The Shattered Shards

by Stephen J Wolf

  “I won’t. Don’t make me.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  * * *

  “Mother, what is it?” Kitalla asked, her hands pressed to her noticeably expanded belly. “You’re an absolute wreck.”

  Distraught, the woman grabbed her hair, tugging wildly. “We will have to get you out of here, that’s all. Yes, that has to be it. There isn’t time, Kitalla. Go, go!”

  “Mother, will you please explain? Why are you in such a panic?”

  “The mayor,” the woman gasped. “He is out of his mind, Kitalla. I have held him off for as long as I can but time is running out.” She moved away from her daughter and started rummaging through their belongings, completely unfocused in her search.

  Kitalla stepped forward and grabbed her mother, turning her around. “Please stop, you’re making me nervous. What is it?”

  Tears streamed from the woman’s eyes. “The mayor. He has… wanted you for some time now. I’ve distracted him for as long as I can—”

  Realization set in. “Wait, mother! You haven’t—”

  The pain was obvious. “I wouldn’t let him touch you, Kitalla. It didn’t matter if he used me, not if it kept you safe.”

  “Mother!”

  “But now, now he’s decided to take you anyway. He is perverse. He has a greater interest in a woman with child. You must go, Kitalla. You must.”

  Kitalla steadied herself, finding an inner strength she didn’t know she had. “Mother, let’s both go. We’ll be free of this terrible place. We’ll go. Come on.”

  “I don’t know that I can.”

  In the end, they did, with Joral, who first tried to talk them out of fleeing, but then refused to let them go alone. They escaped during the night and sought refuge in the nearby forest. None of them had ever been pursued before, and so they were unprepared for what awaited them. Guards rushed into the forest, waking them in a panic and spurring them to run. Joral propelled Kitalla onward faster, but Kitalla’s mother didn’t have the strength. She fell and was promptly killed. Kitalla screamed but Joral pushed her forward. She wrenched herself out of his grip and spun around, a fire raging in her eyes. Daggers flew from her hands, taking down the unsuspecting guards in seconds.

  “What have you done?” Joral gasped.

  “Mother!” Kitalla cried, running over to her mother’s body. It was too late. The light had already left her eyes and all ties to Kitalla’s family were gone.

  “K—Kitalla, please. W—We can’t stay here.” Joral nervously retrieved her daggers and dragged her from the scene.

  * * *

  “Stop,” she begged weakly. “No more, please. Please.”

  But the voices were resolute. “You’re nearly there.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You will.”

  “No…” she whimpered.

  * * *

  Kitalla and Joral were pursued relentlessly. The mayor was enraged not only over the loss of his servant and his intended plaything, but also at the insult he received at the loss of his guards. The longer the hunt continued, the heavier Kitalla became with her child, and soon the mayor decided to join the pursuit himself, racing forth on the fastest horse he could procure from his citizens.

  With only weeks before the child’s birth, they were finally overtaken. Kitalla was vomiting in the woods and they didn’t hear the approaching men. Soon they were surrounded and there was nothing they could do as they were each pressed against a tree. Even Kitalla’s daggers were useless as the guards bore large shields and thick leather armor, not that she was particularly focused.

  The mayor rode in, cackling wildly. He was a short, overweight man with frayed white hair on the sides of his head. He slipped off his horse and strode forward, ready for his conquest. He made lewd gestures toward Kitalla, who was now tied to her tree, standing over her lost breakfast. Stalking forward, he pulled one of her own daggers from her pocket and he used it to cut through her clothing.

  “Leave her alone!” Joral shouted, but the mayor only laughed.

  “Be sure he can see this.”

  Joral thrashed about and tried to pull himself free. Kitalla screamed but there was nothing she could do. With a violent rage, Joral wrenched one hand free and used it to knock out the guard watching him. He freed his other hand and staggered forth with the binding around his feet. The other guards laughed at his struggle. The mayor finished his deed and turned, knocking Joral to the dirt and pressing his foot against the young man’s face.

  He thrashed around and freed himself, but the mayor scooted out of his reach. Joral immediately went to Kitalla’s side, trying to pull her torn clothing over her body. “I’m so sorry,” he wept.

  “We’ll… get through this,” she breathed.

  He drew strength from her, secretly taking one of her daggers and folding it into his palm. He nodded his head and he turned, eying the mayor with malice. “You had your fun. Leave us.”

  The mayor laughed raucously. “After that look of horror on your face? I may take you both back just to repeat the whole experience!”

  “Y—you wouldn’t,” Joral said.

  “Guards!” the mayor replied, raising his hand haphazardly into the air.

  Joral panicked, throwing his hand out and sending the dagger through the air. The sharp blade sliced the mayor’s cheek, enraging him at the audacity.

  “No!” Kitalla cried, watching from her imprisonment as the mayor unleashed a hideous roar and raced toward Joral, fists flying. The young man fell, clutching his face. But the mayor didn’t bother to finish him off. One of the guards came in and restrained Joral as the mayor strode back to Kitalla.

  “Such impudence, denying me. Thinking you can better me. You are pathetic and worthless.”

  “No, I beg you,” Kitalla pleaded. “Let us go. We will flee. You’ll never hear from us again.”

  The mayor hesitated, seeming to consider.

  But at the same time, Joral brought his hands back sharply into his guard’s belly, stunning him. “Kitalla!” he said, coming forward. “I promised I would protect you.”

  Kitalla’s sudden scream was ear-piercing. Joral raced forward as quickly as his tied feet would let him, but the mayor stepped aside, laughing wildly. “Too late!” he crooned in a sing-song voice, moving away so the young man could see the results.

  It took a moment for Joral’s eyes to focus. All he saw was blood pouring from Kitalla’s belly. Her binds were cut and she collapsed, clutching her stomach desperately, but knowing it was fruitless. “The baby,” she wept. “The baby.”

  “N—no!” Joral called out, reaching for her.

  “And to think,” the mayor chortled. “I was about to give you your freedom until you wrenched yourself free there. Tsk. Tsk.”

  Kitalla looked at Joral with fading eyes. “You failed me,” she murmured, clutching her stomach.

  “K—Kita—” he started, but never finished, for the mayor brought a sword down and slew him.

  She watched as the light left his eyes and all her hopes for the future died.

  Slowly, she focused in on the mayor, who was talking to his guards. “Patch her up and leave her there. Let her carry that corpse to term and remember that I am the power here.”

  She felt hands pulling her belly together and wrapping poultices around her. She let them, but only because she didn’t know how to do so herself. Yet once they were done, her hands flashed out and three guards splattered to the ground. Moments later, even the mayor lay dead.

  She couldn’t look at Joral’s body. He had failed her. Worse than that, she had failed not only him and her mother but also their baby. She knew it was dead inside of her. Every dream she had ever had faded away, horribly and terribly lost forever.

  Chapter 16

  Crystal Chamber

  Randler’s Trial was nothing like Kitalla’s. He didn’t relive any old memories or experience any emotional torment. Instead, he was trapped in a crystalline room, hexagonal in shape with poin
ted apex and floor, and with no memory of who he was. His feet slipped down the smooth surface and rested painfully within the sharp point, and so he pushed himself upward and tightened his legs to remain aloft. It was uncomfortable.

  As he moved, though, each contact with a panel of wall generated a distinct note. There were eighteen variations among the walls. He also found that touching a vertex resulted in a harmonious combination of the neighboring sounds. What else he needed to do, he had no idea. Tapping produced rhythmic cadences that echoed all around him, but no portals opened to him.

  Securing his feet along the sloping floor, he reached out his hands and struck the side walls, learning their specific notes and then pressing them again to create a song. The notes sang, bouncing off the inner walls and growing in volume as the sounds interfered with each other. He stopped when the noise became uncomfortable and it took a while for the chamber to return to silence.

  He hummed a few stray notes, hearing their sounds echo back to him clearly. Turning created a bit of musical noise but he was trying to get a better bearing on his surroundings. He could see the panes of the crystal, but only a dark void existed beyond the walls. It didn’t make any sense.

  Crouching down, Randler sank into the base of the oversized crystal and tried to remember from where he had come. Vague images wafted through his mind. A glimmering wall of light he could only see as he passed through it. Someone clutching his left hand, but then letting go. His body flying upward into cold night air, spinning wildly until the crystal gathered one pane at a time, enclosing him within. That was all. Nothing else existed.

  He held on to the thought of a “before” and decided that there must be something outside the crystal that he just couldn’t see. He reasoned that it must be important, or why else separate him and lock him away from it? Yet no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t able to remember.

  Resting his head back sent a deep reverberation through the chamber. It warbled in a strange sort of spiral, first climbing to the apex and then winding its way back down. Curious, he bopped his head against the crystal again, trying to follow the sound as it traveled. The note was merely reflecting off each panel until it ran out of energy, but then he could almost feel it as it went.

  He turned and rapped his fist purposely on the wall, sensing the path of the sound once more. It was no different, except in its initial volume. A gentle tap also produced the spiraling effect, but he could barely hear it, as its amplitude was so low.

  Alternating fists, he pounded on the wall, hearing the tones chase each other up and around. Then he shifted his focus, pounding on two neighboring walls and listening for a difference. The two tones harmonized, just as when he had pressed on the crease between them, but now the sound propagated through the chamber.

  It was an elaborate musical device, he mused, strumming the different panels and letting the reverberations echo wildly. Then his foot slipped from under him and he crashed downward, shaking the whole structure vibrantly. The rattling irritated him and he covered his ears until the noise settled down.

  Though unable to remember who he was, he decided he must be linked to the music in some special way. How else could he follow it so well as it went up and down? Why else would it both please and trouble him so? He connected the two ideas in his mind; that he was a musician and he had something waiting for him outside this cell.

  Standing, he could easily reach the upper panes that stretched to the apex. The design of the chamber allowed him to touch any part of the panel to produce its sound, so he didn’t need to strike the exact center, for instance. This gave him some freedom; his motions wouldn’t have to be precise.

  He thought of the songs swimming around in his head, trying to make some meaning of them, but the answers were too elusive. So instead he reattempted his first venture of producing a song within the crystal. After testing the panels he would need for the proper notes, he secured himself against ones that would remain silent. Then he tapped with finger, hand, toe, or shoulder, as required, calling up a jovial song about a boy and a girl meeting after sliding down a hillside and then becoming fast friends. The crystal seemed to learn the song and after he finished the main verse, the walls kept singing the tune for a long while.

  But nothing else happened.

  Ransacking his brain, he dug for another one, hoping that some song that was tucked away would somehow serve as a key for his escape. He vaguely recalled the tale of King Kallisor and Lady Hathreneir, with swords held high and spells to bind. He searched for the notes he needed and then banged them out in order. Once again, the panes reverberated for a long time, singing the tune back to him with unnatural vigor.

  Song after song issued forth, from children’s fancies to tales of eccentric thieves. Each one was accepted by the chamber and returned in force, but still nothing else transpired.

  He wasn’t sure if he could physically do it, but he tried playing two different songs simultaneously anyway. To his surprise, some part of his brain was able to control his body with two completely different tasks. The result was an odd conglomeration of notes that either amplified or diminished as they overlapped.

  Something about the additive and subtractive qualities of the sounds was meaningful to him, so he sank back down to think about it for a while. He couldn’t come up with anything concrete, however, so he returned to mixing up parts of various songs, amused when the crystal would accept the offering and then return it, louder and clearer, moments later.

  Perhaps his lot was in fact just to create and play various melodies for the enjoyment of those listening on the other side of the crystal. But if there was another side, then he knew he belonged there instead, remembering again that he had been holding on to someone before.

  Then randomly he leaped upward as high as he could, crashing his arms into the apex and sending a strange mix of sounds cascading through the crystal. He didn’t really think he would break through, but he would have felt terribly foolish if he hadn’t at least tried. The action may not have released him, but it did change the orientation of the crystal.

  He leaped again and the crystal pivoted some more; now the flat walls were all lying horizontally and there was a pointy apex on either side of him. It was more comfortable having a flat surface underneath, but he couldn’t fit standing up. He compromised by sitting down and crossing his legs, stretching to ensure he could strike every panel if he needed to.

  The cell was clearly designed for him, for all eighteen facets could be touched without much effort, now that he was centered along the side wall, which had become the floor. He played a few tunes to test the musicality of the chamber, and it hadn’t changed at all. He was both grateful and disappointed. If the sound quality had been altered, then maybe his goal was to rotate the crystal until it opened or cracked. But since it sounded the same, he surmised that it remained unchanged.

  There needed to be more than tapping and sounds. He had a purpose, if he could only remember it. He slammed his hands down, generating loud sounds that bounced forcefully off the walls. Then he banged again and again, adding to the noise as frustration set in. He didn’t like the sound, so he calmed himself and waited for silence to return once more.

  He thought again of the songs playing in his head and how the crystal echoed them back to him clearly. Perhaps the key was in a song after all. He tested the eighteen panels one more time, setting their positions into his mind so he could strike them in the correct order. And once he was ready, he launched himself into it, singing as he did so.

  The ages are past. The hours are gone. The terror fades away.

  Our power can last. We must be strong. We linger every day.

  For we are braver than our foes and we will always win.

  We can do what none of them knows and so, let it begin.

  A magic within. Hidden quite deep. We’ll bring it forth one day.

  And then we begin. Awaken from sleep. Ushering in a new way.

  For we are wiser than we show, and we will
find the path.

  It will lead us as we grow, and cleanse us like a bath.

  The swords will rise. The blood will flow. The warring, it will last.

  The men will all die. The women will weep. The stones will have been cast.

  For brutal strength is not enough, it cannot solve our woes.

  The meekest peasant has proven tough, and that’s where the courage shows.

  As he continued to sing, the crystal echoed the melody in perfect harmony. It reflected off the walls and amplified as the sound waves overlapped. Each verse he added grew louder and louder until his ears pounded against the volume. He wanted to stop and cover his ears, but the song kept singing in his head and so he plodded onward, keeping the melody flowing.

  A sliver of truth. A glimmer of hope. Perhaps we can find a way.

  We listen to youth. We yearn to cope. Let peace come in to stay.

  For holding on just to the past, we’re trapped in darkened pain.

  We need to find an answer fast, so that we may survive again.

  Louder the crystal echoed, making it hard for him to concentrate on the words he was spewing forth. He focused himself, keeping his limbs tapping the notes out in harmony as he pushed onward.

  An answer is here. A voice shall call. A sacrifice will be made.

  Don’t shed a tear. For the good of all. We seek the shards of jade.

  For with the power deep inside, united they can find

  a means to make the bitterness hide, a gesture made in kind.

  To give up your heart, you must first release. You must survive your pain.

  The healing must start. A blind treatise. Scrub out a stubborn stain.

  For only then can you be free, to look at the world anew.

  With gentleness that you can see, while knowing what to do.

  He heard a shift in the timbre of the song. The crystal changed slightly. A bit of dust fluttered down and then more. The augmented tune rattled terribly among the glassy surfaces, pounding against him, but he persisted in his effort. And as he strummed the notes again, the energy was too great for the crystal to contain. With a great discordant cacophony, the crystal shattered, raining down in millions of pieces. The tiny bits each carried a scattered note and, like a musical rainfall, they showered him in song.