RE: Monarch

Chapter 10. Everwood V

It was halfway through the second week that everything went to hell. I covered much ground over the prior ten days, teaching Barion and Maya how to produce the various poultices and salves. While Barion seemed to only grow happier with methough his requests for increased production were endlessMaya grew more and more sullen, to the point it made me actively uncomfortable. The thought began to percolate that Maya might be concerned with the possibility I was attempting to steal her role as Barions assistant. So whenever possible while she was in earshot, I would comment on how excited I was to be returning to the capital and my fathers side.

Somehow that only made things worse, her demeanor growing stonier, the dark cloud that followed her billowing and full. Eventually, she stopped accompanying me on my daily outings altogether. I said nothing to Barion. Frankly, it was a relief.

And its not like it mattered what she thought of me, regardless.

It was a particularly chill morning, one of those late Winterscrest days that carried with it the promise of a much colder night to come. I was trying to restore warmth to my hands, rubbing them together and breathing into them when there was a knock on my door. Maya stood there, a blank look on her facedownright hospitable compared to her recent mannerand held out an envelope, around the size and length of a standard letter.

"Whats this?" I asked.

"Doesnt matter. Master Barion instructed me to have you bring it to him."

"Okay." On second thought, I threw on an additional robe, not looking forward to going out in the cold. "Where is he?"

Maya chewed her lip, then crossed her arms and looked away. The once florid bruise across her throat had faded to a magenta shadow, nearly gone. "He is in the cellar."

That gave me pause. Barion had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped since my demonstration with the fire. When Id attempted to pry, hed say something along the lines of needing to prepare, and that hed show me when it was ready. I was delighted. Some part of me had feared our business would conclude with Barions research remaining a mystery. Any additional information on magic would be invaluable.

I walked around her excitedly, then paused. Whoever Maya was, whoever she might become in the future, she was still a person. At this point, she didnt even seem like a particularly bad person. Just a child. I turned back.

"Im sorry I hurt you," I said. Somehow, Id never been able to bring myself to apologize before now. "Its complicated, but, long story short, I thought you were someone else. Its not what you are, I mean. I dont go around attacking-" I stopped myself just shy of saying demi-humans, then continued. "-attacking infernals. Maybe that doesnt matter. Anyway, I am sorry." I was about to turn and go when Maya spoke.

"It matters," she said. A shadow of something flitted across her face, disappearing before I could identify it.

A weight lifted off my chest as I left the house. Perhaps the simple act of befriending Maya now could change things for the better. For the first time, the path ahead of me didnt seem quite so insurmountable.

Perhaps building a successful future was as simple as making incremental changes over time. I could get my father to sponsor Barions research, build him a facility within the capital, and he in turn could study my newfound magic, maybe even my visions of the future. I could keep Maya close and solidify her role as Barions assistant, keeping her busy and off the board for the opposing force.

To fight Thoth, I would need allies.

The padlock on the cellar door was already open, the chains hanging slack to either side of the iron doors. I pulled the heavy doors open one at a time, the metal whinging in protest, and stepped inside.

It went deeper than expected. At the bottom of the initial set of stairs, there was another set, leading downward to the right. Then another. A sound echoed up from beneath and I stopped in my tracks, tilting my head.

Was someone crying?

I shivered, then shook my head to clear it. Was I a child, jumping at noises in the dark? No.

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Well. I was a child.

But no.

I descended three more sets of stairs, moving slowly, my hand against the cold stone wall. My teeth chattered and I could see my breath with each exhale. It was somehow colder in the stairwell than it was outside. There was a growing scent of antiseptic and something foul beneath it, a mix of refuse and oxidized copper. Someone was crying, I was sure of it. My stomach turned, my earlier confidence all but forgotten.

Something was wrong here.

The stairway opened up into a pitch-black room. The darkness pushed in on me, thick and oppressive. I could barely make out the shape of a torch sconce. I blindly found the flint and steel hanging from its base and struck them against the torch. On my second strike, the torch caught, flooding the room in a dim light.

And as the contents of the room came to light, that small hope that had kindled within me flickered and died.

When my father first told me I was to accompany the army to Inharion, I was thrilled. Mother had been reading me the Collected Tales of Sir Gantry the Wise over the prior weeks, the story of the knight who was among the first to arrive in Uskar. The tales of Sir Gantry were frolicking and optimistic, regaling the reader with a rose-colored retelling of the first meeting between mankind and the elves.

Sir Gantry was shocked by the appearance of the elves. The women were buxom and beautiful, the men slight and effeminate. Sir Gantry gave the elves gifts, greeting them as equals. But they were not that. They were fiercely territorial amongst themselves and primitive. All the more reason, Sir Gantry decided, for mankind to aid them. With the help of a thousand scholars and a thousand priests he taught the elves to read and honor the gods. He taught them how to prepare vegetables and cook meat, instead of simply eating everything raw. Most magnanimous of all, Sir Gantry gave the strongest tribe of the elves the secret of forging steel so they might maintain order.

But the elves did not care for order, only power.

The strongest tribe of elves began slaughtering the rest, forcing submission and tyrannical rule upon their fellows. They levied unfair taxes and raped and murdered. Sir Gantry wept at the carnage. Determined that it could not end this way, he rode into the midst of a battle, banner held high, and shouted to the elves. "Why have you forgotten the gods and turned against your own people?" The elves looked at each other and threw down their weapons, and mourned, for they had forgotten the humanity they had been taught.

Thus, from that day onward, mankind governed the elves with great compassion, keeping them in check, so they might not turn the sword upon themselves once more.

My mother had told me to take the tales of Gantry with a grain of salt, but of course, I hadnt known what that meant. Id just wanted more stories. She said that Sir Gantry wasnt the hero of the tale, but again, that didnt make any sense. Of course Sir Gantry was the hero. His name was on the cover. When I told her this she smiled, brushed the hair out of my face and whispered, "But who gave them the steel?" Then she kissed my forehead and bade me sweet dreams.

I puzzled over her question, eventually discarding it. It wouldnt come back to me until sometime later. My father had explained this trip to me as a "renegotiation" and "a settling of terms." I took it to mean wed be doing something similar to Sir Gantry, helping the elves so they did not hurt themselves. The prospect was tantalizing. As we traveled through the Everwood I was so excited I could hardly sleep. I wanted so badly to see them, the beautiful women and strangely feminine men with pointed ears who ate raw food and wielded magic and carried curved swords.

Then the fighting began. I watched the sacking of Inharion from an elevated hill, guarded by my fathers men. This wasnt order. It was a slaughter of people. The ones who ran were put to the sword. The ones who didnt run were beaten bloody and then put to the sword.

In the blank, analytical fog of shock I came to understand several things: the elves were beautiful only in the same sense that all people were beautifulsome were, and some were not. They didnt fight with savagery.

Mostly, they didnt fight at all.

The few men who picked up spears to defend their families or homes were untrained and quickly cut down. There was only one spell: a girl with long white hair cast something that formed a protective bubble around two children and an older man. The soldiers just waited until the bubble faded, putting her into chains and slaughtering the others.

I realized, through a haze of grief, that the stories were lies. And not just the Tales of Sir Gantry. All stories. Every story of noble knights and kind kings were lies. There was nothing noble about this violence, nothing honorable. Then there was a tearing sensation in my chest as if my very soul was rended.

That night in Barions cellar, I felt that same tearing in once more.

Torchlight flooded the basement. It wasnt a laboratory. It was a dungeon. A half-dozen cast iron cages held animals that skittered back against their bars, cringing at the sudden illumination.

Only, they werent animals.

They were children.

The scent of blood was suddenly unbearable, its source clear from tepid reservoirs that passed beneath the hung cages, leading to grates in the floor.

The children cringed back from the light, bodies curled in terror and fear. Some wept, some stayed silent. A little boy stared at me, shadows barely obscuring the hollow cavity of his left eye. An older girl was missing an arm, yellowed bandages covering the stump. I wandered forward, as if possessed, unable to stop. They all had countless injuries, some healed, some fresh.

It occurred to me in a rush why, exactly, Barion was in need of so many healing items.

I doubled over and vomited, emptying the contents of my stomach onto the filthy ground. The letter Maya had given me floated to the floor, unsealed top coming open.

In the center of the room was the only empty cage. It was only partially constructed and taller than the others, perhaps meant for a teenager instead of a child. Above it was a bucket. It looked like a crude version of the emergency showers alchemists who worked with dangerous chemicals would use. But why? The other cells didnt have anything similar.

I took a step backwards. My foot scraped against paper. I looked down. From within the envelope Maya had given me there was a single piece of paper with sparse writing. I bent down and picked it up and pulled the paper out, my hands shaking violently. On the other side of the page was a single word.

Run

There was a slow creak as somewhere, several sets of steps above me, the cellar door creaked open.

My heart crawled into my throat and died there. Hide. Have to hide. I ran towards the back, nearly knocking over a basket filled with something Id rather not describe. Off-balance, one foot came down hard on a reservoir as I ran, spattering me with foul-smelling blood. I opened up a cupboard near the back of the room and squeezed myself in, my arms and legs scraping against the rough wood.

Through a crack, I saw Barion descend the last of the stairs slowly, his usually cheerful smile gone. His hairless face flickered luminescent gold in the torchlight as he walked, robe trailing behind him.

"Cairn," he called softly, "We have some things to talk about."

The hells we did. I stayed as silent and still as I could, curled up within the cupboard, unable to do anything about the tears that leaked from me, tiny drops that softly pattered the wood below.

"Im sure you have questions. And while I admit my methods are not pleasant, they are not quite as draconian as they seem. There is a purpose, child. Why dont you come out, and well talk."

I closed my eyes and took deep silent breaths, trying to calm the pounding of my heart.

"Darling. Did Maya heal your wound?"

There was an affirmative grunt. He wasnt talking to me.

Barions voice was strangely sympathetic, almost kindly. "Im sure your talent will manifest before we get to your other eye. Well be extra thorough."

There was a soft, stuttered sound. Crying.

"I know its earlier than planned but have a little faith my dear. We just have to push a bit further."

The crying turned more hysterical and mixed with begging. It turned my stomach.

"Well, perhaps you could use a break. Just do me one small favor."

Anything, the child said.

"Tell me where the boy who came down here went. Did he leave?"

Everything in my mind screamed at me to run. I exploded out of the cupboard, startling the children in cages near me, and made a mad dash towards the top of the stairs.

Barion stood at the top. I scraped to a halt, my arms pinwheeling. How had he gotten in front of me? His expression was so mournful it made my skin crawl. I slowly backed away as Barion closed the distance between us.

"We could have done such great work together," he said, "if youd only waited a few more days." I moved further into the dungeon, looking for a window of opportunity to move past him. None came.

"The hells are you talking about?" I stammered.

"Your new home was nearly complete." Barion inclined his head towards the cage in the center of the room and I felt my blood freeze. "It was quite the passion project. Beautiful and utilitarian in equal measure. A lot of thought went into making sure you wouldnt hurt yourself or anyone else."

The demon-fire. That was the point of the chemical bath above the cage, likely filled with rosewater in case I immolated myself. He feared it enough to take such measures, so that had to mean something. But how could I use it? It wasnt exactly practical and most of the cellar was made of stone.

The broom. It was next to the bucket I almost knocked over. I needed to distract him. I continued moving backwards, shifting my destination slightly towards the broom.

"As if you care for the suffering of others." I spat at him, not having to fake the anger.

"You wound me, child," Barion said. There was actual hurt in his voice. "Unnecessary suffering is unconscionable, the gods greatest failure."

The look on my face must have said quite a lot because I didnt even have to goad him before he continued.

"There are great evils in the world, child. A war is coming. A Great War, the atrocity of which you cannot possibly imagine."

I almost tripped, his words throwing me entirely off-balance. I tried to shake it off. People always said that. My father made the same claim most of my life. Just because he was saying it now didnt mean he knew for certain. I almost reached the broom.

"So, what, youre just getting the war-crimes started before the war? What possible justification could you have for all this?" I indicated the room angrily, creeping closer to my goal inch by inch.

"They are my students. I am trying to help them awaken, as you awakened." Barion closed the distance between us casually. He moved easily, as if there was nothing truly at stake, as if his victory and correctness were both completely assured.

"You know nothing about me." My hand closed on the rough wood of the broom. I didnt have to search for the feeling. It boiled beneath the surface of my mind, thick and awful.

"Incorrect. I know that at some point in the not-so-distant past, you were exposed to demon-fire and lived. It was traumatic. The way you look at the flamethat beautiful gift of the godsas if it is grime beneath your heel is enough. The how and the why are as beyond me as they are irrelevant. You were ordinary once and are now anything but."

A wave of heat radiated up my back, signaling my success. I pulled the flaming broomstick forward and swung, air crackling as the violet flames flickered and the flaming wood arced straight towards his face. Barion didnt flinch. His gloved hand blurred and caught the stick with a meaty crack. My flames petered out where he held the stick. Rosewater. Hed been treating his clothes with rosewater.

The blue-silver blade of his rapier flashed and caught me in the chest, piercing me through.

A white-hot sliver of pain shot through me a half-second later and something inside me tensed, spasming horribly. I might be the only person in the world to recognize that specific pain. The heart. Again. I tried to reach out with a spark to set him on fire. But my hand fell to my side. My body was already failing me.

"Alas, I cannot risk the whole of my research for one intriguing case study." Barion sheathed his blade, looking utterly crestfallen. "I am sorry, child."

I slipped to my knees and toppled over. My sight was already going dark around the edges, a black halo growing wider and wider. What was the point of all this, anyway? A dark smile came to my lips. If somewhere in the aether, some god had the misfortune of choosing me as their champion, had given me a vision of the future and expected me to change things they chose poorly. I thought of Lillians smiling face, her soft body nestled next to mine, basking in the gold-dusk sun after our mountainside picnic, then nothing.

As I died, returning to the same black void Id nearly forgotten, I heard a single word.

Again.