by J. L. Carter
There is no answer.
The foyer is empty.
Elsewhere, Margaret has found herself stepping down into the depths of the dungeon. It’s not a typical place, out of the way, with cots and sheets and warm lighting.
No. This looks like something from the depths of the darkest poets’ minds. It is a single room, a window carved into the door. Brass knobs and steel wires have been woven into the wood of the door. The lock is like something that she has never seen before.
Slowly, Margaret steps up to the window. She curls her dainty hands around the iron bars. There is no light inside the room. She can’t see anything.
“Aidar? Are you in here?”
At first, there’s no answer. It’s nothing but darkness and shadows. Margaret makes to grab at the crystal, but it’s still not around her neck. The realization makes her sick.
“I’m sorry,” she says, voice soft and wavering. “I’m so sorry, Aidar. I didn’t know it would turn out like that.”
“Lies,” hisses Aidar. “Liar!”
“No,” swears Margaret. “I didn’t! I didn’t know that they would be so rough!”
She didn’t know that Aidar would fight back so violently, or that he would keep her crystal. She didn’t realize that the humans would be using the Sky Men’s technology, or that it would cause such damage to all those involved.
She didn’t know that this is where Aidar would go.
What was she expecting? Margaret isn’t sure. Not a trial, per say. Not comfort given to the man that had started the veritable destruction of England. But respect, perhaps. The respect that any human would get, no matter how crass, how cruel that their actions may have been.
Iron links clatter together. It sounds like Aidar has been chained. Margaret’s stomach lurches. Her skin feels like it has been frozen. “I’m so sorry,” she says, and she truly means it.
But sometimes, often, words are not enough. The clatter and clinking of chains gets louder. Aidar throws himself at the door, snarling and growling into the window. Bright purple scales line his face, which has twisted into something awful, something both hard and viscous, that now covers all his body. Massive fangs have taken the place of his own teeth, elongated claws sprouting from the tips of his fingers. It looks as if he went back to his primal form. The reptilian beast inside him, now fully revealed. Margaret, upon seeing this transformation, feels puzzled. She should be afraid, repulsed, but can’t help being still attracted to the creature that once made her his own. No matter how monstrous he became.
“You’re a liar,” he says. The crystal is hanging from around Aidar’s neck. It looks darker than usual, as if there was an evil force drifting through the facets. “You’re a liar! I trusted you. I worked to fix things for you, so that you would be treated well! And this? This is how you repay me?”
Something is ringing. It’s a low, dull sound. Bells that have been wrapped in silken sheets. Margaret knows that Aidar is still talking but she cannot hear nor make out the words.
The only thing that Margaret knows is the crystal. It is dying.
She thinks that maybe it is dying, or else that it’s trying to reflect the waning life of the human race.
Slowly, Margaret reaches out, as if to grab it. Her fingers graze the crystal—but no, they never curl around!
Desperation fueling her, she lunges forward, grabbing at the crystal that hangs around the Prince’s neck. Her fingers brush over it before Aidar is lurching backwards, hissing and snarling in a language that Margaret can’t understand. The chain is the only thing keeping them connected.
Suddenly, the gentle hum of silk and bells and feathered things is drowned out. A siren fills the air, wailing, screaming.
It is not of human make.
24
The siren is still going off. Fear grips Margaret’s heart. For a moment, she is lost in it. The sound devours her; it controls her every thought.
Slowly, her world fades out of being. She can see a story taking place in the shadows. The crystal glows with another worldly light. This is where the whistling noise comes from, or maybe the siren is simply a figment of Margaret’s imagination, caused by her fear and longing for something else. She is, for just a moment, unsure about what’s real and what isn’t.
Then, another vision comes at her. Iron tracks running through the city. They take the place of roads. Strange vehicles run along them, which resemble big carriages dragged by an even bigger one, with a chimney built on the top. The whistling sound they create is unbearable, noise pollution in its finest form. Their siding is made of all sorts of metals, and large tubings transfer steam from the wheels and the burning coal to the engine and back again.
It screams out in pain. The world echoes it. When the vehicles stop, the sound continues. A door slides open. The man that steps out of it looks like Aidar, but he’s wearing a suit that she doesn’t recognize. There is a scar running the length of his jaw.
Slowly, he picks up his hand and points a single finger at Margaret. When he talks, his voice comes through a tunnel of metal, warped and echoing. “You are wrong. You are wrong. You are wrong.”
“I am wrong,” echoes Margaret, as she is ripped back into reality. She is still holding the necklace, standing only a few inches from Aidar who gives her a disturbing smile, as if they just shared the same vision.
A door slams open. It clangs against the wall, the sound loud as a thunder clap. Julian demands, “get away from him! Margaret, we have to leave!”
“What?” Wide eyed, the young woman looks over her shoulder. “Julian, this isn’t—”
“I don’t care. It’s not safe to be so close to him! He’s a dangerous creature, Margaret, no matter what tricks he’s played on you during his stay at our home.”
“My necklace! The one you gave me. He still has it!”
A pained expression flits across Julian’s features. That necklace means more to him than anyone else, human or other, could ever understand. It is the last connection on a physical plane that Julian has to the past.
It is important... but Margaret is more important. He crosses the room in just a few strides, grabbing her by the shoulder.
“Leave it, Margaret. I will speak to the guards. They will come fetch it for you. Alright? You don’t need to be down here. You don’t need to cavort with him. Not anymore. You’re free now.”
“Free? Are you sure, Julian? Is this —is this really the end?”
“I promise you, as I promised the King. My dear, we can return to our home. We can return to our lives. I will not claim that we can forget about this, about him, but we can move past it. Come with me now. Pretend that you can forget, if only sometimes.”
“Go on,” sneers Aidar, from within his cell. He is standing at the door again, face pressed against the windows. “Go with your human partner. I’m sure that he would love to tell you the truth. You’ve both been so good at that, haven’t you? Making sure that there are no secrets.”
Margaret’s stomach sinks down to her feet. Her heart shoots up to her throat. “Julian—”
“Do you hear that?” Aidar goads. “That is the last warning your people will get. My men are coming for me. They haven’t forsaken me.”
Margaret hears nothing. There are no whistling sounds playing now. She doubts that there ever were. It was just fear and panic, sending her imagination running wild. She gives the leader of the Sky Men a pitying look, lifting one hand to press against the bars of the cell. “Aidar—”
Julian grabs Margaret by the hand. There is no more time for debating or discussing. He knows, better than anyone else, that they must leave. And so, he keeps his grip tight, racing towards the exit from the jail.
“Come,” he says. “Margaret, come with me.”
And she does.
As they step back into the main halls, it’s to find that all of the castle has gone deadly quiet. Julian leads Margaret through the halls, both silent, both trapped in their own thoughts. One is worrying about the things that
she has done over the last few months, one is planning what he will do over the months to come, and both are gripping at the other’s hand as if it’s the only thing keeping them tied to the ground. To some extent, it is. They are anchors for each other, a steady point that can always be returned too. They are warmth on a rainy day, they are lights shining in the dark.
Their relationship may be unconventional at times, and they may have fouled it at others, but it is still strong and true. It is still something that neither wants to forgo completely.
And so, they walk out hand in hand, the only sound caused by Margaret’s shoes clacking against the tile floor. Her skirt swishes and twists around her calves.
Julian gets the door for Margaret, pushing it open and letting the bright mid-day sun light stream into the building. He holds it open for Margaret to step out.
She stands there, staring out at the world. Her limbs feel heavy. Her heart sinking down somewhere low. She looks at Julian, eyes wet and imploring. “What secrets are you keeping from me?”
Julian looks surprised. “What?”
“Secrets, Julian. He said that you were keeping them from me. About the necklace? I—I’ve thought about that for a while. That there was something strange going on, something that you weren’t telling me. Not a lie, maybe, but it certainly isn’t the truth either. If the war is truly over, will you tell me?”
“Now? Margaret—”
“I shan’t be able to celebrate unless I know. Please? Julian, just tell me.”
Julian debates for a moment, before giving in with a slight nod of his head. Faced with his fiancée’s distressed look, the Duke knows he owes her answers first. The whole truth. Aidar might have said something to her, even accused him. Now is the time. There is no turning back. Julian needs to get it off his chest.
He pulls the young woman closer against his side and says, “I’m not who you think I am. I have been alive longer than you could ever imagine, for I’m the last.”
Margaret, bewildered, stares up at him. “The last what?”
“I’m the last member of an ancient tribe,” says Julian, voice low, grave and buzzing. “We were once called the Guardians of this planet. A race of immortals whose sole purpose was to protect the land from invaders. Invaders like Aidar, who developed a profound interest for you—and your necklace.”
“This necklace—what is it exactly?”
“The necklace contains a powerful stone, a gift from our forefathers, which granted our people eternal youth, and the ability to see into the future.”
Margaret is astonished by the news. She stares at him, mind struggling to process the information.
“You’re crazy,” she says, her voice shivering with tears. “You sound just like the King. Or Aidar. This whole world has gone mad!”
“They’re both not as mad as you think.”
Margaret gives him a blank stare. She only begins to understand. Her fiancé’s quiet nature, his knowledge of the Sky Men’s technology, then the dreams she had... It reminded her of how she felt when she helped him capture Aidar.
Sometimes good people need to lie. They need to bend the truth in order to save other people.
All this time, Julian was playing a role. “The Duke of Bridgewater”. A place that probably never existed. This aristocratic shell game was a way for him to stay close to the court, to warn the leaders and protect the country.
“You—knew this was coming?”
“I tried to get you to leave with me. I wanted you to be safe!”
She leans forward, catching him in a chaste kiss. “I’ll leave with you, Julian. I’ll leave with you.”
If Julian was ageless, their love would be too.
“And I will protect you,” swears Julian. He takes Margaret by the hand again, ready to lead her down the steps. “Always.”
“Thank you,” says Margaret, and the word feels strangely heavy. “I would very much like if we could go home now. Julian, is that alright?”
“Of course,” says Julian. “Anything you want, Margaret. Anything at all.”
They do go home that evening, although they don’t stay there for very long. Margaret slips up to her bedroom, where she looks over the books, the papers, and the notes that have appeared over the invader’s stay at their mansion house. The picture of Emma is right where she left it.
Slowly, Margaret runs her fingers over the picture. She’s so intent on memorizing the lines that she doesn’t realize Julian has joined her, not until the Duke has stepped up behind her, arms settling around the young woman’s waist.
“What is that?” he asks
“A picture of my cousin. Do you think—do you think we could find them?”
“Of course. Whatever you want, Margaret. I’ve told you that once, and I’ll tell you that again.”
“Anything?”
The Duke presses a kiss against Margaret’s jaw. “Anything.”
“Would you marry me?”
“Pardon?”
“Marriage, Julian. I want things to change. I want things to be better. We had plans, before this war happened. I want to go through with them now.”
The smile that Julian gives Margaret is blinding. “My dear, I thought that you would never give me this chance!”
They get married the next day. It’s a very intimate affair and largely symbolic, as only a few villagers are there to attend. Madeline escorts Margaret down the main hall of the house, out the back doors, and into the garden. Both have dressed up for the event, pulling dresses so old that the lace has yellowed out of the back closets. The crystal necklace has been gathered and returned, and Margaret wears it, the crystal feeling light and warm against her skin.
No members from either family is involved. As Margaret steps up to the Duke, as she listens to the preacher read from his scripts, Margaret’s eyes start to burn. She can’t help but cry, overcome with emotions. Relief, concern, doubt, and joy all battle for a grip on her mind.
In the end, the only thing that she can think about is her family. This marriage was said to be a boon for them. Her parents, Amelia and Richard, were desperately looking for a way to clamber out of their middle-class life and into a world of History book grandeur.
Now, standing here with Julian, she believes that they were right.
This marriage?
It’s History in the making, being spun out before Margaret like the words on a page. She is barely aware of her own words, stammering out an agreement to the vows and longing for her sisters to be sitting in the pews.
Julian looks at her, then, and there is nothing but love and warmth in his eyes. “I do,” he swears. “Margaret, I will always take care of you. Always.”
They leave that very evening. It’s a combined effort, Margaret and Julian saying goodbye to all those that work at the house, loading their luggage into a carriage. With the presence of the invader finally gone, the horses have all calmed down, more than happy to continue with their usual work.
It’s an agreement, of sorts. Margaret is finally leaving with Julian, and Julian is helping her locate Emma and Benedict. There’s rumor that the couple have set up housing in Manchester. And so, Manchester is where they go.
Like most of the cities that have been ravished by the invaders, Manchester is little more than a shell of its old self. There are burnt buildings, crumbled homes, and vacant places where families once gathered. Trees have been felled, plants destroyed, and even the cobbled road torn up in spots. And yet, there is an air about it that seems far less devastated than other lands.
This is due, in no small part, to Emma and Benedict. The two are part of the resistance, and have already formed a group of people who are looking to rebuild the city. They have found ways to access the Sky Men’s technology, transforming the brass, bronze, and gears into a way to restore Manchester.
“We’ll make it better,” says Emma, looking happier than she has in years.
Beside her, Benedict nods. “We’re going to create something here, a safe have
n for people. With this technology in our hands, we are at the dawn of a new revolution. An industrial revolution. It’s going to be somewhere that others can look at and draw from. Inspiration, if you would.”
Inspiration sounds like a wonderful thing. Margaret wraps herself around the Duke.
“We’d like to help. If you tell us what to do, that is. We’ll help rebuild the city.”
Because, even in the darkest of days, humanity will always prove to be resourceful. Even in the darkest of days, humanity will always rise up.
Together, they will rebuild.
Together, they will be strong.
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