by Sarah Chorn
Heart severed from soul. Mind adrift from body. He’d never felt so torn.
Premier Eyad
Mosquitos buzzing. Flies droning. His entire body throbbed and where were all these insects coming from? He was so incredibly tired but with all these sounds, how could anyone expect him to sleep? A soft bed under his back, warm air cooling his fevered flesh and all that fucking noise.
He wanted to demand someone close his windows. Why were they open, anyway? No one came in his room but him, and he knew he hadn’t opened them. They hadn’t been opened in years.
Everything hurt. His body felt like one gigantic bruise; an agonized cry held together by skin that felt like it was being pulled apart. He heard a moan crawl up his throat and die there. The buzzing insects solidified into voices. “Premier?” Someone asked. A hand pressed against his forehead, hair tickled his cheeks. “He’s breathing,” the voice continued.
“Thank the gods,” another replied. It took him a moment to place the name. Samson.
Why was Samson here?
“Eyad,” Samson said. “If you can hear me, we need you to try to pull through this. The Sunset Lands need you to stay alive.”
Pull through what? What had happened?
And then it all came back to him. The stranger, the yellow pill, the agonizing thrashing of his body and then the impenetrable darkness.
He slept again, and the next time he woke he managed to open his eyes. Even that seemed to exhaust him. His body felt like it was on fire. He thought he was alone until he heard Samson shouting from somewhere to his right, “Well, put them off again. Tell them he’s still resting and he’ll be able to address them soon.”
“Samson, the state needs running. We can’t just grind everything to a halt because—”
“Don’t say it,” Samson growled out. “Don’t fucking say it. He’s not dead, he will pull through this. Until he is well, no one makes state decisions. No one.” He heard a door slam, then there was a beat of silence before Samson moved, his light footfalls sounding like whispers on Eyad’s plush carpet. His body sagged into a chair beside the bed and he watched while Samson pinched the bridge of his nose.
His eyes kept losing focus. The world was swimming around him. He wanted to roll onto his side, but he lacked the energy. He’d never felt like this before—wrung out, used, barely holding on, like he could feel himself shutting down, dying slowly.
Yes, that’s what this was. He was dying, he could feel it inside him; all that death, slowly infecting every part of his body. It was in his blood, flowing through him. In his organs, slowly shutting them down. That boy may not have killed him instantly, but he was dying, and far sooner than he’d ever wanted to.
He should feel something about that, about his life being cut short, and his end looming over him, but really all he felt was anger at how much he’d leave undone. He wasn’t sure what that said about him. He didn’t mourn his life, he just mourned his duties.
“You’re awake,” Samson said. It wasn’t a question, but an observation, a statement of fact.
Eyad grunted. It was all he could manage, his eyes slid shut and he listened as Samson fidgeted in his chair.
“You were poisoned,” the head of his secret police said.
“Yes,” Eyad croaked. His voice sounded strange even to him, harsh and disused, full of cracks and low notes. “I am dying.”
“Not yet, but you will.” There was a pause. “There is no antidote, Eyad. We have tried everything. Whatever the poison was, it eludes us. We think it came in from the Red Desert. I’ve sent men out there to ask around but it will take time to get back to us and—”
“We don’t have that kind of time.”
“No, we don’t. You don’t. There are medicines, herbs, teas. The hedge witch can keep you alive for as long as possible, but it’s only delaying the inevitable right now. There are things that need doing before…” Samson’s voice choked off. “You need a successor or the Sunset Lands will rip themselves apart when you die.”
When he died. Not if, but when. It was so easy to forget that he was just a man, just another body walking around in a world full of dangers. Now, however, he felt incredibly fragile. “People need to see that I am okay before I die,” he said. His mind was whirling. Churning and turning, solving problems before Samson had to voice them. Until he had everything in place, the world needed to know that he was the same strong Premier he’d always been. “How much time have I lost?”
“Three days.”
Too many. Those with ambition would be moving, plotting, shifting their pieces around the board. Politicians were wolves, and the smart ones would be smelling blood, sensing a wounded animal in their midst, moving in for the kill.
“I’ve been doing what I could, Eyad. I’ve made little decisions here and there, forged a few documents, kept things running. I couldn’t stop word of the poisoning, but I’ve killed those who saw how bad it was. The witnesses, two guards. Most people think it was a minor event, and you are just resting until you make a full recovery. I’ve had well-placed people muddying up the waters, keeping too much from happening but questions are starting to be asked. You will need to be seen, and soon.”
Samson was right, of course he was right, but Eyad knew without a doubt that his body couldn’t function the way it had before. He was so weak he could hardly roll over in his own bed. His eyes couldn’t focus. He couldn’t seem to keep them open. How could he function out in public? He could only imagine what he looked like. There’d be no hiding his condition if anyone saw him.
“I’ve given it some thought,” Samson said, as though sensing his concerns. “Sometimes in the field, officers have to change their appearance. They’ll use face paint and such. I think we could do the same for you, make you up so you look hale and healthy. I could help you get around through the passages, and it will only be a trick of pillows to get you to appear to be sitting normally in a chair. Of course, we’ll need to layer your clothing.”
“Layer my clothing?” Eyad croaked.
“You’ve lost a lot of weight, Premier,” Samson almost whispered.
“Ah.” He hadn’t thought about that. He was sure he looked sick, but how much weight could a man lose in three days? A lot, apparently.
“The hedge witch has given me some teas to help you keep the pain under control, and boost your energy,” Samson continued.
“That’s a lot of sleight of hand, Samson.”
“Premier, we need to control how people see you. This is the best way, probably the only way, to do it. This way you’ll buy yourself time. If people see you as you are right now they will…” his voice trailed off.
He didn’t need to finish the statement. They’d start circling.
“How long do I have?”
“I don’t know. Neither does the hedge witch.”
His thoughts drifted, moving lazily in the pool of his mind, touching here, moving there.
That’s when he realized what else had changed about him. It was subtle, but there. Something about his talent was different now, stronger. Much stronger. He’d gone to sleep a man with a knack for reading minds, and woken up something else entirely. He wasn’t just reading minds now, he was actually in them, sensing the ebb and flow of thoughts as though they were his own. He could feel Samson’s thoughts, the texture and weight of them. He knew exactly how to push them to manipulate him. He’d never been like that before. He’d been able to read minds, but never affect them. Never manipulate them.
His talent was stronger now, so much stronger. How could that have happened, and why?
He decided to test it, and gave Samson’s mind a gentle nudge. In a second the man stood. “Well, I should get going. I’ll come to check on you later.” An instant later he was gone, leaving Eyad alone. He’d done that. He’d nudged Samson’s thoughts and the man had left. He opened his mind wider, felt thoughts all around him, guards at the door, bored. People in the halls, and rooms all over the palace, business being done, government w
heels churning, even further to the city outside, full of people. So many thoughts filling the air like too much music.
There were too many of them, and he couldn’t block any of them out. He was too weak, far too weak. It was all hitting him at once, all these minds full of so many thoughts. How could one man hear them all and not go mad from it? They weren’t just thoughts anymore, either, not to him. No, they might as well be his own. He couldn’t think all these things at the same time and not be torn apart by it. This was worse than being poisoned. He was being strangled by the minds of others and there was nothing he could do about it. If the world only had so much power, he felt like he was suddenly channeling all of it and there was nothing he could do to stop it, not now that it had started. He wasn’t strong enough for this. He wasn’t… He couldn’t…
Panic gripped him, and his strength gave out. It was one sensation too much. He felt himself shudder, his body bucking and throwing itself. He bit his tongue and tasted blood. His eyes opened, and then shut again. He felt drool and spittle and tried to calm himself but he couldn’t, couldn’t stop… he couldn’t… stop…
Hands held him down, pinned him to his bed. He heard shouting and then someone pulled his mouth open, shoved something hard in it, and everything went black.
“You had a fit,” said a woman who looked to be roughly ten years older than god. She stood beside his bed, more wrinkles than woman, and glared at him, utterly unimpressed by who he was. “What were you doing that brought it on?”
What had he been doing? He was confused. Everything seemed to blur together, mixing and merging until he couldn’t tell where he started and ended. She was annoyed with him, annoyed that he wouldn’t just politely die so she could move on with her day, and angry that she’d be stuck caring for him until he finally did give up the ghost. He’d be offended, but he discovered her lack of any kind of respect for who and what he was refreshed him.
“Minds,” he finally said, remembering what he’d been doing before everything had gone dark. His tongue was swollen, he’d bitten through it, but the hedge witch said it would heal and she’d done something that had made it easier to speak. It had the taste of body manipulation, that magic unique to healers. “I’d been listening to minds.”
“Well, don’t do it again unless you think pissing yourself is a good way to fill an afternoon. You are dying, Premier Eyad, and the more you use your body and your talent, the faster you will go. There’s only so much life left in you.”
“Will I always be this weak?” He asked.
She studied him, started putting powders and unguents back in her black bag. “No. You’ll get stronger for a time, I suppose. I’ve given Samson some teas, and I’ll come check on you several times a day. You’ll start feeling better before you get worse again.” She helped him sit up. The world swam around him in a dizzying rush. She studied him to see if he was going to be sick, and then stepped back. “Premier, if I may speak plainly.”
He could pull the thoughts from her mind, but he liked this spunky old woman and wanted to hear what she said, so he nodded.
“You’re being given a gift, Premier. Most men don’t know when their death is coming, when their end is approaching. They just die. They don’t get a chance to make things right, to clean stuff up, and set the stage for whatever happens next. You are getting an opportunity almost no one has. Please use it wisely.”
“Are you telling me how to rule?” His voice was coming back to him. He was starting to sound more himself, and that pleased him, made him feel like he could get well again, function normally. Or at least pretend to.
“Premier, no. I know my place.” She bobbed her head, a blush coloring her dark, wrinkled cheeks. “The two guards who found you after you were poisoned have had untimely accidents. One tripped and fell off the roof of the palace. The other turned a corner and walked right into a sword, if you’ll believe it. I know why Samson chose me to care for you, and it’s not because of my good looks.” She showed him her gap-toothed smile. “It’s because it’ll be easier to dismiss my death. After all, I am so old. No, I’m not telling you how to rule. I’m asking you, for the sake of the people who love you, the people you have helped so much, to please make sure you set your affairs in order before you go. Take advantage of the gift you’ve been given.”
She stood before him, clutching her bag, eyes wide, waiting for him to order her to leave, or be put to death, or be sent to a forced labor camp. Waiting for him to show his ugly side. “I like you, Old Mother,” he finally replied.
She let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll go,” she said. “I’ve given Samson the instructions for your medication. I know you two boys are going to start attending meetings soon, but you’ll need to practice sitting and speaking a bit more before you can pull it off, I think. Your voice is coming back, but it still needs work and… well, Samson will walk you through it. I’ll come back in a few hours to check on you.”
She left in a hurry, Samson entering almost as soon as she disappeared from sight. “Are you laughing?” He asked.
“That old hag just said we were boys,” Eyad replied.
Samson just stared at him for a moment before a relieved grin curled his lips. “I suppose to her, we are,” he said.
It felt good to laugh again, to ignore the slow death of his body, the cries of all the minds around him, the nation that needed his guiding touch, and just laugh. If Vadden was here…
No.
He pulled his thoughts in. That was not a road he would walk down. Not now. He wasn’t strong enough yet.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Samson asked.
“Yes.” Eyad replied. Yes, he had to do this. He was dying, there was no use hiding from that fact, but he had things to do, and now he had a hard deadline to get it all done by. There was no time to sit around and languish in misery and despair. He’d started this process, and he had to see it to the end. Then he could die happily.
“Okay,” Samson replied, pulling a suitcase from under his arm that Eyad hadn’t noticed before. “Today we’ll try some of this makeup, see what works to bring your color back, and maybe try to get you dressed, see how many layers you can handle. We’ll build up endurance and strength, and I think in two days, hopefully, you can start taking a meeting or two.”
Two days was too long.
“Tomorrow,” Eyad said.
“Premier, forgive me, but—”
“Tomorrow.” He’d prefer Samson to agree with him, but Eyad would nudge his mind if he had to. He could do that now, after all, though he’d like to avoid it if at all possible, especially after what had happened the last time he’d tried.
Samson let out a sigh, shoulders slumping. “Okay,” he said, resignation slumping his shoulders. “Tomorrow. I’ve set up a room down the hall to use for meetings. You won’t have to walk far.” He leaned forward, a brush covered in brown powder in his hand. “I’m going to see if I can cover up the yellow tint to your skin. Close your eyes.”
Eyad closed his eyes. He enjoyed the gentle, almost lazy sweeps of the brush on his cheeks. He felt the powder covering him up, while the poison was eating him alive from the inside out.
He felt himself dying by inches.
Seraphina
They’d spent the rest of the day making plans, talking in low voices, preparing next steps. Seraphina was full of energy and excitement. It felt good to make decisions, to be in a position where she could do such a thing. Neryan, in contrast, had been brooding and silent most of the day. They’d have to leave soon—the next day, maybe. The day after at the most. They were running out of food.
She was under no illusions. While they’d get into Lord’s Reach, their chances of walking out again were dismal. Oddly enough, she was fine with that. Let her end be a glorious one. Let something she did matter.
Eventually, Vadden fell asleep. She watched as Mouse and Neryan had a heated exchange right outside the front door. Then Mouse disappeared and Neryan opened the door to the cabin. “Ser
aphina, can you come out here for a moment? I don’t want to wake Vadden.”
She grabbed her cane, put most of her weight on it and made her way to the door. It didn’t ease her pain, but she was shocked by how much it helped her move. It was such a simple thing, and it improved her life so much, even in this short amount of time. Eyad could have given her something like this. The concept couldn’t have been foreign to him. Instead, he’d let her lurch through the years. She’d dragged herself through the palace, always on that leash, trailing behind him like a kicked dog, ignoring the people who tried so hard not to see her.
The night was warm, almost balmy. Not a cloud in the sky. She’d never imagined she’d get to stand under these stars without a collar around her neck or thick stone walls caging her. It was surreal. The world was so incredibly big, such a huge place that both frightened and exhilarated her.
She didn’t know what to do with it all. How was she supposed to live without walls, without orders, and someone determining her every move? She was overwhelmed. She was elated. She was a child again. She didn’t know her place. She didn’t understand how to function. She didn’t know the rules.
There were times she’d felt small before, like when she’d stood in the center of the palace with the gears of government moving all around her. At those moments, she’d realized that she was just one inconsequential woman stuck in the middle of so many important events. She was just more debris caught in the sweeping currents of state. Now, standing under that naked sky, she realized what it was to be truly insignificant. Nothing but the earth stretching out under her feet and a dark sky above, studded with stars that had watched aeons unfold beneath them.
She was small, and unimportant, and she loved it. To be nothing in the middle of all that something was… liberating.
“I don’t want to go to Lord’s Reach,” Neryan said. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “Seraphina, I understand you’ve got a vendetta, but there is nothing keeping us here. Nothing. We could go west. Hell, we could go south until we hit the ocean, build a boat, and see what’s on the other side of it. We could go anywhere. We could do anything. I thought you were sick before, and that’s the only reason I wanted to go back to that city, so I could find someone who could heal you. But you aren’t sick. Let’s leave. Let the Sunset Lands rot.”
