Chapter II
If Elyon could consider anyone her Light—well, any lady her Light, Cornelia was she.
As long as the Veil remained, the Guardians could travel back and forth to Meridian with ease (mostly to assist with missions, that is). During one opportunity, Cornelia detoured to visit Elyon. She updated the young queen on the latest gossip from Heatherfield, including rumours swirling around the Browns' sudden disappearance.
"I mean, it's such a good thing," said Cornelia, "that Dr. Gnone is also from Meridian and forged those sick docs for the school. But Cassandra Mathers keeps saying that Bryan knocked you up after that one time you guys went on a date."
"Eww! Nooo!" exclaimed Elyon.
"It gets. Worse. Samantha Dubin—"
"Miss 'I-Think-All-Sweaters-Look-Good-On-Me'?"
"The. Same. Samantha has been going around saying you've slept with everyone—"
Elyon scoffed. "Not. Even. Like, the most action I've ever seen was when Mark and I used to kiss. And there wasn't even any tongue!"
"Right? You are way-ay-ay too classy for sleeping around!"
Elyon rolled her eyes. "Oh, my God! I'm dreading what the Grumper Sisters have been saying, although they don't exactly have a creative bone between either of them. They're probably just repeating whatever Cassandra's been saying."
Cornelia's gaiety and eye-rolling ceased, yielding to furtive tittering and then silence. Tipping her head, Elyon wondered (and feared) whatever knowledge Cornelia had.
"About that... um..."
The other teenager hummed and hawed, tucking her hair nervously behind one ear before holding both of Elyon's hands. Oh, Lord... Cornelia hadn't been so nervous since the time she had told Elyon that Matt Olsen didn't quite like-like her or the time Cornelia had tried hard to tactfully say Elyon didn't look good in that Astruc dress or—
Or when she was trying hide the fact she was a Guardian, thought Elyon. Or that I was a princess from another world...
"Look, Elyon..." She sounded so solemn, and that made Elyon anxious.
"I... I know it wouldn't have actually happened, although who knows—it could have! And you're really, really lucky that it didn't or that something worse didn't happen, but... Okay, the Grumpers didn't exactly start it, but you know how Martin is! He just says whatever the hell conspiracy is on his mind, and—"
"Martin?" exclaimed Elyon, to which Cornelia nodded.
Martin Tubbs, Sheffield's self-declared 'best investigative journalist,' had spread a rumour? About Elyon? That couldn't be! Granted, nerdy little Martin could jump to conclusions, but he usually followed his wild hypotheses with dogged quests for evidence.
"It's sooo totally not his fault, I swear," said Cornelia in a flash, waving her hands to ease any frustration Elyon might feel bubbling, "and he's been apologising like crazy to me and Alchemy. Like, he really wishes they hadn't overheard him, but..."
Cornelia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly; and her words became slower as she related what she had heard.
"I know how you feel about... you know. Him. And you know how I feel about him and how Alborn and Miriadel feel, and just how... angry and frustrated we all felt about him."
Elyon's nose crinkled, and she frowned, as though a mephitic odour had suddenly poisoned their happy air.
"... but... Martin unintentionally started a rumour—and the Grumper Sisters have taken credit for it—about you and... him. Martin thinks that he either kidnapped you and left town or knocked you up and then left town. Of course, why didn't the Browns get the police involved if that were the case? Because if some dude is going around molesting people's kids, it doesn't matter how cute he looks. Irma's dad's gonna kick his ass, and Taranee's mom's gonna put him away for a long, long time.
"Well... that's why a lot of people think it's crazy conspiracy number two. You got pregnant, but you lied about who did it because you're protecting Rick, and your parents got the doctor to lie about a heart condition that requires you to move way-ay, way away, across the country to a specialist, who can help you."
The insanity—the utter depravity of that story disgusted Elyon. She despised what the lie implied about her. Certainly, she loved Cedric! Perhaps a bit too much, and certainly, she was a naïve young woman, but that couldn't have happened to her. Never! Maybe...
Elyon felt especially nauseous because what of everyone had begun to assume of Cedric. He would have never done that to her. He had even said, he wouldn't even think of courting her until she was much, much older, let alone do that with her. Besides, he had said he preferred gentlemen more than ladies, so why would anyone spread such horrible lie?
Because I was too close to him, thought Elyon sadly. Because he got too close to me.
A grim smile stretched across Elyon's face.
"Yeah. Yeah, I can... I can see why people would think that," said Elyon. "And I guess you are right about me being lucky and all. And if I had been killed, it wouldn't have been Cedric, but... he did lead me right into Phobos's hands, huh?"
As Elyon's tears seeped from the bottom of her heart, she realised that she was more than naïve. Even a dunce like Uriah wouldn't have fallen into a trap such as the one Cedric had laid for her.
But I'm alive. I'm alive, and I'm okay. And Cedric never did anything bad to me. Not like that.
Cornelia laid her hands gently upon Elyon's shoulders and asked, "You okay?"
A hiccough marred the young queen's laughter. "Yeah. Yeah, but, uhh... Um... I just feel so sorry for Martin," she added with a smile. "Irma hasn't threatened him, has she?"
Cornelia smirked. "Only two times that I know of. When he got on his knees and tried begging for forgiveness."
Elyon's smile brightened for a moment before she fell into solemnity again.
"I guess the reason I keeping fixating on him is... Cedric paid so much attention to me. And it felt really good. He talked to me like an adult, and he actually tried to teach me things. About this place, anyway. Not like Phobos," she said with a sneer. "Cedric made Meridian so accessible, but now that he's sick, I have to rely on my parents for help. And they'd rather just do things for me, rather than have me get overwhelmed and freak out and collapse again."
Elyon sighed and looked into her friend's eyes. "How do you do it? How do you cope with all... this? And all while not knowing all there is to know about this place?"
Cornelia sat hunched, her hands woven together against her mouth. She was far from the dumb blonde stereotype that some students in Sheffield accused her of being. When she fell this silent, she was diving deep into contemplation.
Finally, she replied, "It's hard. I'm not gonna lie. God, it's hard. Like, it was a shock when I found out that I was a Guardian. And it was crazy to me and the other girls that here we are, at this age, with these powers that I guess sort of... picked us? I dunno, it's kind of like not being able to choose how your hair'll grow or your eyes or your height.
"But anyway... I guess it all comes down to luck again. Like, you're lucky nothing really bad happened to you, and we're lucky we happened to bump into Caleb and Blunk and everybody they know. And we just kind of say to ourselves, 'Okay, we're in a weird world with weird creatures and plants and God-knows-what else. We're just gonna do our thing, and if anybody from around here tells us, "Hey! Don't do that" or "Yeah, that's okay eat," then we'll listen to them.' Just do what you're gonna do, and just be you, but, like, don't be a jerk about. And always listen to Caleb. That boy is a lifesaver."
Elyon beamed. "Thanks, Cornelia."
Her friend smiled and performed the trademark sweeping of her long, golden hair.
"What are Guardian friends for?"
Elyon coupled Cornelia's advice with Eleanor and Thomas's openness to help her. She encouraged seasoned soldiers to communicate directly with one another, her parents, or her newly-formed council rather than with Elyon herself. Meanwhile, when she engaged with the citizenry, she would quickly confess that she knew little about Metamoor, about the myriad of laws and customs.
"So, can you give me a break-down?" she asked. "Of what, like, the history is?"
Of course, Thomas, Eleanor, or Caleb needed to translate her earthling vernacular for the puzzled pilgrims. As for a secretary, Galgheita recorded notes for Elyon to study later, when the disguised Galhot wasn't finishing the year at Sheffield as Mrs. Rudolph.
The young queen's ignorance offended none, for she was humble and eager to learn. She listened to her people, unlike the tyrannical Phobos, and before each pilgrim would depart, they would always hail her:
"Infinite brightness to the Light of Meridian!"
Elyon thought the deference was sweet, but also a tad weird. Almost creepy. Not that she didn't enjoy being queen. Many girls on earth only dreamed of being princesses, let alone queens. She loved being loved by an entire nation of people, and honestly, she had no intention of hurting their feelings for praising her. To Elyon, though, the love of the Light of Meridian seemed a bit cultish; and she had no intention of taking advantage of the people's admiration.
Just to be sure, Elyon asked one of the Galhots, a tall, robust soldier named Vathek, if this was "a holdover from my brother's regime? Like, did he make everyone who came to him bow and be all, 'Hail to the mighty Prince Phobos! May he rule forever and ever!'"
"Ohh! Your Majesty," cooed the sky-blue giant as he smiled like the sun. "It's nothing like that. The people do it because they want to do it. They want to make sure that you know they appreciate you, and that's why they say 'Infinite brightness...' Now, Phobos—the suspicious old devil—he despised that kind of fawning. Thought only potential traitors spoke such flowery things. We always addressed him briefly as 'Your Highness' or 'my Prince.'"
Thank. Goodness. The acclaim still seemed excessive, but at least it hadn't started with Phobos.
Thank Goodness, again, for meal times, especially supper! Each meal offered Elyon and her guests the opportunity to drop formalities, skip windy accolades, and be themselves.
Caleb smiled roguishly at her one evening. "Are you saying that you don't enjoy occupying a station where you're revered, even feared?"
Blowing her tongue between her lips and rolling her eyes, Elyon replied, "Are you kidding me? It'd be one thing if I were back at Sheffield and was like, 'Hey! Alexandra Johnstone? Remember all the times you kept calling me "Homely Heidi" and kept asking me where my "dumpy dirndl" was?' Zap! Zap! Pow! I'd turn her into a mountain goat. And there's no way I'm letting Uriah off the hook for all the times he made fun of me or bullied anybody else.
"But poor, unfortunate people who suffered under a tyrant for over ten years? Uh-uh! No way! I am not going to torture a bunch of people who've already dealt with enough."
Wali chuckled and said, "Well! I'm glad I don't hail from this Sheffield. Sounds like you had your fair share of rapscallions, and I wouldn't want to be one of those blokes now that you're queen."
Clearing her throat, Eleanor glanced at her daughter and spoke authoritatively: "I assure everyone at this table and all the servants in the room, Her Majesty knows better than to exact revenge, even against people who have mocked and jeered at her."
Elyon smiled, giggled nervously, and shrank.
Another young Galhot, Aldarn, chuckled and said, "That's good to hear, captain! Her Majesty is a welcome change from what we've suffered all these years."
"She is a renewal of that which should have always been."
Elyon glanced at this new speaker, whom sat beside Caleb. The man shared the same dark brown hair as the former rebel leader, as well as the shape of his eyes and the furrows in his brow. The scars that she could see were small but numerous, and more callouses covered his hands than even Caleb's hardened palms.
"Phobos was Disorder incarnate," continued the man. "He seized that which would have never been his, and he murdered the people to whom he owed his life."
"Father," said Caleb, "this isn't the time or place to discuss such things."
"Umm... Julian, is it?"
As soon as the man's dour eyes met Elyon's, she realised that though she was the most powerful being on Metamoor, she was nowhere near intimidating.
Clearing her throat and unfurling in her chair, Elyon spoke:
"I'm... I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you and to Metamoor. It was beyond horrible—"
"Why do you apologise, Your Majesty," asked Julian, "when you have nothing to apologise for? You did not turn tribe against tribe, city against city, in the name of some poisonous ideology. You did not steal land from its owners or pollute waters to kill people—innocent people or unwitting creatures. You did not sack your mother's city or castle and murder her and the consort in cold blood. I'll not have you, the glorious Light of Meridian, accept the guilt of that... that—"
"Father, that's enough!" cried Caleb.
The young queen knew that Julian wasn't angry at her, yet her chest had tightened, and her stomach gurgled in anxiety, unable to break down any of her food.
"Julian..."
Aldarn spoke as gently as one could after such a passionate yet tactless display.
"I think Her Majesty meant to offer her condolences. She did not intend to apologise for atrocities that were beyond her control. She was extending her sympathies to you and to us."
"It's how earthlings speak, Father," added Caleb. "The phrase 'I'm sorry' means many things to them. And you must remember that Queen Elyon was raised on earth. She hadn't meant to offend you. It's as Aldarn has said: Her Majesty is offering condolences. And you are wrong to behave so poorly."
The fire in Julian's eyes smouldered to an eerie glow, and he sank morosely into his chair.
What a frightening display! Yet, if Elyon recalled Caleb's story correctly, his father had been a soldier in Queen Chesed's army during the end of her reign, a few years before Phobos had seized Meridian. Julian had cultivated a reputation as a good tactician and as charismatic and determined. While many soldiers in Queen Chesed's army had surrendered to Phobos's ferocious forces, Julian had convinced the more stalwart warriors to form the Rebellion.
His desire to defeat Phobos and restore the old order did not always translate into victory. Assumed dead after the Battle of Greywoods, Julian had actually become a slave in the underwater mines near the Ghoul-Shadowed Marshes. His identity had remained a secret from the enemy and from fellow slaves alike. Conditions in the mines had been brutal. When he had not been watching slaves die in gruesome ways or saving others from grotesque fates, he himself had been trying to avoid death.
There are many other people, just like Cedric, Elyon thought, who need attention, who need healing.
Elyon rose and stood beside Julian, whom stiffened, his eyes shadowed beneath consternation.
"No, it's okay," said Elyon as she laid her hands gingerly upon his shoulders. "I'm not offended."
Still, the veteran soldier gazed in bewilderment and perturbation, and every eye in that chamber focused on the Queen.
Elyon envisioned that which gave her comfort and joy—the sun in springtime; knee-high grasses swaying with a gentle breeze; the veranda of her home back on earth where she sipped iced tea; her sketchbook opened wide as she drew birds and trees on its lonely pages. She took the comfort and joy of those memories, and she envisioned her own energy coalescing as rivulets, trickling from her to Julian.
"You have a right to be angry. And I hadn't meant to make you feel so uncomfortable and frustrated." She smiled and continued. "I'm young and still kind of—well, very ignorant. There's a lot I haven't seen or experienced, and you've been through a lot. There's stuff you've seen that I don't know if I could handle it even being described to me, let alone having been in it? Being the one who actually saw it and felt it and was subjected to it? That's beyond gross and terrible and wrong.
"But I wanna let you know that even though you've lived a harder life than me, I'm still here for you. Just because I can't fathom it doesn't mean you can't say what's on your mind. You should feel free to express yourself; constructively, of course, but you should be able to air out your grievances.
"I'm here for you, Julian. I wanna help you as best as I can, Light of Meridian or not."
An otherworldly yet tranquil silence echoed in the dining hall. The shadow in Julian's eyes seemed to vanish, like fog fleeing from the sunrise, and his eyes glistened with a light that only one source could bestow.
"Can... Can someone hand me a clean napkin?"
All eyes turned to a sniffling, teary-eyed Wali.
"I... I tried to use the one I have," he hiccoughed, "but... but I realised there's too much of that... that sticky sweet sauce, and—"
"Just use your hand, man," replied Aldarn, dabbing his watery eyelids with his fingers, "or your shirt."
Julian chuckled softly, voicelessly, before he took the Queen's hands and squeezed them tightly.
"Thank you, my Queen. For listening."
Elyon smiled gently and kissed his cheek, eliciting a sad but relieved sigh. Then she returned to her seat just as Caleb stretched one arm around his father and embraced him.
Then a long, phlegmatic snort disrupted the serenity, and all eyes turned to a sobbing Vathek.
"I'm sorry," he sniffled before snorting again. "I just... felt weepy all of a sudden."
Wali whimpered, "Thanks for ruining my appetite, you uncouth blackguard."
The entire chamber erupted into uproarious laughter, dotted with tears—the servants, Thomas, Eleanor, Caleb, even Julian. The dour air had slunk away to burden another company, yielding to the peace and gaiety heralded by the Light of Meridian.
Annotations:
Dr. Gnone (character) a native Metamooran who fled to earth after Phobos seized control. I've named her after one of the three creators of the W.I.T.C.H. comics.
Astruc dress (fashion) a fashion designer and line within the W.I.T.C.H. universe. I've named this after Thomas Astruc, famous storyboard artist who worked on Season 1 of the animated series.