Death of the Immortal King

by Sarah McCarthy

  “This boy is an imposter,” Jole said, her voice echoing through the silence. Elaine’s heart stopped beating.

  “Guards,” the boy said, an edge to his voice. “Arrest this blasphemer.”

  “I can prove it,” Jole said. “This person is not the Mandrevecchian. He has killed our leader and taken his place.”

  Elaine’s stomach turned to stone and she gripped the velvet arms of her seat. Paric’s hand went to his sword. Gird’s hand went to her forehead and she shook her head.

  The guards began to move towards Jole, but she lifted a hand, pointing towards several of the high-ranking advisors seated at the front.

  “You five know who I am.” She pointed at the commander of the military. “You also know who I am.” She gestured to the boy. “He does not.”

  The advisors and the commander all looked to the Mandrevecchian. His face was impassive.

  “Arrest her. She is a traitor.”

  The commander stepped forward, holding up a hand. “Wait. This is a simple matter. There are many of us in this room who know who the lady is. And we all know that the Mandrevecchian knows, too.”

  “I have passed every test,” the boy snapped.

  “You do not have to announce it to the room,” the commander said. “Just whisper it to us. It should be a simple matter to clear up.”

  “I refuse to be disrespected in this manner,” the boy said, but at his words an uneasy whisper went through the crowd.

  “Does he not know?” Elaine heard the woman in front of her say to her companion.

  “Do you know who she is?” someone asked.

  “No, do you?”

  “No.”

  “You are a traitor,” the boy said. “You, at my instruction, have led fake revolutions for several hundred years.”

  The commander breathed a sigh of relief.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Jole said. “I asked who I am.”

  “Your name is Jole.”

  The crowd further relaxed, but Jole was unmoved. She looked at the advisors. “You can all see that he hasn’t said the one thing you all know. The one thing he would say if he truly were the Mandrevecchian.”

  The commander moved forward, motioning his men to follow. Paric had his sword out in a moment, his men looking to him anxiously. He glanced at Elaine; she saw the uncertainty in his eyes, and she shook her head. If her father was going to be exposed, she wasn’t going to have Paric start a fight to protect him. Paric had the most men here, being the captain of the palace guards. He might be able to get her father and fight his way out of there, but Elaine knew that would lead to chaos and violence. Everything hung on a single thread here. She hoped Jole had a better plan than letting the country fall into civil war. The commander at least looked as if he would be interested in seizing power.

  “One last chance, sir,” the commander said, addressing the small boy on the podium. “Just tell us who she is, and we’ll drop this.”

  The boy’s composure was starting to crack. “All right, all right,” he said, lifting his hands. “I would prefer not to say. It is a state secret. But fine.” He looked up at Jole, his eyes searching. “She is an old friend of mine. Aron de Tamley.”

  The commander’s face went pale. “Sir. Aron de Tamley went completely mad three hundred years ago.”

  There was utter silence in the room.

  “This,” the commander gestured at her, “is the Mandrevecchian’s daughter.”

  The boy mouthed the word daughter to himself, shocked and dazed, even as the soldiers closed in around him, dragging him off the podium.

  Jole tossed her red hair back over her shoulder and strode down the steps, climbing up to take the vacated space.

  “I will be taking over for my mother, now.”

  The commander looked as if he was going to say otherwise; Paric glanced at Elaine again, who shook her head, her eyes pleading. He shrugged, rolled his eyes, and stepped forward.

  “Thank you, sir, for your aid in exposing the traitor. Her Majesty of course always had her daughter designated as her successor. So, here we are.”

  The commander quickly scanned the room. His own forces were outnumbered at least three to one. “Hrm…Right you are, son.” He stepped back, his face changing from pale to a blotchy red.

  “All right,” Jole said. “Everyone leave. Go back where you came from. I’ve just found out my mother is dead so… you know… I need to…” She seemed to be looking for the right word.

  “Grieve,” Elaine mouthed at her.

  “Grieve,” Jole said. “Expect some changes, though. Anyone who thinks they can take advantage of this situation is getting executed.”

  The crowd was ushered out of the hall to collect their things and be sent home immediately. Elaine sat hunched in her velvet chair near the back, watching everyone else leave. Jole stood watching them go, Paric at her side, his sword still drawn. Both of them made their way up to join her.

  The well of pain in Elaine’s heart exploded. She stood up rapidly, striding down the carpeted stairs two at a time to meet them.

  “What in godsdamned Yqtos’—” she spluttered. “You lied to me. Again. You agreed to wait. To see what… and now you’ve gotten my father… he’s going to be executed now.”

  “You’re forgetting who’s Mandrevecchian,” Jole said smoothly. “I don’t have to execute him.”

  “Oh, wonderful. So now it’s a government where you just do whatever you want. Sounds a lot better than what we’ve had so far,” she shot back.

  “I can fix this,” Paric said, lifting his sword.

  “No,” Elaine said. “You saw that general. You kill her and he’s in charge. But there’s probably several guys just like him and they’ll fight it out for years and things will get even worse.”

  “Hey,” Jole said. “Calm down. I did this for you.”

  Elaine wanted to punch her. “Don’t tell me to calm down. And you did not do this for me. You did it because you could. You’ve probably wanted to take power this whole time, haven’t you? And now you’ve got it. Fantastic.”

  “No.” Jole looked uncertain suddenly. “No, I… I spent four hundred years in the shadow of my mother, doing what she wanted, helping her hold on to power. I didn’t want that for you. You’re a good person. You would do it, because you have ideals, just like I did. And you love your father.” She didn’t elaborate on whether she had loved her mother. “It would have destroyed you. And he was going to make everything so much worse.”

  “I believe we decided to call her she,” Gird interjected. Jole ignored him.

  “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s an idealist. He’d have all these ideas and people around him would just manipulate him. At least Lilianna knew how to get things done. Your father would assume other people around him are good people, too. People will take advantage of that. We’ll end up with a hundred different little dictators all paying lip service to his stupid rules, and you bending over backwards to try to hold it all together.”

  “And you’re going to do any better?” Elaine asked. Then she shook her head. “I’m leaving.”

  “What?” Paric, and Jole chorused. Gird only nodded.

  “I’m done.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ve been trying for four years to make things better and you know what? This is stupid. All I’ve done is make things worse. All I’ve done is help put you in power.” She glared at Jole. “I’ve been a huge, arrogant idiot thinking I could make any of this better. And I’m leaving.” She turned on her heel and stormed out.

  Elaine’s righteous fury carried her down several hallways before it turned back to pain. She cried, tears pouring down her face. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. Partly at Jole’s betrayal, partly her father’s, partly at what a huge failure this whole attempt at a revolution had been. She screamed in frustration, grabbed at one of the nearby tapestries, intending to rip it off the wall, but it was more securely fastened than she’d anticipated, and the cloth was too st
urdy. She pulled, digging her fingers into the cloth; a cloud of dust rose up, but that was it. She hurled it back, where it settled smoothly back onto the wall.

  A potted plant perched on a nearby pedestal. She picked up up with both hands and hurled it against the far wall, where it shattered, spraying dirt and shards of pottery everywhere. A shard came spinning across the floor towards her and she kicked it out of the way before storming out the front gates.

  High on a cliff overlooking the sea, the Angler stood, pacing. He paused, cocking his head to the side, then bent down. He picked up a twig. Delicate and branching, like a bony finger. He cracked it in half, then dropped it over the edge, watching it plummet into the foaming water fifty feet below. No. That wasn’t it.

  He ran his hands through his greasy hair. What was it? He kicked a pebble, sending it arcing over the edge and felt a brief moment of elation before it plopped into the water below. No. He pointed his toe and drug it through the dirt, pirouetting, bowing, then flopping face-first into the coarse grass. He burrowed his face into it; the blades scraped along his cheeks, crinkling and rustling. He took a deep breath, coughing out dust, then he groaned. It was all wrong. All wrong. A slight vibration tickled his cheek, and he pressed his face closer to the ground. Someone was coming. Someone was stomping.

  Elaine didn’t care who saw her. People stared as she passed, tears running down her cheeks, sobbing openly. A woman tried to approach, but Elaine glared at her and sped up before the woman could reach her.

  Damn you. Yqtos damn you. And you. She saw a small child, playing with a ball. And especially you. You think that ball is so great, don’t you? The child backed away, pulling his ball into his chest. Just wait.

  Her feet took her out of town, away from the people who might try to comfort her, or might laugh at her, or tell her she was wrong, or that things were OK. She didn’t want to hear any of that. Things were not OK. Nothing was OK. And for the first time in her life Elaine didn’t care. She wasn’t going to do anything about it. There wasn’t anything she could do.

  I’m done. I’m done trying. Damn all of you.

  The path she was on wound its way out of the city, up a bluff on the far side. Here, the ocean stretched out into infinite distance, to a hazy blue horizon where the sky met the sea. A breeze blew the cold salt air into her face, lifting her hair and chilling her face. She picked up her pace, letting her rage burn through her arms and legs, letting the climb heat her.

  The surface of the sea tossed and sparkled, and out in the distance a single boat skimmed along the waves, its sail at a lazy angle to the wind. She slowed, watching it make its way sedately across the water. It was so small, so far away; there was barely any indication that it was moving at all. From this distance, it looked peaceful. What did it matter where they were going? What cargo they carried? Was this sailor making a last trip, trying to squeeze in a tiny extra profit? Was he on some desperate mission to find some doctor to cure some terrible illness? Or was he just out on the water for a few moments’ peace? Collecting his thoughts, feeling the breeze in his hair, letting the power of the wind remind him how small he was?

  From this distance, none of that mattered. He was just a tiny boat on a vast blue plain, skimming the surface of an infinite depth of cold. Everything he touched, and everything he saw, was more powerful than he was. The water below him, the water that deigned his passage across its surface, could crush him in an instant, could pull him into its depths and suffocate him. The creatures that lived there could swallow him whole, if they cared. The wind could pick him up, take him wherever it wanted, rip apart the small, safe craft he’d built himself. The illusion of safety he had created. The illusion of purpose and power. What was the point?

  Elaine turned away, her feet moving forwards again, winding up the cliff, following the narrow, sandy path through the scrubby grass that bent and swayed in the wind.

  When next she looked up, she saw a dark figure sitting with its feet hanging over the edge of the cliff, staring out to sea. The curve of that back looked familiar.

  She approached, sat next to the figure, and dangled her feet over the edge. Her stomach swooped when she looked down, and her fingers gripped the edge harder, but the danger made her anger and hurt seem somehow less. Nothing mattered anymore.

  “I can’t get it…” the man next to her muttered. “I can’t figure it out. It’s something. Something here. I know it.”

  Elaine nodded. “I know the feeling.” Now that Jole was the Mandrevecchian, she’d probably get rid of reincarnation. That was something, at least. At least this poor creature would get relief.

  “What are you doing up here?” she asked.

  “Looking. Looking.” He kicked his heels. “Something’s not right here.”

  “Feels like things aren’t right in a lot of places.”

  The man waved a hand, frowning. “No, no, no. Everything else is right. I’m sure of it.”

  Elaine lifted her eyebrows. “Oh. Well, good.”

  The man placed his hands on either side of his face, closed his eyes, and shrieked.

  Elaine jumped and nearly slipped off the edge. Her breath stopped in her chest, her heart skittering.

  “Hey, hey, it’s ok. I’ll help. We’ll figure it out.”

  The man’s eyes were still closed, but he nodded to himself. “Yes. Yes. Thank you.”

  Elaine’s eyes swept the clifftop as she took a deep breath, trying to slow her heart. Her palms were clammy, but she didn’t want to move away from the edge, not just yet.

  “Is it one of the things up here? Or… is there something that needs to be up here that’s not?”

  “No no no.” He rocked forward, teetering close to the edge.

  “Hey,” she said, patting his shoulder gently. “How about we move back a little?”

  He nodded, eyes still closed, and edged away, crab walking backwards. She followed him, sighing and relaxing as they got a safe distance from the edge.

  The man flopped onto his back, eyes still closed. Elaine followed suit, clasping her hands over her stomach and staring up into the bright blue sky.

  “You were the one leaving the acorns?”

  “And the red stones.”

  “Thank you. Yes, the red stones. They were nice, too.”

  He sighed in a pleased way.

  They were quiet for a long time, staring up into the sky. The wind picked up and a cloud drifted in, then another, then more. A big cloud passed overhead, its cold shadow settling over them.

  “Nothing I do matters,” Elaine said. The Angler made no movement, or sign that he’d heard. “I used to think that, no matter what happened, I would figure it out. My father was arrested. I did everything I could to get him out. They executed him. I had nothing, no money, no one would talk to me. But I stole my boat back and came here. They arrested me and threw me in prison. Then Jole got me out. She wanted help with her revolution, so I did that. I figured I could make things better. I tried. I worked and made money and gave it away. And I fed and clothed a few people, but what difference did that make, really? So, I tried harder, I tried to help, to make Jole’s revolution something that could really work. And what was the point of that?”

  Elaine lifted herself up onto an elbow, and the Angler glanced at her, moving only his eye, keeping his body entirely still.

  “Not only was the revolution fake, but the ruler I thought we were overthrowing was actually my father.”

  The Angler raised an eyebrow.

  “He’d been alive the whole time.” She flopped back down. “Just didn’t bother to tell me.” She tore up a fistful of grass and tossed it into the air. “Here I am, trying as hard as I can, and everything I’m working towards is either pointless or a lie. Nothing is what I think it is.”

  The Angler reached out and patted her hand. “Nothing is what we think it is. Everything you do matters, but you will never know how.” Elaine stared at him, waiting to see if he’d say something else, but his eye was caught by a shell lying b
etween them. He gave it a quarter turn, frowned, then turned it back.

  The sun set in a fiery pink and orange glow, and the Angler ambled off, returning an hour later with a lantern, a roasted quail, a bag of boiled potatoes, and a cat. He set the cat next to the shell, although it immediately wandered off, and the lantern next to that, and handed Elaine the bag of potatoes, which were still warm.

  Elaine gathered some wood and lit a fire while the Angler ate the quail, gnawing every last morsel of meat from the bones before crunching into the cartilage. The cat climbed into her lap as she sat by the fire eating a potato and trying to ignore the slurping sounds of the Angler sucking on the bones.

  She awoke to a cold, grey morning, with the cat sitting on her face. The Angler was curled into a ball next to her. Elaine stood, setting the cat down gently, and began pacing along the cliffside. Nothing I do matters. She shivered and sat down, tucking her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them. The Angler’s words echoed through her mind. Everything you do matters. But you will never know how. Then how was she supposed to figure out what to do? How was she supposed to try to fix things? To make anything better? To help even a single person? To help herself, for that matter. There was so much she didn’t know, and the world was so much bigger than she was. Elaine gritted her teeth.

  Fine. I don’t know anything. I can’t fix anything. I’m tiny and powerless and no matter how hard I try there will always be things that are unpredictable. That I don’t know about. No matter what I do, I can’t know the outcome. The tension drained out of her, and she laughed.

  At the far corner of her vision, a trail of smoke caught her eye, lancing up into the sky from some cook fire down in Kreiss, probably. It reminded her of another column of smoke. The day her father had been executed. She stood up, pausing for a moment with her hands on her hips, surveying the ocean. Powerless? Maybe. Did she care? No.

  She turned and strode down the path, heading for Kreiss.