The Reformation

by Garggie Talukdar

  THE REFORMATION

  Book One of the Immortales Trilogy

  Garggie Talukdar

  © 2019 Garggie Talukdar. All rights reserved.

  For my friends and family, who always support and encourage me;

  this couldn’t have been done without you.

  For Ms. Tilden, who always believed in me, and taught me to be proud of my work;

  thank you so much for inspiring me.

  Prologue

  after

  327 T.E.

  IT was devastating. Immortales everywhere. Fires lit up all over the city, a strange beauty to the bright oranges and yellows, dotting the dark cityscape. Everything they had built, destroyed. All in a matter of days.

  Explosions were as common as the fires; the screams of the innocent and the guilty rang out with each ground-shuddering blast. Bodies littered the make-shift battlefield, though not all losses were entirely human. The Immortales, once the almighty and powerful, were now reduced to soldiers, treated with the same amount of mercy than any other. If they were the aristocrats, this was their French Revolution. It was a bloody revolution, to say the least.

  It was one of those battles, the ones where no one really won. No matter what happened, everyone lost. It wasn’t a pointless battle, however. The Eartherners had a reason to keep on pushing. They were fighting for their liberty. To break away from the invisible strings; to be out of the control from their puppeteers. And they knew it was a lost battle.

  But it was worth it. Some battles were worth fighting for, and this was one of them. It was worth dying for a hope that if there were generations to come, they wouldn’t have to fight the same battle. Because this war was one which had been fought before. It was history on repeat, except with better weapons and no mercy on one side; and broken shields and a dwindling population on the other.

  The ground, now stained red, provided enough grief for a lifetime. Fallen friends stared lifelessly into the sky, into the fading light that passed like every other day. But when the roses and yellows vanished into a deep indigo, the projectiles did not stop flying. The deaths didn’t halt, in fact, there were more losses in the dark silence rather than broad daylight. All honour in fighting was gone. All spilt blood was reasonless. All hope was teetering on the edge of existence. Until it fell. Hope jumped, plunging life into death, shadows cast on everything.

  And finally, hope had been lost. What humans had been clinging onto with all their remaining strength for so long, had been let go of. The world had been dark, silent, in perfect harmony. It breathed as one; felt as one.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  One

  before

  THE ROYAL PALACE, NNR | MARCH 18, 326 T.E.

  JAX was growing tired of all the pitying looks. He never liked pity, and more so now. Right now, for example, he was having a painfully slow encounter with the Governor of a Region whose name he couldn’t remember.

  “My deepest condolences, King Jaxcon. I wish you all the best as you begin your foreseeable prospering reign over NNR.” The Governor gave Jax another affirmative shake of the hand before he left the young man alone.

  Jax let out a sigh, a breath which he had been holding in since the wave of well-doers came to congratulate him and mourn with him at the same time. It all felt so scripted. As if every detail was meticulously planned. And he realized that he was being a bit overly dubious about everyone, that maybe some people were genuine. But that didn’t matter because he did not need their condolences, their unsaid doubt about someone of his age ruling, or their sympathies. He needed action.

  “Your Majesty,” Jax’s head whipped towards the voice.

  “Ah, Lady De Lion,” Jax raised her hand to press a polite kiss on it. “A pleasure to meet you again.”

  “Likewise, my dear. I hope that you rule most wonderfully. You are welcome to visit my estate in Placard, anytime, for any assistance.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and Jax had to hold back a gag at how openly she flirted with him, despite the 30-year age difference.

  “Of course, I do greatly appreciate it. Now if you’d please excuse me.”

  There was a moment where her face was frozen in shock, her light eyes widened considerably and her mouth in a furious 'o'. It made Jax register half-heartedly, that this would have been something he would have been amused at some time ago, but back then he was just a prince, preparing for a kingship that was to come in the faraway future. Then King Calix developed Scorchen and then he died and Jax had to hold the heavy burden of a crown upon his head much too early. The rubies in an ornate swirling of gold looked so beautiful and felt so constricting, and Jaxcon Gallagher felt he was a person from a Second Era myth, because he was feeling less and less like a man and more like a faint shadow of what he used to be.

  His father was diagnosed in December. They heaved soil over his grave by March.

  But of course, Jax couldn't say any of that, so he stood, the achingly-false smile he wore for the better part of the day still in place, and Lady De Lion caught the hint, schooling her face back into a neutral expression and bowing slightly. “Why, of course.” And with a twirl of her obnoxiously coloured dress, the woman left. And thankfully so, as Jax knew he couldn’t bear that overpowering stench she wore as perfume, for any longer.

  He knew it wasn’t just her perfume that was causing his inability to breathe, however.

  When everyone left, late that evening, the same constricting feeling settled in. As much as Jax hated to admit it, dealing with pity was the only thing keeping his mind off from what laid in front of him. Without having to roll his eyes at people’s utterly fake words, Jax was faced with the inevitable truth; his father was dead. King Calix, house of Gallagher, was lying in the cold ground, flowers adorning the tombstone above him. Red roses had now joined with the white roses lying on Queen Naomi’s grave. In the flurry of people, Jax hadn’t really been able to visit the cemetery since the ceremony. Now, in the silence of the night, Jax couldn’t think of anything better than to pay his parents their long-deserved visit.

  The guards didn’t even ask where he was going, there was only one path that would mean anything to Jax right now. Instead, the guards just stepped to the side, allowing the young king to pass. He was in the gardens now, nature’s sounds the only things he could hear, other than the muted shouting in the kitchen, winding down after a busy day with the number of visitors. The night air was warm, a sign of the incoming summer days, with a cool breeze slicing through. Jax appreciated the wind; without it, he would’ve felt nice, an emotion that he refused to feel since the news of his father’s passing arrived.

  Today was a good night; you could see the stars out here, and if Jax noticed, he would be able to call out all the constellations. He would’ve noticed if he wasn’t concentrating on the thudding in his chest. It was childish, Jax knew, but it felt that if he saw the resting site, if he felt the cool surface of the tombstone, he would destroy every memory of his mother’s dark hair and bright eyes, his father’s warm smile and crinkled eyes. That he would ruin every second he lived with them, every second that they lived. That he would forget.

  The thought lingered as he reached the end of the winding path in the gardens, standing only a meter or two from the flowers. Jax, nonetheless, sunk down to his knees, the dampness of the night’s grass seeping through the knee of his pants. Jax didn’t feel this, in fact, he didn’t feel anything, numb with loss.

  Jax imagined how strange of a sight it would be; the newly crowned king kneeling before two stones. Three, actually. There were bouquets after bouquets of red roses for the fallen King; a couple white roses for the resting Queen; and in place of an imaginary tombstone, lay a tribute of blue roses for the lost Princess. Although the wound was
too fresh to touch the engraving of his parents’ names, he could pick up one of her roses. Hope was, after all, not lost for her to come back.

  The blues were like the ones of her irises. It had the same amount of unsuspecting depth and vastness, as well as the colour, of the deep blue sea. It had the same quiet peacefulness, but the ability to turn into a hurricane need be. The soft petals had a few small drops of dew resting on it, still not daring to move. Jax turned the stem gently in his hand, careful not to disturb the droplets. He sat there for a while, twirling the flower in his hand as if turning it enough might make his sister appear.

  “Mayble; please come home. You don’t have to stay. Just stick around long enough to hold up a conversation with your little brother. I’ll forgive you, promise. As if you’re real. That was so long-ago May. You probably don’t even remember me. I sure remember you. With your bright eyes, long hair, dimpled smile. Were you ever sad? Are you sad now? Are you even alive? If you are, do you wish that you were dead?” Jax almost shouted, a silent tear travelling down his face. If the guards were staring at him, wondering what happened to their king, he didn’t care.

  His father just died. His mother was killed at the tender age of 32, in a freak accident. Jax was only 9. But when Mayble was taken, Jax was 5. She was 8, and needless to say, it was a painful and unwilling departure. It still stung, 14 years later.

  This place, this collection of roses, was his family’s graveyard. Jax’s father and his fathers before him rested in the ancestral ground. And, Jax realized, the place where he was sitting, would be where he ultimately would rest. He remembered how all those 14 years ago, he was begging the heavens that it would have been him who had disappeared. Her future had been bright. She would have been the first female to inherit the throne in what seemed like forever. But it really wasn’t that long ago that these rigid rules were set in place. Jax’s great-great-grandfather, first of his name, had been the first king of his line, the first king of a destroyed world. Now it was Jax’s turn to sit on the crumbling throne.

  The kings before him hadn’t done much; his father especially. His father was loving but a weak ruler, Jax knew that. King Calix believed in peace, a trait which by itself was a fine quality to have. However, he didn’t see that sacrifice was need to keep peace. King Calix avoided conflict almost as much as he ignored the Razed, the once prosperous cities which were destroyed in WWIII. He didn’t want to start something he couldn’t finish.

  Jax didn’t exactly want to be the King of NNR either. But thinking about giving up the crown to one of his remaining relatives would do more harm than good. They probably would reverse any progress Jax’s father had done. Not to mention the uproar that would occur if one of Jax’s not-so-pleasant extended family took reign.

  Next in line would be the eldest remaining Gallagher, seeing as most of the family perished due to the recent outbreak of Scorchen, his cousin Duke Dmitri. Most unfortunately so, because Dmitri’s younger sister by only one year, Joann, would’ve made an extraordinary queen. She knew NNR like the back of her hand at twenty, and was a great pilot, even with the unwarranted stigma that came with being a female. Jax was sure that she would convince NNR that she was their queen and could actually make a positive change in their nation. But Dmitri was born first and so Jo Gallagher would never be queen.

  That made giving the throne up was out of the question. The one option left was to rule, all the while when his bizarre plan would be in action. It was a plan in which he needed people. A plan in which the future of NNR lay. It was a plan never meant to be. It was a plan that should have started a few generations back. But it didn’t.

  Starting this plan immediately would be his first order as king; it would also be the most important order of all the Kings of the house Gallagher. The most important order made so far and forever afterwards.

  The Strategist of His Majesty was now in order.

  Two

  JAX was regretting giving up Areya’s offer. Being his helpful secretary—although she was more of an advisor than anything else—she had offered to interview all of the candidates, but Jax had refused, insisting he could do it.

  It really didn’t look like that now.

  He was going through all of the people interested, hand-picking those who he thought to be perfect for the job. He was calling them in, one by one, since early yesterday morning. Now he was three quarters done, one and a half days later. Needless to say, it wasn’t going that great.

  6 candidates had caught his eye so far, although they all had some sort of an interesting aspect to their interviews. One girl had exploded due to a comment Jax had made, another stuttered way too much, one of them seemed to be cold and arrogant, there was a young woman seemed too eager to deal out death; there was an engineer who had constantly thought of himself lesser, and the last one couldn't even come, so Jax hadn't interviewed her yet.

  “Sir?” Jax warily turned his head around and realised that it was just Areya holding a cup of coffee, not some person begging to get into his team of planners. “Would you like me to take over for the interviews? You’ve been at it for almost 12 hours straight.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to burden you-”

  “It would be no burden at all, Your Majesty,” Areya interrupted.

  Jax chuckled softly, “I see you brought coffee. Two creams, two teaspoons of sugar?”

  “Sugar? You don’t take sugar in your coffee sir.” Areya’s brown eyes were wide in bewilderment, and she said this with such certainty that it felt as if she were entitled to know. Which she was, seeing as she was his helpful secretary who made sure he had caffeine to power himself through the day.

  “Well, you’re going to need it if you’re taking the oncoming wave of applicants,” Jax slyly interjected, and watched as it took a moment for Areya to register what he had just said.

  “Thank you so much!”

  Jax was a bit puzzled of why Areya wanted to do the job so much, but let it slide, wanting nothing more than to get out of the closed palace. “Well, it should be I thanking you, but frankly, I’m too tired to care. Call me in an hour so I can lead the interviews once more. I don’t want to push this onto you for any longer than I have to.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” She pulled up a chair to the table that Jax had been interviewing applicants at only minutes ago, “Would you like me to send Cecil?”

  Although Jax admittedly wanted to take the car with him, he decided to get some exercise. So, he waved Areya off and asked her to send the royal chauffeur to pick him up after the hour. And then, Jax finally left the constricting walls of the castle.

  …

  The village was not that far a walk from the palace. Amidst the rubble and destruction that was London, one section was slaved after, and strenuously rebuilt from the ground up. And there was no place Jax loved to visit more, knowing that NNR could be rebuilt in the same way if enough effort was put in. And after staying in the clean, perfect palace for so long, it was nice to visit the rough cobbled streets—so alike to the actual conditions of the actual world—that Jax never wanted to leave.

  The village made Jax feel like he was in his own bubble, where he was not the King, His Royal Majesty Jaxcon of the House Gallagher. Instead he was a civilian enjoying an early-spring day, even though he was fully aware that a royal guard was tailing him, to make sure that he was kept safe. He still liked to pretend anyway.

  While the little shops baking fresh bread and street vendors selling exotic fruits and other charms were quite unique, the town center had a unique feeling to it altogether. The vibe would depend on the day; once there was a parade, another time there was a funeral holding. Today, it was a protest.

  White signs sprawled with red paint were held up high by only 4 or 5 individuals, onlookers stopping everywhere to see just what they were doing. It was impressive, especially when considering the size.

  “I see you have stumbled upon my humble protest. Surprised?” Jax looked to his side, identifying the voice ev
en before he met their dark eyes.

  “Well, it’s an interesting topic,” he gestured to the various signs, demanding attention to the Razed. "Celine Hollingsworth, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “King Jaxcon, House of Gallagher? I’m surprised that you remembered my name correctly,” Celine said, surprise hidden in the darkness of her eyes.

  “Well, your interview was quite-” Jax paused, searching for the right word. “-passionate. On this very topic, if I’m not mistaken,”

  Jax could see her cross her arms out of the corner of his eyes, a sly smile spread across her face. “Now, don’t get too cocky, Your Highness. I had this all planned out weeks ago. The interview was more of an experimental, kind of thing.”

  “Experimental?” Jax tore his eyes from the protest, to give her an astonished look. Celine turned to face him, squinting and blocking out the sun with her hand. And Jax wasn’t sure if it was the glint of the sun, but it looked as if she was a bit unsure.

  “Experimental,” she confirmed.

  “Now, Miss Hollingsworth, you’re quite bold.”

  That small trace of uncertainty disappeared completely from her voice. “I wouldn’t call it boldness or foolishness any more than honesty. I say only my opinion.”

  “Your bluntness won’t give you much popularity.” While he was only joking, a light smile spread across his face, the girl was serious, her face set in certainty.

  “Popularity doesn’t matter. I want a voice that will be heard, and it so happens that you can give me that voice.”

  “But what could you possibly bring to the table? Other than your experimental conversation starters?” Jax asked, wanting to see her reaction. If anything, her voice only became stronger.

  “With all due respect, there isn’t much choice. I was in that room, waiting. Half of the people in there were in need of the warmth and shelter, which was bound to happen with the number of Homeless that New London has. A quarter of those remaining were just fools. With the number of people that had left, you can’t afford to lose anymore. And when it comes to that final selection, you’ll see why I would make it that far,” she said matter-of-factly, eyes trained on the protest before her.