The Twice King

by Daryl Banner

  And then from Aardgar came the true confession. “My sorcery is … to see histories with a touch,” he muttered quietly, too quietly for her to hear.

  Yet she did. “Histories?” She tilted her head to the side, curious. “You mean you can see the past?”

  “Not quite.” Why was he telling her? Yet the words kept coming. “Sometimes when I put my hand on something, I get flickers of where it’s been. I touched my father’s …” He clenched shut his eyes. No matter what, it would hurt him forever every single time he mentioned his father. Yet he pushed on. “I touched my father’s iron sword once. And … And I saw the forge upon which the sword was made.”

  “Did you?”

  “And I knew suddenly what color eyes the blacksmith had. The one who made the sword. I felt …” He clenched his fists. “I think I even felt the pressure of the hammer each time it banged into my body. Into its body … the sword’s body. The blacksmith had a great orange beard. Two cold, blue eyes.” Aardgar shivered.

  He felt the cool touch of the girl’s fingers on his arm. That made him open his eyes and, at once, his fists unclenched. He looked at her and found her gazing upon him with inspiration.

  “There are countless others like you, like me, who will die this night,” the girl said calmly. “Countless will know a horrible end at the point of another’s blade. And many killers’ blood will be spilled, too. Power … is war,” she stated. “But you and I … we can change that.”

  “H-How …?”

  She let her hand slip from his arm, then wiggled her fingers patiently, still waiting for him to take her hand.

  But he only stared at it, too afraid. Who was this strange girl? Why did he sense that there were more truths she was not indulging just yet? Why did he feel so oddly intimidated by her mere presence? She was just a girl. He was just a boy.

  And that was just a hand. Why was he so afraid of it?

  “Come with me, Aardgar,” she urged him.

  He choked out a word. “Why?”

  “Just come. Please.”

  He only stared at her hand, remembering the golden light that spilled from his own that day. Where had that power come from? Was it also hers? Even his own mother couldn’t bring herself to ask about the strange light in her son’s palms. Perhaps she was too burdened by the grief of his father, and too bewildered by the fact that her son was an Outlier. Was it his fault that his father was killed? Did his mother blame him?

  Power is war …

  “Come with me, Aardgar,” the girl appealed to him one last time, “and I will show you the beginning and the end of the world.”

  Aardgar’s heart raced. He didn’t quite trust her, yet his heart swelled for her. His heart filled with a warm, desperate desire when he gazed into her golden eyes. A reckless desire.

  That desire was too strong to ignore.

  “Come,” she urged again.

  And so Aardgar sealed the fate of the Last City Of Atlas that day by taking her hand.

  The Brother

  Her name was Evanesce.

  Aardgar was not prepared for the journey he, his mother, and the strange girl were about to embark on. Evanesce’s light could do so much more, he was quick to learn. It seemed to shield the three of them from sight when it wanted. It also burned the bloodthirsty killers who came for them, and the torch-and-knife-wielding zealots, and the sly rogues who bore for them nothing but hatred.

  The light even seemed to prevent them from aging.

  But it couldn’t save his mother’s troubled, grief-stricken mind. Day by day, Aardgar’s mother slipped further into a sorrowful madness from which she would never recover. At first, she simply screamed, unprovoked, as if the zealots had broken into their house and slit her husband’s throat all over again. Then began the quiet, peculiar muttering to herself, speaking to phantoms who weren’t there. Then one cold morning four years later, Aardgar’s mother tore off all of her clothes and took off running into the streets of Atlas.

  He never saw his mother again.

  Aardgar was in pain for days after that, crying curses at the sky, but the girl with the golden hair would not leave him alone. She held him tightly and comforted him as he shivered, whimpering his deep despair. Aardgar wondered if she felt to blame at long last—if now she worried she’d come too late that day long ago to save them all.

  “The only person you ever meant to save was me,” Aardgar voiced to her quite some time later when the moon shone over their heads in the field of grass they lay in somewhere on the edge of the village. “My mother and father were doomed.”

  “Maybe so. Maybe not.”

  “By losing my father, I’ve lost my mother.”

  “That … isn’t the whole truth,” she confessed. Aardgar inclined his tear-wetted face toward her and perked his ears. “The whole truth is, I didn’t come that day to save you.”

  He stared at her through a blurry veil of tears. “What?”

  “I lied to you all this time. For years now, I’ve told you that I will protect you. But it is not your life I am protecting, Aardgar.” Her big eyes fell on him, her lips pursing with worry. “Please don’t be angry.”

  He sat up at once and faced her. Despite the rage rushing up his throat, he pressed it down and forced himself to remain calm. Without saying a word, he simply kept his fierce, teary gaze upon hers and waited for words.

  She drew hair from her face and tucked a curtain of it behind her ears, then let her eyes drop to the ground where she ran a hand along the dirt as she seemed to gather her thoughts. “My sisters and I … are not of this world.”

  “Sisters?” Aardgar blurted at once, betraying the silence he’d promised to keep. Two ears open, one mouth shut. Yet he couldn’t shut up. “You have sisters? You’ve lied to me?”

  “I have two sisters.” She seemed frightened to tell him this, like she feared his reaction. “But they … are not here.”

  “Go on, then,” he spat bitterly. “Tell me the rest of it. Tell me what else you’ve been withholding from me, after all these years of trusting you.”

  “Aardgar …”

  “Sisters?” He was on his feet, his voice shaking. “You are not of this world? What in the fuck does that even mean?”

  Her eyes flashed. She had not heard him curse like that before—and especially not aimed her way.

  Aardgar’s every muscle tightened with tension, and at last he was able to clamp shut his jaw. Two ears open, one mouth shut. His mother was no longer with him, but he would keep her words close.

  Finally, she went on. “It means … my sisters and I … we are visitors of your world.” She took a breath. “And we—”

  “And you will go?” he finished for her, unable to help himself. “You will leave me, too? After my mother …? After my father …?”

  “No, no, no,” she quickly assured him. “No, Aardgar. We won’t leave. I won’t. We can’t leave … not until our work is done.”

  “Work?” He blinked hard, annoyed with the tears in his eyes. He blinked again and again to regain his clear vision.

  “You must be patient with me,” she told him, “if you wish me to share everything with you.”

  His jaw tightened as he stared down at her.

  Then, quite suddenly, he remembered a queer thing that had happened once when his hand grazed her gown a few years ago—and several times since. He saw a glimpse of a great crystalline tower. It looked almost like a shard of glass, but it was enormous—the size of two watchtowers stacked upon one another, and it shone in every color imaginable. It almost hurt to look upon its brilliance.

  He also saw two women. He saw a blue, pulsing light.

  Indeed, he’s seen many strange things.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t so quickly doubt the stories she told him. He had seen far stranger than most in his, as yet, short life. Everything around him had a story to tell. Even the ground upon which they sat dangled visions of steam, fury, and molten gold before his eyes—though often, he could not easily make s
ense of what his Legacy saw.

  So finally he gave her a nod and said, “I will be patient.” He cleared his throat and lifted an eyebrow. “Go on. Tell it all, and tell it plainly. You’ve my ears.”

  She took a deep, long breath, then spoke as plainly as he’d requested. “We came upon your planet … and found it erupted in war. So often, we see worlds battling one another for dominance among the stars … but rarely do we see a world working so hard to destroy itself. Species fight against their own interests all the time, of course, but none were so bloodthirsty as your kind. Humans. We thought we could help them. But we worried we were too late. Cities had fallen. Thousands were being murdered by the day.”

  “Thousands are being murdered now,” he argued back.

  “No.” She turned to him importantly. “There are not enough people left in the world for thousands to be dying daily. There are only dozens dying daily, now.”

  Aardgar averted his eyes. That truth made him shiver.

  “I came to your house that day … to save humanity,” she explained. “I came to your house because I …”

  She stopped talking. Aardgar lifted his gaze back to her, waiting for more. Now it seemed to be her turn to close up, just when he was truly willing himself to let her words touch him. Until she came into his life, he felt like a crooked weed growing in a forest of straight, perfect trees. She made him feel of value.

  “Well, the truth is,” she went on, “your kind have your sorceries because … we gave them to you.”

  Aardgar squinted at her. “You and … your sisters … You gave us the power of Legacy?”

  She tilted her head, perhaps in reaction to his insistence on using that term in place of sorcery, which carried such a bad connotation upon his tongue.

  “Yes,” she finally answered. “And I … overestimated the goodness that can exist in human hearts.”

  Aardgar felt a pinch of hurt. “You regret coming to our world?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “But … you think we’re not worth saving?”

  “Of course you’re worth saving. That’s why I’m here.”

  “If you and your sisters have such power,” he went on, “then why did you simply give us Legacies? Why didn’t you do the work then and obliterate the evils?”

  “You can’t fix a world by burning away the bad. It will simply grow back.”

  The questions in Aardgar’s mind seemed to double with each answer she gave him. “So why did you give us the power of Legacy at all?”

  “To ensure that in time, every human would be armed with an invisible weapon.”

  Every human … “Knowing histories is not a weapon.”

  “But it is, Aardgar. Knowledge is, and will always be, a weapon. And a tool. Never forget that.”

  Sleeping in his tomb and remembering the words she said to him that day centuries ago, Aardgar reaches with hands he no longer has, touching, grasping at histories … but nothing comes.

  Weapon? Tool? You were a fool, Aardgar …

  But he didn’t feel a fool back then. He felt like he was listening to a powerful being who had all the answers. A powerful person from another world. A girl who, even after years, was still as mysterious as the first day they met.

  “Your world needs more than just invisible weapons.” She ran a soft finger along his arm. “Your world needs guidance.”

  “Guidance …”

  “That’s what led me to your house.”

  He lifted his eyebrows, surprised.

  Evanesce squeezed his hand, which she never seemed to let go of. “Despite the evils we sensed, I also saw a light in the darkness. A peculiar light. My sisters dreamed it, too. I followed it to your house … to you.”

  Aardgar, despite his amazement with her, could only hear so much. She said many times before that he was a special human, and before, he also rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Evanesce, I am not your golden answer,” he said mockingly. “I don’t hold the secret to peace in my palms. People will always be hungry for power. People will always desire more, and they’ll fear and destroy anyone more powerful than them. I am no exception. I’m jealous like the rest of them. I’m bitter like the rest of them. I wished the zealots dead the moment they stepped into my house that day long ago, and I got that wish. I’m just as evil.”

  “But you’re not.”

  He scowled at her, anger in his eyes. “I am.”

  She let go of his hand, which inspired a brief flicker of hurt in Aardgar at the sudden absence of her palm against his, until her fingers hooked into the collar of her gown. She gave it one little tug, and then the fabric fell halfway down her long arms. The tops of her breasts were exposed, and Aardgar’s eyes dragged down at once to the full, voluptuous sight of them. He was owned in one instant, with one simple tug of fabric.

  “Dominance,” she stated calmly. “They believe—humans believe—in dominance. The only way to know that they’re truly safe is to ensure that no one more powerful exists to threaten their peace of mind. Legacy will equalize that hunger for dominance in time. You will see it, just as clearly as you see me right now.”

  “I see you right now,” he whispered, still staring.

  “And they need someone to help them see the way.”

  She reached for his hand, took it firmly, and brought it to her breast. Aardgar sucked in a mouthful of cold air. He wasn’t sure what “way” Evanesce was hoping him to see, but his heart was racing faster than it even was when zealots chased them down the streets and his life hung in the balance, fragile.

  She lifted her gaze to him. “I do think you’re the answer, Aardgar. The twelve villages need a King.”

  Aardgar, even with a handful of her breast, looked up at her to protest. “King? Why would they need a King?”

  “And I think it should be you.”

  “I don’t think it should be anyone.” He could think of little else with his hand on her. Why was she torturing his mind like this? “I … I don’t think it …” He shut his eyes.

  “Calm, Aardgar.” She pulled his hand up her body, up her neck, and to her soft, cool cheek. His eyes opened onto hers, and in them, he felt reassurance. Was it just another of her powers, or was it real, this feeling inside him?

  “But the twelve villages have rulers already,” he argued, his voice only half there. “Twelve mayors. They have no need for a King or a Queen, and will bear that ruler no love.”

  “Love is not what a power-hunting people need.”

  “What then?”

  “Guidance … and patience.” She dropped his hand at once and sat up, looking down upon him. Her hair drifted across her face and floated in the wind. “It’s only a matter of time before there are more of us than there are of them.”

  He wanted to touch her again. He wanted to touch her everywhere. “They still hunt Outliers, no matter how many more are born each day,” he hissed.

  “There will come a day when all who are born bear a Legacy, and the term ‘Outlier’ will hold no meaning.”

  “Why did you make me touch you?”

  She studied his face, and for the first time, he caught a glimpse of uncertainty. Then, with a tilt of her pretty head, she asked, “Did you not want to?”

  “I did.” He cleared his throat. “I … I still do.”

  “Do you see anything?” she asked, curious. “Do you see anything when you touch my skin? Histories? Truths?”

  “N-No. Nothing.”

  “So your Legacy doesn’t work on people?”

  “No. It hasn’t. Not ever before. Only inanimate things.”

  She pursed her lips. “I see. I … I suppose I was hoping that you would see the histories in my skin. I worried that my words weren’t so convincing.”

  He wasn’t sure her master plan was the only thing she was trying to convince him of. He had looked at her many times over the past few years, and many times his heart tried to chase its way out of his chest.

  Until he touched her, he knew nothing.


  “You are the only human I’ve let touch me that way,” she told him. “I believe in what I’ve seen and what my sisters have dreamed.”

  He shook his head of all distractions. Yet when he opened his eyes to her, all of those distractions returned. It would be impossible to keep a clear head around her.

  Still, he pushed out his thoughts. “I have not seen your sisters’ dreams … but all I know is that the people in this world would sooner kill me than bow to me.”

  “You wouldn’t need them to bow. Only to listen.”

  “Even if Kingship truly is something you could grant me,” he went on, “why would I want to rule these despicable people … people who murder children because of their great gifts? Sometimes even their own.” She and Aardgar saw it firsthand. He clenched his teeth as he spoke. “People who kill one another on the street even based on a suspicion of power. People who slit the throats of—”

  Aardgar stopped himself then, an image of his father’s death flashing before him. He looked away, tired of the horrifying image that seemed to plague his every thought.

  “You will see in time,” she assured him, then stroked his arm with her soft fingers. So much for maintaining a clear mind. “The light in you. It’s brighter than I’ve ever seen.”

  “There’s no light,” he choked. “Only darkness.”

  “Light shines the brightest in the darkness.”

  She brought her lips to his ear, then nipped it. He felt a shiver of pleasure rush through him, pleasure that he had no business feeling right now. He turned to face her with half a scowl, his heart thumping in his tightened ribcage. Evanesce did not smile, only watching him with her exotic eyes.

  “Evanesce …”

  She brought her lips close to his. “You are my light. You have to be.”

  And deep in Aardgar’s tomb, recalling the look in her eyes that day, the plushness of her lips, the hunger he felt in his own heart, Aardgar feels warmth for the first time in centuries. You are my light, he thinks of her, and I need you now more than ever, here in the eternal dark. My light …