Spectral Crown: Chapter Twenty-Six

“Down at the Snake Farm”

Like I said last week, this is all written in advance, so if you’re reading this live or soon after I’ve posted it, I’ll be somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, either in Seattle or Portland or a mountain somewhere or the Nintendo of America headquarters as I attempt to infiltrate their secret vault and rewrite all the documents so that the next game to get announced is Yoshi’s Island: Global Tax Evasion, which will come bundled complete with a money laundering peripheral that plugs directly into both the Nintendo Switch and any available cash register. It’ll be panned on release but there’ll be a huge social flare-up as the uber-rich worldwide start sweating over how uncannily accurate it is and attempt to erase it from existence. The game’s first DLC will include a one-to-one replica of Jeff Bezos’s secret island getaway and illegal corporate tax haven, as well as the location of Elon Musk’s Snowpiercer-style personal fallout shelter-slash-yacht. No one at Nintendo will understand how it came to be, since the entire time during development they were just working on the English localization of Mother 3.

What I’m really trying to say is that I’m out of town, and the next month or so is all prepped by me ahead of time, so that I can attempt to relax and enjoy the most chaotic summer of my entire life. It will be decidedly un-relaxing. What’s the opposite of relaxing? Mm, yes. Stressful.

Previous chapter here. Read it if you dare.

Spectral Crown, by Andy Sima: Chapter Twenty-Six

After being escorted up the wall and out of that village of the damned, we were taken to a room back in the castle.  It was no larger than the side-kitchen I had visited earlier and it seemed to situated directly above the castle’s cesspits, as the entire room smelled of waste.

            “We are doomed to die here,” Simon despaired, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands.  “There is no escape.”

            “You cannot say that, Simon,” my mother hissed.  “You lead these people.”

            “What people?” Simon wailed.  “We are dead men walking!”

            “You can say that again,” Franz said, huddled in the corner with Freda.  They were both smoking on their pipes to alleviate the scent that powered up from the sewers below.  “We’ve been dead since we entered this castle.”

            Of the individuals I had known prior to this trip and the ones I had met here, most were dead now.  I was probably only alive because Iacob wished it.  And because the castle seemed to wish it, too.  As for the rest of us?  I could only guess that the Blestemats still needed us to keep up appearances for the Uradels, at least until the marriage was complete.  Then we would all be consumed or fed to those beasts outside.  If I was lucky, Iacob would let me live with him.  But I doubted Sorina would allow that.

            There was a knock at the door to our cell room, and it opened slowly.  Behind it was Iacob’s personal servant.  It looked exactly as it had before; as a group, even though it was just one creature.

            “Saelac Bergmann,” the tallest of the group said.  “You are requested by Prince Iacob.”

            I stood up from my position on the ground next to my mother and walked towards the room to make my exit.  There were whisperings from behind me.  But whatever they thought, it did not matter.  They would all be dead soon.

            I stepped outside of the room, and the door shut behind me.  “You look ill, Saelac,” the servant smiled.  “Maybe this will help.”  The creature reached into its pocket and removed a small knife handle, the one to my father’s knife.  The one I had lost in our bid to escape.

            I placed the knife handle in my pocket and noticed that the tallest servant seemed to be missing a finger.

            “What happened to your hand?” I asked.  The tallest servant’s smile faltered, and its eyes flashed evil lightning.

            “You know perfectly well,” it said.  The servant turned around away from me and began to walk down a darkened stone hall.  It looked just like every other hall in the castle.

            Through twists and turns we reached a door set in the wall that I recognized as Iacob’s private quarters.  Reptilian guards stood outside of the door, as usual.  One gave me a toothy grin as I passed; perhaps I was supposed to recognize him.

            “You will find Iacob beyond his dining quarters,” the tallest servant said.  “Do not cause any trouble.”  The thing turned around and went back out the door, shutting it behind.

            I was alone in the dining room again, with its large oak table and windows.  The chandelier, dimmed of light, hung above me.  I strolled around the edge of the table and knocked at the iron door at the back of the room.

            “Come in,” came muffled from the other side.  I opened the door and stepped into Iacob’s private quarters, where he stood before his mirror, combing his hair.  He did not look at me as I walked in, but rather continued to stare at his reflection.

            “You called,” I said, quietly, and sat on his bed.  I began to remove my boots, unsure of what to expect.

            “That will not be necessary,” Iacob said, without turning around.  “You may leave your boots on.”

            Part of me was hurt by that, but I tried to cover it as best I could.  “Why did you rescue us?”

            “I have not rescued them,” Iacob said, still combing.  “I only rescued you alive, Saelac.  My sister insisted on the rest of your people.”

            “What for?” I asked.

            “You already know,” Iacob answered.  “Food.  Energy.  Appearances of normalcy.  The like.”

            “Then why have you kept me alive?” I asked.

            “I don’t rightly know,” Iacob said.  “Perhaps I like you better than the others.”

            “Just perhaps?” I said.

            “Just perhaps,” Iacob responded.

            “Why did you call me here?” I asked.

            “Simply to voice my disappointment,” he said.  “I am disappointed and disheartened that you tried to leave.  At least without my permission, anyway.”

            “Without your permission?” I stood up.  “What would your permission have gotten me?  A carriage and guarded escort to the gates?  A map of that village that surrounds this castle?  An actual key to the main door?  Why should I have asked your permission?”

            “Maybe I would have helped you,” Iacob said.

            “Right,” I said.  “Maybe you would have helped me.  But we weren’t leaving for my sake, Iacob.  We were leaving for everyone else’s.”

            Iacob paused here, and turned his head slightly, just so that he could see me out of the corner of his eyes.  “You mean to say that you would have stayed?”

            “What?  No!” I said.  “Well.  No.  Maybe?  Staying is not my first choice.  But we had no other options.  I had the life of my mother and my countrymen to worry about.  I had to make sure they were safe.”

            “Your mother…” Iacob said, turning back to the mirror.

            “Yes, my mother Josefa,” I said.  “You locked us up in a prison, began to feast on us like cattle, and expected us to sit complacently while we waited to die.  What would you have done, in my stead?”

            Iacob was quiet for a moment again.  Then he said, “Most of that was Sorina’s idea.”

            “I don’t rightly give a damn what was and wasn’t Sorina’s idea,” I said.  “You went along with it.  Just because I was treated well doesn’t mean that I did not resent being locked up.  Not, perhaps, that you would understand.”

            “I understand better than you suspect,” Iacob said.  “But I, too, was bound to my family, same as you were.  The existence of my nation depends on this marriage.”

            “How?  What do you have to gain from the Uradels?” I asked.  Iacob put down the comb and began to toy with a ring that had been sitting on his dresser.

            “I ask you again, do you believe in curses?” Iacob said.

            “I have little else to believe in now,” I said.

            “Then you should know,” Iacob continued, “that my family, the Blestemats, are a cursed people, same as the Uradels.  But we, unlike them, were not cursed to decay and die.  We were cursed to decay and live.  And that is the difference.  Cursed to immortality, but also cursed to age.”

            I asked, “And you hope to accomplish what by marrying the Uradels?  To die?”

            “No,” Iacob answered.  “We want their power.”

            “Power?” I asked.  I was stumped.  “The Uradels are the weakest people I know.”

            “A curse is a powerful thing,” Iacob said.  “Especially if one knows how to use it.  Never underestimate the power of someone skilled enough to use a curse placed on them.  For someone who is willing to be cursed to further their cause is a frightful foe indeed.”

            “You mean to say…” I began.

            “Imagine a curse like a fire,” Iacob said, now removing bottles of liqueur from the cabinet under his mirror.  He began to pour glasses together, mixing them and matching them.  “If one is on fire, then all they know is pain.  But say, perhaps, that your only goal is to set something else on fire.  Then this immolation becomes a blessing, and you ignore the pain.”

            “But there’s more to it, isn’t there?” I asked.  Iacob nodded and continued speaking.

            “My father, King Titus, found a way to become fireproof, so to speak.  All curses, cast by someone in their final moments, create a special object, a physical reminder of the curse.  Dabbling in dark magics and ancient rituals, my father managed to channel the power consigned to that thing and turned it into a tool of immense influence.  A tool that allowed us to take our suffering and turn it to might.”

            “What object was that?” I asked.  Iacob took a long drink of liquid, not from the glass he had poured, but rather from the bottle he held.  He wiped his lips and continued talking.

            “My father’s crown,” he said.  “Once he knew how to use it, we became akin to gods.  We learned how to reverse our aging, how to create something out of nothing, how to manipulate the very world around us to our will.  We became cursed and immortal with no downsides.  And our kingdom, and most importantly our people, flourished.  My father was not a nice man, nor was he a kind father, but he was a wise, powerful king, and knew what was best for his family and his nation, in his own eyes.  My mother was just like him.  I have not seen them for many years now.”

            “They are not sick, are they?” I asked.

            “After a fashion, they are,” Iacob said.  “But that is a story I dare not tell now.”

            “I still do not understand why you need Sorina to marry that daft Prince Maynard,” I said.  “If what you say is true, then should you not have everything you need?”

            Iacob sat at the end of the bed, facing the mirror, with bottle in hand, and shook his head.  “Enough pain for one evening.  You may go, if you like.  I have made my point, and you have made yours.”

            I stood up, bewildered, and turned towards the door.  But I stopped before I could do so.  “You understand why I think your disappointment is for the birds, yes?”

            “I do,” Iacob said.  “I have seen my error now.  You are free to leave.”  He took another swig from the bottle.

            There was a pang in my heart and something bloomed inside of me.  I couldn’t dare leave him like this.  He looked too hopeless, too depressed.  In spite of all he had done to us, and in spite of all he had done to me, I felt his pain, too.       

            I sat down next to him.  “You have been kind to me,” I said.  “You have been polite, and intelligent, and in moments of intimacy, compassionate and gentle.  Why do you live in such a despicable place, full of monsters and horrific abominations?”

            “Those are leftovers,” Iacob said, not meeting my gaze.  “Mistakes and safeguards.  Or the trappings of a failed empire.  This nation of Umbra is not what it once was.  There is little Sorina and I can do to stop it.  The Uradel prince is our last hope for salvation.”

            “Why must you feed on your fellow men?” I asked.

            “It is the price my family and my court must pay for survival,” he said, head hung low.  “But there were better times.  Long ago.”  I wished I could understand what he was talking about and wished that I had a way to help him.  He continued to take swigs from the bottle he held.  “You may go, if you like,” he said after a while.  “There is no more to discuss.”

            “I want to help you,” I said.  And in the back of my mind, I wanted to help myself, too.

            “After all I have done?  After all my sister has done?  You wish to help me?” Iacob asked.

            “Yes,” I said, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.  “I do.”  And then I thought for a moment, and said, “Is there anything else you hunger for, Iacob?”

            The pale, beautiful man turned to me and smiled, a sad, half-held smile, but a smile nonetheless.  And he nodded, and we kissed.

—

            This was perhaps the fourth affair of its kind, but I still quite enjoyed myself.  Afterwards, we lay together as we had before.

            “Thank you,” he whispered to me.  I smiled and looked at him.

            “You’re welcome,” I said.  I gently kissed his chin, and he looked down at me, his eyes at ease with the world.

            “Even after all you have been through,” he said.  “You are still here.”

            “Perhaps I like you better than the others,” I said.  Iacob chuckled a little at that.  And perhaps it was in my best interests, too.

            There was a stretch of silence, a comfortable air of silence in which we basked in the collective glow of our presences.  Iacob was the one who broke the silence.

            “It really was mostly Sorina’s idea, you know,” Iacob said.

            I responded.  “You could have perhaps handled things in a better manner.”

            Iacob chuckled again.  “That is true.  But you must understand.  Sorina sent me to the Stalpert valley in the first place, though I will admit that I was invested in the plan, too.  She, however, was the one who thought it would be a good idea to consume some of your ranks.”

            “And did you think it was a good idea?” I asked.

            “I’ll admit it, yes.  Before your people showed up, our court had not properly consumed anyone in years.  But my hunger got the best of me and by the time my conscience reared its ugly head the carriage was already in motion,” he answered.

            “And why does this matter?” I asked.

            “Because I fear for my sister,” he said.  “She is family.  I love her.  But I fear she will fall down the same path as my father and my mother, before we became cursed.  But there will be no magic to save us this time.  Or, worse yet, she will succeed where they have failed.”

            “What does that mean?” I asked.

            “I do not want to think about it,” Iacob said.  “I believe I have learned from my mistakes.  The rest of my family has not.”  I did not push the matter any farther.  After a few moments of ambience, Iacob offered, “Do you wish to spend the night here?  Night approaches.”  I looked up from the bed and, to my surprise, the grey twilight outside was dimming.

            “I shouldn’t,” I said.  “What will the others think?”

            “Let them think, I say,” Iacob said.  “We will tell them you were being interrogated.  They will believe it.”

            “Yes,” I said, and let myself fall back into his bed with my full being.  But I asked Iacob for a favor.  “Promise me one thing, though.”

            “Yes?” Iacob said.

            “Promise me that my companions will have better quarters for the following evenings.  And that you will not consume them any longer,” I said.

            “It is done,” Iacob said, and he snapped his fingers.  A raven, roosting in a place that I could not find, fluttered down to the edge of the bed.  Iacob whispered something into its ear, and the bird gave a quiet caw before fluttering out the now-opened windows.

            “Far more efficient than any squire,” I commented.

            “Indeed,” Iacob smiled.

            And the two of us drifted off into a peaceful, uninterrupted slumber, the best I had had in weeks, months, perhaps even my whole life.  To lay there with him was heavenly.

            Just before I fell asleep I could have sworn I faintly heard “Don’t leave me” from the darkness.  I did not say anything back.

Oops, I forgot there was another one of those weird sex scenes in here. So this is another disclaimer that, should I ever have the chance to rework this thing, I’ll be improving them all. They’ll probably be spicier, too.