The Weight of the World

by G M Archer

  As we rode out by Maul he waved goodbye, wishing me luck. The soldiers and I discussed trivial things as they took me through the maze of cedar glades, and I soon realized that Maul was right, I would have been hopelessly lost without them. They took me to the edge of the woods, a rolling expanse of hills and wooded areas before us, Phoenix Peak painfully far to the northwest. From the distance, I could see how the Mountain got its name, the split summit resembling the open maw of an ascending bird.

  I parted ways with the soldiers, watching them disappear into the shadows of the forest, and then spurring my horse on. I soon discovered her to be a lively animal, anxious to take a trotting gallop down the path, but as much of a hurry as I was in, I knew I couldn’t let her wear herself out.

  The chill of the morning encouraged me to draw the hood of my cloak close to my head, my breath freezing in the air.

  The cold of the morning retreated some as the sun rose to warm the plains, rays of light trickling through a sky of patchy clouds. I shuffled for a map, anxiously keeping the reins pulled to my hips with the other hand, knowing that the horse would take any slack as an opportunity to pick up her pace.

  I found my charcoal and ink smudged document, pondering on the location of the owl statues. There was one almost directly between Voltaren and Maul’s camp, and one to the north of where I was as well, closer to the sea.

  I had a long internal debate about traveling to it, and finally decided against it. It was too far north, and would take too long to travel back to the peak from. The next controversy was whether I wanted to try to travel there to get back to Voltaren after I made it to the mountain, or just journey to the city itself.

  I let out a long sigh. My horse was going to be exhausted either way. While she was a stubborn creature so was I, and we came to an agreement to not test each other too much. I rode till the sun was at the peak of the sky, not encountering anyone else but seeing distant figures occasionally on the main road that ran between Voltaren and Ravock to its north. The train churned through once as well, long before I crossed over its tracks, nervous about the horse’s feet on the slatted rails.

  She crossed it effortlessly, however, and as we rode leisurely across the next field, I ate an apple and some dried meat before we stopped at stream, letting the horse drink and partake of my other apple. A farmer at the house up the hill watched me as he tended to his cattle, and I calmly moved on. We were making fair time, the mountain drawing closer.

  I slowed the mare to a walk as we entered a wooded area, eyeing roots and other debris that might trip her up. Her ears twitched and her head jerked, the whites of her eyes showing as her nostrils flared. I gripped the saddlehorn, starting to speak to soothe her, but looking around to try to find the source of her surprise.

  The gunshot boomed against my ears like thunder. My scream mixed with the horse’s as she reared, and I lost my grip on the saddlehorn, toppling to the ground. I rolled aside last second as the mare came crashing down, her legs thrashing, blood pouring from her neck. I reached out helplessly as she wailed once more, convulsed and stilled.

  Dumbly, I watched her blood pool on the ground, scrambling back as two guards flew out from the underbrush, one with a gun trained on me, and one still packing his to reload.

  He pointed to my chest, to the exposed stamp of the rooster, “Told you she was one of Maul’s!” he hissed to the boy holding the gun.

  The boy looked me in the eye, hands taught against the barrel, pale faced and sweating slightly.

  “Shoot her!” the man commanded.

  The boy’s hand twitched to the lock, jerking it down.

  “No!” I put my hands out in front of me.

  Beads of sweat trickled down the boy’s face, “She- she’s alone, and she doesn’t have a gun- maybe she isn’t going to cause any-any trouble.”

  “I’m just going to Phoenix Peak,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

  The boy looked to the man.

  “Sure you are, bandit scum,” the man curled his lip, “Kill her.”

  “I’m Princess Atlas!” I shook my hands. Better captured than dead.

  The man burst out laughing, “And I’m Varrick and this is Lafayette! I didn’t know you vagabonds were such terrible liars. Shoot her before she says something else stupid,” he looked at the boy’s trembling hands, “Or do I need to do it myself?” he finished packing his gun, leveling it at my chest.

  “No,” the boy’s eyes grew cold, finger snapping back the trigger.

  The world slowed, I heard the powder ignite, resisted the urge to close my eyes to meet my fate. The boy screamed, dropping the gun. It fired before it hit the ground, the bullet whizzing off into the woods. I stopped, much like the man, not comprehending what had just happened. The boy wailed again, eyes locked onto a small silver blade like a feather embedded in his forearm.

  The man, confused, pointed his gun wildly at the woods. There was a moment of still, everyone's heavy breathing and the boy’s crying the only sound. The dark color whirled out of the undergrowth, the man startling and firing his weapon.

  Another blade whisked through the air into the boy’s chest, and he crumpled, the man drawing a sword as the Journeyer ran at him. It struck his legs, faster than a snake, grabbed his sword, and ran it through his chest. His eyes rolled back into his head as he stumbled back, struck a tree, and fell.

  The Journeyer cocked its head at his still form, turned smoothly and drew its blades from the boy’s body. It swiveled to me with its machine-like grace, striding forward and nudging the dead horse.

  Shaking, I stood on weak legs, “Thank- Thank you?” I brushed the rocks off my back with a trembling hand.

  It looked to the guards, “Death is always a tragedy,” It turned, catching me in the intensity of its gaze, “But sometimes necessary,” it walked forward, musing in its rasp of a bizarre accent, “and also inevitable.”

  In the moment of silence that followed, I didn’t know what to say to it. We were definitely a step forward from it saying nothing but ‘no’ to me. It watched out through the woods, head swiveling to every noise. I walked to the horse, brushing her eyes closed and looking at her pitifully. I shuffled through my saddlebags, taking what I needed, feeling guilty about leaving the saddle, but not as much as the horse. I took the tack from her body, hanging them in the nearest tree under the watchful eye of the Journeyer. Perhaps I could tell Maul where they were later.

  Shouldering my bag across my shoulder, and eyeing where the sun was in the sky, I continued down the road, the Journeyer coming up to walk beside me. I exited the woods out into another field, biting my lip when I saw the distance the Mountain was away. The Journeyer taking two bounding steps before taking off through the field. Still shaken, it startled me at first, flying down the hill, moving like an arrow. Its cape flared as it made a wide loop through the plain, then disappeared into the woods beside me. I kept walking as it repeated the routine, circling around me.

  It was . . . playing? It moved like a demonic shadow and had effortlessly just killed two men, and yet now- it was playing?

  I stopped as it got back one of the times, it halting in front of me.

  “What are you doing?” I crossed my arms as if asking a child.

  It got inches away, mask in front of my face, “What are you doing?” It was almost mocking.

  “Going to the Mountain,” I said pointedly, walking around it.

  It circled me as I walked, “You won’t get there before dark.”

  “Thank you for the obvious advice,” I grumbled.

  As frustrating as it was, though, it was right, I could exhaust myself trying to hurry there and I would still get there after sundown. I’d never built a fire, nor knew how to make a campsite. It’d be just my luck to make it this far and die of hypothermia. I looked back, debating on whether just to try to go back to Maul’s.

  I let out a long sigh, “You could make it there and back in no time,” I motioned to its quick lithe steps.


  It came back and sit down in front of me with my lack of progress.

  “Wouldn’t want to help me out, would you?” It was a semi-rhetorical question, the psychology of the Journeyer was endlessly confusing.

  It stood, looked at Phoenix Peak, and then me, and then suddenly scooped me up bridal style. There was a frozen moment of surprise between us, and I grabbed is cloak, a material softer than silk and that enveloped my hand like darkness. I looked down. So it did have arms.

  It pivoted and took off over the fields, whisking over the ground faster than any horse could ever dream of running. I turned my head against its body to keep the roaring wind from my eyes, but other than that the ride was surprisingly smooth. The Journeyer did not falter or jolt, the landscape blurring by. My arms trembled slightly from the adrenaline, such a strange but accelerating experience.

  The fields were behind us in no time, and we were soon sweeping through the forest that consumed the mountain's feet. The Journeyer slowed as we reached a place where ruins dotted the forest floor. Collapsed arches and flaking marble peaked out through the undergrowth, what remained of some ancient structure.

  I looked up at the Journeyer’s face, focused ahead. I grabbed for its mask, got a hand on it, and it immediately dropped me, flying off into the trees.

  It popped back up, hidden partway behind a bush.

  “Okay, okay, sorry,” I stood, brushing myself off, “I won’t try it again.”

  It shifted, watching me, and finally came down out of the woods. Its robe rippled behind it as it continued down the disheveled path ahead. I followed, and it led me to a shattered dais of stone, covered in the same swirling patterns as the one at the Library of Souls. I untied the Horn of Valor from my belt as I walked towards the raised pedestal in the center.

  The instrument fit snugly on the sloped pillar, and I looked around, expecting something to happen.

  Nothing.

  The Journeyer sit down, crossing its legs underneath it, “Play it,” it suggested.

  I nodded, bending down and letting a deep echoing blow echo that bounced off the surrounding hills and continued almost endlessly.

  “Ug. It sounds like the horns that blow when we go to war,” I looked at it, waited a moment, and blew again, “If not louder.”

  I let the seconds tick into minutes, my impatience only growing with inactivity. I looked at the Journeyer. It shrugged. I groaned.

  What was even supposed to happen? I should have gone back to Voltaren. Or Maul’s camp at the very least.

  Wait.

  I looked at the Journeyer, “I don’t want to be rude, but I may have to request you to leave for a moment. Icarus said go al-”

  I was cut off as the Journeyer flew to its feet, its cloak flaring out around it, “Who?”

  I jumped at the sharp seriousness in the tone of its raspy voice.

  “Icarus,” I said slowly, “The other figment of my imagination.”

  It stiffened, bristled, “Do. Not. Trust. Icarus,” it hissed, shot off the platform, and was gone into the woods with a flash of black and blue.

  “No, wait!” I reached out, running to the edge of the dais, “I need you! I need you to take me back to Voltaren!” I yelled out into the trees.

  With the silence as my only reply, I noticed how eerily still it had become. With a rasp of claws on stone, I spun to face behind me. I almost fell backwards off the dais.

  A rooster, I was feet away from a rooster bigger than an ox, his blazing eyes trained on me with a fierceness that would turn a warrior’s blood cold. The aspect of a giant chicken would have been amusing, to say the least, except for the fact that it was probably about to eat me.

  Forget hypothermia, that would be worse.

  His claws hissed on the marble as he came forward, swiveling his head with a flash of his scarlet comb, a rasp of his sword of a beak. I slowly reached for the swords on my back. The rooster clucked, like a wolf’s growl.

  I spun and took off running, making it only a few strides before I was cut off by a roar of feathers, the freakish bulk of the bird blocking my path. I skidded to a halt, inches away from the flaming circle of his eye.

  I had no idea how to fight something like this. If I stabbed it anywhere it would surely impale me with its beak or spurs before I got any fatal wound in. So what was I to do? I certainly felt like an insect in its predatory gaze.

  I planted my feet firmly, glaring back.

  It wasn’t killing me.

  No, was it what the horn summoned?

  It started circling me smoothly, clicking its beak. I caught a flash of leather, a strap hidden under its feathers. It finished another circle. It was wearing a saddle. You had to be kidding me.

  I flexed out my hands as it made another loop. This was not one of my better ideas, but what was?

  I grabbed the handle on the top of the saddle as it passed, and it froze. I hesitated as well, a poor choice, for it took off, dragging me a little ways before letting me sling off into a pile of mud.

  It clucked wildly, prancing back and forth. It was laughing at me.

  I jumped up, spit, and lunged to the saddle again, actually managing to get in it before the rooster gave a caterwauling shriek and took off through the woods, seemingly as fast as the Journeyer.

  Chapter 12- We are Destroyed by Our Own Noble Intentions

  Varrick spun, his sword crashing against the other and parrying it away from him. The knight opposite of him lunged at the opening, and he corrected accordingly, turning and blocking it. He dashed back, a sword spinning by his arm. He slashed sideways, sending the first broadsword from the knight’s hand into the dirt and the other flying through the air.

  “Stop sparring with me as if I were a child!” Varrick bristled, “It is like I’m training with squires.”

  The grizzly faced knight spoke in a monotone, “We cannot risk harming you, Your Majesty.”

  Varrick brushed his breastplate off, raising his sword as if to go again, but stopped at the chiming of the clock-tower bells.

  He slammed his rapier back in its sheath, thumb trailing over the wolf’s head of the pommel, “How am I expected to defend myself with such rudimentary training?”

  “We will always be here to protect you, my king,” the other knight droned.

  Varrick turned away from the two, clasping his hands behind his back, “This is not the way Joseph would have trained me.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, their indifferent dispositions stiffening. He had to resist the urge to smile at their dark brows and downturned lips. He turned away, stalking out of the courtyard, grabbing his crown off the fencepost where he left it as he walked by.

  The knights followed him at a distance where it was still uncomfortable, but not close enough to be casual.

  He pulled his hair out over the top of the crown, placing it back on his head. He fussed with the wild strands, desiring a mirror. Then again, perhaps not. He rubbed his dark eyes, scratched the stubble on his chin. Shaving wasn’t frequent when he didn’t have the time to do it himself, and irrationally panicked whenever someone else put a blade near his throat.

  “Your Majesty, King Varrick!” the high-pitched voice came from down the hall.

  Varrick gritted his teeth as the portly chaplain shuffled up to him, “What do you want, Basil, I have personal matters to attend to.”

  “Oh, but, Your Majesty, I could think of nothing more important than what I have come to fetch you for! You just must come with me! There are pressing matters in the grand hall! Of great importance, extremely fascinating!” Basil clapped his hands.

  Varrick looked at him with a complete lack of interest, “Does this concern the Terminus conquest?”

  Basil fumbled, muttering inaudible babbling.

  Varrick started to go around him when he blurted out, “This does however concern the relations with our allies, your unified territories, which you would do well to keep good ties with considering the revo-”

  Basil shut his mouth, trying to
hide that he was going to say something else.

  “Considering what?” Varrick said sharply.

  “Considering how much they love and respect you, and would be pleased to be graced with your presence,” Basil’s sweat betrayed his smile.

  Varrick drew close to him, bending to Basil’s height, “You wouldn’t have happened to be saying something about the non-existent revolutionaries, would you? And if so, Basil, that should not be something you should be concerning yourself with, now should it?”

  Basil shook his head quickly.

  As much as Varrick hated it, Basil was right, he had to honor his allied commitments. He would just be doing so on his own terms, not Basil’s.

  He turned smoothly, making for the grand hall. He heard Basil’s waddling footsteps pursuing him.

  Varrick’s heart sunk when he saw the line of richly dressed nobles, but he plastered on a fake pleasant smile. Basil shouted his arrival to the company, despite the fact all attention had already directed itself to him.

  The people all moved towards him, as urgent as socially acceptable, as fast as they could without pushing into each other. The first to make it to him was a man with poorly died black hair, pulling along a woman that held her arms stiffly before her.

  The man bowed, “Greetings, Your Majesty! Such an honor!”

  Varrick’s smile almost faltered, sick of hearing the title and the weight it carried as it was uttered.

  Varrick gave a slight downturn of the head to the man to acknowledge him, and he flew back to his feet, “I am Count Yeg of the Starbuck Islands, and I am proud to introduce to you Princess Kress, the most eligible young lady southward of Viafinis!”

  The Count made a sweeping motion as a woman stepped forward, teetering like a wooden doll in her stiff dress. The smile on her face was so wide it stretched her painted lips to a wire, the tips of her mouth twitching like it pained her. As angry and unconformable as Varrick was, he could at least relate to that.

  Varrick looked out at the line of similarly dressed women and escorts. He fantasized turning around and strangling Basil for scheduling something like this.