by Rey Balor
It was to the prison tower she and Ranger were taken to. Up and up the stairs they went. All the cells had people in them, but Olena wasn’t given the chance to look closely. It was effort enough to keep moving. Finally, the guards shoved Ranger in one cage and continued upward with Olena. Ranger shrieked louder as she was forced away. One more flight of stairs, and Olena knew it was her turn.
“Enjoy your stay,” the shorter guard hissed, shoving her into a cell with none-too-gentle a touch.
“You piece of shit coward,” she spat. He punched her stomach before locking the cell door, laughing as she crumbled.
Olena’s mother had told her she could be Queen of the Erie-folk, if only she conquered first. Olena’s father had agreed, quiet enough that none would hear. They had given her command, support, and the choice of what she would become. She curled into a ball, trying to keep herself contained — those had been dreams of a girl. It was time to accomplish the goals of a woman, regardless of the threat that came to her now. Even if the title of Queen was never hers to say, she still remained a commander, a leader, a wild thing. She was a free woman; she was a wolfling.
She was a reckoning.
From her spot on the ground, she gave a promise: this is your kingdom, your realm, your safety, and I am coming for it all.
In the shadows, she heard a voice that threatened to shake her promise.
“Olena? Is that you?”
“…Illias?”
Chapter 30: The Citadel
“To come, to see, to conquer:
these are the marks of the Old Way.”
Death’s Lament, 20.13
The walls of the Citadel tumbled.
They fell with a crash, and the division between the Citadel’s center and the city crumbled with each segment. Dust billowed from the collapsed structure, choking those who stood nearby. It was only the oldest part of the walls that fell, aided by explosives that Caliana pieced together.81 Machina, they dubbed her, and machines came to life beneath her touch in response. The Queen sat beneath a large, dark parasol that was held by one of her flowers, and she watched with satisfaction as the walls crashed. Claymore could not look; it was akin to watching their childhood home, and all the feelings of safety, warmth, and family, fall apart.
“As long as the Citadel still stands, the Old Ways live on,” they whispered.
Creation came at the cost of destruction, and with how the Queen was destroying, the world she meant to craft would have to be a paradise. As the Old Ways fell with the walls, Claymore felt something heavy settle in the pit of their stomach. They stood beside the Queen’s seat, and they felt themself become a statue. They were stone, they were raw rock, they were paralyzed.
“This was your plan, was it not?” Claymore spoke up, unable to keep the judgement from coating the words. Explain it to me, they begged. Tell me why you continue to rip my world apart.
The Queen was cruel in the worst way: she was kind. Her lips curved into that damnable smile, and if one looked closely at her, which Claymore was so keen to do, they would see her cheeks flush with the pleasure of recognition. “Caliana saw the potential before you did — not that I blame you, my darling. You are so focused on the ground beneath us. You see the necessity for protection and act on it. It’s truly charming, but on your walks around the Citadel with Caliana, she began to see beyond that.”
Jealousy was hot and sticky in Claymore’s throat. Uncertain how to express the emotion, they merely shifted in place, and a hand found the comforting hilt of their blade. The other Aegis had refused to come, and the captain was beginning to wish they had done the same. “See what?”
“She saw its flaws. The people of this world have known the Queens as five points to a star, each one necessary and each one unique to the balance, but they have never met us, my love. We are little more than names to them, and outside of tradition, what does it matter if there is one queen or five? The change of authority is not real for them, and to make it real, I need a testament to that change. I need them to remember me always and to desire my rule. Change is such a difficult thing, after all.” She gestured to the destruction with a lazy flick of the wrist. They both recognized that there was more that needed to be said, but with a laugh from the Queen, it was forgotten. “The walls tumble in our great city tonight, and our citizens will flood forward for a glimpse of the one who brought them down. It’s the only way to move on.”
“Is the one who destroyed them not Caliana?” Claymore asked. Immediately, they knew it was a poor choice of words. It was the first time they were overwhelmed with the feeling that they had said the wrong thing. Immediately, they wanted to ask more. Annoyance in the Queen flashed as brightly as jealousy had poured into Claymore moments ago, and the pit in their stomach grew heavier.
The Queen clicked her tongue in dismissal. “I’ve caged my canary, and they’ll know she is merely an instrument I have learned to play. After all, when you kill, do they give thanks to you or to Death?”
“You liken yourself to Death?”
It was a bold claim. Death was the sacred, and while they had tasted something akin to divinity on the Queen’s skin, it was different to feel than it was to claim. As if realizing her misstep, the Queen’s words stumbled. “Of course not. No, I am not that arrogant. Please understand, my darling, I have been a slave to this world for three hundred years. I have sustained myself for this very reason — to be more than a queen to these people, for they need more than a queen.”
How terrible it was to come to the conclusion, yet how much it made sense.
“They need a goddess,” said Claymore.
“Death remains greater than me, but only for now.”
The Queen stood to her feet, and the little servant holding her parasol scurried backward in an effort to remain out of the way. The entire air around the Queen vibrated with the power of one who knew the strength of her position, and Claymore felt weak before it. They bit their tongue. In this light, with the sound of falling cement in the background and the smell of smoke tainting the air, it was easy to see where the Queen’s new title would come from. A golden aura seemed to surround her, and she thrived beneath it. She knew what she was; they both did.
“They need Life, and I have taken the role for myself,” she continued softly. “I’m declaring war on Death, and I know that you have spent your existence in service of it, so I simply ask that you do not stand in my way. You may remain by my side as we do the work necessary to secure our future. Together, we can choose to live — again and again, we can choose it. All I need you to say is that you’ll allow this.”
“Will you kill me if I don’t?”
“I could never kill you, love. Even in opposition, you have captured a piece of me. You hold my trueborn name, and that is not a gift I give lightly. I want you to choose this path of your own free will. I offered you eternity; how did you expect to hold onto such a thing? To live, we must suffer. To suffer, we must bloody our hands.”
Claymore had never considered themself to take part in such theological discussions. Those talks were meant for the small gatherings in lecture halls, where strange elites spoke of places none had heard of and ideas from across the ocean. The Aegis regurgitated knowledge, and they trusted those who had come before them. They were built by those who believed with everything they were, and when that belief broke down, there was nothing left but bone.
Claymore hesitated.
“Yes, my Queen.”
The demolition was complete. The remnants of the wall rested in a large pile, but already, those that lived their lives within its shadow crept nearer in search of what would happen next. Change weaved its way into the grounds, yet the people remained unable to cross the barrier. Fear was as powerful a motivator as any, and the Queen stepped forward, ignoring Claymore in favor of these frightened citizens — her frightened citizens.
She said nothing, but there was nothing to say when her glory spoke for itself. Although the crowd would not be able to see it, her cr
own was carved from pieces stolen from the other Queens to match the throne she had made, and she preened beneath the stares. Claymore looked away, wrinkling their nose. One could criticize her, hate her, envy her…but if they carried her in their thoughts, for good or ill, she would thrive. She was an innovator, and she dared the townsfolk to approach with a crook of her finger.
“We are rewriting the course of history, Claymore. Can you feel it?” The Queen posed the question with quiet delight.
Uneasiness stirred in the crowd, and the captain fed off the energy. To any who looked toward the Queen, they showed the threat of Oblivion. They had promised to protect her, and they would see it done. Was it love? They shuddered. Could it be called love when it festered? Could it be called care when it tore down everything they had known? Or was it only then, when they protected her despite it all, that those feelings could be called such a thing?
The crowd was beginning to make its way over the ruins, pouring over the debris like ants. A hundred paused before their Queen, and one man stepped forward, as if they had planned it.82 The man was from an older generation, and although it seemed as if he would topple over any moment, he remained standing.
“What is this?” he croaked.
“There is a new definition of sacredness, workers. The walls are gone, and with them torn down, we can finally move forward. How long have we been stagnant? How long have we viewed life only in terms of death?” In an effort to hear their Queen, the crowd surged forward — hesitantly at first, but it quickly spilled with little resistance. Claymore prepared. They felt the pause in the crowd and how quickly such a pause could evaporate, for a crowd was a deadly thing. “It was said that so long as these walls stood, the Old Ways lived on. Now, I have no intentions of ridding you of your ways—” Yet, the unspoken promise passed by all but Claymore. They had heard that sticky word whispered on their own lips from the Queen. “—but I need your assistance to redefine what it is we know. For that reason, I have opened this courtyard for your use. It is not a place to sleep nor eat, but it is a place to pray, to be considered sacred. If you abuse that sacredness, you will pay the cost.”
One could not simply declare holy grounds, but there had always been something desirable behind the walls of the Citadel. The townsfolk thought of the unknown as worthy of aspiration, and having finally achieved their unspoken dream of seeing it, touching it, and tasting it, they would call it whatever the Queen desired. The old man stepped forward hesitantly and dropped to his knees to run his hand against the smooth marble of the courtyard.
It was art; there was no denying that it was art, and for a people who had rarely seen such beauty, art had an otherworldly context to it. A few more stumbled after him, and it appeared as if they all were bowing to the woman who delivered this to them. Her smile only grew. She had brought the realm to its knees.
“Tell me: what is it you pray for when you touch this place?”
“A child,” one of the women cried.
“Gold,” another offered.
“An end,” a man shouted.
“…A birthmate of my own,” the elder replied hesitantly, and the whisper went through the crowd.
A birthmate, a birthmate, a birthmate.
Claymore thought of their own birthmate, snatched from the world before he had gotten a chance to live in it. What would it be like now, to have him by their side? There was little to be remembered about him — nothing that would erase the knowledge that Claymore was, at their core, alone. He simply existed until he hadn’t, and they understood those desperate voices. They wanted to join, but they bit their tongue harder, tasting blood. Death had taken him for a reason.
The Queen’s voice cut through all, “To have a birthmate is to have life itself. They are at the center of everything; they are the only thing that can wage war on the darkness. Let your prayers be answered.”
It was the final part of the puzzle, the last thing that she needed to rule as the one true Queen. To control the promise of Life was to defeat the Old Ways entirely. She meant to kill their beliefs and place herself at the core of the new ones. Did the crowd not see that? Claymore’s mouth fell open in surprise, but none paid the captain any attention.
“For I have been asking Death to bring us each a birthmate of our own for as long as I can recall, but never did it answer. Now, today, I ask Life to bring me one, and I hear her loud and true — there is a way!” The crowd erupted like the volcano that had turned the sky gray, and although they drowned out the Queen’s voice, Claymore could hear. “I have been given answers, and to all those that pledge their loyalty, they will be given the one thing we have all desired: the other half of our soul. Let us ascend together!”
The crowd cheered and cheered. Beside the Queen, Claymore said nothing at all.
Chapter 31: The Wilds
“None come above our purpose.”
Death’s Lament, 52.7
ARISTA:
There were three options to explain what was occurring: Illias had drifted off to sleep and was now caught in a dream, he had gone utterly mad, or — and this one was the worst of all three — his spica had been locked up beside him. Illias recognized the voice; there were no others he knew better. He rested his hand against the wall that separated them, knowing it was Olena on the other side. It had been too long since they were so near. Their universes had expanded to the threat of tearing apart, yet here they were, back at the start. His palm felt cold against the concrete wall.
“It is you,” he breathed in relief. Of course, it was. She had done exactly what she said she wouldn’t do, and they both stood on the cusp of danger because of it. Relief came with a surge of red — red, red anger born of the knowledge that she could die within the day. He scrambled to his feet, and although he could not see Olena in the cell next to his, he could hear her. He spoke through clenched teeth, “Tell me you didn’t come alone.”
He flinched when she slammed her fist on the opposite side. By the way she moved, he knew that her own emotions weren’t curbed at his thinly veiled accusation, and from the thud that hit the wall, he guessed she had slammed her other fist against the hard concrete.
“You don’t get to be upset, Illias Rivers. These people you want peace with are planning on fucking murdering us, and you willingly walked into their trap! I’ve chased your ass down — thanks for sending Hops, one of the fucking chained-folk, my way. Oh, and I’ve had to deal with a scout from the Queen — which who the fuck knows where she is now — the entire time!” She took a forceful puff of oxygen, but before he could offer any words of his own, she was continuing onward, voice rising an octave with every insult. “You’re selfish! You’re weak! Thinking you could save them when they don’t want to be saved? This is war, Il. War’s a bloody, disgusting business, and you should have known that. You shouldn’t have left me! You want to be a revolutionary without a revolution, and… and…”
He brushed the back of his hand against his eyes, but what could he say? There was no apology in him, no stories that could guarantee her safety. It had been his own actions that brought her to this place of death, and if she was killed because of it, it would be his shoulders that it rested upon. His own death he could accept, but hers? Dragging his hands through his hair, he waited to hear the rest, but nothing more came. There was only the sounds of two hearts breaking and reforging together, torn between bitterness and hope.
“Olena?” He tried softly, and when he heard her sniffle, he took it for a good sign. “I thought you might be right, but I had to see for myself. I talked to the Queen, and she brushed me aside without a care. But I’ve had a lot of time to think, and how can we blame the crops for the weeds that strangle them? You met Hops. He’s a good man. And some of the guards tried to help me before I was thrown in here. It’s the Queen that’s poisonous, not them. You’ve got to realize that the rest of the people just want some peace of their own, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Aye, I was naive storming this place alone, but it was faith I had to sh
ow. We were both right, you see: you need to kill the stars, and I need to help these people avoid the massacre. We’ll burn this castle down when we’re done, so long as it’s only the guilty that are dying. I know you’re upset, but I’m alright. We’re both here now, and we’re both alive.”
“You weren’t alright, Il. I felt it,” she replied, a crack entering her speech. “I don’t know how, but in the city, I felt it. They tortured you, didn’t they? They did. They tortured you, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. They’re all guilty, so far as I’m concerned — the Queens who did it and the people who built a world where this is allowed. I won’t touch those who don’t fight, but anyone that stands in my way has made their choice.”
“You felt it?”
I have a plan for you far greater than anything the wolflings could imagine.
His chest seemed to fill with an earthquake that traveled down to his hands, causing them to shake by his side. The spica connection had always been strong, but they had never felt the pain of the other — they had never been privy to the other’s depths. He could almost envision the Queen’s smirk, with her painted lips and impractical, fanciful blonde locks. Lies were so pretty when they were told by a doll, and yet he wondered if he had given away more in his time with the Lady of the Pillared Lands than he realized. It was impossible, wasn’t it? His ears felt hot, and loud thoughts weighed at the forefront of his mind.
I offer you a world beyond your own imaginings.
(We don’t want it. We just want to be left alone.)
I have an experiment, and I’ll need your help. Only then can peace exist between us.
(True peace was having enough; true peace was freedom. You don’t understand that. You’ll never understand that.)
His hands stopped shaking, if only for a moment.
