Part 2: Staring at the Sun
Bart kicked idly at the tile floor. There wasn't anything there to kick, really, but as Sigurd left him standing there on the balcony, he had the sudden urge to just hit something. In lieu of breaking a hand against the limestone railing, he just randomly kicked at the air, sneering at the curtains as they swished closed in Sigurd's wake. Turning again, he stared out at the darkened city below, sectors mapped out by the light of streetlamps. A warm breeze lazily drifted in from above, curling through sungold hair before letting it flop back against his forehead. It was so damned unfair, all of it. Here he felt as trapped as a wild stallion roped, saddled, and ridden daily till they finally manage to break him.
Oh, he knew what they'd say to him. He'd heard it all his life. This is what he was born for, what they groomed him for. It didn't make the reality of it any easier to swallow. If he could, he'd toss all of it aside and go back to being the Captain of the Yggridsil. Not a prince, not a King, just a man.
Of course, he had too many reasons to stay in his current position. The largest of which had finally be laid to rest at the tomb in Nisan. Edbart Fatima, whose corpse had been found in Shakhan's quarters, left there to rot under the man's watchful eye, had been given a proper funeral by his youngest son. It had been his Will that drove Bart to the eventual goal of freeing Aveh. He hadn't expected to end up a King, however, determined to return the rule of the country over to its people. But that wasn't what the people wanted, in the end. With the mutations still being cured, slaves being freed, unease rocking the country now that the war with Kislev had been called off and peaceful talks begun with their former rival's new Kaiser, the people wanted a ruler, desperately needed the old ways to remain established for their own peace of minds. The people demanded a King. They got Bart.
At first the figured he could handle it. After the events that nearly destroyed the world, he returned and accepted the position with a bit of hesitation. Then the headaches began. Not only did he have to make snap decisions regarding important issues, he quickly learned there were plenty of games afoot among the nobles and in the Court. Anything he did, any gesture he made was measured in their eyes, weighed and then they'd come to him with honeyed tongues and poisonous intentions. If not for Maison and Sigurd, he surely would have drowned in all of it by now. He'd never been prepared for subtleties; always running into things headfirst and figuring it would work out in the end. Now he knew, one wrong word or one poor judgment no longer reflected on just Yggridsil's crew. Now it affected all of Aveh.
Then, just when he thought things couldn't be worse, down came the news that he was to marry Margie. The Nisan Mother always rules jointly with the King, after all, so the match would be perfect. They just forgot to consult Bart about it first. Combined, it finally became the proverbial last straw to a youth already taxed by responsibilities he never fathomed before.
Flicking the heavy curtain aside, Bart left behind the city to return to the royal apartments. No more thoughts of flying over that balcony to the streets below and escaping. Once upon a time he would have told all of them to go screw themselves and made his getaway, but that urge had been bled out of him by one too many lectures from Maison. Besides, he was only nine back then. One of the servants had begun a blaze in the fireplace, the light flickering off the furniture, setting shadows to dance against the walls in ethereal patterns. Nothing of Shakhan's remained in these apartments; Bart himself personally removed all of it, wanting nothing of the former tyrant's tainted possessions left behind. All he kept was the four-poster bed, and only because that had originally belonged to his father. But the rooms were so damned huge. Bart never needed this much space. His room at the Yggridsil was small and cramped, but it was… home. Hollow, it seemed to him. Empty and hollow.
Bootheels clicked twice on the tiles until he reached the carpeting, changing then to a soft squish as Bart paced back and forth the length of the bedroom. He wondered what the others were up to. Last he heard, Fei and Elly were in Nisan, helping out Billy and Margie with those who were still recovering from the mutations. Rico had assumed the position of Kaiser over Kislev. Maria returned to Shevat to help Queen Zephyr rebuild. And, of course, Sigurd and Maison stayed at his side to show him the ropes on how to be a King.
Pausing at the bed, he leaned against the frame, resting his forehead against the stained woodwork. "Father, I never imagined it was this hard. How in the world did you manage it?"
The firelight had died to mere embers in the fireplace. Outside, the city was relatively silent save the call of crickets and the steady rise and fall of droning locusts. Morning threatened falsely with shades of dawn coloring the sky to the east. Restlessly Bart turned in his sleep, tangled in the sheets and gripping one pillow like a drowning man might cling to a piece of floating driftwood. With a sudden gasp, he sat up in bed, the nightmare haunting him shattering, the fragments then fading into the back of his conscious mind to eventually be purged. He could recall bits and pieces of it still, but now awake, the details were already fading.
Eyes having adjusted to the darkness long ago, he stared at the shadowy shapes of furniture and decorations in the room. His dream fevered mind attempted to change them to the demons of his past, the monsters that used to make him cower in his bed and eventually call for Sigurd or Maison. There was no way in hell he was going to call out like some eight year old child, however. Forcing the logical part of his imaginative brain to wake up and focus, he quickly explained away everything as Maison had taught him to do. It was a trick he employed far more often than he liked to admit. Laying back down again, he rolled over to stare at the fireplace with those glowing embers. In a manner that disconcerted him, they seemed to wink at him, in and out, like malevolent stars. So he shut his eyes to block it out.
Son?
Opening his eyes again, Bart blinked. He heard that. He knew he heard that. Was his mind still trying to play tricks on him? The curtains toward the balcony rustled then, the sound nearly making his heart leap into his throat. The wind, perhaps it was merely the wind outside. He shut his eyes again.
Bartolomei... my son. Wake up.
Now there was no way that was the wind. Bart propped himself up on one elbow, looking around for the source of that voice. Was someone trying to play a practical joke on him? If so, this was not funny in the slightest.
"Who are you? Where are you?"
I am your father, Bartolomei. I am not sure where I am... It is so very cold here and dark. Free me from this, Bartolomei, please.
Bart tried untangling himself from the blankets then, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to stand there, still sharply searching the room for the source of that voice. "Father? You... you... you died. If this is your specter, please, find rest. Shakhan is defeated. It's over. Aveh is free again."
I am not dead, Bartolomei. Shakhan left me in some timeless form of statis. Please, free me from this prison. I have languished here so long...
With that, the voice died as the last of the embers burnt out entirely, filling the room with an acrid smoky scent. "Father? Father!" Bart called, only to receive the sound of his feet brushing against the carpet in reply as he drifted aimlessly through the bedroom.
It would only be an hour later that Sigurd and Maison would crash into the royal suite and find their King gone, as well as one of his old backpacks, both his whips and some of his clothing. No one thought he'd leave Andvari behind, and so the prince easily slipped out in old Brigandier, the faithful Gear he used for years before locating the family Omnigear.
"Elly?" Fei called quietly, peering around the immense trunk of an old pine tree. Elly glanced over her shoulder, smiling faintly as she patted a spot beside her on the bench she occupied. Settling into the proffered spot, he leaned in against the former Solaris officer to see what book she carried in her hands at the moment.
"History of Nisan," she said before he could ask, "Margie gave it to me, told me it might fill in some of the gaps in my memory."
"Has it?"
"Oh some, but I think the author elaborated a bit much on some subjects in here. I'm finding a lot of exaggerations."
Fei chuckled, reaching to touch one of the pages, which was really just an excuse to then let his fingers drift upward and touch one of Elly's hands. Snapping the book shut with a thwap, she turned in toward him, not one to mind some time to shower her lover with affection. It seemed that lately they had so little time for one another, so every touch, every kiss was precious. Elly spent much of her time helping Margie and Billy reassure the people, tending to the wounded and ill as well as aiding Citan in finding a cure for those still touched by the mutations. Many recovered already, having left to help other areas of the world to cope with the changes wrought in Deus' wake. But that still left a good number behind, and that meant much of her time was devoted to them. So many saw her as the reincarnation of Sophia that she feared overshadowing the real Nisan Mother, Margie.
"Ahem... 'scuse," a voice spoke up, after the clearing of a throat. Fei and Elly sighed in tandem, breaking their embrace in order to focus their attention on the interloper. Margie Fatima stood there, the tips of her fingers pressed against her lips and a touch of pink coloring her cheeks. Once so childlike, she had done a massive amount of maturing in the last months. But some things never changed, and being embarrassed catching the two in one of their moments never failed to make the girl blush.
"Sorry... I wouldn't normally bother you guys but--"
"No, no, Margie it's ok," Elly lied. It wasn't ok, but she didn't have the heart to be angry with the girl. "What do you need? Is everyone all right in the infirmary?"
"It's not the refugees," Margie quickly launched into her explanation, all embarrassment fading away to something more urgent instead, "There's something going on below the Cathedral. The Sisters and I felt it at prayer this morning. Like an earthquake of some sort. We ignored it, but it happened again and the door that leads down into the catacombs, to the burial tombs, opened up rather suddenly. I've been trying to find you guys since then. The Sisters are terrified and they all left for now. I had them go to one of the buildings in town till I can figure out what's going on."
Fei frowned and exchanged looks with Elly before replying, "That sounds serious, Margie... maybe Elly and I should go have a look."
"Not without me you're not," Margie insisted, "Besides, there are some areas down there that only Fatimas can get to, so unless you intend to get Bart and Sigurd over here, you'll have to take me along."
Elly chuckled, patting Fei's cheek when she saw his expression of frustration. "Let her go, Fei. She's right, we probably shouldn't wait on Bart and Sigurd to get here and she might be needed."
Fei then turned that frustrated look in toward Elly, lowering his voice in attempt to keep Margie from overhearing him, "If anything happens to her, Bart will string us both up."
"Oh, I'm a big girl, Fei," Margie spoke up with a touch of ire, indicating his attempt at murmuring out of earshot had failed, "I won't need Barty to come in and rescue me again."
At that point, Fei just threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender, "All right, all right. Let's go check it out then. But I swear to God, Margie, anything odd starts happening, you better get out of there and let me and Elly handle it."