25.1: My Dear People

25

Hawthorne

The Star Elf peers at the gathered crowd from behind navy curtains. She is dressed in a gown suited for a queen; the top white, the bottom bleeding into midnight. The sleeves droop to her sides and are pinned to the back of the dress with delicate sparkling jewels. All of it shimmers. Even her hair gleams with diamonds speckled amongst the careful plaits of silver, making her head seem as if it is glowing, like a holy spirit. There isn’t a doubt of who she is. Her chest pulses under ragged breaths. Her knuckles are pale from where she grips the curtain.

Two weeks have passed in the Castle. We have not let them go to waste. Each morning, the Star Elf and I undertake rigorous physical training; which isn’t all that new for me, but instead of lifting sacks of flour we lift actual hunks of metal and blunted swords. Our trainer, Dame Orgel, straps weights to our wrists and ankles when we practice for combat. The Star Elf is already trained to fight with a sword - maybe all of her kind had to learn when they were young. Iridea participates sometimes but she doesn’t take much interest in getting fit. Most of the time, she sits on a low wall in the courtyard while we practice and focuses on forming small balls of energy between her hands.

Until now, the King has kept us secret from the public. Today, he makes our presence known. We have not had much time to prepare.

“Do I say things? Please no…” the Star Elf murmurs as she fidgets.

“You’ll be fine! You were born for this,” I reassure her, but her lips press thinner.

“I was not - Hawthorne -“ she tangles her long skirt in a sudden spin which sends servants flocking about her. She grabs my hands, hers are shaking. Her eyes shine with tears. “Hawthorne, please understand.” Her mouth gapes open and closed. Her desperation worries me.

“What?”

“I was not born for this,” she chokes, “I am just - just Stellina. I did not listen in class. I was not a good daughter. I want to do this, for my people, for these people, for you and Iridea but I do not know if I can. I-“ Class? Daughter? Tears stream from her eyes. Iridea offers a handkerchief embroider with sunflowers. The Star Elf blows her nose indelicately. “I understand your hopes. I do. But I want - need - to be known as Stellina. Please know me as Stellina. See that I am not born for-” she waves her hand around, the handkerchief flaps with her gestures, “-this! But see that I try to be…adequate.”

“…so you weren’t trained for this?” I ask, bewildered.

“How could I be?” Her lip wobbles. She wipes at new tears.

I thought the Star Elf, being a legend, was made into a hero, or maybe that all Star Elves were beings ready to face battle when called upon, trained in sorcery and weaponry. Weren’t they once the most powerful? Didn’t they rule all of what used to be Myan and Kinionia? If that were the case, how did the Cursed One; just one necromancer, destroy all of them?

The King’s cloak announces his arrival before we see him; jeweled and imposing. The Star Elf shoves the damp handkerchief back into Iridea’s hand. She shares a nod with the King as he observes the picture the three of us make: The Star Elf in the middle with her magnificent gown, Iridea and I flanking her in fine white outfits accented in the same blue as The Star Elf’s dress. He calls servants to fix tiny things; a cowlick in my hair, a fold in Iridea’s skirt, the circlet that frames The Star Elf’s sigil. My jacket is folded on a chair beside us but I feel exposed and jittery without it. When satisfied, the King waves the servants away and takes a firm place behind the curtains as he waits for the clock to strike above us.

Since the Castle is detached from the town, the King gives his public announcements from the clock tower which has a balcony overseeing the city’s main square and the middle ring of the city. The people are already gathered, the square is packed with them. Even more wind through the streets like a river breaking its banks. When the hour comes, a mechanical display above us will perform - one that has the four races bowing to each other before stabbing at the Cursed One - and will end with trumpets to accompany the building’s massive bells. Every second pounds through my bones, a reminder of time passing. The Star Elf startles with every tick.

The fanfare begins, bright and abrasive from the patient balcony. For the second time today, The Star Elf grabs my hand. I can feel her pulse rattling against my palm. The King sweeps out to cooperative applause and leaves the three of us to wait for his call.

“My dear people of Myan,” King Matthias’ voice booms across the square, a roar from where we stand, “today is monumental. We are a leap closer to ridding ourselves of the fear that has entwined into the essence of our kind. For centuries we have been the subject of oppression; first the beasts of old, then the Elven tribes, now the Cursed One and his multitude of savage creations.

“Our fear has kept us alive all this time. We are an anxious people; fighting is weaved in our bones. Yet all this fighting has lead us to where we are: a strong fortress ruling over a land mass that is bigger than the former Star and Light Elves’ territories. We have proved our might, our legitimacy as a species. We have at last grasped freedom. I ask you - if that freedom were threatened, would you let it be taken away?”

The crowd screams in objection. Stellina leans over in the pause allowed for the crowd’s involvement.

“Is the Castle not an alliance?”

“It is,” I respond. I am half Myan, basically full Myan fighting under the Star Elf for our country. My pride feels like it is shining through me; a strong orange light that touches off the bodies around me. My legs buzz to step forward onto the balcony, to see the glowing crowd underneath me, our unity shining like a promise from the highest peak in Myan. Like a star.

“Each line at the border reports a stirring in the Cursed One’s activities. It is with great sadness that I import another loss in our allied force as the East Shadow tribe has joined his forces. They sense he will move in, that they will be safer under occupation rather than fighting with us. We will not join this cowardice. Already, we have moved to face these threats. You may now carry a weapon to protect yourself from sudden, directed attacks across Myan. If you kill a monster, you will be rewarded. Many of you have helped in clearing our mountains and forests of beast. For that, I am deeply thankful. Each day you save another life. Each day, you contribute to Myan’s salvation.” I glance at Iridea to see her wings squeezed so tight behind her back that it has to hurt. If what she thought before is true, her head could be on some of these villager’s hit list. The King would be drawing attention to her. I do not share Iridea’s pessimism, though her fear is well-founded. My people are sensible. They would see Iridea as I do: an intelligent, albeit feisty person.

“Here,” as the King continues his sermon, I curve our arrangement into a circle and reach for Iridea’s hand with Stellina’s still in mine. “Let’s put our heads together. Huddle. It’s what my family does when we’re stressed or upset.” To my surprise, Iridea doesn’t hesitate. She grabs my hand and drops her head forward. Stellina’s head hovers a full head above hers.

“I think our heights may be an issue.” Iridea peers up at Stellina who snorts.

“Your hand is like an icicle,” I say to Iridea and try to squeeze some warmth into her fingers. She shrugs,

“I wasn’t born for this climate. I’m basically perpetually cold.”

“And I’m basically perpetually warm. Let’s try this instead.” I wrap my arms around them both and hold them tight. Now they both hesitate. After a moment, Iridea gives in. Stellina slumps into us, her arms limps at her side. She sniffs and it isn’t long before she starts crying again.

“I am sorry,” she whispers, “I am sorry.”

Her apologies don’t seem to be directed to us, but spoken to the air in the hopes that someone would here. Some ethereal spirit. Do they hear her? I’ve never questioned what being the last of her kind entails. I wonder how often she cries, shuttered in her room high in the clouds. Sympathy tugs at my heart and I feel as if I’m being lowered, although I haven’t moved. My spirit sinks. This isn’t the vision of the Star Elf I had: a destitute girl torn from her home, placed in a strange world with a huge responsibility dropped on her shoulders. I imagined someone prepared for this. Confident and strong and powerful, striding ahead with a readied army. She’s all of those things, of course, but she’s also scared and desperate, and she doesn’t have an army. Not yet, at least. Maybe Zyrona isn’t ready for her. Or maybe we were and we stopped being ready so many years ago. Is it possible to rally Zyrona? If it is, Myan is a good place to start.

I wonder if I were the Last Star Elf, how would I respond to my duty? I’d probably cry more than her. Definitely. But she’s doing as well as I think I’d do, if not better. What I’d need is company, someone who understands. I want to understand Stellina so that this world is a little less lonely for her.

Servants tap us lightly on our backs, ushering us into position. The King must be ready for us to make our debut. I squeeze Iridea’s hand and let go. She looks at me and squints. It was meant to be a comforting gesture but I fear I’ll be reprimanded for it later. We break apart and assume our initial position with Stellina in the middle, but our hands are still held tightly together. Stellina swipes at her tears.

“We will clasp victory in our hands and purge all darkness! For we have the immutable, the mighty Star Elf!”

“Chin up, back straight,” Iridea mutters as the curtains hiding us are pulled aside. The hush they make is akin to the gasps of the public.

“My dear people, please help me welcome The Star Elf, her bodyguard, and her tactician to our beautiful city!” Bodyguard? My throat closes over. Stellina groans.

“Pull it together. Smile,” Iridea hisses through a strained grin. We force ourselves forward, hands gripped, blinking out of the shadows in the new light. I wonder if we look much like the automatons above us with our rigid movements. One foot here. One there. The King steps aside to let us pass. His hands slam together, leading the masses. We reach the flowered balcony and a wave of sound rises to our appearance, although none of it is discernible. Like crickets at night chirping. Though we must only be two or three stories above the street, the people below blend together like a swarm of minnows. I can’t register a reaction from the countless eyes and faces. Iridea waves, I follow her lead. Stellina remains rigid at our side, her hands hooked around ours. The applause lasts until my hand seems to sway back and forth of its own accord, like I’m an automation myself. Something constructed. The King steps forward to resume his speech but it is Stellina’s voice that rings in a slight warble over the crowd, somehow carried by the wind as if fated by Zyrona.

“I will protect you always.” Startled by her sudden change of heart, I glance at her. Her gaze is pointed to the sky. The crowd bursts into applause without the King’s direction. Stellina turns and pulls us back behind the curtains. There is a beat before the King regains control.

“Yes! We will protect you, as the Castle has done for centuries now. Our future is on the horizon. For freedom!”

“For justice!” A thousand voices shout back.

“For men.”

“For men!”

Stellina sighs and leans against the wall, releasing our hands. The King thrusts the curtains aside and storms in. He stomps to a halt in front of Stellina.

“While you are under my care, you speak when directed, you move when I tell you.” Stellina does not shy away but remains where she is and looks down at him, even as the wall takes her sagging weight.

“Don’t you dare talk to her like that. She’s here to help you, not take your power,” Iridea butts in, “You didn’t tell us anything about this beforehand. You only had us prettied up.” The King swivels, his finger carves through the air to rest just before Iridea’s forehead.

“Prettied up was all I needed you to be.”

I grab the King’s arm and thrust its insulting position out of Iridea’s face before stepping in front of her. The action surprises myself, spurred as it was by a sudden rage of emotion. But how can the King preach freedom, justice, and nationhood, then turn around and confine us? Treat the Star Elf - Stellina, Iridea - us like, like absolute sewage water?

“Tell us that next time.” My voice drops into a growl unlike it has ever been before. My father’s voice was deep, did his voice grate against his teeth when he faced down the Xeoserp? The King isn’t a Xeoserp. He’s a man. And my hand is still gripped around his wrist. He may not have ice powers, but he has power. Somehow, that doesn’t worry me now.

His eyes, two black chasms underneath heavy eyebrows, reflect my rage. His mouth curls and he pulls his wrist from my grip with one quick pull. A servant emerges from the shadows, hesitant but ready to assist. What can the King do? Lock us up? Regardless of whatever game he’s playing to have Stellina prove herself to him, he needs her. He can’t get rid of her now that she’s been announced to the entirety of Myan. Word will spread fast. If she suddenly disappears, who knows what would happen?

The King does not call for help. Before I can anticipate it, his fist meets my face and the world explodes with a violent crack. The rings he wears split my cheek. The surprising force he contains throws me off balance. Stellina cries out and attempts to dart forward with the burden of her skirts. I process all of this before the pain kicks in; bright and searing, flaring fire where the memory of his rings drip down my neck. I touch my cheek and it comes away red.

The tower is still with the smell of my blood in the air as we are all frozen in the aftermath. A rush of humiliation sores up my throat and bites at my eyes but I raise my gaze to his. My lips wobble, my knees are shaking. This cannot be the leader of Myan. He stares down at me. His face betrays no emotion. The servant finally patters forward.

“Your majesty, you have a conference waiting for you at the palace.”

“Is it scheduled?” He does not break eye contact.

“They said it didn’t need to be.” The King’s head drops and he casts his sight to the shadows of the room. He straightens and adjusts his cloak.

“Do not cross me again,” he states as if my blood were not glistening on his silver rings. Then, he exits the room with the servant in tow leaving us in the confines of our alliance.