Emerald Rose

by Emma Hamm

  The long, distinguished nose. Broad at the tip, but narrow and flat between his eyes. His strong brows, smooth in death but with faint lines that suggested he had wrinkled the brow many times. Full lips, too full for a man but beautiful on his face all the same. And the shadow dark skin, beautiful as obsidian and smooth as glass.

  That wasn’t a man in the wall. It was a god, and one who had been dead for centuries.

  Breathing hard, she stopped only when her back hit the wall of the tunnel.

  The Dread hadn’t moved. He stood near her dropped moss and stared at the dead man. “Princess, there is more I wish to tell you. Return to my side.”

  “I will go no closer to that creature.”

  “Creature?” The Dread’s good wing spread, bones working with emotion. “This is our god, princess. And one you once worshiped.”

  “We worship no gods in Hollow Hill, only man.” She repeated the words her father had shouted at her repeatedly.

  “Everyone needs gods, princess. If only to reassure them the time after death is nothing to fear.” The Dread raised a hand and gestured for her to come closer. “The god will not move, if that’s what you’re frightened of.”

  She didn’t want to even think of the preserved man behind the wall opening his eyes. How he would break through the stones and surge forward, hands outstretched for her throat.

  She swallowed hard, but rolled back onto her feet. Carefully, she made her way through the gloomy tunnel to the Dread standing in the blue glow of the moss. She bent down, picked up her only light source, and lifted it to the man once more.

  Staring at him now was less frightening. She knew he wouldn’t move, or at least, she hoped he wouldn’t.

  He was a handsome man. Wonderfully perfect but flawed at the same time. The blue light caught on metallic bits in his eyebrows, gold leaf which had been pressed against the hairs.

  “Who was he?” she murmured.

  “He was everyone and everything once. A Celestial, bound to protect humans, to serve them, and also to guide them.” The Dread pulled his bony wing close to his body like a blanket. “But then, humans rose against the Celestials. They destroyed them, killed them, cursed them... Many things happened in our history to lead to this moment.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I was there,” the Dread replied. “I remember when all was lost. When good succumbed to corruption and the world as we knew it ended. I was there, and it still burns in my soul.”

  She wanted to ask more questions, but the pain in the Dread’s voice stopped her. It wasn’t her place to beg him to relive moments which caused him pain. She didn’t need to know.

  Danielle hesitated, then stepped closer to the body. “How long ago was this?”

  “Many many years. More than I could guess.”

  “Then how old are you?” she turned, illuminating the high peaks and planes of the Dread’s face.

  The creature shrugged. “I don’t have a time to tell you, but many of us are centuries old. We’ve lived in this place for so long, it’s hard to tell when the days or years pass.”

  Centuries old.

  Centuries spent underground, rotting like corpses.

  Danielle shivered and asked once again, “Why did you bring me here?”

  The Dread pointed at the body in the wall once more. “There are creatures coming to the Hollows. Creatures which killed him and created the real monsters above ground. They cannot be trusted. I remember because I am the keeper of stories. But others do not remember. Our Emperor does not remember.”

  “What can I do?” Danielle shook with anger. “I am just a princess, a human who knew nothing about this from the start. I don’t even know the genuine history of my kingdom, Storyteller.”

  “Now you know some of it.” Storyteller reached for her hands and clasped them to his chest. “I wish you to take this knowledge and save us.”

  “I cannot.”

  “You can,” he exclaimed. “Touch the face of our god, princess. Pour all your wonderful memories into him and perhaps you shall awaken someone who could help us.”

  Somehow, she doubted such a thing.

  But still, Danielle turned to the man in the wall and wondered if she could. If she could help him, the Dread, her own people. She wanted to be the hero, and if all it took was touching the cool face of a dead man…

  She shivered again, her shoulders shaking with the mere thought of touching him. Yet, her fingertips also tingled with anticipation.

  Her feet moved before her mind decided. She shifted forward, gliding across the tunnel. Should she touch his forehead? Perhaps that was cruel. His lips? Too forward.

  Danielle reached out and touched a single finger to his cheek, stroking down from the high peak to the strong line of his jaw.

  “He’s warm,” she whispered. “Why is he warm?”

  The tunnel rumbled in response and the Dread beside her shouted, “Earthquake! Run, Princess!”

  Chapter 22

  He should have known her mere presence here would affect him. His thoughts were in turmoil, rumbling, boiling masses of weakness.

  Danielle was a princess of Hollow Hill. Beautiful, powerful, and so wondrous he had no right to even touch her. Let alone take her away from her people as if she could ever be his bride.

  He’d done the unthinkable. He had forced her to do something she didn’t want to do. Just like her father.

  For many heartbeats he had stared down into the abyss and told himself to return. He could plunge into those shadows and find her without having to search.

  He knew where she was, even with his eyes closed. She burned in his chest like a beacon in the darkness of his mind.

  But he couldn’t collect her. She had to find her way on her own, and she’d requested to have a few moments to herself. He wasn’t so much a monster to deny her that.

  “Emperor?” the request came from above him. Blacksmith sat upon one of the many ledges, his legs dangling and his wings tight against his sides. The stench of fear wafted like pollen falling from a tree.

  “What is it?”

  “They’re here.”

  For a moment, he had to think about who they could be. Visitors rarely found the Hollows.

  Then an icy chill swept down his spine. He tilted his head up and stared at the highest ledge.

  Blood dripped down the stone in sluggish rivers. A single droplet fell, plummeting toward him and sliding deep into the belly of the earth.

  Of course they would come now. Perhaps they had already heard his plan. Or perhaps they thought it wise to come when he was at his weakest.

  Either way, the Emperor didn’t want to see the monsters who had gifted him this form. He didn’t want to argue with the creatures who wanted to see him fall.

  The Alchemists had always favored his brothers over him.

  He sighed, flexed his wings, and shot through the air toward the highest peak.

  They stared down at him as if they were one being. Their red cloaks oozed blood and thick slime, which left a trail wherever they went. Hoods hid their faces, but the Emperor had seen one without the robe before.

  Scars covered every inch of their bodies. Pain fueled their magic, usually self inflicted, although he’d heard rumors otherwise.

  Perhaps twenty five of the creatures waited on the ledge, standing shoulder to shoulder. The leader stood always in the front, however. One step ahead of the others and he would remain so for the duration of the visit.

  The Emperor hovered in the air before them. He should have stepped onto the ledge to save these powerful beings the ragged wind of his wings, but he couldn’t force himself to stand in their slick ooze.

  “Emperor,” the Alchemist leader said. He nodded his head, but never his back.

  They bowed to no one.

  The Emperor inclined his head as well, mocking every movement. “You are not who I’m used to speaking with.”

  If the hood had been removed, perhaps the Emperor would have seen a s
urprised expression on the Alchemists face. Instead, he could only assume the creature was surprised by the slight stiffening of his shoulders.

  “We are one,” the Alchemist replied.

  “Indeed you are. But there’s always a leader, isn’t there? And you aren’t him.”

  He hadn’t imagined the stiff set of the Alchemist’s shoulders. If the creature had been made of stone, he might have shattered he’d become so brittle. “We are here to speak with you, beast. Not the other way around.”

  “I imagine you have much to say.” The Emperor gestured toward the hidden path to their right.

  Only the Alchemists used it. And if this creature had been the real leader, he would have known where to go. As it was, this change served only to fuel the Emperor’s curiosity.

  In the Emperor’s experience, the Alchemists desired power. They had used his brothers and sisters in ways he couldn’t remember. But he’d always known to distrust the bleeding creatures who tried to tell him how to run his kingdom.

  A faint memory tugged at his mind. What was it, though?

  He inhaled. Danielle’s perfume still clung to his hair as it blew in front of his face. Lilacs and burgundy wine...

  The memory blossomed. Twins made of gold, spinning through the air on white wings. They called out to him with their arms opened wide, bidding him to chase them.

  Siblings. A brother and a sister whose faces he remembered now that he’d been given the gift of such a memory.

  He’d been someone before all this. He’d always known that, but now there was proof in his very mind.

  The Emperor watched with a solemn expression as the alchemists made their way toward the hidden chamber. He would have to be wary of them. Smarter. More intelligent.

  And yet, he didn’t know how. He wished he’d kept the little human by his side. She might have known how to navigate this meeting. Princesses might be kept in the dark about wars, but they were handy women in politics. There was no doubt in his mind she could turn a man inside out with words if she wanted to.

  She’d already done so to him.

  Shaking his head, he landed on the ledge to follow the alchemists. Blood and thick, clear slime oozed between his clawed toes.

  He grimaced. This would take forever to scrub off the stones, but he would not let it sink into the earth. He didn’t want to know what the alchemists could see if he left their residue alone.

  He strode into the chamber with his shoulders squared, hands curled into fists, and his jaw clenched. They would not best him on this day.

  Each alchemist stood next to another. They created a large circle, surrounding the cave with robes of red. The fabric moved on its own, perhaps with magic, or perhaps with twitching fingers desiring nothing more than hurt and pain.

  He made his way to the center of their circle. It was the same every time. They each had something to say, some criticism of him and his work.

  Today would be no different.

  The leader of the Alchemists started, his voice young and yet hoarse. “Emperor. We have come because your kingdom not only disappoints us, but is falling apart.”

  “The kingdom? Hollow Hill?” He shrugged. “I’ve heard it’s doing remarkably well.”

  An alchemist behind him hissed out a long breath. “The humans are doing well, but that was never the intent of your creation.”

  He turned on his heel. “What was the intent of my creation then?”

  “That is none of your concern.” The Alchemist receded into his hood, but the shadow of sunken cheekbones remained visible.

  “It is my concern.” His hackles rose at the suggestion. How dare they suggest his own future, his own life, wasn’t his concern? “You continue to claim you created me, however, I see no proof.”

  The leader of the alchemists intervened. The man even stepped closer, into the ring of his own men and closer to the beast who could snap his neck with only a twitch. And the Emperor desired to. Oh, the white hot thirst for death rode his shoulders.

  It would take only the slightest movement. A lunge forward where he could reach out, grasp the alchemist’s undulating robes, and twist them. He could use the fabric to hang the man, choke him, or to yank him forward so the Emperor could place his fist between the creature’s lungs.

  But he did none of this. Instead, he remained still as stone.

  The leader approached him as his predecessor had never dared to do. He didn’t stop until they were toe to toe.

  This close, the shadows couldn’t hide the creature beneath the hood. The Emperor could see every scarred symbol on the creature’s face. The sunken eyes, still in the sockets, but lacking all fluid to make his eyeballs orbs. Someone had scratched symbols into his forehead long ago, although the scars were so thick, the Emperor assumed they were regularly cut.

  The new leader was someone who had been practicing magic fervently. But there was a roundness to his face still, a quality of youth. Just enough to be dangerous.

  Or mad.

  The leader leaned close. “We created you, Dread. That’s all you need to know. The why or how of it is only for the creators. If you wish to know, then perhaps you should make more of your own kind.”

  “I have made more Dread,” he replied, spitting the words at the leader. “I have made them countless times, ensuring they were well cared for. That their lives in the Hollows weren’t full of starvation and death.”

  “That’s not what we asked for.”

  The Emperor tilted his head back and burst into laughter. “Not what you asked for? Alchemist. You asked for nothing but the ruination of a kingdom which has never harmed you. I turned the men and women into monsters as you desired. I have done my work.”

  Perhaps he’d flustered the new leader with his declarations. The man had little else to say for a while.

  Instead, the leader’s chest rose and fell in anger. He heaved gulp after gulp of air before finally wheezing out, “We will tell you when your work is done, Dread.”

  The words rang through the chamber. They rose into the air and bounced back upon him.

  How many times had he been told the same thing in his life? How many times had the Emperor endured their anger and hatred?

  He couldn’t count. But he also couldn’t remember how many times he’d seen these beings.

  So many memories. Gone. Taken from his mind as if they were nothing more than toys to be replaced with others. The alchemists had created a perfect weapon in him until he had realized the weapon could be wielded by another hand.

  The Emperor shook his head. “No, alchemist. You do not tell me when the work is done.”

  His words boomed with emotion, and this time, the others reacted. Voices lifted in anger and outrage.

  “How dare you?”

  “We gave you life, beast!”

  “A snap of our fingers would take your last breath.”

  “You question us? An animal questions the hand who feeds him?”

  He spun to the speaker of the last one, wings outstretched and fangs bared. “What food do you give my people? What work have you done to make their lives easier? Their hearts more full?”

  “We didn’t ask you to build a kingdom,” the leader of the alchemists rasped behind him. “We asked you to destroy one.”

  Therein the truth lay. The Emperor turned around and faced the man once more. “You asked me to destroy a home. There are people who live here, good people. When I first awoke, I followed your edicts because you told me they were benevolent. I believed you when you said this land needed a savior. That the people needed to wake just as I had.”

  But now, he didn’t believe them at all. He’d seen first hand the way the people lived above. They were happy. Believed in their king, even if the crops were being sold when they might have fed families. Blind faith kept them warm at night. And though he didn’t understand their resolve, he understood they had a choice.

  The Emperor was not the man to take that choice from them.

  The Princess was.<
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  He opened his mouth, only to be pushed on the shoulder by the alchemist leader.

  Blinking at the bloody handprint on his bare skin, he wondered if the man were mad? He was a quarter of the Emperor’s size and yet seemed to think this kind of behavior was... what? Acceptable?

  The alchemist leader snarled, “You will do as we bid, creature. Or we will take the powers we gave you and give them to someone else.”

  He loomed over the leader and bared his fanged teeth. Heat grew behind his eyes, pressing against his brain until a headache pounded behind his gaze. Red light flooded the chamber, making the alchemists glow.

  “I will say this only once,” the Emperor said. “This is my kingdom. I built the Hollows. If you could have taken my powers away, then you would have the first time I defied your illustrious membership. Which leads me to believe you’ve created a monster you cannot control.” The leader opened his mouth to reply, but the Emperor stopped him before more poison could spew from the man’s mouth. “Stop talking. If you can take the magic away, then do so now. If not, you will leave my kingdom.”

  The leader glared up at him with unseeing eyes. They stood together, locked in a moment the Emperor could only hope ended in death. One of them could spill blood and he would be happy.

  Unfortunately, the alchemist did not rise to the occasion of a fight.

  Instead, the creature shrugged. “You’ll regret this.”

  “And you will regret loosening my reins,” the Emperor replied. “Now go.”

  “No.” The alchemist took a step back and shook his head. “We will stay here for a while. In the rooms we always have to house us, should we need to stay.”

  He could have argued. He could have battled with words but the Emperor had no say. The alchemists could remain in the Hollow, but he wouldn’t breathe until their grotesque forms were far from his homeland.

  He stood frozen in the chamber, waiting until they all passed him to their rooms beyond the chamber, deeper into the earth. Only when he couldn’t hear the last footfall did the Emperor release his breath.