by Amy Hopkins
Julianne tried to stand, but a hand pressed down on her arm. May stood beside her, shaking her head.
“You sit, Master Julianne. You’ve spent weeks running around after us while we fixed our homes and rebuilt our lives. Tonight, we serve you.” She ducked a small curtsy, then ran off towards the laden tables.
Josie, a girl Julianne recognized as one of May’s friends, brought her a glass of bubbling cider. “Here you go, Master Julianne.”
Julianne took it gratefully, realizing as it touched her lips that she was parched. The sweet liquid tickled her nose, and she stifled a sneeze. Josie giggled, then ran off towards the food.
“I wasn’t sure what to get you, so I just took a bit of everything.” May held out a plate piled high with food.
Used to light meals that allowed her to keep a sharp mind, Julianne wondered if anyone would be offended if she didn’t eat it all. Then again, she didn’t think anyone would get through all that.
“Thanks, May,” Julianne said. “Did you and Josie get something to eat, too?”
“She’s getting mine now,” May said with a grin. “We’re your waiters tonight. Anything you need, you just tell us, and we’ll get it.”
Josie soon returned and the girls sat cross-legged on the floor beside Julianne, despite her insistence they go find seats.
Then, a trumpet bellowed out and stifled the noise inside the hall. In the silence, someone hammered a drum with quick, heavy beats.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of Tahn. May I present, the Guardians of the Border!” Marcus called out the introduction, voice ringing through the hall.
A spot had cleared behind him, quickly filled with the rows of soldiers he had been training over the past weeks. Instead of the ratty shirts and stained pants they usually wore, they were dressed in green linens with leather and brass chest pieces.
The armor wouldn’t be enough to cover them in a real fight, but it was a start. Julianne watched them hurry to form straight rows, marveling at how well Marcus had them working together already.
She quickly counted their heads—four were missing. The other four are on watch? She sent to Marcus.
Yes, along with six others. They volunteered so we could have enough for the show, Marcus thought.
“Soldiers! Preseeeeent arms!” Marcus snapped, voice dripping with confident authority.
With one fluid movement, the troops unslung their spears and stamped them on the ground, then pointed them forwards in a fierce grip.
“One!”
As a single unit, all the soldiers lunged forwards, thrusting their spears towards the onlookers.
“Two!”
They pulled back, standing tall, weapons pointed to the ceiling.
“Three!”
On they went through twelve different stances, each movement graceful and each pose strong and uniform. The next display was a mock fight between Sharne and Carey. They lunged and struck, their moves slow but impressive.
The fight was obviously choreographed, but the audience reacted with gasps and cheers when Sharne finally landed Carey on his back, her spear at his throat. They stood, clasping hands and raising them into the air before taking a bow.
The drums rang out again and the soldiers scattered. Julianne caught sight of Sharne, flushed and grinning by the door.
“Thank you! Now, we have a demonstration from our resident mystics. Enjoy the show!” Marcus yelled, before darting off to join his men.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
His part done, Marcus fetched a cup of cider and some bread. He slathered the loaf thick with fragrant butter and bit down before it melted.
“This ish delicioush,” he mumbled to the young woman at the table.
“Anything for a brave warrior like yourself,” she said, long eyelashes fluttering.
Marcus looked at her appraisingly. She wore a floating gown that buttoned over her bodice, then fell to the floor. Back in Arcadia, it would have resembled something closer to a woman’s nightgown than a dress for an event, even a casual one like this.
“The people of this town are the brave ones.” He coughed, trying to brush off her stare. It sat on his chest like a lead weight.
The girl licked her lips, then giggled softly. “Oh, you’re so sweet, too. Is there someone waiting for you back home?” She reached for his shirt, smoothing a wrinkle near his collar that he was pretty sure didn’t exist.
Marcus coughed, eyes darting around to look for an escape. “Back home? No. I mean, yes… it’s complicated?”
“I like complicated,” she whispered, leaning close.
Marcus took a quick step backwards, almost tripping over someone’s child. “I really should be going. Over there. To sit with my, err…” Bitch take me, Jules is gonna kill me for this. “With my girlfriend.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed, a flash of anger sparking fear in Marcus’s heart. This was not the kind of battle he had trained for. Then, she looked where he had pointed.
“Oh. Oh!” A hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes opened wide. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I had no idea the two of you were together!” She ducked a curtsy. “Tell Master Julianne I hope she enjoyed the breads. And, perhaps, we could forget about…” she waved her hands.
Stifling a sigh of relief, Marcus nodded. “Of course. The bread is lovely. In fact, I should take some for Julianne.” He helped himself to another serving, not that he intended to share it, and walked off as quickly as he could.
“Bastard’s luck is with ye tonight, friend. Ye know who that was?” Garrett appeared beside Marcus and clapped him on the shoulder.
“No?” Marcus hadn’t met the girl before, though he knew most of the villagers by now.
“It’s old Jefferson’s lass.” Garrett watched Marcus’s reaction closely and dissolved into laughter as the blood drained from his face to leave two bright pink spots of color in his cheeks. “Aye, so ye know who he is?”
“I’ve heard rumors,” was all Marcus would admit. “Do you know where Danil’s gone off to?”
“Gettin' ready for his little show with Bastian, I imagine.” Garrett looked around. He spotted a stool off to one side and jumped up on it, craning to see over the crowd. Even with the stool, he wasn’t any taller than the revelers. “Ahh, get outta me way, ye bastards!”
“You could go sit down in the front?” Marcus suggested.
“Oh, aye. Put the wee rearick down in the front with the rest of the bairns. I’m not a fucking child, ye prick. I’m not even the shortest man in town!” Garrett glared at the cluster of people in front of him, as if hoping to bore through them with the heat of his fury.
It didn’t work. Instead they pushed closer, a particularly tall woman obscuring Garrett’s view even more. “Ah, fuck it. Off ta join the little fuckers down in the front, then. And if ye laugh, I’ll cut yer tongue out.”
Marcus raised his hands defensively, trying his hardest to keep a straight face. He didn’t speak, though, knowing that if he did, he'd burst into laughter at the rearick’s ire.
“Fuckin’ prick. Sit with the fuckin’ children, he says,” Garrett muttered as he shoved his way through the crowd. Still, a smile split his face when he burst through to find a vacant spot on the floor in front of Danil and Bastian.
When two children approached, he bared his teeth and growled. Instead of crying or running away, they giggled. “Hello, Garrett,” the boy said as he waved. “Can we sit with you?”
Faced with two beaming faces, Garrett melted. “Aye, I suppose. Behave yerselves, though, or I’ll pull ye out by the ears.”
The boy nodded, eyes wide. Garrett wondered if his words had had quite the effect he had wanted, as the boy looked almost eager to see if Garrett would follow through on his threat.
Shaking his head, the rearick settled in for the show.
“Behold! The power of the Mystical Mind!”
Garrett flinched as Danil’s voice boomed out over the room and his words were punctuated by a glittering shower of sparks. The golden, shimmerin
g flecks floated toward the floor. Before they landed, each speck exploded again, turning into tiny yellow butterflies. Garrett allowed himself a smile as the children near him giggled, skin tickled by the soft wings.
The crowd gasped and clapped as the butterflies darted up and around. Garrett craned his neck back, watching as they swirled in an undulating spiral. They drew closer until the whole swarm formed an egg-shaped ball.
Faster they flew, so fast their tiny wings were no more than a blur. The effect made the egg shape seem solid, until a moment later, it was. The giant, shining egg cracked, pieces falling to the ground. The rearick dodged a piece, then noticed that others were dissolving to nothing before they hit solid ground.
Remembering the egg above, he looked up. A serpentine infant had hatched and now lifted a sleepy head.
Light glittered off rainbow scales as it stretched its wings. Launching into the air, it let out a melodic cry. Trumpets answered the call, booming from every direction. The small dragon twisted and flung its wings wide, showering small objects into the crowd. Children screeched in excitement, picking up the small candies with glee.
“Oh, no!” A voice next to Garrett made him turn. A woman was trying to shove a finger in the mouth of a fat baby. “Spit it out, Truitt! You’ll choke!”
Garrett laughed and tugged the woman’s elbow to get her attention. “He won’t choke. It’s an illusion.”
“But… I can feel them.” The woman looked confused.
“Nope,” said Garrett. “Ye think ye can, that’s all.”
As if to prove him right, the child opened his mouth. It was empty, completely free of the stickiness or stains that a hard, red candy would have left.
“Oh, how clever!”
“Aye, clever… until ye sit down to a lovely roast lunch and have it vanish when it hits yer lips,” Garrett grumbled.
The woman looked confused, but he didn’t explain, unwilling to admit he had fallen for that particular prank of Danil’s not once, but twice.
Garrett turned from the young mother to watch the rest of the display. The dragon was gone, and Danil now stepped back to let Bastian take the stage.
If Garrett didn’t know Danil so well, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight sheen of sweat on his head, or the pallor to his face. He had expended a lot of effort to create those illusions and would likely suffer for it the next day.
“Friends and colleagues,” Bastian said taking a bow. “I’m afraid my skill doesn’t come close to rivalling that of Danil’s. Instead of the glorious wonders he showed you tonight, my performance will be something much simpler, and it will rely on something we mystics are taught from the very beginning of our training: Storytelling.”
A pinprick of light appeared over Bastian’s head, high enough that even those in the back would be able to see. It expanded, until it was a large, round image hanging suspended in the air. It showed a scene that reminded Garrett of Arcadia, if Arcadia had been built like the ruins they had passed through in the Madlands.
It was a city, full of tall, shiny buildings that pierced the sky. One of them glittered in the sun, and Garrett recognized it. They had seen it on their journey, tipped over and crumbling away, but still somehow proud as it sparkled above the ruins below.
The image changed. Instead of a city, it showed a girl. She was strong and proud, with a firm body and perfect face. Her flawless image was only made all the more striking by her eyes. They glowed red.
“Many legends exist about our predecessor: The Matriarch, Bethany Anne, known to some as The Queen Bitch.” Voices rose in the crowd and Garrett saw some press hands to mouth or chest. “We know she was a warrior queen, that she forged the way to freedom for our people and saved us from a threat that our people couldn’t begin to imagine.”
The image of Bethany Anne slid into a battle stance, then pounced. A dark, faceless figure attacked her, and she whipped out a foot, kicking it back into another that appeared. She jumped, first connecting with a figure swooping down on her from above. She fought like a godess, dispatching enemy after enemy.
“She wasn’t just a warrior, though. To assume that neglects another side of her story, that of the protector.”
Bethany Anne launched another kick, this time flying over the head of a blue figure huddled near the ground. Bethany Anne stood by the figure, fighting off dark ghosts that hammered down with attacks, all foiled effortlessly by Bethany Anne.
The air cleared. Bethany Anne reached out and cupped the silhouette of a face. The trembling woman raised her hands and fell to her knees in praise.
“The world she was born into was fraught with injustice, injustice that she fought and defeated. Once she had succeeded here in our world, she took her battle to the stars to fight others like her, the gods and goddesses of the skies.”
The image changed again as Bethany Anne leapt into the sky, one hand tucked into her hip while the other pointed towards the stars. She flew like a powerful arrow, past the buildings and beyond the clouds. The sky darkened as the world fell away below her, and the celestial bodies in the sky grew near.
“Bethany Anne left us her greatest gift,” Bastian continued. “She taught us that the weak and innocent should be protected, that good will always triumph over evil. She left this world a better place.”
The image fell away. Bastian’s gaze was hard as it ran over his audience. “We squandered that gift. Time and again, mankind has run itself into the ground, over and over.”
A new image, one that vaguely looked like a crumbling city sprang up. Flames rose and engulfed it, leavening fresh greenery behind.
Out of the foliage, new buildings grew like trees, reaching for the sky and then crumbling again.
“And yet, thanks to Bethany Anne, and the gifts she gave us, we continue to rise. Over and over, we rise to try again, to try and live up to her ethos and make this world what it should be.”
This time, the city that rose from the dirt was Arcadia. Garrett shivered as he recognized it, tall and proud. It wasn’t quite a truthful image: even before the recent revolution, Arcadia had never looked so… well, clean.
“This is our time.” Bastian spread his arms wide, and the image burst into a thousand butterflies that swooped into the air. “This is our time. You and me, today. We will make this the world Queen Bethany Anne dreamed of.”
Silence dropped like a lead weight. A moment later, applause thundered as the watchers clapped and stomped and shouted, promising to fight until the world was truly free of evil.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When Bastian stumbled over to Garrett, he was cold and sweating. Garrett clapped his shoulder and shoved a cup of cider into his hand, which Bastian gulped down quickly.
“Steady on, brother!” Danil swept up behind him and plucked the cup out of his hand. “That’s no elixir, my friend.” He winked, then put the cup to his lips and drained it. “Tastes bloody good, though.”
“Feeling better then, ye blind fool?” Garrett enquired. He hustled the two mystics away from the crowd that was trying to gather around them.
“Me? Oh, sure. A few minutes meditation, and I’m right as rain.” He gestured to Bastian, who’d already sunk into a white-eyed stupor.
“Aye, well I’m glad I don’t have ta carry ye home. Do you mind plonkers spread that tale around everywhere?”
Danil grinned. “It’s no tale, my friend.”
“Bullshit.” Garrett thrust his chest out. “I might be a little challenged in the vertical sense, but I’m no fool. We all know Bethany Anne died hundreds of years ago. There’s no bloody way ye could know how she lived.”
“Records.” Bastian’s voice was tired, but his face had regained its color. “There are records in the Temple, piles and piles of them. Everything we’ve ever found while our people are on pilgrimage gets brought back. We have a small team that catalogues and stores them, and we can access them any time we like.”
Danil snorted. “I wouldn’t call Angry Steve and that mange-ridden cat of
his a ‘team’. More like a crazy old hermit and his crazier pet. The room smells like old piss, and you practically have to suck his dick to get a look inside.” His eyes widened. “Wait. You didn’t…”
Bastian gagged. “Oh, damn, that’s disgusting. Steve is a beast of a man! I just bribed him with sardines, you idiot.”
Danil’s brow furrowed. “Sardines? Is that why he stinks?”
“For the cat.” Bastian rolled his eyes. “Look, some of the pictures are just guesses, and I’ve changed the pictures I was shown since we went through the Madlands.”
“Aye, I saw that shiny tower,” Garrett interrupted.
“That was a bit of poetic license,” Bastian admitted. “I mean, old Steve has never left the Temple, so his mental pictures weren’t that great.”
“Don’t you lot, I don’t know, read minds or somethin’?” Garrett asked irritably. “He doesn’t need to see it if he saw someone who saw someone who did.”
Danil nodded. “True, but memories get distorted over time. We’re trained to reduce that as much as possible, but it still happens. More gets lost in the translation from person to person.”
“Like that whispering game we played as bairns?” Garrett frowned, trying to understand.
“The one where you whisper a line and pass it on a dozen times, to see how it changes?” Bastian asked.
“Aye.”
Danil nodded. “Pretty much. But forget all that… we have a more important mission tonight.” He wrapped an arm around Garrett’s shoulder and drew him close.
The rearick ran his hand along his axe and looked around worriedly. “We do at that. Don’t ye worry; I’ve got yer back.”
Danil raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t got a goddamn clue what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Not a fucking clue. I’ve still got yer back.” Garrett glared at the crowd of revelers, still looking for any sign of trouble.
“Bitch help me,” Danil muttered.
“You gonna let us in on the big secret?” Bastian asked.
“There’s no secret. Tonight is the night that Garrett is going to ask Bette a very important question.”
