by Rey Balor
The earth wanted to kiss her; Pat had become certain of this. It tried pulling her close, placing its rocky lips against her skin as she fell onto it. Gravity made her limbs too weary to hold, and for every league she traveled farther through this world, she had to take an hour to rest from the exertion. Nikola had always told her to find the path in the Land of Opportunity that would lead to the largest city structure — a place of wonder, a place of ruin, a place where she could begin to guide those who had turned their backs on the traditions set in stone.
One thing Nikola had never taught her: how to find this path. He had spoken of enlightenment for so long that he had never stopped to mention how one could reach it. With plans for the future, he had never taught her to prepare for the present. If Pat did not enjoy taking in such a large world, perhaps she would have minded, but there was so much to see and so much to keep her occupied that it seemed a waste to give any energy toward anger of a dead man. Even when she walked with pain shooting from the arches in her feet all the way up to her knees, she had to touch the ground, the passing foliage, and her own skin to make she wasn’t dreaming. Occasionally, she burst into laughter.
Whenever she paused to allow her body to readjust to the force of gravity, she would bring out her small notebook and begin scribbling notes once more. Biting her tongue, she tried sketching some of the creatures she saw, for even though she recognized a few species, it was a different thing altogether to see them skittering around her. A squirrel stopped to look at her before darting up a tree, and she couldn’t begin to name the number of birds she saw. Large, black crows; small songbirds; ones she had never imagined. If only she could grow wings too, just to see them better! The entire air sang of life, and she was grateful that the planet was eager to slow her down; it was through this way that she was able to experience it.
She would devote herself to the cause she was born into, but that would come later. The now belonged strictly to herself, and she would blossom in it. Her purpose had been returned to her with a full heart, and it turned her first experience of earth all the brighter. Her ghosts had been left behind, but she was certain she would find new ones to discover here. She kept this in mind as she stumbled across a road, a real road, and began to follow along it. Surely, she stank and her jumper was a mess and she was almost certain she was missing clumps of straw-blonde hair, but she was determined.
The first person she came across was a woman so wrinkled in on herself that it took Pat several glances before realizing she was human at all. There was something unnatural in her appearance — in the fact that she still breathed while Nikola had died so naturally of age in their station. Pat could hardly stand to look at her. It was worse than looking at a corpse, and the girl had to swallow the lump in her throat. A part of her wanted to turn away from the road until the woman shuffled on her way.
It was brute determination more than anything else that guided her forward. Even by standards of the other Light Bringers, she was short and stocky in stature, but never before had she felt such a way until she stood in front of someone so tall, hunched, and frail. The woman had a walking stick in each hand, and when she opened her mouth to speak, a cough erupted from her that caused her whole form to shake. Not knowing what else to do, Pat rushed to steady the elder.
Quickly, she rummaged through her bag and brought out a pill of medicine.66 Designed to clear the system of low level sicknesses like colds or coughs, it was a resource she could not spare for every individual who needed it, but on her first day and for her first earth person, she wouldn’t deny it. This had to be a sign. She held out the pill.
“You’ll feel better,” she promised.
The old woman squinted her tiny, watering eyes at the offering and plucked it from Pat, popping it in her mouth before the girl could give any further explanations. She wondered vaguely if there came a point where one no longer concerned themselves about the habits of their body. It had to be true for the old woman. She was nasty, falling apart at every wrinkle. Immediately, something flickered in the elder’s expression, and the pained tightness on her face loosened. Had Pat been listening, she would have heard a rattle in the woman’s lungs with every breath she took, but the rattle quickly lessened
Pat let out a soft sigh of release; the elderly woman smiled a show of no teeth.
“I can finally get through a full statement,” the woman spoke, and her watery eyes seemed far closer to tears. Even her voice carried age to it, and Pat realized what a foolish fear hers had been. Foolish, but not forgotten. “My name is Anile. What in Death’s name are you doing alone on this road, child?”
“I’ve only just arrived. There are a dozen different explanations I could give you, but that’s probably safest to say, you know?” Nervousness pricked in Pat, and Anile hummed a vague agreement. “I’m looking for the city.”
“We’re all looking for our own personal Citadel. I found meself one and a prince. Rather lucky, I’d say.”
Nodding her head, Pat continued, “A lot luckier than I’ve been. I need to show people what I can offer, and I’m growing mighty restless about it. I don’t suppose you could tell me the way to this Citadel?”
“Me and the prince, me and the prince. He killed me husband, and he took me breath away all the same,” the old woman continued, not quite clicking with the conversation that Pat offered her. If there was one thing Pat’s pills could not fix, it was the diseases of the mind. They were a far more sinister group of disorders, and those pills were kept in a place Pat could not reach now. She narrowed her eyes as the elder halted her speech, uncertain if the woman needed one of those pills or if the world had simply been unkind to her. In many ways, she was reminded of Marie, still aboard a doomed ship. Her whole body drooped at the memory.
“You don’t know him like I do, child,” the old woman said. “Oh, he’s magnificent, and I know it’s wrong for me to say, but he’s a trueborn King.”
Now it was Pat who could not seem to click with the conversation. The records aboard her home were decades old, given to Nikola long before she was born. He had told her time and time again the earth was a world that did not change — until it did, suddenly and without any warning. If one of those shifts had occurred without her knowledge, she could be marching straight into a world that had already rejected her.
“I thought there were only queens here?” she asked tentatively.
The woman started suddenly, and Pat had to grab hold of her arm to ensure she didn’t topple over in the excitement. A life that had been devoid from her expression suddenly came into being, and it was her turn to grab hold of the girl by the scruff of her neck, pulling her close. The breath on Pat’s face was hot and musty, smelling more of mold than anyone should. “Queens, kings, shields, and wolves, yet ideas remain the strongest killers. Have you ever fought an idea, girl?” The terror was back as Pat shook her head, dirty strands of hair hitting her cheeks with the movement. “Ideas are what make up the Citadel. They form the bricks in the walls, and they’ve made their home in the atoms of its citizens. Do you know what happens when you try to kill an idea, girl?” Once more, Pat vehemently shook her head. “You make it eternal.”
Releasing their hold on each other, Anile stumbled back, taking a sudden seat upon the side of the road. She spoke again, “The King promises us a natural death, and I’ve become so tired. If I was a hundred years younger, perhaps, perhaps… Me and the prince…”
She clutched onto her head and let out a sad groan.
As if the sun had suddenly risen in the Light Bringer’s mind, an idea clicked into being. Wasn’t this the very reason she had been returned to the earth? If she ignored her own curiosity, if she ignored everything she was or had stood for, wouldn’t she be going against Marie’s warnings? Yes, this was why she was here. All she had to do was spill forward her ideas and let them grow eternal, as Anile believed they would. She had the power to educate, to liberate, them of their short-sighted goals, and she knew that thought would make Nikola smile w
ith pride.
“Is this place still called the Land of Opportunity?”
“The glorious Land of Opportunity, the world of freedom, the colors of truth!”
Pat made a face. She tried not to comment how that sounded like a slogan that had been force-fed to the woman from birth; she tried to regurgitate what had been fed to her instead. “Exactly. Have you ever seen a space shuttle launch before?”
“All shuttles are kept by the Queens, and the Queens hold ‘em tight. Not even the King or the prince or meself has seen one fly high into the sky — although I’ve heard about those who swore they could see a tear in space when the rockets punched through the dust in the sky. They go to hold Death in their arms, they do, and it’s Death that guides them.” Anile carried wonder still, but her voice was growing fainter with every breath from the toll it took to speak. The pill Pat had given her was simple, and it could only do so much.
“Now, that’s just sad. Science guides those rockets upward, you see, and it’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. Oh, I remember once — the first time I saw one leave earth — I almost cried, it was so spectacular.” Pausing, Pat forced herself to take a deep breath to slow down. “Science guides the rockets, just as science guides the healing that pill gave you. It’s not Death because Death isn’t exactly a person, you know?”
Silence answered her, suddenly cold in its tongue. Pat cleared her throat and fidgeted, moving her weight from foot to foot as it settled around the pair. The people of earth were meant to welcome her preachings with open arms, but she had never seen the warmth leave someone as fast as it left Anile.
She struggled to find something else to say. “Anyways… There’s a lot you don’t understand, I know, but I’ve got books! Well, I did have books, but I don’t have them anymore. I still remember most of them though, which is almost just as good…”
“There is a village,” Anile interrupted, and even when another fit of coughing rocked her, she forced herself to continue. “There’s a village even the prince himself don’t touch — not for lack of bravery, believe me, but for lack of faith in this science of yours. The Queens condemned it, and I find meself willing to believe them about it.”
“A village? Where?”
“In this village, you’ll be finding the answers to your strange claims, girl. Death’ll be waiting for you there, and if you aren’t careful, it’ll run away forever before you get the chance to tell it about those fancy books of yours.” She gestured back the way she had come from. “Down the road, a few hours walk. You look closely, you’ll see an old path, and the signs will show you the rest of the way. It’s not something pleasant, I warn you. The prince himself wouldn’t rescue me from that place; the Queens would cry out if they saw. You go there, and you tell me why I should put me faith in science when science is the reason for that — when science is the thing that chased Death away in the first place. You go there, and you’ll see.”
“Let’s say I do… Will you listen to me then?”
Pat was given a toothless smile in answer.
Chapter 25: The Citadel
“The guard dies;
it does not surrender.”
Death’s Lament, 1.14
The five queens had not been in one room together since the Queen of the Summer Isles had been coronated, and all talk of land ownership had been squashed to a mere hush. Their thrones now formed a pentagon in the largest ballroom, and despite their many attendants, there was absolute silence in their sanctuary. The servants had spent three days prepping the room, moving furniture and thrones around for the special circumstance. This place had become an area to make treaties and speak of nightmares, to meditate. The five Queens argued about the execution of Caliana Sekhon, a wolfling woman who had escaped from their justice for decades. Four Aegis paced the length of the room.
It was a waiting game.
In the middle of the pentagon of thrones, roughly ten feet from each, the captain of the Aegis was bowed in prayer. Their cloak’s hood shrouded all but their lips, which moved frantically with words no one else could hear, and their hands were folded tightly in front of their chest. Claymore continued to repeat phrases, and it was the only comfort they would allow themself in this holy space. The gun on their hip had never weighed heavier than it did in that moment, with the five Queens peering at them as arguments persisted.
The hilt of their sword was decorated with marks of valor. There were six gems, one for each queen and a final for Death, and they stared upon the edge of that magnificent blade. Failure — it was something Claymore rarely experienced. The longer they prayed, the longer such failure threatened to pull them into the very ground. The desire to pluck each gem from its resting spot grew stronger; for as hard as the gems were to earn, they were far easier to lose. Out of the want in their heart, the very cause of their failure, they continued to look towards the Queen of the Summer Isles, and fondness mingled in with the strong feel of shame. But not regret; never regret. Clasped in their folded hands was Death’s Lament, the scripture of the Aegis, giving the needed encouragement to them.
“Hand of devotion, spirit of Death, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me for what I did and for what I am going to continue to do,” they repeated.
The prayer continued to go unheard, but the Queen of the Summer Isles stood from her throne, moving towards the captain. Her blonde hair nearly swept the floor behind her, and there was such grace to her steps that it was no wonder they had named her queen. The soft white of her clothes made her skin appear even paler, and by the time she knelt beside Claymore, they were unsure if the woman was physical or a mere memory, recently rediscovered. They ducked their eyes at her nearness, afraid if they stared too long, they would wither under the golden energy.
If the Queen heard these thoughts, Claymore knew that she would laugh. They would find the gesture comforting now, but this was not a place of comfort. They stared at her knees and the white folds of her dress instead. While they could no longer see the smeared remnants of kisses on her, they remembered all the same. Claymore gripped their hands tighter together, causing the pages of scripture to crinkle.
The Queen tilted Claymore’s chin upward, a secret smile playing on her lips. The Queen had always been dangerous; it was rumored she could turn another’s lust for her into gold. Claymore had never been one to entertain such rumors, but the woman’s smile awoke those whispers at the back of their thoughts. Dark things, whispers were, and yet, they had the chance to shape one’s life. Even as lightning arced where she touched, Claymore worried the Queen was spinning their shared lust into power, but what if they were using the woman in the same way? Were they not using her to satisfy this dark craving spreading within them? They walked a line none in their books had crossed, and that made this thing between them all the deadlier — for when did those like them get happy endings?
“If you are to pray, let us pray together,” the Queen said. This was a place of meditation, after all, and prayer was the highest form of mediation they could offer. The Queen clasped the captain’s hands in her own and brought her lips to their fists, continuing the prayer they had begun. “Hand of devotion, spirit of Death, you cannot hold such power alone.”
Claymore’s eyes widened, finally looking at her. There were cracks of honey in her hazel eyes. The words she spoke were not a prayer they knew; it was a prayer of blasphemous intent. The other Queens did not hear her. Most stared at the bowing pair with growing disinterest. Claymore could see the conflict in the women through a lens they had never dared look through before. Each was wrapped in their own world, their own point to the star — and what was the fate of all stars? They burned, they grew, they consumed, and eventually, they faded with their atoms being recycled into the next generation.
No, no…
“Hand of devotion, spirit of Death, you’ve abandoned us all on this planet,” the Queen continued, seemingly growing in power with every passing moment. Claymore could feel their own resistance as her eyes sparked
with a vow. She was a monument unto herself, an image ablaze with the promise of new religion. She had warned Claymore that change was imminent, and here she was, delivering the promise.
“My Queen…”
“Hand of devotion, spirit of Death, I expect no forgiveness for this.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto the captain’s forehead in comforting familiarity before standing to her feet. Claymore remained kneeling, feeling faint. Turning back toward the other Queens, the Queen of the Summer Isles rose her voice so that the four could finally hear. “Claymore, you told me your true name — the name given to you by Life. I call upon you now to fulfill the duties that entails.”
What if this was their chance at a new star?
“What is the meaning of this?” The Queen of Stone abruptly stood from her throne of trees. Her teeth were bared for a fight. The Queen of the Pillared Lands was slower to rise, but she was the only one who stepped forward, the dark lenses on her face falling down the bridge of her nose to reveal eyes that were black with rage. The Queen of Stone held out her hand as if to stop the other woman from attacking. “The leader of the Aegis belongs to no woman, Isles. You cannot claim a name when they’ve given it up.”
“You’re right: they belong to no one.” She held out her hand, and Claymore slipped their own into it. She helped them to their feet, brushing her thumb against Claymore’s palm in reassurance. One moment, she had vowed. One moment of pain for an eternity. How were they to know she meant like this? “But they have chosen me, and I have chosen them.”
Claymore had not just failed. Oh, if it had been that simple, they could have done their penance and moved forward. Claymore had taken their vows and burned them in a great bonfire. The captain would never be done paying penance for this crime, but all the same, the shift in their stance was immediate — from confessor to crusader. Their hood covered the depths of confusion playing in their eyes, but that was why they wore the garment, was it not? The cloak shielded them in the same way they were meant to shield the Queens.
