as they would any other effect your kind conjure. It would appear something has done this.
Amarie senses, more than hears, a hesitance in the entity surrounding her. There’s more information available, and it’s trying to hide what it knows. If it tells the truth, and is merely a manifestation of the Beam itself, then she should be able to use magic to manipulate it to tell the truth. Allowing herself to touch the Beam directly would normally kill her, but Amarie understands she is not the physical being she used to be. She is already in the Beam. She sends her mind outward, melding herself to the Beam. There is resistance, a sudden repugnance that attempts to break her connection, but Amarie presses forward, and the void opens up to her eyes, and she begins to understand part of her host’s hesitance.
Out of the void, a single color appears, creating shapes in duotone, using the void as, Amarie is guessing, shadows. Understanding the forms takes her some time, and when she figures them out, she gasps. Rows upon rows of Metas and Humans sit staring blankly in one direction, held in an egg-shaped placeholder. Amarie comes to the realization she is only looking at manifestations of the prisoners’ minds. This leads her to the conclusion that this entity within the Beam is studying how these creatures work, to some extent. A physical manifestation of magic is studying how creatures use magic. The loop is difficult to contemplate, but Amarie forces herself to hold onto it.
“You’re trapping creatures in your toy, to study them. Is it because we spend so much time studying . . . you?”
Your mind is an incredible thing, Amarie Vanyarin. I have concluded, however, that I do not appreciate the sense of touch. Will you please stop so I may promptly forget such a disgusting feature of physicality?
“Yes, I will. As soon as you release all these prisoners. They were never meant for you, and the time has arrived for you to let them go.”
I refuse your offer. Each mind is a blade on my machine, protecting my physical manifestation from direct contact. However, I will instead give you the name of the creature manipulating me from the machine. I will also release you, so you may then stop its manipulations. I want no more contact with either of you.
“You’re holding on to my lover. My true love. So no, you will not refuse my offer. If you dislike direct contact with me, you will accept my offer, release me, and give me the name of the creature manipulating your manifestation. Only then will you be left alone once more.”
You think to manipulate an entity greater than you with such brashness?
“If you’re The Beam, then I’ve been manipulating parts of you since I was two years old. So yes, I do believe I will manipulate you with brashness. You said yourself that is your purpose. If I must accept my place in the cosmos, that of a mortal shell containing a scary amount of information I can’t even digest at one time, then you must accept your place—a tool to be used by mortals, not a full entity that studies those that would use that tool. It’s either that, or I stay melded directly to you for what I’m willing to bet is an infinite amount of time.”
I will lose my blades, my protection. There will come a time when another creature finds me. When it does, there will be nothing stopping it from ending existence as you know it.
“You can always get rid of this physical manifestatio
n. That ends the threat.”
I will not. Your brashness convinces me that such a possibility needs to exist. There needs to be a chance for a redux. For the time being, your demand is met. Goodbye, Amarie Vanyarin.
“You haven’t given me the name of who is manipulating your manifestation now.”
The void shudders around her, a clear sign of irritability.
A goblin by the name of Doug Sied. Now, release me from your hellish touch.
Amarie’s eyes go wide; she was still expecting Erihstoll to be named. Who is Doug Sied? However, she does as bidden, bringing her mind back into herself. Doing so makes her feel tiny in comparison, as though she were a galaxy, now being squeezed into a child’s doll. Perhaps, she hears, you are not far from the truth.
***
Gary’s eyes roll into the back of his head. When they come back down, he feels as though a fog has been lifted from his mind. Trying to get his bearings, he watches the machine’s blades disappear, and the image of Amarie forms amongst them without being hurt. She looks haunted, but otherwise unscathed. Attempting to move toward her, an arrow sears the air and lodges into his left side. Grunting, he falls to his knees.
“Hold off! Stop firing, everybody!” Amarie screams.
Rushing to Gary’s side, she tries to smile at him but manages only a grim smirk. Looking him over, she finds seven arrows buried in as many different places. Suddenly glad she ordered her guards not to kill him, she ignores his pain and throws her arms around him.
“Why am I always saving you? Aren’t you supposed to be guarding me?” she asks.
Amarie doesn’t wait for his reply. Her lips encase his, sharing gratefulness and fear in how she bites down on him and refuses to let him go. He accepts the pain, licking at the edges of her mouth and sucking back on her lips. She pushes hard enough against him to topple him over. He laughs through the new pains, and remembers to put his arms around her and squeeze for all he’s worth.
Around them, a general confusion mills about. A large number of bodies litter the rocks, and everyone knows that an explanation will have to come from somewhere. Soon, all eyes are on the couple, demanding that they be the ambassadors to Ama Seldova. Gary gives a questioning look to Amarie, and she nods. Yes, they will explain today’s massacre; everything except the machine. Nobody else needs to be aware of its existence.
“Gary. I have to shield the machine. It’s not a danger anymore, but if somebody else finds it, the problems in the Complex start all over again. At the same time, we need to find a goblin named Doug Sied. He gave this thing its directives.”
Corilynn steps out from the machine looking fatigued and destabilized, but unharmed. “I can help with that. He’s my boss.”
“Corilynn!”
Amarie unhooks herself from Gary and rushes her friend. Sydney is not far behind. Gary smiles at the three reunited girls as they hug and ask questions at the same time. His job is almost done, with one last detail left to clean up before Amarie is well and truly safe. However, his journey to ensuring she is, and remains, happy is only just beginning. He’s lucky to be on this path, fortunate to be alive, and grateful for the renewed chance Amarie is giving him.
With a moment to look himself over, Gary begins feeling the many pains that torture his body. His left arm is ruined thanks to an arrow, now broken, planted solidly into bone. Of course, the recent arrow in his left side, which he takes a moment to pull out, hoping it hadn’t pierced anything vital. Outside of searing pain, the exiting projectile leaves no death-deserving wound. Six more arrows pock-mark his body, none of which are life-threatening. Gary comes to the conclusion that Amarie’s bowmen weren’t looking to kill him. The only reason for that would be if she ordered it. Damn, he loves that woman.
Amarie breaks away from Corilynn to check on him as he pulls the last arrow. Blood is staining more of him than not, but Gary moves with only hints of the pain he is really in. She wants to chide him for trying to be manly, showing off how strong and independent he is, but all she can really do is respect the warrior spirit within him. Sure, training taught him how to handle pain, but the willingness to do so is a magic all its own.
Taking his hand, she leads him back down to the ground. Gary wonders if Amarie feels guilty for healing him rather than the plethora of bodies scattered around. Then again, if she can’t use her magic for herself, at least sometimes, what is the point? The process is cleaner and quicker than the first time. Amarie looks more grown up, he realizes, like a weight is placed on her shoulders. Even so, she does not seem crushed, nor ready to falter. If anything, she appears far more prepared to take on whatever gets thrown at her. Of course, he might just be admiring her form in the tight-fitting armor, who knows?
He’s also trying to figure out the sword he’s been holding. Being in the military, facing off against Metas, he did receive some training with basic weapons, including swords and knives. Even Human technology advanced beyond such basic blades, however, and he never specialized with them. Why then, is he holding this weapon now?
Each wound Amarie seals up causes Gary to grunt a little, but the pain is far less than he remembers, and there is no echoing pain afterwards. Amarie kisses him again, then stands up to look over her two bowmen.
Still worrying over his sword, Gary surveys the battlefield in detail. The Nighters have surrendered, laying down whatever weapons they might have been holding. Whatever corruption had held sway over him seems to be gone, and the same seems true of the creatures making up his former army. Amarie’s side appears to have suffered the heaviest loss in the goblin sections. The fairies all look to be okay, and efficient in leading the cleanup efforts.
“Amarie?”
“Yes, my love?”
“How did you get the fairies to come with you? Hadn’t Erihstoll all but ruined your position in their eyes?”
Amarie smiles wickedly, “Apparently, an Elven Queen is by far a scarier creature than the Kings they are used to. I gave them little in the way of choices.”
“Queen now? Wow. So if we got married . . . ”
“You’d be my Human mate, but no elf worth their salt will call you King, love. Well, I might, if you’re good to me.”
“Oh, I’ll be good to you. Most of the time.”
Gary sees a flicker of anger on one bodyguard’s face. Oh, you’re gonna have to grow up a bit around us, boy. Out loud, he is more diplomatic.
“No reason to get up in arms about my words. I’ll always treat her right, and if I don’t, then you are much better than me in combat. With a bow, anyway.”
“Are you inviting me to kill you then?” the bowman asks.
“I’m telling you to come find me when you’re ready to tell me I’m doing wrong.”
“Gary,” Amarie says.
“I’m not gonna have to look over my shoulder every time we lie down for the night. He, and anybody else that has a problem with our relationship, needs to grow the fuck up. It’s not my job to worry about his feelings,” Gary replies.
“You’re right love, it isn’t. However, is it smart to encourage violence between you and my own people? Don’t say yes. That said,” she faces the offended bowman, “I can also send you off the Complex for any reason I desire. I wish to love that man, a Human. Will you protect me, and by extension, him, or will you openly snicker and deride your Queen?”
Whoa. Now I understand how she became an ambassador of the Complex, Gary thinks. The bowman looks at the ground, clearly ashamed of his words. Amarie grabs the bowman by the chin, and forces him to look back into her eyes.
“Well?”
“I will protect my Queen, and by extension, anybody she holds dear, with my life. Forgive me please, Queen Amarie.”
Even Gary can see he means every word. Sometimes, it’s easy to switch on the light bulb in somebody’s head. Other times, in times coming up, it won’t be so easy. Amarie won’t have as much sway over every heart, and Gary certainly won’t. He makes a promise in his heart to work every day not to make
their relationship harder on her, even in the ever-shifting political arena. The bowman was wrong to smirk, but Gary was also wrong by not thinking ahead. Well, she’s worth everything, not just everything that’s easy. Gary walks up to the bowman, places his hand out in offering.
“Thank you for your dedication to your Queen. We’ll both work to keep her safe, can we agree on that?”
The bowman nods and takes Gary’s hand. “Yes, sir. We will.”
Amarie interrupts with a hurried call, “Go, I need you two to find Doug Sied. Quickly, the Complex isn’t safe, and neither am I, until he is in custody. Gary, do they need special permission to make such an arrest?”
“No. But if anybody makes a big deal of it, I’ll use my contacts in the Climintra to ensure they can’t be charged or sent off the Complex.”
“Good. Now go, and grab at least two of the fairies to help. Doug Sied is priority one as of now.”
“Yes, Queen!”
“I should go, too, Amarie. I do not want him finding you before we find him.”
“Aww, you’re sweet with the whole ‘I’ll protect you’ bit. But I said priority number one. We’re both chasing him down. He killed my father and the Circle of Elders, and most of the elves left on the Complex. You don’t get to take this away from me, no matter how much I love you.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
“First, I have to hide the machine, it won’t take long,” Amarie promises.
She allows the whispers of knowledge to come front and center of her mind to determine the best possible spell for hiding the dangerous artifact before her. She also needs to wipe the memory of the machine itself from everybody present, making the required charm more complicated than she is capable of on her own. From her perspective, it feels like her mind is a table that several people, including her father, are sitting at, discussing possibilities and ways to enact what she is requesting from them.