The Great War: Chapter 41
To sit and stew is a miserable existence
Samuel sits at his desk in both silence and darkness, curtains drawn over the window doors that lead to his balcony, hunched over a mess of papers covered in black scrawl only he can read. He flicks his quill between his fingers, rubbing the soft feather over and over again until his fingertips become smooth.
He knows he must speak eventually. His father’s death will be public knowledge sooner or later, and yet he still isn’t sure what he should say.
He sighs down at the little piece of paper from the ship, on which his opening is still written.
Citizens of Korodon, beings blessed by the Spirit of Shadow, whom our beloved island is named after, I, Samuel, stand before you all this cycle as not only the new king of Korodon, but also as the General of Storm magic.
He’s been hesitant to add more to it until he knew what he wanted to say. Which is hard, because since returning to the castle his mind has been scattered. His eyes are sore from lack of sleep. His chest aches from the heavy pounding of his heart. There is a small part of him that wishes to speak with his father, but he is also reluctant to bother Killian for the time being. After all, he is also a father. Samuel would rather have him spend time with his own family right now. Besides, it still feels too soon to be seeking advice from the dead.
There’s a knock at his door.
“Samuel?” Devin’s voice rings. Samuel lets out a heavy huff but doesn’t reply, lacking the energy to even open his mouth. There’s a moment of silence, then he hears the weighty creaking of the door swinging open. The soft tap of Devin’s shoes fill the still air as he glides over to the young king, stopping short of the desk.
“How have you been feeling?” Samuel is asked. Samuel just shakes his head, avoiding eye contact.
“I have a report for you.”
Is he even feeling up for a report right now? It’s hard to say with all his muddled thoughts. He places his quill down on the paper-covered desk and laces his hands together, finally turning to give Devin what little attention he can muster. His friend stares back with a slightly furrowed brow, his concern subtle yet clear. But as he usually is, he doesn’t raise any questions about it. He already knows why Samuel is the way he is.
Maybe this report will take his mind off of… everything else.
“Two things,” Devin starts. “First of all, earlier this cycle I sent Ezra to confirm a rumor - I suspect you’ll be pleased to hear - that Mathew has made his way to Korodon.”
Samuel’s head can’t help but tilt to one side, his attention fully grabbed. “Really?”
“He was found floating on a sheet of ice, apparently,” Devin nods back. “He’s resting now in the temporary infirmary by the docks. I sent Ezra back to ask how long they suspect he’ll be there for, but as of right now he is coherent but unable to move without assistance.”
Samuel’s heart flutters with hope. A pirate with Ice magic is what they were looking for, and now the one they met but cycles earlier is now within their grasp. No doubt this is a sign from the Spirit.
Newfound energy surges through his body as Samuel stands sharply from his chair. “I wish to see him immediately.”
“Sam, let me finish first,” Devin sighs.
Right, there were two things he has to say. Mathew is only one half of the report. And still, Samuel’s hands become tight fists in frustration, lighting leaping across his body with anxiousness. He wants to act right away, and this small hold-up is not helping his mood.
“The other thing I must warn you about are the Guardians,” Devin continues calmly. “There’s no doubt that they might use your current situation to their advantage. They might be waiting for the official turnover of the crown, but… I am fully anticipating them sending some sort of ‘peace agreement’. Whether or not you decide to sign it is your choice-”
“What are you implying, Devin?” Samuel asks through barred teeth. Electricity begins to arc from his figure, sparking against the floor and ceiling of his bedroom, the like of which is already covered in numerous old and ashen burn marks. He might be young, but he doesn’t intend to simply be a coward.
Devin takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “This isn’t a war, Samuel. With your father’s hasty entry into this conflict, we’re severely underprepared. Our fighting forces are smaller now, with thanks to those lost battles at sea. We have no resources to build ships or even adequate shelter for the refugees. Our crop, while bountiful, will only last us so long. And even with the Spirit’s prophecy, it doesn’t guarantee the miracle we need to even survive, let alone win.”
Samuel clenches his jaw at the information, both angry and now hopelessly confused. All of his friends words ring true, as always. If that’s the state of the island he is inheriting, then, by all means, their survival is rather bleak. For how long his father wanted to drag this conflict out for, knowing all of this himself, which he surely should have taken into account before issuing the decree, Samuel doesn’t know. If he were to perpetuate the conflict further, how long would the island last?
But he still has some hope left in him. The Spirit wouldn’t have said what He said, given Samuel and Devin and Ezra what He has, if there wasn’t some sort of light at the end of this crumbling tunnel. Every time in the past the Spirit was consulted, He brought nothing but wisdom that guided them through thick and thin. There’s no reason why He would have a change of heart in this case.
The Spirit could have had a change of heart, the skeptic inside him poses. For how can mere mortals discern the intent of the divine in the first place?
“You’re right,” he finally speaks, “the prophecy is not a guarantee. But… I want to see Mathew first, and we’ll deal with the other problems as they arise.”
“Of course,” Devin nods in agreement. He holds out his hand to Samuel. “Ready to go now?”
Samuel rubs his eyes to wake himself more, then takes his friends hand firmly without a word. The darkness of his room melts away into the brightness of the sky’s light, and the silence grows into the murmur of distance voices that permeates the air. The two now stand in a dark side alley, away from the ever-crowded streets of Ica, although, as Samuel looks around to collect himself, he can see the masts of ships in the near distance, and the sound and smell of salt water is thick as he breathes it in.
“We’re close,” Devin says, leading the way deeper into the alley. Samuel drifts along behind him, trying to keep his tired mind focused on reality. Still, with what little rest he has been able to get, his vision can’t help but blur, the shadows and buildings phasing in and out of being amorphous blobs, and his weight shifts listlessly from side to side. He hopes that his composure will make up for his tiredness.
Finally, the two of them reach a slightly larger side street, where they instantly run into a busy stream of healers rushing in and out of a large warehouse, each with expressions of determination as they carry out whatever task they have been assigned.
The two make their way through the healers, who clear a path for them instinctively once they see the royal and his guard approaching them, and make their way inside. Instantly, Samuel is hit with the strong metallic odor of blood, and he can’t help but be reminded of when he was in the infirmary back in Eros. That moment in time almost feels like it happened an age ago by now.
Curious and uneasy stares follow them as Devin approaches a nearby healer and asks, “We’re looking for the wizard who came from the ocean.”
The healer’s eyes light up - a good sign - as they nod furiously and gesture for the two to follow them. They are led along the long curtain of white fabric briskly, stopping near the end of the row. The healer pulls back the fabric, revealing a small boxy space within, filled with an occupied cot and stool with barely enough standing room. And it appears that they’re not the only ones visiting, either.
With a nod from Devin, the healer performs a quick bow before shuffling away, returning to whatever they had been doing before, leaving Devin holding back the curtain for Samuel as he stares at the gathering. If Samuel’s memory serves correct, the two wizards packed into the tight space around the cot are Isaac and Anya, which doesn’t surprise him. Anya and Mathew are siblings, after all, and Isaac is Anya’s friend. And, of course, there is Mathew himself, lying as still as a statue with eyes wide open.
“My… prince,” Isaac mutters with mild surprise.
“May we come in?” Samuel asks. The Illusionist nods, stepping aside as best he can, giving Samuel and Devin just enough room to fill the left side of the cot as Isaac and Anya occupy the right.
“I guess Ezra hasn’t arrived yet,” Devin comments.
“He left not too long ago, though,” Isaac replies with a confused scowl. “He should be back at the castle by now.”
“I asked for him to come back,” Devin explains. “I wasn’t expecting to be here.”
“We can wait for him,” Samuel says, turning to Mathew. The wizard looks back at him with a tense gaze. Anger burns in his blue eyes, but they’re also dim with some sort of worry. “Well, here we are again.”
“Why?” he asks, his voice heavy and tired. “Why’re you here?”
“I only want to talk with you,” Samuel replies, eyeing Anya cautiously. Isaac shifts his weight in his peripheral, appearing uneasy. “Alone.”
Anya draws breath finally, and she looks up at the royal with a pleading expression. “But, my prince, I… I’ve not seen him in…” Tears begin to well in her eyes as she struggles to speak. Her grip on Mathew’s hand tightens, reluctant to let him go. Samuel holds back a hopeless sigh. With what happened on that island, he understands her hesitancy to leave his side once more.
So he turns to Isaac. “Then I’d like for you to vacate for the time being.”
Isaac stares back silently, his face expressionless as he folds his arms. Devin casts Samuel a questioning glance but remains silent. He can make an exception for Anya, with her being family and all, but Isaac has do business with any of this.
Finally, after a long moment of thought, Isaac nods. “Alright.” He turns to Anya and assures her, “I won’t be far if you need me.”
“Thank you, Isaac,” Anya replies with a weak smile. With that, Isaac steps out of the small space, giving the remaining occupants their space to converse.
“Are you sure about her being here?” Devin inquires.
“She’s free to leave if she doesn’t wish to hear anything more,” Samuel replies, also addressing Anya. He turns to the young woman with an expectant gaze. She nods back at him, understanding his words, while once again squeezing her brother’s hand to indicate she doesn’t plan to move from his side any time soon.
“Mathew,” Samuel says to the bed-bound wizard, “your presence on this island is not a complete coincidence. I have reason to believe that you are an individual fated to join my royal court and aid this island in our war effort, as dictated by the Spirit of Shadows.”