The Great War: Chapter 31
So many questions with unclear answers
“Here,” Samuel says to Devin, waving him over. He keeps his hands on Anya’s shoulders as she weeps uncontrollably. As his friend approaches, Samuel continues, “Take her back to the ship.”
Devin stares at the two briefly, one eyebrow raised wordlessly. But he does as he is asked, taking Anya’s hand, Samuel lifting his own from the poor girl, and the two disappearing in a blink of an eye.
With a heavy sigh, Samuel stares at the massive ice spike next to him. He’s never seen something so large made of magic before. He didn’t even think that a single wizard was capable of making something like this until now. Although… should he really be saying this was made by a wizard in the first place?
Off in the distance, the bell still tolls; some sort of warning to those on land, judging by how fast Anya’s brother turned tail and ran. He even left his sword behind, though with how iced over and half-buried it is Samuel doubts that he would have been able to pry it free in time.
“Samuel!” comes a call, causing the prince to turn his head. Isaac steps from the remaining wizards and gestures to the small pier behind them. “We’ve unloaded the last boxes.” With how clear his voice sounds from him standing that far away, no doubt he’s using his magic to carry his voice farther than it normally should go. Isaac’s face then contorts into a frown of confusion. “Where’s Anya?”
“She’s already back at the ship,” Samuel shouts back.
He jogs back over to the group, more and more of them disappearing by the moment as Devin comes and goes so fast that it renders him as only a blur of black and silver.
Isaac lifts a finger, pointing to the ice wall that is now behind Samuel. “Who made that?”
“A…” Samuel starts, wanting to say ‘wizard’ before pausing. Can he call him a wizard to begin with, even though he sails with Korodon’s enemy? “…Anya’s brother.”
Isaac raises a questioning eyebrow at the prince. “Is something wrong?”
“What would you call a being with magic but that sails with the Guardians?”
“A wizard, of course,” Isaac replies automatically. “Any being with magic is a wizard in the eyes of the Guardians.”
And yet his answer still doesn’t sit right with Samuel. Why, then, would a wizard not fight with their own kind? Why would they risk the wrath of the Guardians like this? That look on Mathew’s face when he saw his own ice… it was horror, there’s no doubt about it. On some level he knows what may happen to him if any Guardian finds out about his magic. And yet he chose to run back to their ship regardless, even when faced with his own sister. It just doesn’t make any sense.
“How many supplies did they have?” Samuel asks instead, trying to move past his dilemma for the time being.
“Quite a fair bit,” Isaac replies. “Probably enough to last them three or four cycles. Although the packing could have been… better.”
“Don’t blame them for that,” Samuel says, turning his attention to the ocean. The Erima is already sailing away from Fort Etrerr, cutting through the waves with ease. Did the talk conclude already? That wasn’t nearly enough time to discuss… well, anything! Does that mean his father simply surrendered? A hard pit of anxiety begins to form in his gut as his mind swirls with all sorts of dreadful scenarios. He takes a shaky breath and continues his thought, “At least it’ll ease the ship’s rations for a while if anything go wrong.”
Isaac just nods back quietly, turning his gaze away from the prince. Samuel isn’t doing his best to hide his unease, but it can’t be helped.
The bell continues to ring on in the background.
The rest of the wizards and crates are removed from the island as fast as Devin can move, until eventually all that there is left is Samuel and Isaac standing on the burning island as the maws of cannons begin to line the side of the Guardian’s massive ship.
“Is that everything?” Devin asks.
“It should be,” Samuel replies with a confident nod.
Devin holds out his hand to Samuel first. As he takes it, the colors of the world blur and shift, melting together as if water was thrown onto a painting. His stomach lurches as a blast of cold air hits his body. The burning wood and crop fades from his senses, replaced by deformed shouts and strong salty sea air as the colors band together to form the deck of the Erima and her crew. There are few on the top deck, tying down long ropes to metal fixings as others shepherd the new passengers and themselves down a steep flight of stairs and into the bowels of the ship.
Samuel lifts his hand, and Devin is gone again to retrieve Isaac. Before he can even react to Devin’s absence, his friend reappears in no time at all, Isaac’s eyes wide with surprise and awe.
“My prince, you’re back,” Captain Edwin comments, approaching the royal. He casts the distant Guardian ship a wary glance. “I was worried you’d not make it back in time.”
“Devin wouldn’t have allowed that to happen,” Samuel replies.
“I suggest you three get below deck,” the Captain continues. “Stars only know what sort of debris that thing will kick up.”
“What of my father?” Samuel asks.
Edwin’s face hardens at the mention of the king, betraying no emotion for Samuel to read. Instead of answering his question, the Captain only repeats, “Get below deck or return to your quarters. I don’t wish for you to get needlessly harmed, my prince.”
“But what of-”
“It’s not my place to say,” Edwin interrupts, gesturing to the door that leads to Samuel and Devin’s temporary quarters. “You should ask his aid. Isaac, Ezra is looking after your friend below.”
“Ah, thank you, Captain,” Isaac nods, stepping away. “I should go join them.”
Samuel grits his teeth in frustration but also gives the Captain a parting nod as he heads for his temporary quarters, Devin shadowing him soundlessly, as usual. Down the hall the two tread, not a single word being uttered all the way.
Killian is already stood in the study, looming over a square of purple fabric folded and laid out on top of the desk, his gaze turned to the window and the burning island.
“Father,” Devin is the one to betray their presence, drawing Killian’s attention, “we’ve returned.”
“Ah,” Killian musters a smile, “how long could you have done that, Devin?”
“Done what?”
“The teleportation.”
Devin stiffens, looking to Samuel for direction. Samuel shakes his head back, hoping that he’ll understand. Now isn’t the time to mention their Blessings. Not yet, anyways.
“Not long,” is Devin’s simple reply.
“Where’s my father?” Samuel demands, looking to the curtains that hide the beds. Could he be back there, keeping silent for… whatever reason he may have? “Shouldn’t you be with him?”
Something in the air shifts as Killian lets out a small, airy sigh, his smile fading in an instant. He places a hand on the square of fabric next to him lightly, as if it were to crumble to dust if he were to press on it too hard.
“There is no easy way to say this…” Killian speaks slowly, pausing to take a deep breath. As he does, a flash of ice-cold panic makes Samuel stand rigid, dread growing on him. His father’s friend turns to Samuel to meet his gaze, sorrow in his onyx eyes. “Your father is dead, Samuel.”
Some invisible force reaches out for Samuel’s heart and squeezes it with all its might, making it ache and burn as the rest of the blood in his body freezes in an instant. He stares back at Killian, his mouth open ever so slightly in shock, the only thing he can think of to do.
Dead…? How?!
Killian picks up the fabric and unfolds it, revealing it to be his father’s cape, silver chain and all. With the cape in hand, he steps up to Samuel and offers it to him calmly.
“It was already written,” he says. “And even if it wasn’t, they came with an army. There wasn’t… anything any being could have done. But he accepted it with his head held high, as should you.”
His chest still tight, a flurry of anger, pain, sadness, joy, fear, and whatever else decided to join into the storm swirling all over his body, Samuel takes his father’s cape with trembling hands. His eyes burn with watery fire, wanting to cry but not knowing what to cry for.
Why didn’t he tell me?
I don’t really miss him…
No wonder he was being so strange lately.
The war is still going, then?
Why do I have to clean up his mess?
Did Korodon elude to this?
Why did he not stop me from coming if he knew…?
Samuel lets out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to clear his head. His fingers touch the metal chain of the cape, fumbling with its clasp. When he opens his eyes again, he throws the length of fabric over his shoulders, tying it to his body. It just barely hangs above the ground at his height as it sits comfortably on his shoulder blades, much to his surprise.
“Please leave me,” he mutters. Without protest, two sets of heavy footsteps walk to the door and disappear across the hallway, the lock clicking back into its place as the door swings shut behind them.
Bang! Bang!
Samuel walks up to the window and stares at the massive ship opposite him. Smoke billows from the large cannon holes as cannonballs larger than any he’s ever seen before in his life sail through the air, their ominous shadows flying over the ocean waves. On the island, red fire burns bright as the crystal blue ice sculpture sparkles alone amidst the chaos. A magical wonder that is crushed in an instant as the first cannonball strikes the ground.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three more cannonballs are sent flying as the second strikes the ground, kicking up flaming splinters of wood and chunks of dirt and stone. Debris shoots upwards as large waves churn around the once-island, rushing in to swallow the land and the cannonballs whole.
The last three fall on what’s left of the island from the first two, finishing the job once and for all. While the water is stained brown now, with fireballs floating in the sky high above, in a cycle or two it will all be washed away, leaving behind no trace of the island’s short-lived existence.
The young king licks his lips. He has much to ponder.