Silver Serpent

by Michael DeAngelo

  “And do you think this is what your wife would have wanted? To see you throw away your life in a pursuit of vengeance? In a way, you were doing a great deed by warning people about Ralek’s indiscretions. You made life miserable for him in a way that wasn’t hurting anyone but him and the people who chose to do poor work for him.

  “But everything you did today—in anger and rage—threw your good nature away. Have you not seen the destruction you’ve caused? Did you not hear the screams that rang out as you charged through brick and mortar and wood to catch that man?”

  Marcus bowed his head. “You’re right. I’m no better than he is now. All the good work I’ve done has meant nothing because I couldn’t move on from what he did. In a way, he’s still causing misery in my life. But it was me who tore through this city today. I’ve become everything I set out to put a stop to.”

  Kelvin drew closer to that well, hoping against hope the man was not playing him for a fool. “I cannot absolve you of your wrongdoings, but I can recognize what caused it. I have friends in high places, and I can see that justice—true justice—is done. You have my word Ralek will pay for his crimes. But you have to pay for yours as well. I will do everything I can to make sure the people who cast judgment know you have a good heart that was just misguided today.”

  “But I still have to go with the guards,” Marcus surmised.

  “Without violence,” the man in green confirmed.

  Marcus swallowed away his tension and gave a nod of understanding.

  Kelvin reached down and offered his hand.

  *****

  “A while back, your son learned my secret,” she confessed. “He discovered there was a difference between who I was during the daylight hours and who I became when night finally arrived in Argos.”

  Selene blew out an immense sigh and cast her gaze away from her friend.

  “I never intended for him to figure it out, but there was something about the young prince that gave him an opportunity to see me for who I really was more readily than I expected.”

  “The rings of gold,” Selene surmised.

  Marin arched an eyebrow. “You knew?”

  The queen passed a challenging gaze at her confidant. “I’m his mother. Of course I knew. And perhaps a part of me knew someday he would need to learn the things you could teach him. But I didn’t expect that time to be now.”

  “Nor I,” Marin said. “But that power of his—an enhanced sight—allows him to gaze into our world and see it for what it really is. Sooner or later, even if he wasn’t in my charge, Prince Kelvin would have discovered all the secrets Argos tries to hide.”

  “Not all, let’s hope,” Selene said.

  The Silver Serpent turned and looked at the empty pedestal where the Arcanax Compendium once sat. “That’s not all you should know about, Selene.” She watched her friend challenge that familiarity with an arched eyebrow and a weary grin. “Your son’s powers—I think they grew stronger when the aurora washed over the city. He could see a calamity unfolding in the distance, and I could not. Even with his sight, I wouldn’t have expected him to see that far.”

  “And is that where he is now?”

  Marin bowed her head. “We were involved in a fight with the Brotherhood yesterday. The prince saved me before I was completely overwhelmed, but my leg was injured during my escape. I couldn’t stop him today before he headed off to see what was developing in the city.”

  “Your prince—your future king—could be out there dying, and you came here to confirm something I could have found out for you?”

  Marin’s head sank farther, and she offered a meager nod.

  “Tell me he’s at least wearing a costume,” the queen said as she slid up against the adjacent wall.

  “Someone else taught him to sew, not me,” the Silver Serpent said. “But he’s disguised well enough, I believe. He’s wearing more green than I would have expected, but it’ll suffice.”

  “I hope you trained him well.”

  “I should be out there,” Marin said.

  “The Silver Serpent doesn’t work in the light,” Selene said.

  “No, but the Emerald Adder apparently does.”

  “The Emerald Adder?”

  Marin smiled and clapped her hands together. “I’ll try to get him to change some things about his secret identity.”

  As her friend shuffled down the corridor toward the exit, Selene took in a deep breath. “There’s something I think you should know.” When Marin turned, it was the queen’s turn to gaze at the space where the Arcanax Compendium once sat. “I think that tome is what gave Kelvin his power in the first place. I remember it well, the first time I saw that glint of gold in his eyes. He was still young then, but not so young that we didn’t have someone else to compare him to.”

  “You had already sent Helios to train with Icarus,” Marin surmised.

  “And he never developed the powers his brother did. With Kelvin living just over top of one of the most powerful, magical artifacts we’ve ever discovered, it’s no surprise he absorbed some of its essence.”

  “Kelvin was a vessel for its magic,” the Silver Serpent realized. “And when it was stolen and activated, he had already been primed to receive its power.”

  Selene nodded. “By the time the waves came rolling in, the floodgates were already open. It’s most certainly changed him, if he’s gained dominion over his powers.”

  “You’re right,” Marin said. “He’s already acting more confident. But maybe it’s not him we have to worry about. We’ve known about people with powers for decades, at least. The Strain is a gift some are just born with. What if other people in Argos are willing recipients of the magic from the compendium as well?”

  “Then let us hope that more of them than not have the good of our fair city in mind as they receive their new gifts.”

  *****

  The golden halo around his eyes glowed again as he peered down that long stretch of road. His gaze landed on a distant building, and he realized he had activated those powers.

  Kelvin recoiled, pulling his vision back to normal. He didn’t care who saw him using his powers when he was in the green ensemble. Out of his costume and back in his noble attire, however, he reminded himself that he should remain vigilant in hiding his gifts.

  The prince shook his head and looked down at the envelope in his hand. It was written out to the new constable, and its instructions were clear: A corrupt construction foreman was to be removed from his position, and his work was to be investigated. Barring any twists in the case, Ralek was to be imprisoned for his crimes, including negligent homicide.

  “I’ll do my part, Marcus,” the lad whispered.

  *****

  Gerard noticed how eerie it was in the city at that moment. He was the only one present, as far as he could see, with the exception of the woman in the fountain, as the folks of that district had called her.

  The resemblance to the other woman was uncanny. She was killed in much the same way, the constable assumed. Her lips were blue, her eyes dark, and her skin covered in an odd luster. Somehow, she seemed at peace there, floating in the fountain.

  Gerard hadn’t moved her. Instead, he sat upon a bent knee just beside the stone wall that made up that source, scrutinizing every facet of the place, and the unfortunate soul who had been left there.

  Some things that were apparent at once were the ropes that were lashed to the woman’s arms and legs. They were bound to her limbs, but not tied off anywhere, as far as he could tell. Yet somehow, she had been deposited into the fountain in the middle of the day, in one of the city’s busier districts, and no one had stepped forward to announce anything odd.

  “I see we have another one,” the constable heard. He looked over his shoulder to see the familiar cart rolling his way. The old coroner urged his horse to stop and hopped down from the driver’s seat. “This one is getting a bit braver, isn’t he? She must have been dropped off in broad daylight.”

  Gerard
furrowed his brow at that thought. The killer had, in fact, been more brazen with that one. How could none of the residents of that district see the man who was depositing the poor drowning victims?

  “I think it’s more important that we realize what we’re seeing here,” the constable said. “We aren’t just dealing with a man who gave into a crime of passion. This second death, with so many similarities, can’t be discounted. We’re dealing with a serial killer—in Argos, of all places.”

  “So this fellow likes to drown women, does he?” the coroner asked.

  “Beautiful women, it looks like.”

  “Eh?”

  Gerard shrugged. “Look at her. She’s gorgeous.”

  The coroner arched an eyebrow. “She’s ordinary. The only thing different about her than most women is the discoloration of her skin, eyes, and lips. There’s nothing special about this one except that she’s drowned. Here, help me get her out of there.”

  Without hesitation, the constable plunged his hands into the water and curled his arms under her back and legs. As he pulled the woman free, he could feel his heart beating faster and harder once more.

  Chapter Three: Cries of the Banshee

  Heavy, quick steps led him into that tiled room. A second pair of boots followed, and the door slammed behind them.

  “A little privacy, please?” the lad demanded. “This is a restroom.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, Son,” the older fellow bade. “You didn’t come in here to relieve yourself. You came in here to vent your frustrations to a mirror. Well, we’re here for a reason. I won’t have you distracted by that…that harlot!”

  His son’s eyes narrowed as his face turned red. “Well, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, Father. After all, there’s nothing more important to the great Raymond Bellweather than his reputation, is there?”

  His father huffed at the tone he was hearing. “King Nathaniel has always been good to our family. Meanwhile, you’re allowing all your attention to fall on Lucrecia Conti, the daughter of a house that has tried many times to rob us of our riches and our standing in Argos.” His son prepared to speak again, and Raymond furrowed his brow at the sight of those boiling emotions. “Measure your next words carefully, Charles.”

  The lad did as told, taking in a deep breath that steadied him. “The shame of her family’s actions should fall on her father’s head, not hers.”

  Finally, the patriarch collected his bearings. “Fine. You’re right. I should not be so judgmental. Lucrecia hasn’t done anything to earn my contempt yet. But that does not change the fact that we are here for a reason.”

  “You don’t think her voice was good enough for the King’s celebration?”

  “My son, I fear my own opinion may have been tainted by my feelings for her father. Yours may be corrupted by what you see when you look at her. Regardless, we are not the only judges here.”

  “And they didn’t think much of her either,” Charles sighed. “Very well. I’ll set aside my own opinion of her for the sake of this celebration. Let’s get out there and find someone worthy of the King’s attention.”

  Raymond clapped his son on the shoulder. “There’s my boy. Go wash up, and we’ll head back out there with clearer heads.”

  His son heeded those instructions, making his way to a sink against that nearby wall. He turned the tap and caught water in his hands. A splash to his face had his skin cooling considerably, and he expelled one final, deep breath. Raymond appeared by his side and offered a towel. When Charles was done drying his face, he looked into that mirror and arched his eyebrow at the sight of his reflection.

  The odd occurrence he saw was not lost on his father.

  “Charles, you’re bleeding.”

  That blood came from the lad’s ears, just pouring past his coppery blond hair, and he was confused by the sight of it. He hadn’t brought the towel anywhere near that side of his head, yet that red liquid poured down his jaw.

  All at once, he gnashed his teeth together and bent at his back and knees. He brought his hands to his ears, grimacing with his eyes clenched shut.

  Raymond was left to stare at his son in horror as an unspeakable, unexplainable pain washed over him. As the wealthy patriarch reached out to his child, Charles fell to the ground, bringing his knees to his chest by reflex alone.

  It stopped as abruptly as it had started. Charles opened his eyes, took in a few sharp breaths, and blinked away his stupor, narrowing his gaze as he struggled against the light. The room seemed to wobble to and fro, and he put his hand on the ground to stabilize himself.

  “What just happened?” his father asked.

  Charles brought his hand to his mouth, stifling the sudden nausea building up in his stomach and throat. When Raymond offered assistance, his son waved him away.

  The Bellweather patriarch couldn’t ignore that feeling of helplessness then. He rose from beside his son and looked at that sink, where the water still flowed. Approaching it as if it was a horrid beast, he scrutinized the liquid, intent on discovering if it was to blame.

  A growl accompanied Charles as he rose. He rolled and sat upon his knees, holding his head and blinking away the odd spasms that ran rampant in his body. “That was the strangest sensation I’ve ever had,” he finally said.

  Raymond turned the knob at the sink, silencing the water. “Are you all right now?” he wondered.

  “What?” the lad asked. He turned to his father, squinting through the remaining discomfort.

  “We should get you out of here,” Raymond said. “The other judges can handle the rest of the auditions. We’ll have our songstress yet, but I fear you wouldn’t hear a single lyric.”

  As his father helped him to his feet, Charles shifted his jaw from side to side. It didn’t help to stabilize his hearing, though, nor did shaking his head or tilting it one way or another.

  It was silent in the auditorium of that old music house. The singing had stopped, and Raymond couldn’t even hear the other men who judged those aspiring sirens and their talents. As he rounded the corner, Lord Bellweather understood what had brought silence to the music house.

  All three of the other judges lay dead in their seats, slumped atop the table where they took their notes or hanging limply out of their chairs. Against his better judgment, he inched toward the closest fallen man and noted a peculiar sight: blood dripping from that man’s ears.

  “What is it, Father?” Charles asked. After he spoke, he cocked his head to one side, still unable to hear himself clearly. He arrived in the auditorium then as well and understood what worried his father so.

  *****

  He had never seen it that rowdy in the hideout beneath the tavern. Thoro kept his head down as he crossed the room, but those men roared and cheered. All full of bluster, he heard praise more than once for the absent mastermind of many of their plans. Jerrod was a hero to them, it seemed, even though he had sacrificed a handful of them to the Silver Serpent several days before.

  The lad squared his jaw, aware he was among those left out in the cold. He kept his attention forward, aiming for the only place that truly felt like a sanctuary to him. A bright smile was upon his face as he found a true companion inside as well. He entered Brielle’s room and shut the door behind him.

  As one door closed, another opened. Jerrod laughed and cheered with the leaders of the Brotherhood but offered them privacy a moment later. With the closing of that door, he threw his fist into the air.

  “Who here is overcome with joy at the prospect of more gold from the pockets of those greedy bastards out there in their manors and their castles?” As Jerrod weaved between tables in that basement tavern, a great cheer rang out, agreeing with that notion. “And who here has felt more alive than ever?” Another round of applause confirmed his speculation, and more than one fellow cried out for a salute to the Magician. He brought up his hands then, placating the crowd—his crowd. “And who wants to see just how far we can take this?”

  Before they could
cheer again, a flame burst to life in and around his hand. He gave out a hearty cry, though he stood sentinel there, without pain coursing through his body. His eyes grew wide and wild, and he waved his other arm in front of the ignited one, and the crowd gasped as flames and flesh alike disappeared.

  Jerrod wore a devilish grin as he lunged forward. On the other side of that room, a ring of fire suddenly appeared, though it did not damage the room’s wooden foundation.

  “Just over a week ago, we stormed the castle of that so-called noble king, Nathaniel Drakos. We stole a relic of untold power from right under his nose, and with the leader’s permission, I activated it that night. You’ve seen the powers it has given me, have you not?”

  Cheers and whistles echoed in the room.

  “A great and fantastic rumor flew to my ears this evening,” Jerrod continued. “I was not the only one so blessed with this gift. There are others in Argos who could be touched by the relic’s power. It could be any of you! As you go through your day, try to feel the power coursing through your veins. You are a member of the Brotherhood, and the power is yours to take. We shall find other allies to our cause; before long, this whole damned city will be ours!”

  Some of those men of the Brotherhood leapt from their seats, celebrating his speech. Others were drawn to the ring of fire, where smaller flames illuminated visions of an empowered guild that could not be stopped.

  He sat on the bed, facing the far wall. Thoro knew it was just wood and stone beyond there, but there was something liberating about imagining what was even farther.

  Brielle clicked her tongue, wrenching him from his thoughts. “Do you hear them in there? You’d think he was a deity to them—the second coming of Mathias. All he did was hear a rumor about some item from a guard in the castle, and now they’re ready to elect him as the fourth leader.”

  “Zealots, all of them,” Thoro said. “They didn’t suffer with those of us who took the fall for them. But sooner or later, Jerrod will throw more of the Brotherhood to the wolves. He talks about Nathaniel as if he wouldn’t ascend to that same level if given the opportunity. All he cares about is power.”