“Falling With Style Edition”
Surprise surprise, I was busy this weekend. But it wasn’t because I was doing homework or going camping, like I’ve had previously; no, this time, I was skydiving! I’ll probably go into more depth about it next week, but this past weekend, I went to the Chicagoland Skydiving Center and jumped out of a perfectly good airplane for no apparent reason. Well, the ostensible reason is that it was a Christmas gift from my parents last winter. No, it wasn’t their way of telling me that I need to learn to live or take risks or something; I asked for the gift. I just really felt the urge to fall straight down from 14,000 feet up for about a minute while strapped to the chest of someone who probably weighed half what I do. But you know what? It was awesome. I would definitely do it again. But maybe when I have some more money to spend. I’d also like to try hang-gliding next, I think.
The coolest thing I saw, besides the wind whipping past my hair at 130 miles per hour and then spinning in circles at the bottom of the parachute, was these little glider things that were basically just go-carts with wings attached to them, just like in Mario Kart. I want one of those things. I’d love to just drive around and start flying. Can you imagine the look on everyone’s faces? I’m sure mine was priceless, because seeing that thing fly was one of the stupidest fucking things I’ve ever seen. It didn’t look like it should work. But it did. It’s the closest humanity has come to building a flying car, and I want one.
Anyway, maybe I’ll give a full review of skydiving next week. Maybe not. But for this week, here’s the preceding chapter to Spectral Crown. One of these days I’ll find something new to add, but it isn’t this day. Hope you like it.
Spectral Crown, by Andy Sima: Chapter Four
Out in the afternoon sun, my mother, the Blestemat stranger, and I made our way through town towards the mountain path leading to Chateau Uradel. The stranger stepped with a powerful purpose. He seemed convinced that whatever it was he felt Uradel could offer his nation was worth a potential curse.
I noticed that the stranger’s stride was hampered by his cloak, which blew around him as the wind gusted about. He had once again pulled the hood far over his head, obscuring his features to darkness, save the apple-red lips. I was unsure how he was able to see where he was going, but he never missed a beat.
“So, sir, you hail from Umbra?” My mother asked of the stranger as we left town and began our trek up the mountain side. “I can’t say that I’m familiar with the kingdom.”
“I do not blame you,” the stranger said. “It is to the east of here, and like Uradel, is a relatively small nation. The Blestemat family has ruled it for generations. But we now wish to… branch out.”
“How are you related to the Blestemat royals?” I asked of the stranger.
“All in due time, my friend,” he said in response. “I shall explain much once we reach the ears of Uradel’s court. Which is where I assume we are going?”
My mother and I glanced at each other. “It would be uncustomary to have you speak directly with the king, or even before the court on your immediate arrival,” my mother explained. “Instead, we shall introduce you to the King’s attendant, Simon Taylor, and he shall report to the king and gather his desires.”
“I see,” the stranger said quietly. After a moment’s silence, he said, “Is this Simon Taylor an Uradel native?”
My mother’s eyes found my own again. “No, he is a foreigner from the west. But he is intelligent and trustworthy, and wealthy, as far as travelers go,” I said. “He serves as the king’s advisor as much as his attendant.”
“I see,” the stranger said. “I don’t believe I have asked you your names yet. Might I know them?”
It seemed odd that this man would refuse to tell us his own name, yet ask for my mother’s and my own. But I had the sneaking suspicion that he would know if we lied, or if we refused to say. But why would I lie, I thought to myself. This man poses no threat. And yet…
“Josefa Bergmann, handmaid to Queen Annalise Uradel,” my mother answered. “And this is my son, Saelac Bergmann. Attendant to Prince Maynard Uradel.”
“Oh, you’re the Prince’s attendant, then?” The stranger asked. “You are familiar with him?”
“Yes, quite familiar. I assist him in his dress, meals, and in his duties as Prince,” I responded. The trees around us swayed in a light valley breeze.
“Tell me about this Prince Maynard. Is he well?” The stranger said.
“In what way?” I responded.
“Is he sickly? Pale and thin?” The stranger asked. For the third time, my mother and I glanced at each other, trying to guess what this odd man was playing at.
“I would not say sickly, but weak for his age, maybe. From the pampered life of royalty. Surely you see it in the Blestemats?” I replied, only lying ever so slightly.
“You miss the meat of the question,” the stranger smiled at me under his hood. It was the first time that this man had shown any real sense of emotion. “Is there some sort of abnormal quality about him? Perhaps a sort of… pale blue glow, almost? A wavering of light at the edges of your vision, like he is more of a specter than a man?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. It was a perfect description of the members of the court. The way they seemed like watery mirages in the court, their atrophied bodies like rope made of moonlight. The uncanny exactness of his question threw me off guard, and I stumbled over my words. This told the stranger everything he needed to know.
“So they are cursed, then,” he said. “Truly and perfectly cursed. How pitiful, really.”
“The talk of curses is just a local legend,” my mother added quickly. “Do not let it deter you or the Blestemat family from seeking relations with the Uradel court. As my son will attest, curses do not exist. Maynard is a perfectly capable prince.” She barely sounded convinced.
“I do not doubt his capabilities as prince, or as a potential husband,” the stranger said. “And his family’s status as cursed will not change the Blestemat royalty’s desire for an heir. I just needed to know for certain before making any decisions.”
“If you are so certain that they are cursed,” I said, “why bother asking?”
The stranger gave me a condescending half-smile, and shrugged. “The nature of curses is more complicated than you seem to believe. They can lay dormant for generations, until the time is right. Or they may spread themselves out, like a malaise, over countless eras. And there are curses that are more powerful than others, curses that can mutate and spread like disease or may not change at all. I needed some basic information of my own to be verified. Each curse is different, but all can be documented in their own ways.”
I will admit that little of what the man said made any sense to me. I held grave doubts about the existence of curses or the sanity of this man. He might have been mad or similarly unstable, only pretending to be an ambassador for a fake country. It would explain why none of us knew of Umbra or the Blestemat family. And yet his spot-on accuracy regarding the nature of the entire Uradel line stuck in my mind like a pin. And there was still the matter of his face.
I stopped and turned on the man. “Before we go any further,” I said, “what proof do you have of your status, or of curses?” My mother grabbed my arm and shot me a glance that seemed to say later, but the words were already out of my mouth. The man simply smiled.
“Let me show you,” he said. And he removed the cloak’s hood from over his head, revealing once again his stunning features. But then, in the shadows of great pine trees and mountain peaks, he removed his cloak further and turned away from us. As his cloak left his body, he stood facing the forest in nothing but heavy boots and trousers. I was enchanted by the perfect whiteness of his skin, the way it covered his muscle and encapsulated him. But more enchanting still was the insignia on his back.
It must have been a tattoo, for the thought of a brand marring his perfect skin frightened me. But either way, it was too large, too permanent, to be anything other than artwork. On his back lay what seemed to be the black shield of a crest of the family for which he bore their name. In the upper-right quadrant was a grand castle, bathed in moonlight, and below it was what appeared to be some sort of bird. To the left of the bird was a great mountain range casting great shadows on a valley below, not dissimilar to Stalpert’s own, and above those mountains was what I could only guess to be the moon. Winding around this crest, appearing almost to go in and out of his back, was some sort of black vine, but without any leaves. All this was drawn in oily black-blue ink, the same color of the night sky. It stood out against his skin in shocking contrast. The breath of both my mother and myself was caught in our throats.
“I carry my country’s crest on my back,” he said. “No madman could have drawn this, ay?”
“It is quite expertly drawn,” my mother said. And she drew in a deep breath. “But this is all still for the king to decide, and for Simon before him. Come. Let us make our way to the castle.”
“Indeed, it would be my pleasure,” he said, and placed his cloak back over his head, covering his skin and tattoo so that nothing was left but the shadowed stranger we had been leading up this mountain path for a while now. If I had said I wasn’t disappointed to see the tattoo go, I would be lying.
I was silent the rest of the trek up, turning the image over and over again in my mind. As beautiful as it was, and as beautiful as the man who bore it was, there were spots about it that did not make sense. I was not familiar with any bird that resembled the one on the crest, and something about the vines encircling the crest put me on edge. Perhaps it was that I had never really seen a tattoo before, except on one other occasion when a trader from the far south visited.
Regardless of what it was, I was now content that this was no simple conman or condemned individual. This was a man of real prestige, in whatever land he came from. But I would left Simon decide whether or not his prestige meant anything to us or to the nation of Uradel.
My mother, the stranger, and I made our way up to the chateau, and once again crossed the threshold between worlds, using the servant’s door as always. Upon entering the grand foyer, with its ceilings high above and cold air blowing from unseen cracks in the walls, the stranger removed his hood and inhaled deeply.
“Ah, I smell it in the air,” he said. “Yes, this Uradel family, this entire castle, is most certainly cursed. What a rare experience for me.” I could not smell anything out of the ordinary, nothing but the dank rocks and odd scent of urine. I did not know how these could tell him that the Uradel family was cursed any more than it told me the time of day.
“We must introduce you first to Simon,” my mother said. “He will be in his office, near the King and Queen’s quarters.”
“Lead me and I shall follow,” the stranger said.
So we led him to the spiral staircase and up into the heights of the castle, until we reached the royal chambers. My mother, however, instead of knocking on the King and Queen’s door, turned and went farther down the hallway. We came to a modest door set into the wall near the end of the hallway, decorated in tasteful iron rings but otherwise plain. Here, my mother knocked.
“Simon?” she said. “We must discuss a matter with you.”
“Just a moment,” he said, and we heard some rustling of papers from behind the door. And then the door swung open, and Simon Taylor stepped out. He wore a set of hand-me-down silks in a forest green, the King’s favorite color. His balding scalp was ornamented by a set of thin glasses that must have cost a fortune, for glass of such a nature was rare. Simon Taylor, tax collector and attendant to the king, stood meekly before us, back slightly hunched and hands wrung before him. He reminded me of an elderly mouse.
“Simon,” my mother said. “This man is from the nation of Umbra, to the east, and represents the Blestemat family. He would like to arrange a marriage between the princess of Umbra and Prince Maynard of Uradel.”
“How do you do?” the stranger said, removing his hood and extending his white hand forward, smiling confidently at Simon. Simon’s head drooped a little as he grasped the hand offered to him.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” Simon said. “You must understand that we cannot let everyone who walks in have direct access to the king. So you and I shall discuss matters ever so briefly. Is this acceptable to you?”
“Quite. May we speak in privacy?” the stranger said in return.
“Of course,” Simon said. “Right this way.” Simon stepped back from the doorway and allowed the stranger entrance into this room. From the hallway, I could see in the scarce light of the castle that it held only a desk, a bookshelf, a bed, and probably more papers than the entire nation owned separately. But that was Simon’s nature, as tax collector and advisor. Simon glanced at my mother and I as he followed the stranger into his room and shut the door.
My mother and I stood outside the door for a moment, both eager to hear what this man might have to say to Simon. We could hear the two men speaking, voices muffled and indecipherable. After a few minutes of speaking, there was a rustle of cloth and a gasp from whom I guessed was Simon, and I imagined again the stranger removing his cloak to reveal the black tattoo. There was a moment’s silence, and someone stammered out a few words behind the door. There was a crackle of papers and more indecipherable speaking. But before long the voices grew to a whisper, and then silence. I could have heard the mice scampering in the walls in that moment. My mother and I both held our breaths, and in a moment’s intuition, I pulled her away from the door. We barely made it to the opposite side of the hallway as the door flew open with a force of wind.
Inside the room, Simon and the stranger were shaking hands forcefully. Both turned out to face the hallway, and Simon directed to the stranger to leave the room.
“Please wait before the court doors at the second level of the staircase,” Simon said to the stranger. “I will assemble the court.” The stranger left the room and made his way down the hall, towards the stairs. As he passed us, he flashed a winning smile.
“Simon has approved of me to speak to the king,” he said. “I thought you might like to know.”
“That’s wonderful to hear,” my mother said. The stranger passed by us and glided towards the spiral staircase leading into the rest of the castle.
My mother and I stood in his wake as he left, and Simon joined us, watching the man as he left. “Go collect the royal court members,” he said to us, looking only at the stranger. “We must begin a special session immediately. This is of the utmost importance.” Simon began to trot towards the King and Queen’s quarters, but I stopped him.
“Simon,” I began, and grabbed the thin man’s arm. “What did he say to you?”
Simon Taylor turned around to face me and looked me in the eyes. No, that isn’t quite right. He looked at my eyes but did not seem to register what he was seeing. Something about him was different, as if he were playing prisoner to his own consciousness and the real Simon was locked in the watery depths of the cataract-covered pupils.
“God help us all,” he smiled, and hurried off to the King and Queen’s quarters, laughing as he did.
Far from the first time and far from the last time, my mother and I locked eyes in confusion and fear.
Chapter Five to come some time in the future, but maybe by then I’ll have gotten an agent and I won’t be allowed to self-publish on here, who knows? Fingers crossed.
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