And so, Ludovic threw fire at them. Instructed the others to do the same.
They fortified the chateau, keeping watchmen posted all hours of the day and night until the constant attacks stopped.
Soon, the days shortened and the nights became longer. Harsher.
And the creatures amassed at night, giving the day over to the humans within the chateau.
As the Spears grew stronger, rebuilding the chateau and reaching their strength out towards the city, they rescued stragglers. Those who had somehow survived the invasion of the undead and these strange new beasts that scuttled around on all fours like spiders.
One straggler, in particular, knew an awful lot about these strange creatures.
Marceline could have sworn that this man was made of paper.
With thin round spectacles alighting his nose, the elder pulled them down to the very tip. He licked his lips, called for water and shook at the taste of something clear. Something clean.
“They are all very sick. Very sick.” the elder said, shaking his head as his pointer finger trembled, “In the tomes that I once kept, this sickness was called the Scourge. It is a plague that infects the very soul—turning live things into monsters. Into—those things.”
The scourge.
Marceline took note.
“The longer the nights get, the more of them there will be. Tell me—have you not heard of the Star Scourge Prophecy?”
At that, Ludovic had had enough. He waved the old man away. Exchanged glances with Marceline and left the room.
Both of them had had enough of prophecies and gods. Even now—having finally gotten what they wanted all along—things still felt empty. Strange.
It was as if saving the citadels had been...wrong.
Marceline shook that thought from her head. Couldn't she just be happy? Couldn't she just accept the cards she's been dealt and play them?
Today, Ludovic's boy would be crowned as Duke of Safrana. Today, Safrana would no longer go on without a leader. Finally, Safrana would be built up once more—the two citadels would shine again someday.
But, to Marceline, why did this matter?
It didn't.
But still, she stood in on the coronation.
At the very back of the room, she leaned against a wooden beam in the doorway. The room was stuffy, almost as crowded as the hearing Reine attended in the chateau's court chambers and so rudely fainted at some time ago. A long time ago. To Marceline, it had felt like ages.
Reine was gone. Her sister, Florette—vanished. Everyone that once stood watch over the chateau and the Savatiers was gone. Disappeared as quickly as a star swiped from the horizon during the day.
And for good reason.
Marceline sighed. What good was mourning them? Remembering them?
She hoped they were all in a better place.
High above, the domed ceiling cast an alabaster glow on the gathered crowd. At the very front of the room, the glass throne shone like a star.
Before it stood a boy.
Marceline had heard rumors of the throne and its abilities. Apparently, it allowed Safrana's ruler to see a glimpse of the future. Marceline wondered if this was true.
Crossing her arms, she waited as the crowd quieted. The boy approached the throne without much fanfare. With all of the demesne's officials dead, sick due to plague, or simply gone; protocol for calling a newly made duke to the throne seemed nonexistent.
The boy sat. Curved his little fingers over the translucent arm rests and puffed his chest out as far as it would go.
He swept his eyes over his subjects.
And arched his back.
The crowd gasped. Beside the throne, Ludovic reached out—snapped his hands away when the throne bit at his skin.
Icy blue erupted from the boy's eyes. His mouth opened—a silent scream reverberating. Bouncing around the room, drinking in the quiet as he sat ramrod straight.
Marceline held her breath.
The air in the room vanished as everyone inhaled.
And the boy slumped backwards, eyes closed.
“What did he see?”
“Oh...it must have been bad...”
“It's just a show—don't take this seriously...”
Marceline took this very seriously.
She leaned forward as the boy opened his eyes.
Within the blink of an eye, the boy's skin withered parchment yellow. He aged thirty years in the span of a second.
Marceline gasped. The entire room bit back and breathed.
“We will fight this plague.”
His first words as duke—the crowd listened intently.
“This scourge—the lengthening of the nights—Safrana must survive!”
Silence.
“To protect ourselves and, above all, to protect the sick; we must cordon off the areas infected with plague and quarantine those showing signs of illness. We must not cower from our duties—Safrana is stronger than this!” He let out a breath.
And the entire room called his praises—cheered for the little child duke.
Marceline shook her head.
Are these the grand consequences Severin warned me about?
The crowd continued to cheer—to clap and chat amongst themselves.
Where could Lucius have disappeared to?
Unable to breathe in the pandemonium, Marceline slid from the room. Searched for a place to clear her head.
The hallway she followed curved. Sconces lit her path, orange light faded the shadows to gray.
Soft light poured from a rounded frame in the wall and she stepped into the light. Found a balcony.
Walking out into the night, she froze.
Severin stood to the far side, watching the horizon as the moon faded behind a curtain of gossamer.
“Any day. Any day, now.” he murmured, watching the light leave, “All we can do now is watch the skies, and pray.”
Marceline backstepped, afraid he'd heard her enter.
Severin turned, a long folded pamphlet of paper in his right hand.
She met his eyes—a feverish gaze glared back at her.
He approached her, yanked her hand from her side and forced the pamphlet into her palm.
She wouldn't take it.
“Your place isn't here.”
He pried her fingers open. Forced the paper into her palm and closed her fingers over it.
“This will tell you where to go. Open it alone.”
And he turned back. Walked back to the balcony's pearly balustrade.
“When the nights lengthen...swallowing the day...turning the sun to coal...”
The hand holding the pamphlet throbbed. Marceline turned and entered the hallway once more, leaving the madman to his ravings.
The hallway was crowded now, people weaving in and out as a celebration took place. They cheered for the return of a leader. For the return of Safrana's strength and the return of their homes.
Marceline sneered, pushing her way past people. Making her way toward her room.
Sprinting up the first set of stairs she found, she made it to the second floor of the chateau and walked the echoing hallway with the paper in hand. Nibbling at her lip, she found her room and shoved the door open. Slammed it with her back pressed firmly against it, panting. The paper still in hand.
She flung it towards her cot. Swept to the opposite corner of her room and began packing.
Severin was right—her place wasn't here. She only stayed because of her bum leg. But now that that was healed...
She threw a furtive glance towards the folded up paper on her cot.
Just...one peek.
What could a madman want with her? Was it a letter? Some sort of curse?
She opened it.
A map.
A knock sounded at her door.
Ludovic—he must've followed me.
Throwing the map to the cot once more, she called him in.
The door flew open.
Mismatched eyes met hers
.
The djinn stood, disheveled. His heavy robes frayed at the ends. Rips and tears tattered them to beggar's rags. Scratches adorned his face. Bite marks. Deep trails of talon marks.
She shot up from the bed. Slipped her dagger from her belt.
Could she kill a djinn?
He lunged for her—arms outstretched. Feet tumbling over themselves as if he couldn't keep his balance.
Marceline caught his wrists. Bent them as far back as they could go. She heard a snap.
The djinn screamed. Tumbled to the floor and hugged his knees into his chest.
Marceline smiled, “Has it really been this easy?” she teased, rolling him over onto his back, she lodged the heel of her boot into his spine, “Could I have taken you down all those other times? Is a djinn simply mortal?”
“I can cure the scourge.”
That silenced her.
“The Fates could have—but I have been banished from their presence. My duty was to protect mortalkind from the scourge—but I have failed.”
Marceline narrowed her eyes. Pressed her lips together.
“Now it will spread to all corners of Myrine—and it is no one's fault but your own, Marceline. You think these people are safe? Balled up in their castle of marble—do you think the scourge won't touch them here? Already, tens of them are ill. Already, some are changing. Metamorphosing into those—things.”
He paused. Waited for a reaction.
He got none.
Marceline simply listened.
“You have doomed mortalkind, Marceline. You alone have defied the Fates up until the very end. Now,” he sighed, flattening his forehead against the floorboards, “I've come to suffer my fate.”
She lifted her heel, “Are you asking me to end your life?”
“No.” it replied, “I'm begging you.”
“I'm not a mercy killer.”
“I never assumed that you were—please!” and it brought its hands to its head, “Before the Fates fall—end me. The Fates are not forgiving to a creature like me.”
Marceline crossed her arms, “Disgusting. Get up.”
“Please—don't make me do this—,”
“Up!”
The djinn stood.
Was it...crying?
Marceline couldn't look. Gritting her teeth, she pointed towards the door.
It took a step towards her. Its eyes flashed, “You've brought me to this. Cowardly mortal!”
And it lunged again—reaching for her neck with its broken wrists. She caught it by the arms and shoved it away.
“I won't take your life.”
“Then, I'll take yours!”
And it crawled towards her. Wrapped its arms around her legs and yanked her towards the ground.
She fell with an oof. Pain ricocheted from her forehead as the djinn rammed an arm into her head. Her head wobbled. Fell. Hit the ground and she shut her eyes.
It hit her again. Again and again. Scarlet blossomed. Trickled down her face in a trail of red.
She would have to kill it.
Gritting her teeth, she swiped the dagger from her belt once more. Listened for the telltale whoosh of air as the djinn's arms came windmilling back toward her—an inch away. Half an inch.
She plunged the dagger into its eye.
It screamed—the sound cut short.
As she sliced the dagger against his throat—eyes still closed. Lips still thinned.
Slowly, she opened them.
It lay on the floor, twisted. Lavender blood erupted from a gash in its throat and eye.
Within moments, an amalgam of white spirits fell away from its body as its corpse disappeared into oblivion. Fading away as seamlessly as the changing of the seasons.
Marceline waited. Watched.
Until every bit disappeared completely.
Her shoulders fell. She plopped onto the cot and hid her dagger.
Another life gone. Just like that.
Death came too easily to her.
With shaking hands, she took the map from the cot and pulled it wide. Sweat beaded upon her brow as her stomach wobbled. She tried hard to ignore the feeling of dread welling up within her.
Mortals cannot kill djinn—it's against the order of things. It isn't right!
Before her, the continent of Danae opened up. There she was, on the far east of the map. A crude drawing of the two citadels of Safrana opened wide. Farther west, sat the four Rose Forts culminating around the Capital of the White Rose. As her eyes traveled farther west, they settled upon a large black “X” drawn near a temple she knew well. It sat on a peninsula overlooking the indigo sea of the Calms.
The Hall of the Sky Queen?
Why would Severin want her to go there?
Perhaps Lucius is there?
But why?
More questions piled. Would she ever get answers?
Grand consequences...
A glorious scheme...
The scourge is your fault!
To her right, her bedroom door moaned.
She flinched. Threw the map to the floor.
Her shoulders sagged at the sight of Ludovic.
His smile was soft, serene. It held the most peace she had felt in the span of an entire month. It forced her to breathe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
He scanned her room, glance pausing on her leather pack sitting in a lonely corner. With a small smile, he crossed the room. Plopped down next to her.
Ludovic knew she would leave on the morrow.
His thigh pressed against hers. She felt his heat. His sorrow. Above all, she felt his pain.
Her heart ached.
“This time,” he said, staring down at the floor, “will you be coming back?”
Quiet fell. She breathed it in.
“Non.”
He chuckled. The laughter was short, pained and steely.
Together, they sighed. Knowing their happiness would have never lasted. Knowing their feelings for one and other could never have turned into love.
Marceline's duty came first. It always did.
And now, she had a duty to mankind.
Cure the scourge.
Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he did not. Perhaps he simply wanted to enjoy this last night with her, and over time forget that he had ever given his heart to a woman who put sacrifice above all. Who mislabeled sacrifice as duty.
He smiled.
Brushing a lock of hair from her face, he cupped her chin. He ran his thumb across the length of her cheek and bent down to kiss her.
A passionate embrace followed. One that required the tangling of souls and body parts.
“I will keep watch over Safrana.” he whispered to her as he held her, the embrace over. Their bodies naked and heaving, “Swear you will return.”
The horizon brightened. She could promise nothing. He drifted into a dreamless sleep induced by sorrow and sweat.
She rose from the bed. Dressed. Placed her pack and weapons on her back.
She suffered another look, another furtive glance skirting the bed. Golden light rode the ridges of Ludovic's face. Her eyes traced him, memorizing every peak and valley.
With a sigh, she turned away.
Marceline would miss him.
Epilogue - Lucius
Freezing air washed his face, the cold gust riding the rocky cliff face beneath his dangling legs. He sat on a precipice, his eyes not on the angry waves far below—crashing against rugged rock and sharp rocky fingers—but on the rust-colored sky above. Fire spewing from its burgundy clouds. Blazing meteors the size of entire worlds rained from above. While, tiny fists of rock blazed towards the ground as rain, lightning thundering on the horizon like a song. White bands of electric threading out into millions of little white veins.
The sky crackled. Fizzled. Red rained from above, fire falling from the sky. The Fates coming to earth by force. Spewed from the heavens as invaders.
Beside him, one such Fate stood. A god-woman.
Wrapped i
n the shining blue incandescence of the sea, she stood at an imposing height. With her hands clasped behind her back, she brought her eyes to the sky.
Lucius knew this did not have to happen.
“It shall be then, when day gives way to dusk and living things reform, that the Fates shall give up their place in the sky and fall away as Titans.”
He knew the prophecy by heart. Mortals called it the Star Scourge Prophecy. But, still, he had the urge to correct the Fate. He had the urge to remind her of her power—to remind all of the Fates that they weren't merely Titans—but they were gods. Omnipotent beings created to guard and guide this realm—not fall away at the first boom of thunder like weak crops. They were stronger than this.
“Prophecies aren't literal!” he snapped, digging his nails into his palms, “They're merely guidelines—you don't have to do this!”
Beside him, the Fate sighed, her breath ebbing and flowing like the waters far below him.
“We have no choice.” she said, bringing her hands to her abdomen, “As Pytha, you know this.”
Of course—of course, he knew this! “I don't mention this to show my ignorance—I mention it to remind you and your kind of what you are! Gods—,”
She silenced him with a look—all white eyes. No pupils.
He had to remember who he was talking to.
With a sigh, he lowered his head.
Above, the skies cried out. Lightning mixed with fire touched down, scorching the ground black.
Behind them sat the Hall of the Sky Queen. A remarkable temple built ages ago, the place encased in white stone and blue marble. From high above, it looked like a clear pool of aquamarine—a literal sky cut into the earth by the gods themselves. On the ground, it was simply a round veranda with thick white pillars holding up its large crescent roof. He had almost expected Marceline to meet him here. After weeks of waiting—a month and a half almost—he had heard nothing of her. Though knew she lived—somewhere.
With the skies opening up and the Fates falling to the ground as burning stars, he knew it would be too late for her to suddenly show up here as he had planned. But still, he held onto an ounce of hope.
“As the days grow shorter, the nights longer, a sickness shall overwhelm the world. And only you can heal them, Pytha.” Rapture murmured, looking down at him, “You were created for this purpose.” she said, “And another.”
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