Chapter Five - - Death of our innocence
Each day, the crisis worsened. Each day, the power that flowed in Zeal was fainter, harder to grasp, harder to wield. Dalton felt the sparseness in the air, drying his skin and making everything, lush and green though it was, seem parched. The windows outside his chamber were always coated now with mist, sometimes turning to ice in the absence of the power that kept Zeal safe from the frigid grasp of the atmosphere.
The city of Kajar was almost abandoned, due to the increasing cold. More and more travelers took refuge in the village of Enhasa, to the south of the greater continent, or fled to the palace itself, where the queen's direct channeling was able to be felt and the air less empty and silent. Few knew why Enhasa had fared so much better. Dalton's own foreknowledge lent a certain air of scorn, when he found himself faced with refugees from Kajar or the other more meager holdings across the continent.
Wrapped in cloaks and cowls, they trudged through the frost-coated meadows and past the slowly freezing lakes and rivers, always expressing dismay at the condition of their world. In the distance, Enhasa sparkled bronze and silver, still hanging fully in the sunlight above the sea of clouds. Belthasar had been spending a great deal of time there, as of late. Through his apathy, Dalton supposed he might have wondered why, had he not been so close in the company of the guru of Reason.
Here, you must feel this, the old man told him, having led Dalton past the tapestries and indolent fools who littered Enhasa's halls, spread out under soft linens and quilts of dazzling artistry. Once safely secluded behind the moving bookcases that protected his private holding, the old man held out a white silk cloth in aged hands. Grasping it irritably, Dalton immediately winced, nearly dropping the offering. The voices, now a nearly everpresent muttering in the more secluded reaches of his mind, rose at once to a cacophony, nearly deafening him. He reeled for a moment, barely catching himself.
What... what is it? The object, some type of stone, though Dalton had not yet uncovered the bundle, was not hot, in the physical sense. There was a sort of spark within it, though, that burned him just the same. Noticing Dalton's discomfort, Belthasar quickly retrieved it, unwrapping the edges just enough to display a ruby-like glitter of red, more true than freshly-shed blood. As soon as it was out of his hands the discomfort was gone, and Dalton longed to snatch it back from the old man. A strange, covetous need was gathering strength, and the voices murmured more cajolingly now, each speaking to that need alone.
Belthasar, at first without voicing a reply, passed the stone to the large blue nu that was never far from him. The creature clutched the stone indifferently, keeping its sleepy eyes on Dalton. Nu always unnerved him, but Belthasar had some obscure affinity for the things, so there was nothing to be done about it. Just the same, the desire to attack the creature and reclaim the prize had grown no weaker.
It's been in the vaults for a very long time, in fairly large quantity. A wonder no one's taken any sort of interest in it until now, but such is the way of things. Lifting a variety of fine, spidery silver instruments, the guru started toward a short gilded table, the only furnishing in the room aside from four garish statues of tall women clothed in little but their own hair. I can find very little writing that pertains to it - at least, very little recorded in any sort of comprehensible way. Several books of the fourth library in the palace make mention of a remarkably powerful red stone, though they say little more than that, as far as I've discovered.
The man's hands, though creased and worn, were deft. A smaller fragment of the red stone lay on the table, surrounded by the silver instruments like an egg in the nest of a very peculiar bird.
Not as powerful as the sunstone, here the guru's venerable brow creased, as if contemplating. At least, not the sunstone as it once was. Not on its own. Its true power lies in this peculiar ability... holding out his hand, the guru gestured ever so slightly at the stone. A thin line of fire drifted toward the fragment lazily, as if carried by a slow breeze. In the darkness of his own mind, Dalton scoffed. What did the old fool hope to accomplish?
The streamer of flame connected with the stone, and the voices grew louder. Silence...' they admonished him. Watch...and learn...'
Before he could question the voice, even in thought, the room erupted. Fire exploded outward from the stone, rivaling the greatest fire magic Dalton had ever observed. He threw an arm over his face as the conflagration consumed the wadded bits of parchment and oddments of cloth left carelessly on the table's surface. Beside him, the panicked Nu followed suit, flinging one stubby arm into the air, clutching the white bundle to its chest with the other.
Neither Dalton nor the Nu made a sound. The silver instruments listed outward drunkenly from the explosion, melted at impossible angles. Belthasar, far from silent, cackled with glee. Wiping soot from his round spectacles, the old man bounded from one foot to the next, nearly singing with delight.
Exactly as I expected! Exactly as it should be! With this, the power of the elements can be magnified ten-fold! Perhaps one-hundred-fold, even! When he noticed Dalton's face, set in a flat line, Belthasar squinted at him myopically. Don't you see it?
With a long sigh that still held fragments of patience, Belthasar gestured at the red crystal shard. Imagine, if this red rock could be made into something larger? Some means of amplifying magic, beyond what any one Enlightened could do alone? Melchior must be told of this!
Belthasar's excitement was contagious, though for a very different reason than the old man assumed. The darkness behind Dalton's eyes nearly gibbered, thrusting him into a corner of himself as it filled him, taking away his limbs and the awareness of his body.
But how do you intend to do such a thing? he heard his mouth ask, using the same inflection that he himself would have. What do you intend to build? Belthasar spoke on at length, but Dalton paid him no mind. Part of him wanted to rave at the old man, for not noticing what was becoming of him, but that part was so easily suppressed. How could Belthasar see what Dalton only dimly could? With a sigh that did not carry past his lips, Dalton sank down into the loneliness, to wait.
Zeal slouched forward in her throne, the weight of the crown and veils she wore feeling particularly great today. The wind that swept through the Queen's Hall was bitterly cold, befitting the whiteness that shrouded every window around her. The magical continent was sinking into the sea of clouds. Each day it fell further, and Zeal felt as if she were holding it in the air with nothing but her own hands.
Her head throbbed so badly that she couldn't bear to sit upright. Melchior promised to bring her a new elixir, one that might finally cure the headaches before they began, but she doubted if her luck would be as good as that. Channeling the elements for a long period of time took more concentration than any one person could be capable of expending, without serious consequences. Besides, any time Melchior spent away from his research was time that could not be spent searching for a solution to this increasingly dire problem.
It wasn't as though the kingdom would not survive, if the magic finally gave out altogether. If all of the Enlightened assisted, it was well within the realm of possibility that the kingdom could come to a gentle rest in the ocean without any complication, and without any risk of falling too quickly, but the problems such a resignation would create were almost greater than she could bear to ponder.
The Earthbound looked at them as an unnatural force - one to fear, to loathe... to obey. It might be possible to deceive them into believing that the magical continent had been lowered back to earth for a reason, but it wouldn't be long before they began to suspect the truth, and as Dalton could plainly prove, the wrong end of a sword meant as much to an Enlightened as it did to one without magic. They were not invincible. If descent ultimately led to war, the kingdom of Zeal could very well crumble.
Also, there was the matter of food, and of sustaining their fortresses. The great halls surrounded with glass were ideal for the sunny lands above the clouds, providing light and heat enough for all manner of plants. Magic could coax any plant into bearing more than it should, and without both sunlight or the magical powers they were so reliant on, the cities would starve. She would not let that happen, not if there were any other alternative.
If the people began to suspect the truth, revolt was as likely as outcome as any. If a noble thought to challenge her place on the throne, she would be little match for them in her current state, and to request the help of the others, in pulling enough magic from the earth to suit their ends, she might as well pass the crown into the hands of another herself. Such a weakness would be her downfall.
It was easy to think of the king, as hard as she tried to avoid it. In times like these, the seclusion felt a greater burden than the entire kingdom, held in the sky by threads that were spun from her own mind. When she could bear it no longer, she passed through the marble arches of the hall, into the relative warmth of the corridors beyond. Braziers and torches blazed to combat the cold, some prompted by magic and others fueled by plain oils.
The attendants scurried to dip and curtsy, as custom required, but each bow felt forced, perhaps scornful. Perhaps they knew, and this was their way of showing contempt. Whether it was justified, she felt herself bristle under their gazes, quickly demanding that they return to their places at once. It was with a certain vindicated pride that she watched them obey, all of them retreating without once reaching her eyes.
Once in her quarters, she bolted the door before dropping all dignity and stumbling up the short stairway that led from the entrance. She collapsed on the brightly quilted bed, fighting the tears that came at the strength of her headache and the sheer exhaustion she felt overtop of it. She had been very careful to say nothing of the pain to anyone, save Melchior, though she knew that Schala suspected the affliction, and even Janus, barely old enough to stand upright, seemed to sense a difference in her presence when she was with him.
Taking a small vial from the gilded stand near her bed, she removed the stopper and breathed deeply. The sharp odor of the oils inside always helped alleviate the pressure, though never entirely. She lay back across the quilts, letting her heart still as the burning behind her eyes lifted.
Something had to be done soon - that much was horribly obvious. The question as to what was considerably more difficult, and time was growing short. Melchior and Belthasar were doing their best, working quietly and with confidence, but the loss of power within the kingdom was painfully apparent. Through all of her efforts to keep impending panic under control, she had sworn those who knew the truth of the change to absolute secrecy. The council would say nothing, she was sure, as long as she and the few scientists in Kajar with enough skill were the only enlightened strong enough to keep the kingdom intact.
The Sun Keep was now sealed and guarded by magical power and soldiers alike, which in itself was enough to inspire suspicion. With its power fading, she couldn't risk its accidental discovery if someone happened to stumble across it. With a sigh she sank further against the cushions, letting her eyes cross the distance of the chamber on their own.
The gilded bookcases, lining white, empty windowpanes, held tomes of old books recommended to her by Belthasar, and more than a few plants of Melchior's own collection. Since the death of the king, he commonly seeded cuttings from his plants, or from those he cared for in the palace gardens, and potted them for her.
Bright tapestries of gold and lavender, worked with the triangular seal of the kingdom, hung alongside and sometimes over the windows. She took special care to glance at these only briefly. The light was bright, igniting the pain in her skull in sharp flares each time her eyes lingered for too long. Glancing back toward her end table, she saw a golden watch and chain stretching behind a wine goblet and under a crumpled parchment. With shaking fingers she clutched the chain, drawing it closer toward her painstakingly. It clattered across the table as it came.
Gaspar's watch, though why it was here she didn't know. The dial hadn't been wound in some time, and the hands read 7:21, but it meant nothing to her. Why Gaspar had left this, she didn't know, and he came rarely enough that it was indeed a peculiar happening. Very few had seen him, as of late, though he'd promised her very directly that he would see to Janus's schooling, when the time came. Within a year, it would be necessary, and she was relieved that he'd thought of it. If, of course, a year from now that kingdom was still intact.
Letting the chain fall through her fingers, she lay down on her stomach among the quilts, closing her eyes but knowing that sleep wouldn't find her. It never did, when the headaches were at their worst. She ought to go find one of the gurus. If Melchior was preoccupied, perhaps Belthasar would be free, but she doubted it and quickly dismissed the idea. The old man spent nearly all of his time with Dalton these days. She was happy for that, if only because Dalton sometimes
frightened her and it was comforting to know that such a responsible man was keeping him under close guard.
Eventually apathy won out and she lay where she was, doing her utmost to think of nothing at all and ignore the pain entirely. It seemed a promising idea at first, but a sharp knock on the door renewed the pressure behind her eyes.
Who is it? She cursed her own thin voice, wavering unsteadily as she sat upright. With frantic hands she straightened her veils and cloaks before she approached the portal.
The guru Belthasar sent me, majesty. I've something you might like to see. The voice behind the thick brass was Dalton's. Uncertainly she lifted the latch, unsure as to what she should expect.
Ollen70: an odd place to leave off, but the next chapter will be up soon (sooner than six months, I promise you that.) I don't know if anyone's even reading this, but if you are, thanks for taking the time. I hope you enjoyed it.