King of the Rising

by Kacen Callender

  Gods, how he wants to kill me. But this isn’t why he’s here. He has information. It’ll be valuable to tell his master that the leader of the insurrection has been imprisoned in a coup. The islanders are not united. We’re vulnerable. He’ll travel to Niklasson Helle at once. Within three days’ time, ships will arrive on our shores, ready to attack.

  He leaves, allowing my memory to fade. I try desperately to grasp it. I have to remember this. I can’t forget, as I’ve forgotten all the times before.

  I try to remember, but I can’t remember what I’ve forgotten, and I’m not sure if I’ve forgotten something at all. There’s a distant feeling of waking from a dream and I’m lost in thought, unable to remember what’d sparked my distraction in the first place. There’s fear, concern, the echoes of urgency that I remember. But of course I’m stricken by anxiety. I’m in a dungeon’s cell, waiting for the moment Malthe decides I need to die.

  When Marieke comes, I immediately see she isn’t supposed to be here. She’s come against Malthe’s orders. I tell her that she unnecessarily risks her life.

  “I risk my life just by staying on this island,” she says. “Malthe has lost control of himself. He’s realized that we will lose this war and seems determined to live his fantasy as king of these islands before that happens.”

  I tell her that I’m sorry. “I failed you. I failed all of our people.”

  She agrees. “I’m also at fault. I put too much trust in you, when I could sense you were not ready to lead us to freedom.”

  “Is it true, what Malthe said?” I ask her. “Is it because I show too much mercy?”

  “I can’t answer that question for you,” she says, but I sense that she believes it’s so. She believes she’s guilty of this as well. The mercy wasn’t for Sigourney Rose or Malthe or anyone else in these islands. I showed mercy only for myself. So that I could play the role of hero in this story, without taking the actions we needed to win this war. I should have killed Sigourney. I should have executed Malthe. I should have taken these islands back, no matter the cost or sacrifice. Even if it meant burning the land to the ground and rising again from the ashes.

  “The war is lost,” Marieke tells me. “We failed. But we can try again,” she says. “Not you or me. We will be dead. But as long as there are islanders alive, there’s a chance that our people will eventually succeed. I can only hope that I’ll be among the spirits able to watch them win their freedom.” She says that she’ll attempt to leave Hans Lollik Helle. She knows she won’t likely make it far before Malthe or the Fjern find her and capture her and kill her, but she would like to try to make it to the northern empires anyway. If she makes it, she’ll stay there until the end of her years, doing what she can to rebuild the network of whispers again. It would take another twenty, thirty, forty years before they could try to put their plan into motion once more. She wouldn’t be alive then. She’s far too old. She feels shame for the thought that flashes through her mind. Sigourney Rose might still be alive. She might have changed into the woman Marieke always hoped she would be.

  “I’ll pray for you,” she tells me. This is her goodbye. She leaves, and I know I won’t see Marieke again.

  My mother has anger for me. This is why she no longer comes. She’s enraged that I have failed her and the uprising. I had been born for this, chosen and guided and saved time and again by the spirits for the moment that I would free the islands and our people. But there’s only so much the spirits can do. My actions and my choices are my own.

  I’m woken by shouts. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and I curse myself as I jump to my feet and hold on to the bars of the cell, listening closely. The shouts are too far away and muffled for me to hear clearly, and I can’t use my kraft to see into the minds of the men who yell as Sigourney might’ve been able to. I can hear the panic. The shouts fade. There’s pressure in the back of my head. Something I’d forgotten, and I need to remember. I try to listen to the yells to make sense of them, but there’s nothing.

  It’s still black as night when a door opens and footsteps come down into the dungeons. Georg is lucky to still be alive. The wound in his side is deeper than he is willing to admit to anyone. It’s already become infected, and without the medicine he likely won’t live long. The moment I see him I ask him to let me put my hand on his wound, and he agrees. He hadn’t come here for my help. He’d come on Malthe’s orders. There’d been an attack on the island last night. The Fjern should have won, but somehow they were pushed from the shores once again. Still, the losses were heavy. We’ve lost over half of our guards. We won’t survive the next attack when it inevitably comes. This is a fact that everyone on the island has finally accepted. Winning the battle last night only gave them all enough time to decide whether they would try to run or if they would die here.

  They’d almost forgotten me. I could have died here in these dungeons without Malthe. They’d realized finally that my accusers had been wrong. I was in the dungeons at the time of the attack, and the Fjern had realized which shores to come to, had understood that the islanders had abandoned the battlefield and barracks to hide in one of the manors deeper in the island’s groves. I could not have been the emissary that passed on this information if I was locked in my dungeon. I hadn’t known. Malthe still claims that I somehow discovered the truth using my kraft. That I was able to contact Sigourney Rose. I see that this is really why Georg comes to me. The others have realized the truth, but he’s still here on his orders. Malthe has asked Georg to retrieve me and bring me to the shore so that my head can be cut from my neck before all the islanders. Though I’m not the emissary, I am still the failed leader. Malthe claims that I deserve punishment fitting this failure, and there are enough islanders on Hans Lollik Helle who agree.

  Georg doesn’t agree. He doesn’t want to see me killed. He’s afraid to say this. Afraid to admit it to me and himself. But it is the truth. He has anger for me, yes. I’ve failed him and all the islanders. I’ve been too soft and held on to loyalty for Sigourney Rose. But I also fought with passion. I showed mercy to my own people out of love and respect. These islands needed a man like Malthe to win the war, but needed someone like me to rule over our peace and freedom.

  I don’t try to convince Georg to free me. It wouldn’t be fair to him, asking him to risk his life for my own. He takes me from the dungeons and into the bright light of day. I’d assumed it was night because of the darkness of my cell. The sun’s white light burns my eyes. I clench them shut as Georg guides me forward. I can see through his eyes: the death that still fills the air. The bodies spread across the ground. They haven’t bothered to give the bodies a proper burial. Not when there won’t be anyone alive to give a proper burial to their own bodies once they’re gone.

  Everyone who still lives has been gathered on the shore. Most are wounded, bloodied bandages wrapped around thighs and stomachs and chests. Marieke is not here. I see that she was found the night before, trying to leave on a boat. Malthe had ordered her captured for questioning, claiming that she could have been the emissary instead. Rather than allow herself to be captured by Malthe, she ran. She waded into the water and kept walking as if she meant to walk the ocean floor until she found the spirits she always prayed to. She never came to the surface.

  I mourn Marieke, though I know I’ll soon join her. Georg leads me onto the white sand that burns the bottoms of my feet. We stop at the front, my back facing the waves that wash ashore. Malthe stands with his machete. So many of his guards are cut and injured, but he doesn’t have a mark on him. He stands in silence for a long moment like he waits for me to speak—to beg for my life, maybe, or to claim that I’m not the emissary and I don’t deserve to die. To put a curse on his soul for taking my life. He’s disappointed when I don’t do any of this, but he isn’t surprised. He’d respected me, once. Still does respect me in some ways. I’ve made poor choices, yes. But I’ll hold my head high until it’s cut from my neck.

  “Is there anything you wish to say?” h
e asks me. He thinks I’ll take this opportunity to apologize to him and everyone before me. I’m surprised when I do.

  “I’d only ever wanted what was best for the islands,” I say. “I only ever did what I thought was right for our people. I didn’t lead us to victory. I didn’t win the war for our freedom.” I can feel the anger in some. These words are empty. There isn’t any point to apologizing when I can’t right my wrongs. For others, though, there’s grief. I had fought for all of us here.

  Malthe gestures to the sand. He would’ve pushed anyone else to their knees, but he gives me the dignity of kneeling myself. I face the guards. Some are ready to see me die, but others hesitate. Georg shakes his head. This is wrong. He says this aloud.

  “He doesn’t deserve death,” Georg yells.

  Malthe is surprised by the interruption. That moment’s breath gives others time to voice their agreement. Some yell at Malthe not to kill me, but others shout their responses, claiming that I need to be punished. Malthe and I remain frozen. Malthe looks at me, and I can see how he realizes this is his only chance. He raises the machete. I should stay where I am. I should let him swing and let the blade bite into me. But my body moves. I roll out of the way just as the machete slices through the air where my head had been a moment before. There’s an explosion of movement. Georg runs forward to help me. Seeing him inspires others to run to our side. The other guards who fight for Malthe are outnumbered. The battle is quick. Machetes to stomachs, necks cut open. Their bodies fall as one before Malthe has the chance to move. Some who had chosen Malthe’s side raise their hands in surrender. They don’t feel so strongly for their commander that they’re willing to die now. Malthe looks at me, unsteady. He sees he’s lost.

  I don’t want to kill him. But I must. I’ve realized my wrongs. I’ve learned that I can’t show mercy. I’ve only realized this too late. Killing Malthe won’t save the revolution, but it could give more time to those who want to escape the island—more of a chance to some who might survive. I won’t leave Hans Lollik Helle. I already know that I’ll die here.

  Malthe asks me to consider allowing him to keep his life. I’m surprised. I never thought him to be the type to beg. “Killing me won’t save any of us from the Fjern,” he says.

  The others wait on the shore. I already mourn Malthe. I grieve the man I thought he once was, the man I’d looked up to and who had taught me so much of how to survive this world.

  He sees the hardened determination in my eyes, and his pleading expression turns to rage. “You’ve killed us all.”

  When I swing, he throws up a hand to shield himself. It’s cut from the wrist before the machete slices his neck. His head falls and his body crumples to the sand. Malthe’s blood spreads, soaking into the grains. The silence that follows is only interrupted by the hush of the waves. Like it means to remind us that the sea and the land will live on, long after we are gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  So few remain. There are only seven of us. I would have ordered the last of the food brought so that we could enjoy a final meal, but the rations were finished days before. Some have hope. The ones who don’t want to admit to themselves that we will be dead whenever the Fjern decide to arrive think that there’s a chance the northern empires will return to save us, or that the kongelig might see the error of their ways and give us the freedom we deserve. These are the thoughts of desperate men who don’t want to die. I don’t want to die, either. But I put us all on this course the night of the revolt—the night that I didn’t take Sigourney Rose’s life.

  I think of everyone we’ve lost, the people who are dead because of me. I remember them all. And I think that there’s something else I should remember. It’s a nagging thought. There’s urgency. I must remember. The memory is on the edge of my mind, the tip of my tongue, slipping away…

  This will likely be my last night alive. I can’t return to the slaves’ quarters, where I’d spent so many years alone. I can’t return to the room where I’d slept in Herregård Constantjin, pretending to be a member of the kongelig and enjoying my power and privilege as if I was Sigourney Rose. This is what I did, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Instead I return to the rocks on the bay beneath the cliffs and stand where it feels like I’ve stood for all of eternity. I wait for my mother—to feel her presence and her guidance—but she doesn’t come.

  When I feel his presence, I also feel how he wants to kill me. The machete is in his hand. His master Herre Lothar Niklasson didn’t give him the order to take my life, but Tuve wants to please him with my head. If he personally delivers my head to his master, he might be rewarded. I’ll forget. He’ll make me forget that he’s come to me, make me forget I ever sensed him, and he’ll cut me open before I’ve had a chance to realize that he’s here.

  I stand on the rocks on the bay, where it feels like I’ve stood for all eternity. I stare at the depths of the sea, my heart pounding with fear, though I’m not sure why it does. I’ll die soon. I know that the Fjern are coming. But it feels like there’s something else. Something I should remember.

  There’s a glint in the corner of my eye. I spin and grab the wrist of the hand that holds a machete. I see Tuve’s face. He allows a flicker of surprise before he smiles. He doesn’t mind a challenge. He’ll make me forget again and again, until he’s successful in killing me.

  I grab hold of his kraft. Tuve startles. He’d known of my ability to take the kraft of others, but he didn’t think I would be able to remember why I needed to take his power. He’s right. Whenever he revealed himself to me, I was too shocked to act, too caught in remembering that he was still alive and that he was the traitor that I couldn’t use my power before he slipped away again, taking my memory with him. But this time, he was too confident I’d forget like all the times before. I slip into his mind and I pull his memories to me. I hold them. I could let them spill into the ocean until he’s nothing but a husk, living and breathing but unable to remember the past that brought him here. I’m tempted to. But he should also remember. He should know why he’s died, and who has killed him.

  I twist his arm until he releases the machete. I take it and slide the blade against his throat. He chokes, red gushing from his neck. He steps back and falls into the ocean. He’s sucked beneath the surface. Red floats to the top until that is also washed away by the salt.

  My encounter with Tuve was like a dream that had come and gone. I don’t feel the need to tell anyone that I survived him or that he’d been the emissary all along. Sigourney agrees. She lets me see that she’s come. She and Lothar Niklasson and Kalle and only a handful of guards will soon arrive on Hans Lollik Helle. Lothar Niklasson didn’t think it necessary to bring an entire fleet when he knows so few of us survive. He wants to keep his ships on his island, ready for the attack of Jytte Solberg, which he anticipates within days. Our revolution is already a thing of the past for the Fjern.

  Will you surrender? She wants me to give up the island without one last battle. You’ve already lost. There’s no point to the additional bloodshed. You should give up, Løren.

  I will not give up, but it isn’t fair to the others on this island not to give them adequate warning. We sit in silence around the fire, everyone trapped in their thoughts and their memories and their regrets. Death is such a common thing, yet no one knows how to react when it’s their time to leave this world. Some are angry. Others mourn themselves. Georg feels relief. He’s always been afraid of when he would die. At least he has his answer.

  “They’re coming,” I say. Heads swing up and gazes meet my own. “Sigourney Rose and Lothar Niklasson and ten guards. They’re coming here to end the uprising.”

  My news is met with silence. None are surprised. We all knew this is how the rebellion would end. They also understand that I tell them so that they may have a choice. The desperation in some spurs a few to say that they will fight until the end, but there’s a calmness in others, a resignation to truth. They could fight and kill these guards now, but mo
re will come, and they will not live. They would rather die on their own terms. So many have walked into the ocean before us, rocks tied to ankles. This is the path for a few men. One hopes that this is where his family waits for him. That the spirits live free in the ocean, ready to greet him. Once it’s clear that most of the men will not fight, those who had decided to die with a blade in their hand also understand the truth. They agree to walk into the water as one, tonight, before Sigourney Rose and Lothar Niklasson can come here. At least their bodies will be on the ocean floor, out of the reach of the Fjern, no longer owned by the people who had claimed them. At least they will have this one last victory.

  Georg is too afraid to speak the words. He holds his hands together tightly. He’s afraid to die, and he’s also afraid that I’ll reject his request. He thinks it’s a selfish ask, but he’s always been afraid of the sea. He doesn’t want to drown. It would’ve been easier if there was a poisonous herb that he could drink, but there’s nothing left but our bodies and our blades. I put my hand on his, and he looks up at me. He understands that I’ve seen his thoughts, and that I’ve agreed to his request.

  We walk to the bay with the others. One man says a prayer. For himself, for us, for all the people who have come before us and fought before us and died before us. We tell them goodbye. Each walk into the sea, slowly, rocks weighing down their feet. Georg and I wait on the sand until the last man disappears beneath the waves.

  Georg is shaking. He tries to smile, but he can’t. I’m not sure I can go through with what he’s asked of me after all. I try to tell him this, and he has a flare of hurt and anger.

  “It’s the least you could do,” he says before he can stop himself, and he apologizes, saying he didn’t mean the words. But he does. Georg has anger for me, but he also considers me his friend. It’s why he trusts me with this. We stand beside each other for some time, looking at the stillness of the sea under the silver moon. It’ll be the last thing Georg sees. He thinks this is a good way to die.