King of the Rising

by Kacen Callender

  These could only be the words of someone who truly has no love or consideration for our people. This is someone who thinks of us as the enemy. I can’t see Sigourney’s view. I can’t understand how she could believe, for a moment, that staying shackled is an option for these islands. I can hear Malthe’s words—his belief that my trust in Sigourney would be the end of the rebellion and see us killed. And even now, beneath the rage I have for both Sigourney and myself, is the hope that she would see the correct path. The hope that she will redeem herself. I understand that hope can’t overtake my sense. I can’t rely on only hope to save Årud Helle.

  “And so that’s it,” Sigourney says. “You refuse to surrender. You’ll willingly send the people you so claim to love to the slaughter.”

  “I won’t send anyone,” I say. “I’ll join my people as we fight for our freedom.”

  She feels sickened. “You’ll die, Løren.”

  “If that’s my fate, then I welcome it.”

  “What is the point of fighting if it’s only to sacrifice your life? You won’t win freedom for our people if you’re dead. You won’t live to enjoy freedom yourself.”

  “There was a time when you were willing to die for a cause you believed in,” I say. “Your family. Taking vengeance against the kongelig. You risked your life by coming onto Hans Lollik Helle. If there’s a chance that it will help, then yes, I’m willing to die, though it would mean I won’t see the results for myself. This war is larger than just me or any one person. It’s about all of us—all of the islanders. That’s the difference between you and me,” I tell Sigourney. “You fight for only yourself.”

  “I’m not like you,” she says. “I don’t have the love of anyone. I don’t have the love of the islanders or the love of the Fjern. I have no one but myself. Marieke…” She pauses, and for a moment I can feel the pain and fury in the betrayal of the woman Sigourney had thought had loved her, though Sigourney cannot say she’d loved the woman herself. She continues. “Is it so wrong to fight for myself when no one else will? I won’t die by the Fjern’s hand for a people who have nothing but hatred for me. I will live, despite their hatred of me.”

  “So you’ll risk dying for the Fjern instead?” I ask. She understands her thoughts are unreasonable. “You fight for them.”

  “They’ll kill me if I don’t,” she says, “and besides that, fighting for the Fjern offers a future that your rebellion doesn’t. You want to dismantle the hierarchy of the kongelig. It isn’t fair to the centuries of work my family has put into striving harder, working to free ourselves. We fought our own battle for many generations. We played by the rules of the Fjern. Why should I be punished for that? You’ll take away the kongelig and place me on the same level of all islanders. It isn’t wrong to want comfort and luxury and power. It’s only natural, isn’t it?”

  This is the first Sigourney has outright said she would choose the life of the kongelig. That if it’d been up to her, not much in these islands would be different, except that we would see one of our own on the throne, treating us in the way the Fjern have treated us for so many generations. This would be its own torture, its own pain—for one of our own people to betray us the way it seems Sigourney Rose plans to.

  “I’d hoped you would change.”

  She has nothing to say to this, and I don’t want to hear any explanations. The bond between us breaks, and I’m still on the deck of the ship that pushes across the sea.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Georg and I pull the sails, relying on the strong wind that carries us to the royal island. We see a tangle of mangroves in the distance. Georg is stiff beside me. I understand his concern. If Malthe has taken over the island, it’d be easy for any of the guards to shoot their arrows at us before we’ve made it to the bay.

  No one does any such thing. It’s too silent, in fact, when we push through the twisting roots that curve in and out of the water. I step out of the boat and into the murky shallows, pulling the boat onto the sand. It’s a testament to Kjerstin and how well she’s worked her men that I don’t notice the scouts who must have seen us coming and who went to their leader to bring her to us. She seems surprised to see me, like she didn’t think I’d come back alive.

  “What happened?” Kjerstin asks as she comes to stand beside us. “Where’s Olina?” Georg’s gaze falls to the sand.

  “An illness,” I tell Kjerstin. “It happened quickly.”

  “I hope the spirits welcome her.” She speaks softly. She’s nervous, turning her head to look over her shoulder and at the groves. “I’m surprised you’ve come back,” she says.

  “Why?”

  “It would’ve been safer if you hadn’t.”

  I already know what she will say. “Malthe?”

  “He’s taken your absence as an opportunity.”

  “We knew that he might,” Georg says.

  “Marieke is imprisoned,” Kjerstin says. “In the same room that once kept Sigourney Rose. I think he means for her imprisonment to be symbolic. He keeps Geir on a tight leash. I think that he’s looking for a reason to disband the scouts. He doesn’t trust that I have them under my control. He wants to command them as well.”

  A man so preoccupied with power would.

  “I wouldn’t suggest that you show yourself,” Kjerstin tells me. “If he catches you—it’s hard to say what he’ll do for sure, but I don’t want to find out.”

  “I have to confront him,” I say. “I have to return to Herregård Constantjin. We have a larger problem. Have a guard release Marieke and escort her to the meeting room. Have the others gathered. Tell them that it’s urgent.”

  Kjerstin can feel the significance of the situation. She agrees and leaves me and Georg alone on the bay. We traveled with machetes. Neither of us want to use them, but we have our hands resting on the tops of the handles nonetheless as we march from the beach and into the burnt and charred remains of the groves, to the training field and the barracks. The guards who work there see us coming. They still and whisper to one another when they see me. I’m not sure what lies Malthe may have told them. He could’ve said anything without my presence. He could’ve suggested to them that I’d abandoned the revolution, or that I was too weak. That I couldn’t be trusted. We begin to climb up the slope of the hill, toward Herregård Constantjin. It’s a blessing, I suppose, that no one has attacked us yet.

  We go to the meeting room. Georg is more than worried. He’s afraid that any of his brethren could burst through the door on Malthe’s orders and attack us without hesitation. The possibility is real, but I’m ready to fight if anyone does attempt to take our lives. We’ve barely sat when Geir walks inside quickly. He looks at me, allowing me to see his thoughts plainly: He thinks that I’m a fool to have returned as I did, without the protection of multiple guards.

  “Is he meant to defend you against Malthe’s forces?” Geir asks, nodding his head at Georg. “You do realize that Malthe means to have you killed, don’t you? You should have arrived with a battalion at your side. Is this not what you went to the northern empires for?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “And? Where are all the guards? Why is there only one ship?”

  “The others were better served helping the northern islands and preparing defenses.”

  He shakes his head, disappointed. “You’re a good leader,” he says. “It’s a trait that might find you killed.”

  “I’m hoping that Malthe will remember the rebellion before his personal vendetta.”

  “Don’t be so naive.”

  Before I have a chance to respond, the door opens again and Kjerstin comes, this time with scouts and Marieke in tow. Marieke looks thinner, the skin around her eyes purple and swollen. She’s stiff as she limps into the room, then takes a seat with Kjerstin’s help. She can barely look at me.

  “Are you all right?” I ask her with a low voice. I curse Malthe, but I curse myself, too. If I hadn’t been such a coward—if I hadn’t left Hans Lollik Helle—none of this wo
uld’ve happened. But, then again, I also wouldn’t have received the aid of Dame Nage Aris.

  Marieke gives a sharp nod, but it’s clear that she’s not. I remember how quickly Olina had deteriorated on the boat, and I ask for permission before resting my hands on the woman’s shoulders. I try to imagine breathing life into her bruises and the shallow cuts that line her skin, and I can already sense her sitting straighter, her heart pumping in her chest. But my ability is only a shadow of Anke’s, and it isn’t enough. I ask Kjerstin’s scouts to bring her water and to ask for herbs to be brewed at the barracks. I can’t lose Marieke. She’s been too much the voice of reason in this room.

  “Tell me what happened,” I say. Marieke’s voice is too hoarse to speak. She swallows, still pained. Kjerstin steps forward.

  “The night you left, Malthe declared that Marieke’s love for the former Elskerinde Jannik made her a traitor. I don’t think that he really cared whether this was true or not. He was looking for an excuse to relate to the people, to punish someone and placate them, to make them feel that he was on their side. It was obvious what he was doing, but I couldn’t speak against his decision. I knew that he would’ve declared me a traitor and had me imprisoned, too. It was lucky, I suppose, that he didn’t simply have Marieke killed.”

  I think this is harsh for Kjerstin to say in front of the woman, but Marieke’s stagnant face makes it obvious that she’s shared the same thought. It’s only been a week, thanks to the speed of Dame Aris’s ships, but her haggard form is worse than Sigourney’s had been after staying in that room for almost a month. I see that Malthe had forbidden anyone from giving Marieke food or water, except for the smallest of portions once a day. Two sips of water and a piece of dried meat. Malthe’s excuse was that the supplies were already so low that they couldn’t afford to waste their food and water on a prisoner.

  The doors open again, and one of Kjerstin’s men returns with a jug of fresh water. Marieke accepts the jug with shaking hands, but she’s too weak, and it almost slips from her fingers. I step forward and catch the jug, then help to hold it to her lips. She swallows greedily, almost choking. She breathes a thank-you, but she doesn’t look me in the eye. She blames me for this mistreatment. I should never have left Hans Lollik Helle.

  “He’s dangerous,” Kjerstin said. “Malthe has taken too much power.”

  When the doors open again and Malthe steps into the room, it’s obvious to all of us that he’d heard Kjerstin’s words, though he doesn’t react to them. A line of guardsmen follow him, then stand against the wall. No one has ever brought guardsmen into these meetings before. It’s a show of power. A promise that he’ll order the guards to cut us down if we do not obey his commands. For a moment, I’m afraid he won’t bother with pretenses and he’ll only order the guards to kill me immediately, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. His gaze lands on Marieke.

  “What’re you doing from your prison?” he asks. “Who released you?”

  “I did,” Kjerstin says.

  Malthe eyes her. He could declare that she, too, has betrayed us and order his guards to imprison both her and Marieke. Instead, he allows the slight carving of a smile as he sits at the head of the table, where he’s always felt he belongs. His line of guardsmen stands behind him silently.

  “Løren,” he says. “Welcome back.”

  I’m waiting for the blow, for him to say something that will be devastating, something that will spark this battle between us—but he only eyes me, then Georg. “Where is Olina? Did she stay behind in the northern empires?”

  When I explain that she’s dead, Marieke gasps, genuine pain and mourning spreading through her. They hadn’t always been close, and she hadn’t always agreed with Olina’s thoughts, but Marieke had respected the woman and had considered her a friend. Geir shuts his eyes for one long moment. This is a blow to the uprising, he sees. He understands that we’d needed Olina’s ability to act as our ambassador. If we were to win, she would’ve been needed to help us establish allies with the free nations to ensure the Fjern wouldn’t attack us again. Her death is a serious loss.

  Malthe doesn’t seem to be as shaken by Olina’s death. He wonders aloud if I had something to do with her illness.

  “Poison, perhaps.”

  Marieke and Geir don’t speak. It would be dangerous for them to do so. But Kjerstin nearly laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would Løren have killed Olina?”

  “It’s possible that he could want any of us dead,” Malthe says, not taking his eyes from me. “Easier for the revolution to lose the war.”

  “Are you suggesting that Løren works for the kongelig and the Fjern?”

  “The week that he’s gone, run away from Hans Lollik Helle, is a week where there have been no lost secrets. He could be using his ability to tell Sigourney Rose our plans.”

  There’s a heavy pause. I realize that in the time I’ve been gone from the island, whether they realize it or not, all the others have been influenced by my absence as well. Even Kjerstin wonders for a moment, briefly, if it’s possible I’d tricked them all.

  “There isn’t any time for this,” I say. The urgency in my voice makes the others pause. “There’s another matter we must discuss. There’s to be an attack on Årud Helle.”

  “How do you know that?” Kjerstin asks.

  I feel the danger in saying the words, but we can’t afford to lose more time. “Sigourney told me through our link.” Malthe tries to speak, but I continue. “She wanted to warn me that the Fjern are planning a massacre. She wanted me to surrender Årud and Nørup Helle.”

  “If we were to do that, the kongelig will have won the war,” Geir says. “It’d be easy for them to take the royal island if they take Årud and Nørup Helle.”

  “We won’t give up the islands,” I tell him. “We have to ready the guards. Recruits from the north have been sent to the islands.”

  Malthe interrupts. “All of this, for Årud Helle?”

  I hesitate. “What do you mean?”

  “The island isn’t the most important of the others we hold. Let it go. We don’t need Årud Helle to win this war. We could focus our defenses on the royal island instead.”

  “There are people there,” I say, “innocent people who look to us for their protection. I won’t just abandon the island for it to be destroyed by the Fjern.”

  “Fighting that battle could cost us the war if we were to lose the men we brought from the north,” Malthe says, his voice rising. “The island itself is useless in this war.”

  “We will fight this battle,” I say. “That is my command.”

  “You left Hans Lollik Helle. To me, that means you have willingly given up your command of this island.”

  “You’re wrong in that assumption,” I tell him. “I’m back, Malthe. Either have me killed, or fall in line.”

  It’s a risk. Malthe considers having his guards step forward. It would be easy to kill me, easy to kill any of the others in this room who try to stand in his way. But still, he hesitates. I can see it clearly: He’s told the guards that I wasn’t to be trusted, that he believed I was a spy and that I escaped so that I wouldn’t be captured, but not all of the guards under his rule believe his lies. He doesn’t have enough under his influence to win complete control of this island with my death. I’ve cornered him, but what’s most concerning is that he doesn’t seem to be worried by any of this. There’s something else here. Something that I’m not seeing.

  He nods. “We’ll prepare for battle at once.”

  Marieke asks me not to leave Hans Lollik Helle again. Geir tells me that, strategically, it would be best if I did not join the battle of Årud Helle where, even with the help of the north, the chances we will lose this battle are too high for me to risk my life. But I wouldn’t feel right, sending guards to what could be their deaths without joining them. That would be the true betrayal. Kjerstin’s scouts leave for Årud and Nørup Helle to pass the message of command. If all goes as planned, they will be prepared for ba
ttle by the time we’ve arrived.

  I stand in my room in Herregård Constantjin for what could be the last time. I stare at the seas from my balcony. My mother hasn’t come to me in days. Malthe accuses me of being the traitor. I wonder if this is what my mother considers me as well. If she’s disappointed in my choices and actions. If she’s forsaken me, as I’ve forsaken the uprising. I see him behind me, as I’ve seen him so many times before, I realize—desperately needing to remember but always forgetting. He tells me that he wishes he could kill me and be done with it, but his master is excited to see the battle of Årud Helle. He leaves me, and as the familiar black haze covers my vision, I still try to remember as I feel the memory slipping away.

  I leave my room. A figure waits for me in the hall. I spin, expecting the blade of an assassin, or Malthe himself, but it’s only Marieke. She limps forward, her bones weak. It’s only been two weeks, but Marieke looks like she’s aged several years.

  She has a similar thought. “You’ve changed,” she says, her voice still hoarse. “There’s a look in your eye. The look of a storm.”

  Marieke walks with me down the hall. “I was near death,” she says, “and I almost joined the spirits. When I closed my eyes and dreamed, I could see everything, feel everything. I could see you. I could see that I was wrong. You were not ready to lead us.” She pauses, her eyes roaming my face. “The spirits spoke to me. They warned that we would not win. Not this uprising. In the future, yes. There’s always hope for the future.”

  Marieke doesn’t say this to hurt me. Only to relay what she sees as the truth. “Sigourney will be leading the attack against Årud Helle,” I tell her.

  She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to fight the wave of emotion that crashes into her. The fear for Sigourney, the anger at herself for continuing to worry about and care for the girl, the rage at Sigourney Rose herself. She has betrayed us time and time again when we have given her the chance to redeem herself. She’s taken advantage of our mercy without hesitation. Marieke has anger for me, too. I should have killed Sigourney that night of the revolt. Then we would have moved forward as planned. We wouldn’t have attempted to take power from Malthe for the sake of Sigourney’s life, and Malthe might not have lost balance of himself, attacking anyone he thinks a threat. Marieke wouldn’t have wanted me to be the leader of our people. And the spy, the traitor—I have no proof, but it’s possible that it really was Sigourney all along. She could have lied about the image she’d seen of the figure on Niklasson Helle. She could have found a way to trick me, taking me for a fool as she relays all of the information she can to Lothar Niklasson.