Chapter 59-
Dear Gabriel,
How are you? Tell everyone in Sigrit that I’ve passed the exam! I’m enrolled at Hilltop Academy of Medicine now as a researching nurse currently. What’s more unbelievable than that is who I met here. Let me tell it from the beginning.
I had just been assigned to my quarters and believed I had time to settle in when the administrator called me back. He was the same older gentleman who’d proctored my exam, and I think he took an affection to me, seeing as I’m the youngest student here. He gave me a slip of paper and said, ‘Someone requested to see you.’ Then, with a smile, he turned away and left me by my lonesome. The summons read something like this: ‘Appear as soon as you’d like to Room 312,’ and near the bottom it was signed ‘Dr. Aiken.’
Can you believe it? When I entered his office, it really was him! He was so overjoyed to see me again, he gave me a tight hug and sat me down to explain what had become of him after leaving Sigrit. He traveled across the country to finish his doctorate in medicine in Hilltop, and quickly secured a job as a professor here. He’s doing very well and, in a very personal moment, told me that he regretted leaving the town for so petty a reason. When I explained to him that the Spring had been destroyed not long after he left, he was even more sorrowful. I felt awful! Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but it might be what he needed to hear; he told me passionately that he would like to return to our little town, if only for a visit. Have you a new physician, yet?
I left him in kindness, and have been quite enjoying his class. He is a remarkably energetic lecturer. Perhaps all those years in Sigrit hardened him into who we knew better there. It’s so refreshing to see somebody so passionate for medicine!
Have you heard of the new disease sweeping New Hopeland? The official name for it is Exitis, and their royal government has asked the Academy to supply a small group of researchers to Galeton to help their current health officials. I’m almost certain Dr. Aiken will be one of those chosen to go, and I’ll try my best to weasel my way in as well, haha! I’d like to see Gallow and Sonsee.
Oh, I’m silly! I forgot to mention, Gallow and Sonsee took a ship to New Hopeland. They wouldn’t tell me why, and I’m jealous that they get to see another country before I do! Going all across the countryside opened my eyes to the world a little bit more; I’d love to go everywhere now. There are people here from all over Andeidra and even from the Antiquated Continent.
This letter is running a little long, and suppertime is soon, so I’ll leave you with a few notes.
Everyone was safe during the speech, don’t worry, we all came out okay!
Hilltop is really something to see, some of the old fuddies in town should get out and see it before they go!
Love, Janna Halloway
P.S. Tell everyone I love them!
---
“I just feel like I’ve been here before.”
Gallow leaned back on the bench beside Sonsee and watched the throngs of people pushing each other to get a clearer view of the runway.
St Chapman’s Basilica was a massive church with towering, ridged walls at its corners. The center of the building’s front was dominated by a vast open hall separated from the outside by giant quartz pillars. Down the center of the place of worship was a walkway that rose ten feet above the ground and extended for forty feet before descending in a long stairway. Hundreds of guards lined the walkway, outfitted in black and gold armor, keeping the masses at bay with tall glaives.
“He’s coming!” someone shouted. “He’s coming, the King!”
The crowd exploded into a frenzy; cheers and prayers left the lips of every Hopish citizen. Gallow saw Rodan and Dana standing at the back of the mass, still eagerly watching for the King-to-be.
Sonsee glanced at Gallow, studying his face. He was outwardly disinterested, but she recognized the intent in his eyes.
Gallow decided to stand up as the cheers intensified near them, figuring that the man of the hour was riding past. A patrol of royal guards preceded a white horse, atop which Leon sat. Dressed in golden armor that reflected the beams of sunlight which rained down from above. His face was handsome, elegant. His jaw sloped to a sharp point, all of his features were sharp, in fact. His blond hair was cut in a way that stuck out from the back and was much shorter in the front, almost with a widow’s peak; from the angle Gallow could see him, he appeared like an eagle.
After reaching the front steps of the basilica, Leon dismounted and climbed to the landing, his white silk cape flowing behind him, the golden patterns stitched into it made translucent by the sun.
At the top of the steps was one man.
“Who’s that?” Gallow whispered to Rodan, sneaking up to his side.
Rodan glanced at him like he’d asked what color the sky was.
“You really don’t know much about this country, then?”
“I don’t read the papers, bastard.”
Rodan wasn’t prepared for the vitriol, but figured he deserved it for his own snootiness, his artist’s condition.
“That’s Jesua Saibit Bach,” he explained. “The Chief Church Magistrate. They’re given their title by the Church, and he crowns the king.”
Gallow tried to get a good look at the Chief Magistrate from where he stood. He was dressed in simple black robes and mozzeta with the trademark zig-zagging salamander of the Church etched in white across it. Hanging from his neck and dangling between the flaps of the mozzeta was another zig-zagged salamander. Gallow couldn’t quite get a handle on his age or expression, but was immediately struck by his stance. It was wide and solemn, with both feet planted as if they were fixed in concrete to the ground. He did not move or waver for an instant.
Leon faced Bach, and knelt down before him. The crowd was wrapped in a tight, choking hush. An attendant at Bach’s side was also knelt, holding up a pillow atop which was an ornate golden crown, encrusted with jewels and pearls. Bach reached for the crown and lifted it with his pale hands, placing it gently atop Leon’s head. Before he rose, Bach performed a small blessing, kissing his right hand and then crossing it from his left shoulder to his right ribs, then to his left hip, and finally to his side.
Leon rose slowly; the crowd was gripped in a spell of silence, the reality was known, but it was too magnificent to be acknowledged yet. He turned around and faced his captive audience, raising one hand to them, reaching out as if to offer them something intangible. They burst once more into violent, raging applause, and he proceeded down the steps of the basilica. The crowd grasped for him from below, for just a single chance to touch him. He was heavenly as he passed between them.
Within the basilica, further back than most people cared to look, two more men stood, watching the proceedings with the rest of the royal court, all grouped into different cliques. Ky Monaco gazed on with a grim expression; beside him, Persicho, his purple hair pulled back into a ponytail, glanced at him.
“Ky?” he checked, reading into the creases of his friend’s face. “Is everything okay?”
The General didn’t shift his countenance. “The rats…” he muttered beneath his breath.
“Hm?”Persicho leaned closer.
“The rats,” Ky repeated more audibly. “They’re swarming, wallowing at his feet, it’s disgusting.” His fingers trembled, almost tightening into a fist. “Do you see what kind of a man your brother is? He’s hardly a man at all…”
“Ky…” Persicho didn’t know what to say; Ky’s words dripped with anger. It was true, Leon and Ky were diametrically opposed, as if one was handcrafted to be the other’s enemy, it was what had attracted Ky to find a friend in Persicho in the first place.
“Both of you serve the same country,” was all that Persicho could muster.
Ky nearly spat. “You serve this country, he serves himself.”
“And you?”
“I served your father.”
Persicho could not respond, because the next moment they heard the gunshot.
The crowd gasped and went silent, wide-eyed. It was not known by most of them where the shot had come from, but the scene was almost impossible to believe.
Leon stood still atop the walkway, between his fingers was the bullet, caught effortlessly. He cast his eyes downwards to a young man who had stepped out of the crowd, his hand grasping a small pistol, still smoking. The instant the would-be assassin saw what had become of his attack, his whole body trembled in his cheap jacket. The root of his terror was more than the just awe-inspiring feat the newly crowned king had performed, it was the king’s eyes. They had gone from an indistinct brown color to a burning, flickering gold. The whole world seemed to darken around the orbs of fire that raged in Leon’s sockets, his black pupils stood against the light like the charred Earth before the sun.
For a brief, agonizing moment, the world was still; then, before anyone could even react, the assassin lay dead on the ground. A shock rippled through the crowd as officers surrounded the body to escort it away. Those who could get close enough to see his corpse would tell others that the killing blow had been dealt by a weapon that was not of this world. It was a short blade, but not made of steel, rather some pure, glowing material that would have been pure light had it not had solid shape. Quickly, the blade dissipated into nothingness, and the failed assassin would be taken to the morgue.
Leon took one last look at the man he’d just slain, his face betraying no emotion but the same stoic, disinterested pride it had before.
The mass of people, shocked and unsure of just what to feel, began to murmur quietly before one of them shouted out, cupping his hands around his mouth, “He is invincible!” and with that, another eruption of applause as Leon continued his strut down the walkway.
The noise of the crowd was only slightly muffled by the distance with which Mara, Jericho, and Dazey observed the proceedings from.
“Is this new king good?” Dazey wondered aloud, sitting cross legged and leaning forward over the edge of the roof.
“There are no good kings,” Mara scoffed, blocking out the sun with her parasol. “Only good subjects.”
“Huh?” Dazey leaned back far enough to make eye contact with Mara, who sat behind and above her. The building they were situated on had a rectangular, sloping roof with several windows poking out of the top from what would have been its attic.
Mara neglected making eye contact with her, despite Dazey’s effort to look at her. “If someone has power over you, then there’s no such thing as ‘good’ or ‘bad’; it’s all decided by the king, and the subjects need to follow it; any kind of ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you decide on doesn’t mean anything if you don’t have the power to enforce it. That’s why, even if they’re a kind person, you can’t trust someone in power, because if there’s even a possibility that they abuse it… Well, you can’t make yourself vulnerable.”
Dazey brought a finger to her bottom lip. “Do you trust our Lord?”
Mara was silent for a moment, and the air was dominated again by the rumble of the crowd. Jericho was seated leaning against a window, arms crossed and eyes closed in his boredom; however, when he heard Mara’s pause, he slowly opened his vision and watched her from his periphery.
“Mara…” he pondered. “The pendulum is swinging one way for you. How quickly will it swing the other. We’re all chaotic creatures, but does that mean we need to hate order?”
Finally, she answered after what felt like minutes, but was only a few seconds. “I trust him, because he’s not a ruler.”
Dazey cocked her head. “But he’s a lord.”
“That’s a term of endearment, Dazey,” Mara explained, at last looking into her eyes. “We follow him because we love him, and he loves us.”
“Love?”
“Yes…” Mara was uncomfortable saying the word.
“How do you know what Love is?” Dazey was confused when she saw Mara’s face tighten.
“I know what Love is, trust me,” she asserted. “Even people like us can understand what Love is.”
Dazey flipped around and propped her head up with her hands. “You think it’s the same as what a regular person would feel?”
Mara furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, how do you know that the Love you feel isn’t less than what someone down there would feel?”
Mara’s grip on the parasol tightened. “If they feel Love any differently, then they’re the ones who are insufficient.” Each word was pounded through like nails into wood.
Dazey studied Mara’s face for a moment and returned to watching the crowd. “Alright, if you say so.”
Jericho closed his eyes again, laying his worries to rest.
Sonsee had stood up to join Gallow when she heard the gunshot. It was a feeling eerily similar to what had happened in Hilltop only weeks before. He was just as stunned as she was, his face frozen in concentration on Leon.
At the end of the walkway was an arrangement of royal escorts ready to accompany the king on his walk back to the palace. It was customary to ride back on the same horse, but Leon evidently decided he wanted to savor the streets before returning to his throne.
The crowd’s excitement was pervasive, but it intensified whenever he walked past, creating a wave of activity that traveled closer with each step. Again, the wave reached them as it had when Leon had first rode in. The new king’s eyes stared straight ahead; in his mind, he was already at the end. Something, however, changed in his expression. Intrigue cracked the shell of ego, and he stopped abruptly in his tracks; a few gasps shot out from the masses as his gaze turned to someone else in the crowd.
“Ah, we have some foreign visitors.”
For the first time, the people heard him speak, and they clung to each word as if it contained some ethereal secret. What was more pressing, however, was that his eyes were focused on Gallow and Sonsee.
They were too shocked to even speak, it was surreal; the throng of people parted and created an open path between them. Leon stepped from the walkway and practically floated down to ground level, quickly surrounded by a fleet of armed guards to keep the onlookers at bay.
“Tell me,” his voice slipped from between his lips like silk. “Are you two from Andeidra?”
“Y-” Gallow spoke cautiously, wondering if he should even speak. “Yes…” he finally answered with some confidence.
The king smiled. “Ah, and I take it this is your wife?”
Sonsee’s face turned flush, her whole body stiffened up; Gallow glanced at her. “My wife?”
“She’s quite the jewel,” Leon extended his arm to her, his gloved fingers curled halfway save for his index, which pointed straight to Sonsee. “Or, should I say wildflower?” His smirk was crushing. “We rarely see a woman of such features in our country,” he glanced aimlessly at the city which surrounded them. “Tell you what, I’d like to invite you and your wife to tonight’s coronation dinner.”
A gasp rippled through the whole crowd; Gallow and Sonsee could hardly move for their shock.
“Ah, don’t worry,” Leon assured them. “If you have prior plans, feel free to attend to them, but be aware that you will always be welcome to attend.” He slowly stepped forward, moving effortlessly beneath his heavy golden armor. When he was in front of them, inches away, he stretched a hand out to Sonsee’s, taking it in his.
“I would always love to indulge a guest,” he said. His eyes did not break contact with Gallow’s, dark and hazel in color, as he steadily lifted Sonsee’s hand. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, but no words escaped her throat. Leon brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, letting it down as easily as he’d raised it.
Gallow remained locked in stare with him, refusing to show even a hint of emotional reaction. Leon’s kind smile and strong eyes were a deadly combination; the pleasure he took in the moment was immense and invisible. Then, for a single instant, his eyes flashed a bright gold color. Gallow’s lips parted ever so slightly, almost unnoticeable, but enough to show his reaction.
Leon let out a soft laugh and extended his gaze to Sonsee. “I really must make your acquaintances,” he implored them and turned around. On cue, the guards formed a three-man lift by kneeling down facing each other and entangling their arms to make a platform which Leon was able to set one foot on before they stood up, propelling him upwards with much of the momentum seemingly coming from himself. He landed gracefully atop the walkway once more and, without even looking at Gallow or Sonsee, continued his march.
The crowd’s attention was, for the first time, shifted away from Leon and towards the invitees.
Sonsee crossed her arms tightly, closing herself off from the stares. Somehow, that brief encounter had made her feel more vulnerable than most of the killers they’d faced on their travels.
Gallow scanned the crowd, awkwardly darting his eyes between the faces of the people who now must have thought of them as celebrities. His sight stopped at one face in particular, however. It was Rodan’s face, drained of color, yet full of fire.
---
“Are you kidding me?!” Gallow nearly fell out of his chair.
Sonsee wore a look of horror, “Absolutely not!”
“You don’t like him either!” Rodan pleaded, his hands jittering.
“Well the people seem to love him, mister ‘artist’,” Gallow spat. “What happened to all the doom and gloom in the streets?”
Rodan rubbed his temple and slumped over in his chair. “You don’t understand- No, most people don’t understand. All of those people think that his father has been running the country for the last ten years! They don’t know that he’s behind our recession, our infrastructure, everything that’s been declining- Look,” he got to his feet and huffed his way over to the kitchen counter. A moment later, he slapped a newspaper on the table.
“Read this,” he pointed to the headline at the top of the front page:
“KING LIZZY PASSES, COUNTRY IN MOURNING”
“After years of declining health, King Lizzy IX passed in his sleep three nights ago. The son of…”
Rodan’s finger slid down the page, looking for the section he wanted.
“Not all is grim, however. Much of the nation’s internal issues were suspected to be a result of his ailing health. His son, Prince Leon, is anticipated by many to be a worthy successor to his father. Long admired for his ability on the battlefield and charming countenance, Leon’s popularity with the people has seemingly skyrocketed the more he steps into the public eye…”
“Do you get it?” Rodan moaned. “They think he’s the Second Saviour!”
Sonsee’s eyebrows slanted downward, upset. “I’m not going to kill him over it.”
Rodan protested, “But-”
“No,” she cut him off. “You’ll have a deadbeat king, why do we care? Why should we put ourselves on the line; what are you doing, anyway?”
Rodan spoke slowly. “Because you have an opportunity.”
They listened to him, unimpressed, and so he continued.
“Trust me, if I had the same chance that you did, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“Would it make you happy?” Gallow asked abruptly.
“What?” Rodan seemed confused by the question.
“Would it make you happy to kill him?”
Rodan stopped for a second to consider his answer. “The only thing that would make me happy is that other people will have a better life-”
“Are you an artist or a politician?!” A touch of anger revealed itself on Gallow’s face.
Rodan recoiled, taken aback. “What?” he asked for a second time.
“I’m not going to take someone’s life I don’t even know, who isn’t doing anything to me-- or my friends.” Gallow laid down his words like a hammer.
Rodan blinked a few times and looked down at the table, where he’d laid out all the things they’d need for the night, arranged into a package about the size of a cutting board. Without saying anything, he stood up again and walked to the window.
“If you did it, I could get you to the Serpent Isles.”
The response was immediate from Gallow.
“No, don’t bargain with my values.”
Rodan sighed. “Well, there’s no other way to get there. You’re foreigners, do you have visas?”
“No,” Sonsee told him.
“They won’t allow you out of the city; you’ll be inspected, searched, and if they find out that you’re Vocation users, you’ll be taken away.”
“We’ll find a way,” Gallow affirmed. “We can do it without you.”
---
Mara huffed down the city streets at dusk, her boots made thick clicking sounds against the cobble streets.
“You’re certain that it’s really Calari this time?” she panted, trying to keep up with Jericho’s stride.
“Of course,” he replied. “Queen’s calculations have never been wrong.” His pace was frenetic, almost angry. His thick cape flowed behind him, yet bound in the center to not expose him to the elements.
“Jericho is only so upset when we visit Calari…” Mara pondered. “Or should I say, Calari’s wife…” A spear shot into her heart.
---
“Sweety?” Dana came in through the front door with a jug of water in her arms. “I have the water for the next day, it’s your turn tomorrow.”
Rodan did not face her as she set the jug upon the counter.
“Sweety? She asked, gazing past Gallow and Sonsee to her husband’s face. It was pale, and his lip quivered. “W-what’s wrong-?”
“You two!” Rodan snapped, rushing to the table and picking up the package. “Take this!”
“What-? What’s going on-?” They both asked together, standing up in a frenzy.
“You need to get out of here-- now!” Rodan cried. “They’re here!”
Dana took a sharp breath inward. “Not the-”
“The damn Inquisitors!!” He stuffed the package into Sonsee’s hand. “You too!” he ran to his wife. “Get out of here! Go with them, they’re still free! They’ll chase me wherever we run to!”
Dana’s jaw trembled. She touched his face, fighting off tears. “No…” she whispered weakly.
Rodan shook his head in surprise, gripping her arms. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll go with you!” she mourned. “I won’t leave you!” Tears burst from her eyes, and she pressed her head into his chest.
“Love…” he whispered, only loud enough that she could hear it. His arms wrapped around her, holding her body tightly to his. His face sunk into her hair, breathing her in deeply before he looked up at Gallow and Sonsee.
“Go!” he commanded. “Destroy the Object if you must, but remember, this is what you allow to continue!”
Gallow stared into Rodan’s eyes for a moment, then grabbed his jacket from the chair.
“Let’s go, Sonsee.”
They ran from the apartment room, slamming the door behind them.
“Right!” Gallow pointed down the direction of the hall. “I heard them from the other direction!”
They ran down the hall to the right-side staircase, descending it with their lives. Moments later, Mara and Jericho stomped up the steps at the other end of the hallway, followed by three black-garbed officers, proceeding to the door of Rodan’s apartment with blazing intent.
Sonsee stopped on the stairs. “Wait!” she whispered strongly.
“What?” Gallow asked, but she was already inching her way up the stairs to the corner of the flight. “What are you doing?”
She turned back to him with distress drenching her eyes. “The scent, it’s the same as on the ship…”
Gallow’s face took on a new kind of concern. She had explained to him the way she’d detected the strange doll-like thing in the cargo hold, and he had likened it to the way he himself heard souls as different tones. If she was picking up the same smell, then…
Sonsee peeked around the corner, watching as the Inquisition Squad arrived at the doorway. Mara raised her hand to touch the door.
“[DIVA DESTRUCTION]...”
She tapped her folded parasol against the thick wood, and knocked a hole through it. Jericho kicked down the door with ease, and they entered the apartment.
Sonsee turned back. “Let’s go.”
Gallow nodded as Navigator returned to him. He’d used his Vocation to watch with her, not wanting to risk being seen.
Breaking out into the street was uncanny. The crimson red sunsets of Galeton melted away into dark blueish dusks that seemed to blanket the entire sky. They glanced at each other, and hurried around the building to the alleyway.
“What are we going to do?” Sonsee panted, still holding the package.
Gallow stopped to catch his breath. “We go to the palace,” he announced begrudgingly.
Sonsee’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean we’re actually going to-”
“Look, I talked a big game because I knew he’d come around,” Gallow explained. “Now that they’re gone, we really don’t have anything if we want to get to the Serpent Isles.”
“We could go back to Thornlove--” Sonsee insisted.
“She won’t take us, she already said,” Gallow put his hands on his hips, pacing slowly and tiredly. “The best chance we have is to pull some strings with the king.”
Sonsee shuddered, remembering the way he’d kissed her hand that day.
“You can’t be serious…”
Gallow couldn’t even find the charm to smirk.
“I don’t like it either…”