by Platt, Sean
“What are you waiting for?” Talani yelled as she and Judith drew closer, about fifty yards away, with the floating terrors right behind them, their tentacles wildly shaking in the bright light.
She can’t come, Abigail projected to Talani. It’s time for her to pay.
“What are you talking about?”
I saw what she did to you and your sister. How she sold you.
“Abigail, it’s not as simple as that. Please, don’t do anything.”
They were thirty yards away.
The shrieking in Abigail’s head grew louder.
She’s not coming with us. She is staying here!
“No!” Talani yelled. “We will talk about it. But please, trust me. Do NOT do this.”
She hurt you. And your sister. She has to pay.
“If you do this, Abigail, you aren’t just hurting her. You’re hurting me. Is that what you want?”
Ten yards away, the shrieking now louder than anything else — raking her ears and agitating her entire body, like a violent itch that could only be scratched with cruelty.
Kill Judith to avenge the girls, and sate the screaming in her brain.
We’ll get through this.
The noise demanded action.
The past demanded blood.
Talani and Judith were only a few feet away.
Abigail gripped the blade, eying Judith to time her strike.
Judith had no idea what was coming, staring toward the portal, running straight to it, trying to escape the octopi-things.
We’ll get through this.
Three.
Two.
O —
Talani suddenly changed everything by dodging in front of Judith, slamming into Abigail hard, forcing her backward through the portal, and landing on top of her.
All at once the shrieking died.
They were in what looked like an underground tunnel, light flickering from lanterns fixed to the wall.
Abigail tried to look around, but Talani was atop her, reaching up and grabbing Abigail’s chin, turning it as if to kiss her.
And in that moment so close, Abigail, oddly, almost wanted her to. Their eyes locked. Talani’s eyes were wide, scared.
Talani cried, “Please, don’t.”
Abigail was confused.
Don’t what?
Something shifted in Talani’s eyes, and Abigail’s terror grew as she feared that Talani saw her thoughts … and the kiss she wanted.
“Please, don’t kill Judith.”
Why?
“I’ll explain later. But please, if you love me, just trust me.”
And there it was — the word love.
Abigail hadn’t thought of how she felt about Talani as love. At least not at first. She only just met her, and Abigail didn’t like girls that way, certainly not enough to kiss them.
But then again, the world of people she’d known until now was so limited — her parents, both dead; her uncle, who sold her to the pedophile, Randy Webster; John, whom she loved like a father, but who left her alone with Larry; Larry, whom she loved like a brother, but whom she betrayed. And then there was Katya — her first real friend — killed by Abigail’s own hand.
Her every form of love had either died or been corrupted or betrayed.
But here was yet another chance.
Maybe not romantic love, but a sisterly love. Something she could call her own, and maybe fill the void in her heart.
And she didn’t want to screw that up.
Their eyes still locked, it felt as if everything hinged on this moment.
Talani repeated, “Please, Abigail. Don’t hurt her.”
Abigail swallowed.
Okay.
Talani sighed, then leaned in and kissed Abigail softly on the cheek.
She then climbed off Abigail.
Abigail looked up at Judith, who was distracted by someone else in the hallway — a man with a sword drawn on them.
Interlude - Jacob Aage 13
Jacob was sitting in the garden, throwing rocks into the pond after finally giving up on levitating them as VVessolff had been trying to teach him, when he saw the brown men carrying the large box through the castle’s iron gates.
The men were dressed from head to toe in golden silks, indicative of the Jska tribe from No Man’s Land.
Jacob hopped up and raced toward the castle entrance, eager to get a closer look at the men, and maybe see what they were bringing his father.
The Forgotten Kingdom was a twelve-day walk from No Man’s Land, or three days by horse, unless they’d used a magickal portal. In any event, they’d never been to The Forgotten Kingdom, so Jacob wasn’t the only person with eyes on the men. Everyone watched their approach, met by the King’s Guard at The Citadel gate.
They were ushered through, accompanied by two guardsmen.
Jacob followed closely, wondering why they were here and what they had brought. The Jska tribe was known as having the finest craftsmen of The Southern Realm, often working with gold and other rare metals. Father had many of their decorations already in the castle, but nothing custom made. This must be special. And his little brothers were off with Mother visiting the market, so Jacob would be first to see the treasure.
He could hardly contain his excitement as the men were led to Father’s visiting chamber. Jacob sneaked in behind them, then ducked behind the red velvet curtains lining the walls to avoid being seen by Father or the guards.
He listened as the men spoke, but it wasn’t the common language, or any of the others that Jacob had learned.
King Zol greeted them in their tongue. Jacob couldn’t tell what he was saying, but judging from his big, booming voice, which he only used for important people, Father was happy to host them.
Jacob peered through the curtains as the men pulled back the wooden planks and then the linens that covered their gift.
Jacob leaned forward, hoping for a better look, when he slipped, taking the curtain down with him.
The guards approached, yelling.
Jacob’s heart raced as he tried to pull the curtain off of him to prove he wasn’t an enemy, but he was too tangled in the fabric.
They’re going to kill me!
“It’s me, it’s me, Prince Jacob! Don’t kill me!”
One of the guards yanked the curtain off of Jacob. The other stood with his sword drawn, face twisted into an angry red.
Jacob looked up past the guards to see Father glaring.
“What are you doing?” he screamed, standing from his throne.
“Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to see what they were bringing.”
“Get out!” Father scolded, pointing toward the exit.
Jacob slunk out of the room, red-faced and feeling stupid.
Two weeks later, Jacob woke early and sneaked into his parents’ sleeping chamber to see the Jska’s gift.
It was a mirror, and quite beautiful, or so he’d heard — from his brothers no less. Jacob had begged his parents to see it, but they refused, saying he had to wait. Their way of teaching him patience, and not to sneak around where he wasn’t allowed, or at least that’s what Mother said. Jacob thought it was just Father’s cruelty, denying his son something simply because he could.
Jacob had tried to play it off to his little brothers, saying that he didn’t care about the “stupid mirror,” but the reality was that he’d become obsessed.
He started planning, first to try and gain entry while Father was elsewhere in the Kingdom, but the King often locked his chambers during the day. Jacob decided that he’d sneak inside while they were sleeping.
He crept into the dark bedroom, carefully making his way past their bed to the mirror standing beside the open window, reflecting the full moons outside.
The room was dark, bathed in a blue, milky light that illuminated enough of the golden frame for Jacob to be impressed. The Jska had carved mountains and flowers along the frame, a design that wrapped around the rear. Jacob walked around the back of the m
irror to see a giant raven, his house sigil carved to sit atop their old Kingdom in the Calladian Mountains.
Jacob reached out to touch the design, marveling at the softness on his fingertips.
It was just as beautiful as his brothers had promised.
Jacob walked back to look at the mirror’s front, and caught his reflection. He was thirteen and still horribly awkward, his dark hair already receding. His eyes were sunken caverns in his moon-like face. He turned to make his way back out of the bedroom.
Suddenly, movement to his right.
Father, getting out of bed.
No!
“What are you doing in here?” he bellowed.
“I’m sorry, Father! I just wanted to see the mirror.”
His mother woke. Sleepy, she said, “What are you doing in here, Jacob?”
“He is looking at that fucking mirror,” Father snapped, grabbing Jacob by the back of his shirt, shoving him toward the bedroom door.
“Sorry, I just wanted to see if it was as beautiful as —”
“Yes, it is beautiful. You want a closer look? Here!”
His father shoved Jacob against the glass, almost hard enough to break it.
Jacob whined.
Father grabbed the back of his head and shoved his face harder against the cold surface. “You like that? You like that fucking mirror? Here, maybe you can’t see.”
He pressed harder.
Jacob cried out. “Sorry!”
“Stop!” Jacob’s mother cried out, trying to insert herself between them.
“Stay out of this!” He slapped her with his free hand.
She slunk away, lest she face more of his wrath.
Father put both hands on the back of Jacob’s head, then pulled him back so they were cheek to cheek staring into the mirror together.
Father’s eyes were dark and full of hate — more hate than a father should ever feel for his son. A hate that Father seemed to reserve mostly for his firstborn.
“You getting a good look?”
“Yes!” Jacob cried.
“Good because this will be your last look. If I ever see you using my beautiful mirror to reflect your donkey face again, I’ll break the mirror and use it to gouge your eyes out, do you understand me?”
“Yes!” Jacob cried.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, my King.”
Father shoved him to the ground, then kicked him hard in the ass. “Now get out of my sight, you fucking mule.”
Thirty-Four
Jacob
Jacob was resting in bed, after barely being back at the castle for two hours, when he heard a loud crash.
He woke, startled, then realized it was only thunder outside.
He lied back down, eager to catch some shut-eye. But his search for sleep was interrupted by another noise — three sharp raps on his chamber door.
Still tired from the assault on Crow’s Nest, despite having fed well on the wretched souls, he opened the door to a pair of knights, dressed in their armor and looking stern.
“The King would like to see you.”
“I’ll be there after I sleep.” Jacob started to close the door.
A hand intercepted the door before it could close. “Now.”
Jacob tensed. Had Zol found out already? Did he know Jacob and Barron had been behind the attack? That might explain why Barron wasn’t the one at his door.
“Okay. May I at least get dressed, or shall I stroll in there nude, maybe give you all a show?”
Jacob made a point of smiling as he waved his hand over his cock.
The men looked away. One of them murmured, “Go ahead, but be quick about it.”
Jacob closed the door, and dressed in his most comfortable, flowing black garb, trying to keep calm as he prepared for what was to come. He had to assume that Viceroy Calbot Mason got in Father’s ear, but had no proof. The men they took to Crow’s Nest were Barron’s best, hand selected, loyal to the New Order that would rise after the coming war — whether Zol was willing to lead it, or if Jacob claimed the throne.
Jacob felt the knights at his back as they marched him down the long hall to the King’s Royal Chambers.
Footsteps echoed off the long and narrow walls. The entire floor felt ominously empty, particularly for such an early hour. This floor was usually filled with various workers, people waiting to appear before the King with requests, proposals, or offerings.
But the entire floor was empty save for Jacob and his escorts.
Where is everyone?
They arrived at the double doors.
Mason stood outside the doorway, arms folded, glaring at Jacob. Jacob ignored the man’s stare and waited for him to open the doors.
He did, and Jacob entered, stopping when he saw Sir Barron’s decapitated head, its eyes staring up at Jacob, on the red carpet leading to his father’s throne.
He started to turn, but Father’s knights blocked him, swords drawn.
Mason, standing between the guards, smiled.
Shit!
Jacob turned to face Father sitting on his throne and glaring at his son.
Mason closed the doors behind Jacob.
Jacob walked slowly forward, his eyes on the ground as he tried to figure out who ratted him out. He raised his eyes, covertly seeking any means of escape.
Jacob could already imagine Mason calling for his head, could see it added to the pikes placed in the center of town an example of what happened when you betrayed the King.
If the King would kill his own son, what might he do to us? We’d better not fuck with the King!
The only blessing, if there were any to be counted, was that Barron’s head was the only one staining the carpet, meaning that maybe they had yet to discover who else was involved. Perhaps Jacob was being called forth to supply answers.
But their eyes were suspicious. Perhaps Barron had given him up. Whatever the case, Jacob’s plan to cause a war had clearly hit a major snag. Maybe they wouldn’t behead him. Maybe they’d turn him over to The Hand of the Seven Gods for judgment.
Jacob approached the throne, stopping ten feet from Father’s glaring countenance. He was dressed in his black robe, and wearing his crown — this was official business.
Father stared down at Jacob for what felt like an eternity. Jacob hated the disappointment in his eyes. The look had been there ever since childhood but seemed to have festered in severity. Now, Father was looking at him with pure disgust, practically sneering.
Jacob looked down.
“You have one chance to tell the truth, Jacob. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my King,” Jacob said, still unable to look up.
He could feel the two guards and Mason behind him, reveling in the moment. Mason was probably aroused.
Father cleared his throat. “Did you participate in the attack on Crow’s Nest?”
Jacob’s fate in a question. Should he offer the truth that, yes, he was not only a part of the attack but orchestrated it from the start? Or should he lie — say that he had nothing to do with it? Or perhaps a variation on the truth, saying that Barron had talked him into it?
What do they already know?
Despite the single head on the floor, he had to assume they knew everything. Father had likely plucked the memories from Barron’s mind, and this trial was a formality before delivering punishment to Jacob.
Still unable to meet Father’s eyes, Jacob spoke softly. “Yes, it was my idea, my King.”
“I knew it!” Mason shouted from behind.
Jacob didn’t give the fucker the satisfaction of turning around.
He stared at the floor, waiting to hear what Father would say next.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because Barron and I saw an opportunity to seize power, to make our Kingdom strong again, to reclaim our homeland.”
“By starting a war?” Father’s voice cracked in disbelief.
“Sometimes you must do something bad to achieve something g
ood.”
“Under whose authority?” Father bellowed.
Jacob still couldn’t meet his eyes, nor answer the question.
This was crumbling fast. He could sense his father’s wheels turning in search of a punishment. Jacob had to play humble if he expected to avoid the worst of this, or even survive.
“I asked, under whose authority?”
“We were trying to save the Kingdom.”
Mason shouted from behind: “The Kingdom doesn’t need saving!”
Jacob responded, though not turning to fully dignify his outburst. “The Kingdom does need saving, from you, Viceroy Mason! He has been making you weak, my King. You don’t hear it, but I do. The people are whispering behind your back, wondering if you’re still the same King they know. Wondering why you’ve bent to The North, bent to The Hand of the Seven Gods, bent to anyone who poses any threat?”
“I bend to no one!” Father shouted.
Jacob laughed without looking up. He could tell by Father’s huffing breath, the old man was getting angry, his face turning red.
Mason shouted, “You dare to mock the throne?”
Jacob finally looked up at him, meeting the man’s red eyes.
Jacob smiled and said, “Fuck the throne.”
Father’s eyes widened.
Father rose, stepping towards him.
“How dare you? I ought to have your head!” Father yelled.
Jacob fell to his knees, crossing his hands over his chest, bowing his head down, begging forgiveness.
“I’m sorry, my King. I’m sorry … Father.”
Jacob kept his head down, sobbing, pleading, “Please, I was trying to do the right thing, trying to make you proud of me.”
He kept his head down, still pleading for his life. He could hear Father above him, his voice starting to calm.
“Please, Father. I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit, but please, don’t kill me. I am your last son, and live only to serve you.”
The silence stretched. Jacob didn’t dare look up or back, but he imagined Father conferring with Mason in nods and gestures.
