– JACK OF SPADES –
Under a moonless sky in which the stars shewn as a brilliant silvery tapestry against the dusky red of the recent sunset, a diminutive cloaked visitor came to the polished marble steps of Alexandria Castle from parts unknown.
It was easy for him to pass the guards as his youth was given away by the tone of his voice, and yet he spoke with confident eloquence unbecoming of his years. The gossip had been true, the castle was working on far more of an open-door policy with Garnet on the throne. Severity and suspicion seemed all but gone from Alexandria Castle.
"I wish to pay respects to the skilled and beautiful General Beatrix!" This, combined with perfectly rehearsed and selective flattery to the more stubborn examples, got him through the side gate, up three flights of stairs, down a principal hallway, and right up to the last staircase before the Queen's gallery. Here stood a guard who was annoyingly good at her job, for she did not wish to let him pass under any circumstances unless he removed his cloak. This was the one thing he would not, could not relent upon.
"I am sure the greatest swordswoman in Alexandria could defend herself against a young boy even if he had a weapon on him!" He bargained.
The guard laughed. "She might have cause to worry indeed even with no blade, for the sharpness of your tongue."
"I…..I have injuries, from the war." The cloaked little boy muttered, becoming much quieter and taking on a more earnest tone.
The guard softened. "Let me see?"
"It's…embarrassing." He slipped a forepaw from his cloak. It was so lacerated and misshapen that its original shape could barely be discerned, the guard recoiled.
"Oh, oh my. Little one, I am sorry." She cooed.
"My head is much worse." He said, telling the truth. The guard was moved by the honesty in his small voice. "It would have been much worse if it weren't for Beatrix. That's why I want to see her." He lied, just as deftly. The guard did not detect it.
Beatrix had just finished arranging her dresser when there was a knock upon her chamber door.
"Enter!" She called.
The door opened to her customary guard, with a tiny cloaked figure. "A visitor for you, General! It was very hard to tell him no."
Beatrix smiled. Part of her duties were graciousness.
"And how may I help you?"
"I have travelled far to pay my respects to you, fine warrior!"
Beatrix tilted her head and her eyes curved slightly closed with warmth at this statement from a child's voice, her full titian hair settling at the new angle. She made a subtle gesture and the guard took her leave of them, shutting the door.
"My Fiancé is still in his bath." Beatrix said. "Please make yourself comfortable, and do let me see you!"
The cloaked figure did not make his way to chair or cushion or the bowl of fruit upon the table, nor did he sit down. He simply undid a drawstring and let the cloak slip off.
Beatrix's expression instantly changed to one of revulsion and horror.
There stood a young Burmecian male, or rather, about half of one. His entire left side was no longer white, but the pink of exposed, burnt, improperly healed flesh. His left ear was a few cauterized tendrils of blood upon wasted cartilage. His left eye was a hollow, equally cauterized socket, a gaping hole into his head. His lip and muzzle on the left side had been burnt or torn off and had exposed some of his rear teeth. His left forepaw was barely a paw anymore, and his arm was wrapped in bandages as was most of his midriff.
Beatrix panted and she took a step backward.
"Surely you are braver than that, M'lady."
His voice, while oddly steady for any child, let alone one this damaged, bore no malice, or even anger. This quieted her somewhat, but she was surprised at her own hoarseness when she asked; "Who – who are you?"
"My name's Jack." He said quietly. "I'm from Burmecia."
"Bur – mecia." Beatrix said in an involuntary whisper.
"My mum and dad tried to protect my brother and me by going to Cleyra after you attacked our home." Jack continued. "But then you destroyed Cleyra, so mum and dad and my brother died, but I didn't."
Beatrix stood in stunned silence.
"I'm a war orphan now, just like your Fiancé."
How on earth did he know that. It was as if the ghost of the whole recent series of conflicts had taken form and settled upon her best carpet.
Of all the adversaries she had ever faced…
"Please – please forgive Alexandria…"
"I already have." He replied, keeping rigid eye contact with her with his single eye. His gaze was deep, and intent, and hazel.
"And forgive me…"
This was the adversary she would never best. She had finally met her true match, having walked right through her door, in her own chambers.
"If M'lady pleases…" Jack bowed to her. "….I have brought for you a gift. I wish very much for you to accept it."
From a small satchel as his side he withdrew a small scarlet orb, about the size of an apple.
"A tribute to you, intrepid Lady!"
Beatrix was both touched and frightened by the words and mannerisms of this resolute and broken child, and moreso by his gift. The orb was a thing of beauty, appearing to be made of glass or gem, completely smooth and perfectly transparent ruby red in color, like a scarlet tear. Inside it moved and flashed a barely detectable but definite source of light.
Everything inside her shrieked at her not to take it from him. Every instinct, innate and trained.
But it was her logic and, strangely, her conscience, that overrode these and made her take it from him. She accepted the object as some inevitable consequence which could not be avoided; with grace.
She was right. The orb broke in her hands. In an instant she was surrounded by a violent and dark swirling, it enveloped her in almost complete silence.
Captain Adelbert Steiner had been watching from the side of the room since Jack had offered her the gift, and instantly broke his silent observation.
"Beatrix!"
As quickly as the silent blood red whirling wisp around Beatrix had began, it ceased. It ceased so quickly as to dissipate into nothingness before Steiner could reach her.
But he did not reach her.
On the floor in the spot where Beatrix had stood now lay something that could not be Beatrix. There now suffered and writhed a Thing from the very center of the realm that nightmares sprang from.
A mass of boiling, churning, smoldering flesh, covered in open blisters and wounds, scabs and cists. Limbs in no particular order or arrangement and each one horribly disfigured and useless, one vaguely resembling a hand. Holes and passages, some pulsating, some beginning to leech bile or blood onto the floor, one on the head-like mound at its end occupied by a bloodshot but unmistakably familiar autumn-hued eye that frantically darted left and right, and which began streaming blood-diluted tears.
As Steiner's eyes grew wider, it made eye contact with him, and then from several openings at once the Thing began to scream.
"What have you done to my Beatrix?" Steiner bellowed at the rat child who was no longer there. All that remained of Jack was an open window, and the fluttering of its rose red curtains in the currents of night air outside it.
And as the Thing screamed, its true voice entered his mind.
"Steiner, help me it hurts! Steiner, please make it stop! It hurts! IT HURTS!"