Beau Wallis Writes

[aceraylo]

Welcome to a collection of fic moments that I drew! They're all very low effort, but I think they're funny so screw it.

I can only remember the context for like. Three of these so I'm very sorry :(

Full page under the cut!

[beauwalliswrites]

Tup is traumatized, and I love him so much.

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The Epic of Brigid Callahan: Chapter 1

What would you do if you didn’t want to fulfill a prophecy?

Chapter 1

Brigid let out a hum as she turned the page of her book. She sprawled out in an old lawn chair she had found in the shed out back. An old plastic thing that wobbled and creaked as she hauled it to the clearing where she wouldn’t be disturbed for a few hours. She had pulled her long, curly black hair back off her neck where sweat had begun to gather, not helped by the warm sun of spring filtering through the leaves of the tree. 

Birds chirped in the branches. Squirrels rustled about in the leaves. The faint smell of dew stubbornly clung to the air as the morning sun worked to burn off all traces of the night. Minus the old, plasticky chair with broken bits that creaked when you shifted just right, it painted a very pastoral picture. Brigid could easily imagine herself the heroine of some Jane Austen novel, where her days were spent reading poetry and eating small sandwiches while talking about the latest eligible bachelor with her sisters. 

Cú would scoff and demand to know why gossip and unreasonably small finger sandwiches were more fun than what she was supposed to be doing. Fionn would probably say something about how the grass was greener on the other side and everything had the opportunity to be boring. Brigid didn’t care. Finger sandwiches and bachelors were different. And she wanted different. 

So, yeah, she would pretend the plastic, broken chair was instead a luxurious…daybed? Or something. And she would read her book in a clearing in the early morning spring weather. And she would enjoy it. Even if she was supposed to be practicing with a bow and arrow. Oh, well, it was Fionn’s fault for not watching her. Besides, she wasn’t just pretending like she was in a Jane Austen novel. She was a girl with goals. Goals that required patience to complete. 

She had been reading for the better part of an hour. She wondered how much longer she would need. She started to get a bit bored, lacking sisters to gossip with and bachelors to gossip about. She did tell herself she’d wait as long as possible, but Fionn would get suspicious soon. 

She could handle Fionn well enough. But if Cú came looking…. He got a bit testy when Brigid didn’t do exactly what she was supposed to do. She did have goals, yes. But was it worth it to sit through another ten-hour lecture about how she had responsibilities and training was the only way she’d survive and Balor was dangerous and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah? She usually tuned him out when he brought Balor up, so she didn’t know what Cú’s next points were. 

She could see it now. Cú would be ticked off. She’d be ticked off. They’d argue, and one of them would stomp off, and Brigid would have to muck out the stables or something as punishment. Was that what she wanted? Would it be worth it? 

She sighed. Probably not. She read a few more pages of the book, just to be sure, and decided the whole plan failed. She began to pack it in. Just as she slipped the book into her pocket, something rustled. But this wasn’t the rustling of tree leaves in the wind. Oh, no. This was the rustling of the underbrush. The scurrying of rabbit feet told her the mark arrived. 

She suppressed a smile, opened the book back up, and settled back into the chair. She wasn’t reading anymore. Not now. Not when her goal was close. 

“We were supposed to be playing tag,” came a voice. A small hare crept out from underneath the brush, not coming right up to Brigid, hanging out on the periphery. 

Brigid had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her face neutral. “I’m reading.” She shrugged, careful with her words so as not to suggest anything. Cú and Fionn drilled that lesson into her head on a near-constant basis. As someone with faerie blood in her veins, words had meaning. They had weight. One wrong verb, one wrong preposition, and you could accidentally make a contract you didn’t intend to make. She watched her words well. Even if Cú would argue otherwise. 

The hare took a few cautious steps forward, nose twitching, ears swiveling to catch for predators. “Are you admitting defeat, mortal girl? Am I to be the victor of our game?” 

“Perhaps,” Brigid said, not taking her eyes off the book, turning the page as if what was written interested her more than the hare. Gods and goddesses didn’t like to be ignored. 

“Look at me! You failed to win. You should accept your defeat with grace!” The hare hopped forward, mad and ready to give Brigid a piece of her mind. 

Perfect. 

The hare let out a shriek as the snare trap tightened around her neck. 

Brigid let out a whoop and leaped off the chair, smacking the hare on its rump. “Tag, you’re it. I win.” 

“No! You gave up. I won!” 

Brigid grinned. “I never said I gave up. You assumed I did.” 

“You were sitting down on a chair and reading!” 

“Maybe that’s how I play tag,” Brigid said. 

The hare continued to kick and struggle to get out of the snare, but it was pointless. Even if it did manage to escape, Brigid had won. 

“That’s not how you play tag, and you know it.” 

Brigid tapped her chin. “Let’s recount the deal. I said we would play tag. The rules were if I managed to touch you during the game, I would win. I don’t remember saying anything about needing to run after each other. Besides, you’re a hare. You run faster than me, and you know it. Next time, clarify before agreeing.” 

“Tricks! You tricked me!” 

Brigid laughed. “I did, but it’s not against the rules. I laid out my terms plain as day. If you wanted to make assumptions, you should have clarified them. Hopefully, you don’t make a habit of signing contracts.” 

“The rules were implied,” the hare screeched. 

Brigid clicked her tongue. “Faeries don’t do well with implications. Lesson to you going forward. You need to make your intentions, rules, and exceptions clear. Now, per our agreement, I ‘tagged’ you. So…” She held out her hand. “Please give me your name.” 

The hare stopped struggling and eyed the hand warily. “You can’t take it from me.” 

“I’m not taking it from you. You’re giving it to me. That was our agreement. If I win, you give me your name. If you win, you get to eat me. You didn’t win.” 

“You said I did.” 

Brigid squatted down and looked the hare in the eye. “No, I said ‘perhaps’, with the ‘you won’ being implied.”

“You said faeries don’t do well with implications.” 

“We don’t. Which is why it didn’t mean anything. No one declared you won, and you came to me before you clarified what I had meant. It’s your own fault. Now, quit stalling. Nasty things happen to people who break an agreement with a faerie. Do you think you’re powerful because you’re a god? You have nothing on the power that comes from an agreement.” 

Brigid smiled at the hare. This time, she let her full threatening façade out. The uncanny blue eyes. The teeth were a bit too white and sharp to be a real human’s. The skin was a bit too smooth. A body that looked human, but when you examined it, it didn’t. You could tell something was off. Something was dangerous. 

“You’re not a full faerie,” the hare sniffed, though she shrunk back upon realizing she had missed the biggest predator in this forest. “You’re a fake. A farce.” 

“If that were true, you’d be able to get out of this with no problem. And giving your name wouldn’t give me any power over you. Now, don’t make me ask again. Your name, please.” 

The hare shuddered and let out a pathetic moan. “You shan’t be using it for nefarious purposes, right?” 

“Should have clarified before you agreed to give it to me,” Brigid said. 

“I hate faeries,” the hare said. “Fine, fine. I’ve been bested. My name is Medeina and Žvorūnė. I am goddess and beast of the forest.” 

Brigid smiled and closed her hand as the name transferred over to her. “Thank you kindly, Miss Medeina. You’re going in my book now.” She pulled out a worn notebook and flipped to a blank page where she wrote down her name and what she was the goddess of.

She had a few deities of the forest, but not many were also beasts. That might be fun to explore later. She’d have to do research later to see what exactly Medeina could do. 

Medeina peeked over the pages. “Isn’t it dangerous, walking around with so many true names in a book? What if you lost it? What if a monster gets ahold of it?” 

“You worry too much.” Brigid snapped the notebook closed and slipped it into her pocket. 

Medeina let out a series of angry rabbit squawks. “I have reason to worry. Now, you wretched beast parading around as a girl, will you let me go? Or am I to be your servant for as long as I live?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve been craving rabbit stew for a while. It’s hard to find rabbit in the grocery store.” She sighed dramatically. 

Medeina let out another shriek. “Monster! You’re a monster!” 

“Things you’re learning a bit too late, huh?” She bent her fingers so they looked like claws and growled. 

“Brigid, quit tormenting the local gods,” someone said from behind her.

She winced and turned to see Fionn. “Technically, she’s not local. She’s Baltic.” 

Fionn gave her a disapproving stare. 

Brigid’s cheeks burned. She turned away from Fionn. “I’m just saying.” 

Fionn shook his head and bent over to release the snare around Medeina’s neck. She scampered off into the woods, shouting about monsters. 

“You were supposed to be working on something. What was it now? Faerie circles?” He said, tapping his chin. 

“Marksmanship,” Brigid muttered. 

“Oh, that’s right. With a bow and arrow and eventually with a spear. That is what we agreed upon this morning.” 

“I am great at marksmanship, though!” Brigid cried. “I hit the target every time. I can do it with both my left and right hand. At this point, I could do it blindfolded. I went out and found another challenge.” 

Fionn did not look impressed, crossing his arms and quirking a brow. “And instead of, say, practicing your dirk or your hand-to-hand combat skills, you decided there would be more challenge in stealing yet another god’s name?” 

“I don’t steal them. They give them to me. There’s a difference.” 

Fionn remained unimpressed, with his arms crossed and staring down at her. She would never win this fight or convince him she was right and totally not doing something morally questionable at best. 

“You have to trick them into giving you their names,” Fionn said. “You know they underestimate you.” 

“That’s their fault for underestimating me. If they treated me like an equal and not assume I’m some weak little girl, maybe they wouldn’t get their names taken.” 

“Brigid,” Fionn said, a warning tone in his voice. 

She slumped over. “Fine. Don’t tell Cú, though. Please? I get bored with all these lessons and practice day after day after day. They don’t challenge me anymore.” 

Fionn grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “These lessons are important. Even if they are redundant. Don’t fear the man who knows a thousand techniques. But fear the man that has practiced one technique—”  

“A thousand times,” Brigid mumbled. “I hate how much of a Bruce Lee fan you are.” 

“These lessons and their repetition are important. Balor is a strong foe, possibly stronger than you. He certainly is taller than you.” 

“I’m not short!” Brigid squawked as Fionn came to rest an elbow on the top of her head. 

“So, you can throw a spear with your eyes closed, fantastic,” Fionn continued. “That means when he does show up, you will be strong enough to defeat him.” 

“If,” Brigid quietly corrected. “If he shows up while I’m alive.” 

Fionn’s smile tightened, and he nodded his head stiffly. “Of course. If he shows up.” 

It was hard to argue with Fionn like this. His calm and measured responses never crossed over into arguments. She wondered how he did it and if she could learn his techniques. 

“Alright, alright. I won’t steal any more names.” 

“Because you don’t ‘steal’ them, they give them to you?” Fionn raised a brow. 

Damn! She had hoped he wouldn’t catch that. “Fine. I will not make any gods in this forest give me their names.” 

“Because you ran out of gods in the forest to trick?” 

“No!” she scoffed. 

Fionn continued to look at her, unimpressed. 

“Yes,” she slumped forward. “It’s not my fault they’re all stupid! I mean, did you see that snare? I didn’t bother to hide it. Had she waited like two more minutes and been more aware of her surroundings, she would have won.” 

“Yes, I saw the snare. At least your hunting skills are decent. And it’s good Medeina’s observational skills are not. I would have hated to find out you had been eaten by a forest god.” 

“I would have gotten out of it,” Brigid assured him.  

“If you say so.” 

She glanced at him. “You won’t tell Cú?” 

“No, I won’t tell Cú,” Fionn promised. 

His promises meant nothing as they rounded the path to get to the main property on the compound and were immediately faced with a very pissed-off Cú Chulainn. Hands on hips. Expression thunderous. Foot tapping. It would have been comical with how over the top he acted. If Brigid didn’t know what was about to happen. 

She turned to glare at Fionn. 

Fionn shrugged. “What? I didn’t tell him a thing. He figured it out all on his own. You should know better than anyone the power words hold.” He had the gall to laugh. 

“Hey, Cú.” She knew she couldn’t get out of this. She would try anyway. 

“Sneaking off on your lessons again?” Cú asked. 

For a brief second, she thought about lying and saying she was doing her lessons. 

“Don’t lie, to me, Brigid Callahan,” he said. 

Well, there goes that idea. 

“To be fair, this has been going on for a while now. I don’t know why you’re surprised.” She opted for another strategy that was equally as useless as straight-up denial. 

“You need to take this seriously! Balor is a threat and—” 

Wow, he mentioned Balor in two sentences. That had to be some kind of record. Normally, he warmed up to the Balor threat. Thankfully, though, this meant Brigid could now tune him out. This wasn’t the first time she had heard this speech, and it wouldn’t be the last. Maybe if he could pull that stick out of his ass, he’d be more pleasant to be around. Fionn had long given up on trying to corral her into any sort of regimented training program. He had read in some sort of child-rearing book that letting rebellious kids choose what they wanted to do made them more empowered. 

She wasn’t sure if she bought that. After all, was it a choice when, no matter what, you’d be learning how to fight some giant your ancestor couldn’t kill properly? It was one of the only things she and Cú agreed on. And it didn’t seem to be giving Fionn the results he wanted. Not that Brigid cared. No matter what she did, they’d never be proud until she killed Balor. Why try? 

“Are you listening to me?” Cú snapped. 

“Hmm. Yeah. I am. I totally am.” Maybe she could spin this in a way that wouldn’t lead to yet another awkward and boring “family” dinner.

“Hey, I was thinking and reading,” Brigid said, pulling out the book she had been reading while waiting for Medeina to fall into her trap; some book on gifted kids she got from the library. She learned the best way to get that was to convince Fionn some shrink wrote a book on the subject. “This book says when students refuse to do their work, it’s because it’s too easy.” 

Cú looked like he had swallowed a lemon. Fionn looked mildly interested. 

“What if—hear me out—what if I started training with the Gáe Bulg and the Briga?” 

“Absolutely not,” Cú said as Fionn said, “That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.” 

Cú glared at Fionn. “I am not giving her the Gáe Bulg to train with! That is a deadly weapon that takes years to train with properly. She’ll prick her finger and get ripped inside out by a thorn bush. Is that what you want, Fionn?” 

“I haven’t pricked myself on a sharp object in years! What is this, Sleeping Beauty?” 

“She has a point,” Fionn argued. “Besides, it would be a good idea for her to start training with it now. You know, so when Balor comes, she’ll know how to use it.” 

“If!” she and Cú said at the same time. 

Fionn frowned. “Fine. If Balor comes, she’ll be ready.” 

Cú shook his head. “No. You can give her the Briga to train with. But I’m not handing her the Gáe Bulg until she’s proven she’s mature enough to handle it. And sneaking off during lessons is not a sign of maturity.” 

Brigid groaned. “Come on! You keep saying I need to train to fight Balor, but how am I going to defeat him with my dirk? He’s a giant! With a giant fire eye!” 

“The eye’s not technically fire. It shoots fire,” Fionn said. 

“Cú,” Brigid turned to focus all her attention on him. “Maybe the reason I rebel is you’ve already made up your mind about me? You know? Child psychology?” 

“There aren’t enough child psychology books in the world to figure out how to deal with you,” Cú said. 

Brigid flinched. 

“Alright,” Fionn said with false cheer in his voice, clapping his hands together. “It’s been a long day. Brigid, why don’t you go inside and shower? Cú, you and I can prepare for the Beltane party tonight. Won’t that be fun? Seeing all the aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews?” 

“It’s morning,” Brigid grumbled. 

“Yes, and the day technically starts at midnight. It’s been a while,” Fionn said. “Come on, off you trot. Cú, be a dear and make sure we have enough food for tonight.” 

“She needs to keep training,” Cú snapped. 

“It’s Beltane. One day off won’t kill us,” Fionn said. 

Brigid let out a frustrated groan and stomped to her room. Once inside, she let the door slam shut and threw herself on the bed. 

She didn’t get long to be alone, though, as a tapping sound came from the window. She glanced up to see Set in his jackal form, the war scepter pattern etched onto the fur on his side, pawing at the window. 

She sat up to open it. “If Cú sees you, he’ll freak out.” 

“Make sure he doesn’t see me.” Set shook his head and scratched his ear like a dog. “Did you get it?” 

“Of course, I did. She was easy to catch. All I had to do was sit and wait.” Brigid fell face-first back onto the bed. 

“And what was her name?” 

She kicked Set as he started to paw her journal out from to pocket on her skirt. “I’m not telling you. Bad dog.” 

“Not a dog.” Set jumped back to avoid her kicks. “Come on. One teeny, tiny, little forest god wouldn’t hurt. Would it?” 

“It would.” 

He sighed and flopped onto her back. “If you got her name, why are you pissy?” 

“I’m not pissy,” she mumbled. 

“You’ve flung yourself down dramatically onto your bed not once, but twice in less than five minutes.” 

“Fine,” she groaned. “Cú and I got into another fight. It’s like, even after all this time, he’s obsessed with this Balor guy. Let it go. It’s not going to happen. And he was adamant about me not using the Gáe Bulg.” 

“I could steal it for you.” 

Brigid narrowed her eyes. “The fact you offered makes me think there are ulterior motives.” 

Set grinned at her. “Well, if you must know, I predict you’ll prick yourself on the tip and thorns will rip you apart from the inside out. And while Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Cú Chulainn are panicking over your sudden death, I will be making away with a certain book of names.” 

“As if,” Brigid said. “I’m a skilled warrior. I won’t prick myself.” She tucked the book under her body. “I need to get out of here. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life training for something that will never come. And why does it have to fall all on me anyway? Why can’t Cú and Fionn be the ones to deal with him? They’re the ones with all the stories. They have thousands of years of training. What can I bring to the table against a giant with a fire eye?” 

“Tricks?” Set suggested. 

“Yeah, right. I’m not sure if Balor is smart enough to be tricked. You have to have at least some level of intelligence to be fooled. You can’t trick a frog.” 

“So, what’s your plan? Sneak out during the Beltane party?” 

“Who says I have a plan?” 

“You always have a plan,” Set said. “And, frankly, I’m down for being a bad influence. Where you go, so does chaos. I like that in a friend.” 

“As if we’re friends. You’re using me because you think you’ll get the book one day.” 

Set grinned at her. “Maybe I will. Now come on. Beltane, right? A lot of people will be here. You can sneak out, and they won’t know for hours.” 

“No, that’s too easy. I need to distract them. Send them on a wild goose chase. I have a plan; I need to be patient and get them to agree to it,” she said. 

Set let out a cackle and hopped back out the window. “I look forward to meeting you there,” he said. 

Brigid lay back down, hoping this time she could relax with some peace and quiet. Sadly, the universe hated her and wanted her to entertain a constant string of visitors.

“Brigid, can I come in?” Fionn asked. 

“Ugh, fine. What?” she said, rolling over as he stepped in the door. 

“I wanted to see if you’re okay,” Fionn said. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Fionn. You don’t need to worry about me.” 

Fionn nodded. He kept taking sidelong glances without moving his head. He stuck the tip of his thumb in his mouth to bite on it. He could access wisdom, but only when the thumb was in his mouth. He must be at a loss for words if he was looking for divine wisdom on how to handle her. 

“I know you’re bored with all this training,” he said carefully.

“No kidding. I’ve been doing the same thing since I was born.” 

“Technically, we started you at four,” Fionn said. 

Brigid glared at him. 

“But, yes, I can see how you feel most of your life has been filled with the same basic activities. Especially now you’re out of school and don’t have that to break up the monotony of training. But we’re not doing this because we’re bad instructors,” Fionn said. “We’re doing this because we don’t want you to just defeat Balor. We want you to survive the encounter as well.” 

“I know,” Brigid mumbled. She did know. “I mean, if you didn’t care about me, you’d strap a bomb to me and send me to blow up Balor.” 

Fionn laughed, relaxing a tad. “Don’t joke about that. That was a legitimate idea we had for the champion back in the 1840s. Oh, that lad was a mess. I’ve never seen such bad hand-eye coordination in my life. A monkey could have done better.” 

Fionn sat on the bed next to her. “We were glad when the next champion came along a few years later. Henrietta. She reminds me a lot of you, you know. She ran off from Ireland to fight for the Union during the American Civil War. We had to chase her, of course. And by the time we caught up, she had settled down with a young man and had a son. She made a career blowing up Confederate train tracks, if I remember correctly.” 

“Is that why you guys didn’t want to teach me about explosives?” 

“Partially.” Fionn winced. “Look, I know Cú has a hard time expressing it, but he does want you to survive and be the best you can be. That’s why we’re hard on you. That’s why we want you to be the best you can be.” 

“I know,” she said. And she did know. She may not like to admit it or want to admit it, but deep down, Fionn and Cú did care whether she lived or died. Why would they spend all this time training her? The prophecy didn’t say she had to live. It said she had to defeat Balor.

It did hurt that she was going to trick them. But it was necessary. She needed to let them go before they let her go. 

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The God Eater: Chapter 1 Preview

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Nova was pissed off.                                                                                                                         

Pissed off at her family.

Pissed off at the world.

Pissed off at herself.

Today was the six-month anniversary of Dad’s death. Six months ago, he died in a hospital bed. The last person in the world who truly loved her and cared about her. The only person who had ever truly loved her and cared about her. Gone, just like that.

But that wasn’t why she was pissed off. She had learned to shove all of her negative feelings deep down inside herself, jut her chin out, and pretend the world didn’t bother her. The demons sitting on the forest edges beckoning her to come closer didn’t bother her. Being alone didn’t bother her.

And it had worked for her. For six months! She had finished up second grade, kept her mom’s house in decent working order, and got a job at the local diner to pay the bills. She was doing fine in pretending she was fine.

Until today.

There she was, serving Jeff his favorite cherry pie with whipped cream. Before he had taken a bite, he turned to her and asked, “Why aren’t you up at the memorial service?”

“Memorial service? Who died?” She mentally flicked through the list of people she would care about dying and came up blank.

“Your… dad?” Jeff replied, a forkful of cherry pie hovering awkwardly.

That confused her more. “Dad died six months ago.” She had it marked on the calendar on the wall. After she was done with work, she was going to go home with pizza and talk to her dad’s photo. She did that every night. But tonight was a special night.

“They’re having a memorial service at the temple. You didn’t know?”

No. She didn’t know.

She didn’t know because no one in this family bothered to tell her because no one in this family actually liked her. In fact, they hated her. They wished she had died instead of Dad.

Literally.

She’d overheard Aunt Olivia talking to Uncle Tim about how she wished Nova had kicked the bucket instead. That was the night she decided to leave Aunt Olivia and Uncle Tim’s house and try to make it on her own. Neither ever came looking for her. She doubted they noticed.

Normally, she’d deal with being left out of family events with her chin held high and content in the knowledge this was what she preferred. Any event she didn’t have to sit through with James, Vivian, and Wesley calling her a freak and pushing her over was fine.

But this wasn’t just any event. This was a memorial service for her dad! The man who raised her. The man who promised he’d always be there for her. The man who… the man who…

The man who broke his promise when he died six months ago.

She stumbled over a tree root and fell on the ground. Thankfully, she didn’t scrape her knees or palms. Like that, the anger was gone. Instead, a hollowness settled in her chest and felt so, so heavy. Heavier than the heaviest stone she had ever tried to lift.

Dad was gone.

He was gone. He was never coming back no matter how much she wanted him to. Even now, after six months, there was a part of her that waited to hear the door open and for him to call out in a cheery voice, “I brought pizza! Pineapple, your favorite!”

And she’d rush up to hug him, talking a mile a minute about new bugs she had seen or what they had learned in school today.

She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes.

“Little girl, are you lost? Why are you crying?” A sickly-sweet cackle echoed behind her.

She ignored the voice, stood up, and continued her march forward. She had to make it to the temple. She was not letting her family celebrate her dad without her. She deserved to be there.

Or did she?

Dad was the only one who’d ever stuck around and loved her. Look at where that got him. Dead. If he had taken a page out of Mom’s book and they had abandoned her together, he’d be alive now.

She wouldn’t have minded. She didn’t mind with Mom. If not being in her life made people happier and healthier, then so be it. That was her curse, after all. Not seeing demons or whatever. No, her curse was killing the people who loved her and driving everyone away.

Aunt Olivia and Uncle Tim had the right idea in distancing themselves from her. They had to so they could protect themselves.

It hurt. But if there was no other way to protect themselves, so be it.

With each step up to the temple, more and more of the fight left her, until there was nothing left. Just her, trudging to the top.

The ancient stone staircase was built in the late 1800s, half-buried under brown pine needles and giant pinecones. Along the side of the trail was overgrown grass peppered with ferns and small white wildflowers. The smell of pine and decaying wood filled the air. The trees towered over her. They practically brushed the sky with their pointed tops and broke up the summer sun’s harsh light that beat down.

The hike never got easier, no matter how many times she went there. The stairs seemed to stretch up to Heaven itself. They burned her legs and her lungs. She had to stop and take breaks. She had to sit on the side and pretend she didn’t hear the demons just out of sight, trying to trick her into revealing herself.

She didn’t know why they didn’t eat her. Most knew at this point that she could see them. She supposed it was in a demon’s nature to be cruel and sadistic. Maybe Vivian was actually a demon. She’d have to chuck a sigil at her the next time she saw her to make sure. It was a science experiment! A hypothesis she had to test. Though, she could imagine Aunt Loreen would be furious if Nova exorcised her daughter.

A few more steps and she was forced to sit down on a boulder off the trail. The walk up had gotten harder. The first reason was the walk held strong memories for her. Every Saturday, before sunrise, she and Dad would head up to the top together and eat breakfast on a blanket spread outside the gates. Dad had liked sunrise the best. He said it reminded him of Mom. He didn’t talk about her much. Was it because he believed she abandoned them? He said he didn’t, but Nova didn’t know what to think. It was still a nice memory to have.

The second reason it was so hard to get up these steps was Nova hadn’t been in a while. She tried to keep up the tradition. On Saturdays she would grab the blanket, sandwiches, and water, hike to the top, and watch the sunrise. But over the weeks, she found it harder and harder to wake up and hike. With no Dad singing his silly songs until she rolled out of bed, she couldn’t bring herself to. He did it to remember Mom. Nova never knew her, so it felt like a worthless gesture. The last time she had gone was almost two months ago.

She tried not to feel guilty. She tried to remind herself temple hikes were Dad’s thing and not hers. It didn’t work well.

Nova allowed herself a few more minutes of rest, glowering at her sweaty body and messy hair. Being “unpresentable” would give Aunt Olivia more reasons to kick her out of the memorial service.

“They shouldn’t have put a temple at the top of a mountain without an easy way to get up,” she mumbled. “Seriously, what if someone used a wheelchair?”

“Couldn’t get up,” a voice whispered right next to her ear before retreating with a giggle.

She ignored the demon and straightened out her shirt before continuing her march up the stairs once more. This time, she didn’t stop. She was driven to go and remember her dad with the few family members that might tolerate her presence. She deserved to be there. She had a right! She trekked all this way, and she was not leaving without at least eating a cupcake!

She dug deep within herself, remembered her anger at being forgotten (or purposely not told), and kept pushing. Past the pain. Past the breathlessness. Past everything. She deserved to be there. She had a right to be there.

And as soon as she got there… all the fight let her. Standing outside the looming wooden gates, she could hear her family talking and laughing. They sounded so happy. Happy and at peace. Nova’s appearance would only wreck the party. And was that what her dad would want?

What would she get out of showing up when she wasn’t invited and certainly wasn’t wanted?

“He’s my dad,” she said. “I deserve to be in there with them.”

She took a few steps forward and put her hand on the gate, ready to push it open. Aunt Hannah’s loud and obnoxious laugh ripped through the air. Aunt Hannah liked to make fun of her and compare her to her son, James. James was a jerk who picked his nose and liked to burn ants with magnifying glasses. He liked to shove Nova into mud puddles and put worms in her hair. Aunt Hannah would simply laugh and say “Boys will be boys” while secretly loving all the torment Nova was going through. She was cursed, after all. She deserved all of this and more.

“This is for the living anyway.” She took a step back. “What am I proving by going in there?”

She took a few steps forward. Memorial services were for the living, not for the dead. Nova was alive. She deserved to be in there listening to stories about Dad as a child. He couldn’t be with her now, but she could hold on to his memory.

“I’m going in.” She stepped forward, hands on the heavy wooden doors. The temple was a public place. And while her relatives were horrible to her all the time, they tended to be less horrible to her when they were out in public and other people could see them.

As long as she followed her rules and didn’t make a fuss, they’d have to let her stay. Otherwise, the entire town would be full of gossip the next day about how they kicked poor orphan Nova out of her own father’s memorial service. And Aunt Olivia hated when she was gossiped about.

Remember the rules, and everything would be okay.

Rule 1: Don’t make eye contact with anything that isn’t human. Don’t acknowledge their existence.

Rule 2: Don’t speak to anyone you don’t recognize unless you see another person speak to them first.

Rule 3: If something does start to harass you, head straight home and don’t make a big deal about it.

“Little girl, don’t go in there,” a voice said. “You know they hate you.”

The crushing weight settled in her chest once more as her throat became thick with tears. A demon was nearby and trying to break her will. She gripped the sigil and ignored it.

“We’d take much better care of you out here,” another voice said.

She pushed open the heavy doors. As soon as she did, the entire world fell silent. Not the demons behind her, trying to convince her to leave the safety of the blessed path so they could eat her, but approximately fifty pairs of eyes had shifted over to her. When they saw who was at the door, everyone had fallen silent.

This was a bad idea.

No, no, she was here. She wasn’t going to run away now.

Nova licked her lips, squared her shoulders, and walked into the temple, headed to the shrine of her father where his picture was set up and incense burned. Everyone’s eyes followed her.

She’d once overheard Aunt Hannah telling Dad to get a paternity test. There was no way she was his. She was much darker than the rest of the family—much, much darker, her skin black like the night sky. Her uncanny, navy-blue eyes weren’t present in any ancestors. Aunt Hannah suspected she wasn’t Dad’s daughter. That Mom had cheated on him. Dad politely but firmly told Aunt Hannah to shove off and pointed out how Nova (unfortunately) had Uncle Isaac’s nose.

This didn’t help the rumors and whispers, though. Whispers followed her now as she made her way to the memorial shrine.

She didn’t make it to her destination. A taloned hand wrapped around her bicep and yanked her back. For a brief moment, she feared it was the bird demon who had been following her the past few weeks. Ral’guk or something. When she realized it was Aunt Olivia, she let out a shaky laugh. Aunt Olivia wouldn’t eat her. Though, she wasn’t looking happy to see her either.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, pulling Nova away from the rest of the family as uneasy conversation started back up.

“I’m here for the memorial of my dad,” she answered, trying to peel Aunt Olivia’s fingers off her arm. How much trouble would she get into if she kicked her in the shin? Probably a lot.

“And make a fool out of us like last time?” Uncle Tim spat.

Nova glared at him. “I’m not going to make a fool of you. I’m going to pay my respects.”

“Your very presence will bring misfortune on us all!”

Don’t kick Aunt Olivia. Don’t kick Aunt Olivia. Don’t kick Aunt Olivia.

“If I can curse you guys in a temple, the priest isn’t good at his job.”

This had the effect of making Aunt Olivia’s face, which was already red with anger, turn redder as she bared her teeth and practically snarled at her. She looked like her head was going to explode. It was kind of funny. Oh, but if her head exploded, Nova would be covered in her brains, and she didn’t want that.

A cane came down and smacked Aunt Olivia’s hand. She hissed and dropped Nova’s arm in favor of tending to her own.

“Knock it off, you two,” Great-Grandma Fleischer said, brandishing the cane at them.

“Grandma—” Aunt Olivia started.

“Don’t you ‘Grandma’ me, young lady. You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves, handling such a young girl like that. Now go get some food before Albert’s son eats everything.”

They hesitated, eyeing the cane before deciding not to risk her wrath and scrambling off.

Nova was glad Great-Grandma Fleischer was here. She was the only one who didn’t think she was cursed. Why couldn’t Nova have gotten placed with her? She liked her! Great-Grandma believed she wasn’t cursed! She didn’t push her in the mud or refuse to make eye contact with her. Nova could have lived a great life with her.

“Now,” Great-Grandma turned to face her. The glasses perched on the end of her nose made her eyes look like a bug’s. “Who are you?”

Oh. Right. Great-Grandma Fleischer was approximately two hundred years old and didn’t have the best memory. Which was why she couldn’t go live with her. The judge assumed she would “kick the bucket at any time,” and they’d go back to square one.

“I’m Nova.” They had had this conversation many times before. She tried not to let it exasperate her. “Scott and Nora’s daughter?”

She blinked at Nova several times before brightening. “Oh, Scott! How is he? I haven’t seen him here yet. I wonder if it’s Nora. She’s about ready to pop. And this heat isn’t good for pregnant women. Nor are the stairs. It’s a shame they put this temple so high up.” She put her wrinkled, thin hand on Nova’s arm and guided her to the buffet table.

Nova didn’t bother correcting her. For one thing, it would only make Great-Grandma more confused. For another, she liked listening to people talk about her dad in the present tense. It made it seem like he was still here and he’d be coming back at any moment.

“Here.” Great-Grandma Fleischer grabbed a plate and started piling it with food. “Have some kugel. You look like you’re wasting away!”

Nova was about to respond but stopped when the whispers of her family rippled through the courtyard. She turned her eyes down to avoid their hateful stares. It didn’t work.

“Ignore them, deary,” she said, handing Nova a plate of food that was at least two pounds. “They’re sheep. Very panicky animals when they’re afraid.” She winked at her.

Nova smirked. The rest of her family probably wanted to make a stink about her being here but wouldn’t argue with Great-Grandma.

“Nora looks identical to her grandmother. It’s uncanny. I wonder if her genes are strong enough to pass on to the baby.”

No, they weren’t. Nova had seen pictures of her mom in the house. She was white, with long, pretty blond hair like gold, and vibrant green eyes. She was much slenderer than Nova too. Sometimes, Nova didn’t think she was related to either of her parents. Aunt Hannah was right.

“I met her once when I was a little girl.”

“Mom? I mean Nora?”

“No, dear, Nora’s grandmother. Never did get her name. I was the only one brave enough to meet the ‘witch of the woods.’”

Nova beamed and let Great-Grandma lead her through the courtyard to a wooden bench. “Was she a scary witch?”

“Hah! She wasn’t a witch at all. Simply an unmarried woman living alone. A rarity at that time. She’s the reason I decided to pursue my education instead of getting married as soon as I turned eighteen. Caused a right stink with my family, and my father disowned me. But look at me now!” She gestured to the family, casting awkward glances their way. “I’m the matriarch of these people. They all bow to me. I can’t wait to meet Nora and Scott’s daughter. It’ll be nice to have another baby in the family. I need to get started on her sweater. You look a lot like Nora. You have her eyes. Are you cousins?”

Nova giggled. “No, I’m her daughter. Nova.”

“You’re Nova?” Great-Grandma turned to look at her, eyes narrowing.

Nova feared she would gain sudden lucidity and realize Nova was the cursed child everyone whispered about.

She put her hand on her forehead and groaned. “How long was I in the hospital? I told them, it’s only a broken hip. But doctors, they’re so insistent. They think they know everything about the human body.” She patted Nova’s hand with one of her own.

Slowly, the tension bled from Nova’s muscles. She felt unsteady on her feet, but in a good way. A way that told her she was safe. For now.

“They should know everything about the human body. They did go to medical school,” she said.

“Hush up and eat your kugel.” Translation: you’re right, but I don’t want to admit you’re right. I’ll change the subject instead. “Do you know what the fire danger level is today?”

Nova frowned and thought back to the wheel she had passed on the way up here. “Red. It’s high. We’re in fire season. Why?”

“I want to smoke on the porch, but I’m not going to be the one who starts the fire that burns down in Penstemon. The one in Nevada City is burning the place down. If I add to it”—she shook her head—“the ladies at bingo will never let me live it down. And tap-dancing classes would be canceled for who knows how long. Not to mention I’m not sure how I’d evacuate. I can’t drive anymore.”

“I’d help you evacuate, Great-Grandma,” Nova said. “You’re not supposed to be smoking. It’s bad for your health.”

She waved a hand at her. “I’m ninety-seven years old. Cigarettes are one thing on a very long list that can kill me. At this point, the stairs back down to the parking lot pose more of a threat to me than those.”

“It’s not good for you or the environment.” Nova dug into the plate and savored the food. Katie’s food was good and all, but Nova got sick of diner food after a while. And she had yet to master the stove.

“I got to go see where Chelsea ran off to. I need to tell her that boy she’s dating is nothing but trouble.” She patted Nova’s arm and ignored her protests.

Without Great-Grandma here, Nova would be left to fend for herself. Talking to Chelsea was stupid. The “boy” in question was Chelsea’s husband of eight years, Gregory. He was a mean man, but Chelsea had married him anyway because he made good money (at least that was what the adults all said when they presumed Nova wasn’t listening). Great-Grandma had never liked him. And thanks to her dementia, she got a “get out of jail free” card when it came to insulting him and telling Chelsea she was making a mistake. Nova wished she got a “get out of jail free” card. It’d certainly make life more fun if she could tell Aunt Olivia how much she hated her. And she could put worms in Vivian’s hair without worrying about anyone yelling at her.

“Hey, look, Mom was right. The freak did show up!” Someone shoved her to the ground before she had a chance to steady herself. The plate Great-Grandma had made went with her, covering her clothes with food and scattering it all over the ground.

“Hey!” She turned, fist closed, ready to hit her attacker. She faltered when it wasn’t one person but three.

James, Vivian, and Wesley were all standing over her. She could see Aunt Loreen hovering behind them. Oh, sure, she wouldn’t bat an eye when her stupid daughter pushed her to the ground. But if Nova tried to fight back, she’d sit there and sob and cry about how she had “hurt her precious baby.”

“Careful, James,” Vivian said, pulling Nova’s attention away from Aunt Loreen and back to the more immediate problem. “Mom told me if you touch her, you’ll get cursed as well.”

“That’s stupid,” Wesley said. “Everyone knows you can’t pass on a curse through touch alone.”

“That’s right,” Nova spat, “but you can pass it along through words. So watch it or I’ll give you my curse!”

Why couldn’t they act nice for one day? This was the day Dad had died, and they couldn’t leave her alone for an hour. Dad was adamant she wasn’t cursed; her ability to see demons was a blessing. Lots of non-cursed people could see and study demons, but it didn’t feel that way to her. Especially after he had died. It was easy to pretend she wasn’t cursed when it seemed he would live forever. But if she wasn’t cursed, why did he have to get cancer?

Vivian burst into tears. “Mom! Nova’s threatening to curse us!”

That was all Aunt Loreen needed to hear as she jumped up and rushed to Vivian.

“Nova!” she gasped, pulling Vivian to her. “How dare you do such an unholy thing in such a holy place. You should be ashamed!”

Nova glared at her. “I didn’t say I would. I said you can curse someone by talking about it.”

That wasn’t what Aunt Loreen wanted to hear as she glared at Nova.

“You know what? Screw you!” Nova said, kicking James’s shin and running away, ignoring Aunt Loreen calling after her. She didn’t care if she got kicked out now. No one was trying to be nice to her. Instead, they were intent on making this day as miserable as possible for her. She should have never come. She wished Jeff had never told her about this. She wished Dad was alive and she had died instead.

She ran back to the buffet table, fully intending to stuff her pockets as full as she could before she got kicked out. The only problem? Someone was there and seemed intent on doing the exact same thing. Well, not necessarily their pockets, but rather eating everything on the table.

She didn’t recognize them. They seemed to glow in the light of the summer sun, with wispy white hair and pale glittering skin. They must be a distant relative, as Nova was pretty sure her immediate family was all black.

They tipped back a plate of pigs in a blanket into their mouth, emptying the tray in one go.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Why don’t you put them on a plate?” she asked.

The person started choking on the food and whipped toward her, wide-eyed. “Um...”

She used their temporary distraction to grab some cookies before they could polish off that plate as well.

“Or do you think Martin is going to eat them all?”

Behind her, she could hear Aunt Loreen screeching at Aunt Olivia. Probably over what Nova had done. She was running out of time. She needed to grab as many mini sandwiches as possible before they decided to kick her out.

“Martin?”

“Uncle Albert’s son. Or I guess he might not be your Uncle Albert. But he is mine.” They didn’t know who Martin was. She turned to them. “Who are you? I don’t recognize you.”

More people had joined in Aunt Loreen’s screech-fest. Luckily, Vivian was crying like a baby and distracting people. Nova was running out of time. Time to focus on the cheese and crackers.

“Um…Well, you see… um…” the person stuttered, rubbing the back of their head and smiling at her nervously. “Nox. My name is Nox, kid. And you are?”

She quirked a brow at them. “Nova?”

“You’re saying that like it’s a question.”

“I thought everyone in the family knew me, being cursed and all.”

They snickered and started popping shrimp into their mouth. Should she try to take that too? No, she didn’t like pocket shrimp.

“Cursed? You? Naw, you ain’t cursed.”

This got her to whip toward them. “How would you know?” This was the first time someone in the family (other than Dad) had said she wasn’t cursed. They really must be a distant relative!

“Um… oh, is that the time?” They held up their wrist, though it had no watch. “I really should get going. It’s getting late.”

Things started falling into place. The mild annoyance she had felt was now morphing into full-blown anger.

“You’re a party crasher!” she cried. “How could you? This is my dad’s memorial service, and you’re here like it’s some free picnic, you jerk!”

It was one thing to crash a wedding, but Dad’s memorial service? That was unforgivable.

“Mom, Mom! Nova’s talking to ghosts again!” James shouted.

The argument that had been steadily growing behind her cut out.

Her heart dropped into her stomach, and she looked at Nox. This time really studying them. More pieces fell into place. Pieces she didn’t like. She started to back up slowly.

“Technically, I’m not a ghost.” They gave her two thumbs-up.

Someone grabbed her arm.

“I told you we should have never let her in!” Aunt Loreen shrieked.

She was dragged through the definitely-a-ghost ghost, who let out a yelp and hopped out of the way.

“I didn’t want the town to gossip about us!” Aunt Olivia snarled, her nails digging into Nova’s arm. If it weren’t for her shirt, she was certain they’d cut into the skin and make her bleed.

“Bringing the curse into Agape’s temple should never be allowed,” Uncle Albert tutted.

Nova frantically looked for Great-Grandma Fleischer, hoping she could help, but she was nowhere to be found.

“I didn’t bring a curse into the temple! I’m not cursed!”

That was what Nox had said. But should she trust a ghost?

“I’ll go get the priest to purify the temple,” Wesley said. The turn of events pleased him.

The party devolved from there, with people practically trampling over each other to get to the incense and cleanse themselves with it and the purifying water.

“Did anyone see what she touched? We’ll have to cleanse that too!”

“I didn’t… I’m not cursed,” she cried, trying and failing to pry herself out of Aunt Olivia’s hands. “Please let me stay! I want to see my dad! Please don’t kick me out.”

Aunt Olivia didn’t listen. She threw her onto the path. “You should have thought of that before you brought your curse here.”

The doors slammed shut. For a brief moment, Nova scrambled for them, intent on yanking them open and going back in. Until she heard it.

It was faint at first, but slowly it grew. Louder and louder and louder until all she could hear was the laughter of demons in the trees. Normally, they would never be able to come this close to the temple. But with her family all in distress and anxious, it was creating a miasma of misery the demons of Penstemon loved to feed on. And right now, who was the most miserable out of everyone here? Who was the one who probably tasted the best?

“We told you not to go!” one cackled.

Nova scrambled to her feet, pulled out her protection charm, and sprinted down the path.

“Don’t run away, little girl. We’ll be your family.” A rush up above her caused a tree branch to fall mere feet from where she was standing. She didn’t stop running. If she stopped running, she’d be dead.

“I know you can hear us. That’s why you’re running fast, right?” This one sounded like it was right behind her.

She skidded off the path and back onto the sidewalk, lungs burning as she pushed herself to run faster and faster and faster.

Something grabbed the back of her shirt. For a brief second, her heart left her body, and she was certain she had failed to escape. They had caught her, and now they were going to eat her. She let out a cry as she was yanked backward onto the gravel.

“You’re probably very powerful. It’ll be a pleasure to eat you,” another hissed. She could see it in the corner of her eye. An enormous snake demon that had to be as big as a bus.

She scrambled back to her feet and continued running. The demons howled with laughter.

“It’s no use running, little girl! We’ll always be able to outrun you.”

The road behind her cracked and bucked as something gigantic with giant claws gouged out a big chunk of it and threw it at her. They were close to her, closer than they should have been, but her protection charm had enough juice left to keep her safe. However, she didn’t know how long it would last. The sooner she got home, the better.

She felt one reach out to grab her. Only, this time, instead of tripping her, a great snarl echoed throughout the woods. The laughter cut out, the hands that had grabbed at her disappeared, and the demons vanished, all running with the same amount of fear she had.

Somewhere near here was the most powerful demon in this area. She had never seen it before. It didn’t seem to want to eat her or care much about her. But who knows? Today it may have changed its mind. She couldn’t take the risk.

She didn’t look behind her. She didn’t stop to catch her breath.

She ran and ran and ran until she got to her house, practically tearing down the door in her rush to get inside.

Nova slammed it shut and sank to the ground in front of it, panting and feeling like she was going to be sick. For several minutes, she didn’t move. The demons might come back at any moment and attempt to tear the door off its hinges. They had tried to do that before, not long after Dad died.

The demons never came. The monster of the woods must have scared them off for the night. It didn’t matter, though. Everything was awful, and it was all her fault. Her fault Dad died. Her fault Mom left. Her fault no one in her family liked her. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

She drew her knees up to her chest and started to cry. Eventually, she fell asleep, huddled on the doormat at the front door, hoping it would open and Dad would step through it. He never did.

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Chapter 25

The ride back to the (now third) boat was possibly the calmest Ismael had felt in days. He felt like he shouldn’t feel so serene. The water was cold and soaked his clothes. The wind was even more biting out on the ocean. They passed by numerous ships that were burning softly in the water. He had just experienced the death of a man and the destruction of an island.

 He should be freaking out more. Right?

He wasn’t. And he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could focus on now was ending this nightmare once and for all. Rasha was beside him, her hand in his as they watched the grey water lap gently against the sea monster. He could feel Simon’s eyes on the back of him. He didn’t mind so much. He felt like he was watching him out of curiosity and a slight sense of worry that he wasn’t okay.

 He probably shouldn’t have been. He did just invent an entirely new form of take magic that didn’t seem to be linked to the darkness that was blood magic. And, the process of ripping out thousands of souls probably should have knocked him on his back. He did feel funny, like his body wasn’t entirely there; like parts of it were numb. But, other than that, he was fine.

 “That water in Uqaibha is a lot bluer,” he said quietly.

 Rasha jumped and looked at him, no doubt lost in her thoughts. She had been amazing in the fight against the Emperor. The fact that she figured out the secret code in the Mthabelo law books, learned a new form of magic, froze the Emperor in ice so Ismael could turn him mortal again, all while trying to stay alive in an unforgiving prison? Grandma would have been so proud, if not a little exasperated.

 “Bluer?”

 He nodded. “This water’s all grey and choppy The water in Uqaibha is a lot prettier. And, when the sun hit it, it sparkles like the sand.”

 “I look forward to seeing it,” she said, her voice hollow.

 Right. They were going home after this. That was the whole point. Find Rasha and the others. Get them away from the Emperor. Go home. Continue living their life as desert nomads. He wondered if Mangy and the other camels were still hanging around or if they had truly taken freedom and ran with it. He should feel happy. This was what he wanted after all. Besides, this one adventure was enough to last a lifetime.

 Though, he supposed it was never truly going to be home. After all, even though he had succeeded in saving Rasha and overthrowing the Emperor (the last one wasn’t in his original plan, it was just a bonus), it would never be enough to bring her back. Somehow, that was what broke him and he started crying.

 Rasha seemed to have the same thoughts and also broke down.

 To the side, he could hear several people start freaking out over their sudden tears.

 “Ah, it is okay,” Sergei said, coming up to them and hugging them tightly. “Happy tears and sad tears often mix together.”

 He felt another hand on his back and turned to see Simon also by them, rubbing their backs soothingly.

 “He’s right, you know. You two have been through a lot.”

 “Yeah,” Ismael sniffed, “but so have you.”

 “I suppose we have. Don’t worry, I’ll sob all over Lydia and Roy later tonight.”

 “After the week we just had, I think we’re all in for a good cry,” Lydia added.

 “I still can’t believe I managed to get through that entire thing without relapsing once,” Ho’okele said, also sounding like he was in a state of shock.

 Simon reached back to him and ruffled his hair. “And I’m proud of you, buddy!”

 He noticed that Bloodshot did not say anything and was still looking at him suspiciously.

 It didn’t take long for both of them to stop crying, though Sergei didn’t let them go until the sea monster brushed gently against the side of a brand-new ship.

 “Simon! Is that you?” he heard Saoirse call. “I baked a cake!”

 “Really? That’s great! Everyone’s alive and kicking! Except for the Emperor. Lydia cut his head off.”

 He saw Paola hanging over the side. She was wearing a Guard’s uniform, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a torn shirt. “See, and you were panicking about things not going to plan.”

 “I had very good reason to panic. Everything was falling apart.” He sighed dramatically as he helped Rasha up on the deck of the ship. “My perfect plan, all undone because Ho’okele decided to go off the rails and start a prison riot.”

 “Okay, first of all, I didn’t decide to go off the rails. Rasha and Ismael weren’t in prison! Second of all, I didn’t start the prison riot, Bloodshot did!”

 Simon tsked. “Excuses, excuses, that’s all I hear.”

 “Rasha, Ismael! Thank goodness you two are okay,” Miria said, rushing towards them and scooping them up in a big hug. For the second time that day, Ismael felt himself sobbing as he finally laid eyes on his family for the first time in nearly three months.

 Everyone piled around him, scooping him and Rasha up and squeezing them tightly. Once more, he felt himself letting go, and crying.

 *****

 Simon smiled at the sight before him. He was glad Ismael had finally gotten back together with his family. And, they defeated the Emperor with zero deaths! Or, at least no one on his crew died. He didn’t know what the casualties were for some of the other people.

 He should be feeling happy, elated even. He had finally fulfilled his destiny and rid the world of a tyrant. There would be others, of course. There would always be others. But, for now, he should bask in the glory of this one victory.

 Except, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel happiness. Instead, there was a strange emptiness inside him. It probably had something to do with the fact that Ismael would be leaving him in a few short months. He couldn’t lie. He had grown to care for the kid greatly, just like he had grown to care for every member of his crew. But he couldn’t be selfish. Ismael belonged out in the safety and serenity of the desert, where he had camels and fellow nomads to talk to and no large cities to overwhelm him.

 Besides, Ismael leaving wasn’t the only problem Simon was facing. Ever since he was about eleven-years-old, he had been told that he had a destiny. He needed to train to eventually kill and overthrow the Emperor. It was the driving force for so many years. Even after he failed, there was a niggling in the back of his mind that kept him moving forward. The knowledge that he still had a job to do was something that drove him even when he didn’t realize it.

 Now, that job was done. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t run away anymore because there was nothing else to run away from. He had done his job. He had fulfilled his destiny.

 A large hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up to see Roy looking down at him.

 “Come on,” he signed. “You need to take the arm off.”

 He sighed. “Alright, alright. Man, I just got it put on and you now are trying to take it off me again?”

 “It’ll be better for you if you keep it off.”

 “And Temilade was very clear with her orders,” Lydia said, following them into the captain’s cabin and shutting out the sounds of celebration on deck.

 “She does look like she would kill me if I didn’t follow her orders,” he mused, sitting down while Roy and Lydia got to work removing it. When they did, he realized how much pain he had been in.

 “I hope eventually it doesn’t hurt so much,” he muttered, pressing a hand to the still-fresh stump.

 “Eventually, it won’t,” Roy signed, ruffling Simon’s hair.

 “Yeah. Hey, great work with the dam. That was a pretty brilliant stroke of destructive engineering.”

 He waved a hand at him dismissively. “Poorly constructed. That entire island was poorly constructed. It would have failed eventually.”

 “Makes me wonder if the Emperor was perhaps finally ready to die.”

 Lydia made a face. “Best not speculate about it now. The man’s dead and we need to get a bunch of people back down to the Southern continent. Should take about two months.”

 “Aye.”

 They lapsed into silence, the boat gently rocking from side to side. It didn’t last long as there was a knock at the door.

 “Yeah? Come in?” He called.

 He was surprised to see Chazaso, in full battle regalia, step into his cabin.

 “Oh, what are you doing here? I thought you’d have to do something related to running a country.”

 “Are you still mad at me for lying to you?” She grinned.

 “Nah. After all, I lied to you as well.”

 Lydia grabbed some bandages and disinfectants and got to work on a few of Simon’s nastier scrapes and gashes. “Does it count if she knew you were the Chosen One?”

 Chazaso’s grin widened. “Perhaps. And I do have many things to do relating to running the country. Now that it was revealed that the coup was staged and I am still alive, I will have to go back to Mthabelo and actually do my job.” She sat in the chair across from Simon. “But, that is what I am here to discuss. You know Mthabelo only has presidential terms that last six years. I am coming up on my final year and am not interested in running for reelection. I achieved what I wanted to do.”

 He thought he knew where she was going with this. “Ah, well, you are always welcome on the ship.”

 “That is what I wanted to discuss with you.”

 Okay, maybe he didn’t know what she wanted. “Or not. You are not always welcome on this ship. You can leave at any time. I’m not keeping you prisoner.”

 She laughed. “Please, Simon, let me talk.”

 Right. Should probably have let her do that from the beginning. But it wasn’t his fault he felt so untethered and unsure of what his next moves were. He didn’t want to be a criminal for the rest of his life but what else was there to do? He couldn’t see himself settling down and becoming a farmer or a teacher or something. What else should he do?

 “It is common in Mthabelo for the previous presidents to become diplomats. Especially now that the Emperor is dead and new bonds and governments must be forged, the job will be long and complicated. I wonder if you and your crew wouldn’t care to help me out with that little job.”

 He and Lydia shared a look.

 “Um… excuse me?” That was all he could think to say.

 “I feel a crew this diverse and with so many experiences would be very beneficial to helping forge diplomatic relations with other countries. You would have to become Citizens of Mthabelo, of course. But after I am finished with my presidency we continue as we always have. Just, instead of crime, we try and convince people to be our allies. How does that sound?”

 “That sounds legitimate.”

 “If we go legitimate,” Lydia started, “does that mean we have to pay taxes?”

 “I think so?”

 “I’ve never paid taxes in my life.” Roy signed.

 Chazaso smiled and stood up. “Think it over. You have two months before you are dropping Ismael’s people off at Uqaibha. I expect an answer by then.”

 Even as she walked out the door with that timeline, Simon knew there was only ever going to be one answer. It sent a thrill through him that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

 Diplomats.

 It sounded like another adventure worth having.

 *****

 To say that Rasha wasn’t feeling happy would be a lie. She was happy. She was finally eating good food that she didn’t have to feel guilty for eating (Thanks Roy!). Her people were all safe. Ismael was safe. The Emperor was dead. She should feel happy.

 But there was a deep emptiness inside her that she didn’t care for. Could she really be expected to return to her life as a nomad after all she had been through?

 She felt like she had learned too much and come too far to return to that life. On the other hand, what choice did she have? Grandma was gone and Rasha didn’t have her connections. Yes, there were names listed on the map that Ismael took from the trunk, but who knew if any of those people were still alive!

 Besides, she couldn’t leave Ismael. Yes, they had their tribe, but that wasn’t enough. They were all they had left now. Before she was content to leave Ismael with Grandma knowing they could support each other. But, if she left him now, he would be alone. And she would be alone as well. She couldn’t do it. Maybe one day when they were older, she could leave. For now, though, she’d be content to simply be with Ismael.

 “Ah, so you’re the little spy that cracked my code,” a voice said.

 She turned to see the president of Mthabelo standing in the doorway of the ship, smiling at her. Ismael said her name was Chazaso. Rasha didn’t know if she felt comfortable calling her by her first name.

 “Are you a handshake people or something else? Because every time I try to shake someone’s hand, it’s like they don’t know what to do with it.”

 She laughed. “In my culture, we put our right hand over our heart and bow. The depth of the bow signifies the level of respect you have for that person.”

 “Oh, okay.” Rasha did what she described, bowing deeply to show her respect. This was the woman who helped keep her brother safe and defeat the emperor. She felt like that deserved a lot of respect.

 When she straightened back up, she was surprised to see that she had bowed just as deeply.

 “Oh, no. I don’t—”

 President Chazaso stood once more. “Do not downplay my respect for you. You were the one who cracked my code and helped come up with the plan to render the Emperor mortal once more. That, in my book, is deserving of a lot of respect.”

 Quincy’s necklace was heavy against her sternum. She took it off and held it out to her. “There was a rebel who got caught. He told grandma about the Emperor looking for healers. He told me about Bloodshot. His name was Quincy and he was tortured and executed by the Emperor. Did you know him?”

 She took the necklace and looked down at it. She looked at it the same way grandma would often look up at the stars when she talked about how they had failed the Chosen one. She handed it back to her.

 “Sadly, I do not know the names of everyone in the network.”

 “You must think he was a pretty bad spy if he got caught.” She didn’t know why she was pushing this so much. Maybe she wanted to be angry at someone for Quincy’s death. Maybe she wanted to show to the world that he was a good person and did not deserve to be executed.

 “Quite the contrary. No matter how good you are, the risk is always there. Besides, if not for him you may not have found the pieces that ensured our victory. Sometimes, we cannot be the ones to deliver the killing blow. Sometimes, all we can do is set up the pieces and hope they fall into place. If this Quincy saw in you what I did and took advantage of that, then he was a very good rebel indeed.”

 Her words took her aback. She said nothing else and simply turned and continued walking down the hall, leaving Rasha alone once more with her thoughts. She didn’t like her thoughts. Her thoughts were fighting against each other, arguing about what she should do.

 She pressed her hands to her ears, as if that would help silence them, and continued pacing the ship, hoping that eventually, she would come to terms with the fact that she would be stuck in the desert for a very long time.

 *****

 Despite being on a small ship that was practically filled to the brim, it took Simon longer to run into Noah than he would have imagined. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding him. He debated about finding him and forcing him to talk, but he knew from experience that doing so would likely end in failure. Noah would come to him when he was ready.

 It took a week.

 He was out on the deck, enjoying the stars after most everyone had settled down for bed.

 “What are you still doing up?” he asked as he came out onto the deck.

 Simon turned to lean against the railing. “Enjoying the weather. What are you still doing up?”

 He looked conflicted for a brief moment before sighing and coming to stand by him. “Looking for you. I wanted to apologize, for how I acted both at my home and when we were children.”

 “You don’t have to. I feel like I also made a lot of mistakes. To put everything on you would be… cruel.”

 “Yeah, well, you weren’t the one who joined the enemy.”

 “You did so with every intention of destroying it from the inside out.”

 “And it did not work in the slightest.”

 Simon let out a laugh. “We could go in circles all night. We both made mistakes. We both did not handle the situation well. Maybe if we had had some actual guidance at the time, we would have done a better job. For now, what’s done is done. We have to keep moving forward.”

 Noah let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, speaking of moving forward, I don’t know what I’m going to do now. Turns out, making a career out of working for a dictatorship’s military isn’t great in creating a resume that can easily be transferred to another position.”

 “You could keep going with your druid training.” It was the first time he had seen his tattoos on full display. Well, not on full display. He was wearing a shirt, but more than the guard uniform showed.

 Noah scoffed. “Bloodshot already suggested it.”

 Simon furrowed his brows. “Is her given name actually Bloodshot? I thought that was just her prison name.

 He laughed. “I don’t know, but I’m not going to argue with her and her scary boyfriend who has a skull tattooed on his face.”

 “Seriously, though, no to the druid training?”

 He shook his head. “Let’s face it. I gave that up the moment I decided to follow you. It never did fit me.”

 They sat in silence for several minutes. The only sounds were of the waves lapping against the side of the ship and the wind rustling the sails.

 He probably should have asked Lydia before he suggested it. But… since when did he ever ask Lydia before bringing someone else abord. Besides, after Ho’okele, Noah should be a super easy sell! He didn’t even think he had killed anyone!

 “Chazaso wants us to become diplomats and sail around the world helping bring peace and prosperity to those that desire it. Care to join?”

 He held out his hand and grinned, making sure to turn all of his charm on for this sell.

 Noah sat back and looked at him, shocked for a few seconds. “You’d want me back? After everything I did?”

 “After everything you did? Like riding to defeat an evil emperor when you were sixteen, infiltrating his ranks after watching all your friends die, keeping two kids safe, and helping kill him? Yes. I think I would like you back.”

 “Well, when you put it like that it makes it sound like I was a lot more proactive in this whole mess.”

 “Eh, so you’ve got some procrastination problems. Nobody’s perfect. Now come on, my arm’s getting tired.”

 Noah smiled and took it. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

 “Great!” Simon pulled him into his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him back to the captain’s cabin. “Now, you’ve never sailed before but that’s okay. Saoirse can show you the ropes.”

 “You mean a sixteen-year-old is going to be my mentor?”

 “Why not?”

 He didn’t answer. And he didn’t need to.

 The next morning, Simon’s crew grew by three more.

 “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, looking up at Benny the Boulder, Thunderfists Trevor, and Hank as they practically begged him to stay.

 “It’s just, I never knew my father!” Trevor sobbed while Hank patted his shoulder tenderly.

 “And I killed mine,” Benny added.

 “Please can we stay? Life on the outside is hard. We can’t survive out there, man.” Hank begged.

 “Um…” He glanced over at Lydia.

 She had taken the news that Noah was going to join them rather well. She did not look pleased about this.

 “Why were you guys in prison again?” he asked.

 “Killed my abusive father after I learned he was also abusing my little sister,” Benny said.

 “Drug trafficking and drug possession,” Trevor said. “And also murder when I found another dealer encroaching on my turf.”

 “Let’s see here, money laundering, grand larceny, insider trading,” Hank said, ticking off each one on his fingers. “A lot of white-collar stuff. They also had me in for murder, but I don’t think I ever killed anyone.”

 “Did I hear white-collar crimes being listed?” Paola said, popper her head up.

 Hank brightened considerably and trotted towards her, grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah! Steal from rich bastards, that’s what I say.”

 To say Paola looked besotted was probably an understatement. He glanced back at Trevor and Benny, still waiting for his answer.

 “Um, alright. A trial run of six months.”

 “Yeah!”

 “Alright.”

 They high-fived each other and hugged.

 Lydia came up to him and sighed. “Well, we just gained six new members in less than a week. I think that’s a new record.”

 He furrowed his brow. “Six? Noah, Hank, Trevor, and Benny only make four.”

 She patted him on the cheek. “Ismael and Rasha are also staying.”

 As much as he wanted that to be true, he knew they were planning on heading back with their family. “No, they’re not.”

 She simply smiled. “No one leaves the ship.”

 She turned and left him standing on the deck. He glanced over at Rasha and Ismael, both speaking with the leader of their tribe whose name was Miria. He wanted it to be true. He wanted these two kids to stay with him. But that wasn’t for him to decide. And he knew that they needed to be with people who understood them. For now, he’d accept his time with the twins as limited and enjoy it as much as possible. Goodbye would hurt, but it was necessary and he was glad they were leaving in such capable hands.

 *****

 A month into their journey back home and Ismael had yet to fully come to terms with the fact that it was ending. Every time he looked at Rasha he couldn’t help but feel guilty. He knew that she didn’t want to return to the desert. She wanted to explore the world, meet new people, and learn new things. And she was staying. For him. She was staying because she knew that after everything they had been through they couldn’t stand to be apart.

 So then, it should be easy. She wanted to stay on the ship. He wanted to stay on the ship. There you go. Problem solved.

 Except, the problem wasn’t solved. How could he leave everything he had ever known permanently? What if he didn’t like being on the ship? What if he only thought he needed to stay because he was traumatized and not processing things properly?

 And the others. How could he leave Miria, Musaf, and the others to go travel with people he had only known for a few months at this point.

 “I’m guessing you aren’t the only one who can’t sleep.”

 He jumped and turned to see Simon sitting down on a chair, smiling softly at him.

 “Um… no, not really.”

 “Want to talk about it?”

 He didn’t answer.

 Simon sighed and patted the chair next to him. “Come on, sit down. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But at least sit down instead of wandering around the ship like a haunting specter.”

 He nodded and scurried over to the chair, sitting stiffly on in.

 “Damn, kid. Relax. It’s only me.” He surprised him by throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. It was a little awkward because of the armrests, but that didn’t matter. In one touch he managed to calm him more than Ismael could do on his own.

 “You’re arm’s feeling better. I don’t sense the pain from it like I did before.”

 “Yeah. You were right. I should have gotten a better prosthetic fitted ages ago. I guess I didn’t want to.”

 “Why?”

 He shrugged. “Maybe I was being lazy or punishing myself. Who knows? But, the point is, there should be no more pain from it. At least, not the pain that was caused by the prosthetic.”

 “That’s good. No one deserves to live in pain for their entire lives.”

 “Glad you think so.”

 They sat in silence for several minutes. Ismael wanted Simon to ask him questions, to push for him to open up, but he wasn’t doing that. He seemed content to let him sit quietly by his side while the gentle night carried them closer to Uqaibha.

 If Ismael wanted to voice his thoughts, he’d have to do it without being prompted. “Do you think I should return to the desert? With my people?” he said, breaking the quiet that seemed to have rested over the world since the death of the Emperor.

 “I can’t tell you what to do. That’s got to be a choice for you and you alone.”

 He pouted. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He wanted guidance. He wanted someone to tell him what to do. What Simon had just said wasn’t helpful in the least. He had been struggling with this choice for a month now, and each time he felt like he had landed on one, he found new reasons to make a different choice.

 Simon looked down at him and sighed. “Alright, alright. I won’t leave you hanging. Lord knows why anyone comes to me for advice. The other night Ho’okele was up with me for almost an hour trying to deal with the trauma of being on Dalheimer.”

 “It’s because you always seem to know what to say,” Ismael said softly.

 “Ah, my gift and my curse. But seriously, I can’t tell you what to do. This needs to be your choice and yours alone. If I tell you to stay or go, then you can put any blame on me. You can put your future solely on me. That’s not how life works, though.”

 “I just… I feel so guilty. All I ever wanted to was to stay out in the desert. But now that I’m out of it, I don’t know if I want to go back.”

 “Fair enough. People change as they’re exposed to new ideas and things. You thought you wanted to stay in the desert because that was all you’d ever known. But now that you’re out in the big, wide world, things have changed.”

 Ismael bit his lip. “But… can I leave it behind? I feel like I’ve had enough adventuring for a lifetime. And I’m only eleven. Maybe I should go back and relax.”

 “You know, kid, you’re right about that. You have had enough adventuring for a lifetime. Hell, you’ve done more for the betterment of this world in a few short months than most people will do in their entire lives. If anyone deserves a quiet retirement, it’s you and your sister. You two deserve to live out your days in peace in the quiet desert where you aren’t touched by war or robbery.”

 Ismael looked up at him to see him smiling softly down at him. “But?” he prompted.

 “But, it’s also okay to want to do more.”

 Something about that one, simple sentence hit Ismael with a force he didn’t know possible. That one, simple sentence helped pieces fall into place, pieces that he didn’t even know were missing.

 “Are you okay, kid? You look like you’ve had an existential crisis.” Simon did look legitimately worried.

 Ismael swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I need to go talk to my sister.” He detangled himself from his arm and went to where she was sleeping.

 Surprisingly, she wasn’t sleeping, rather tracing the cracked runes on the silver bracelets that once cut her off from the energy of the world.

 “Rasha, I need to talk to you,” Ismael said, pulling her away from the others so they wouldn’t wake them.

 “What is it? Is something the matter?”

 “I want to talk to you about what we should do next.” Once in the kitchen, where no one was attempting to sleep, he turned to face her, took a deep breath, and said. “I think we should stay with Simon and the others.”

 Rasha blinked at him, shocked. “What? Since when?”

 He shrugged. “Since always, I guess. But, I was thinking about it. The world is so large and just in this short time I feel like we’ve learned so much. I know that I wanted to stay in the desert before, but I think about that map, and all those names grandma had from all over the world. I think about how much I’ve grown and you’ve grown. I think about the fact that you might have never learned magic had you not tried a different technique. I don’t want to go back. I want to keep helping people. I want to keep learning.”

 Rasha’s lip wobbled for a second before she threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. “We can still visit Miria and the others whenever they’re near a port.”

 He squeezed her back. “Maybe we can even occasionally travel with them.”

 “But we’re going to learn.”

 “We’re going to learn.”

 Pieces were falling into place. He knew that he'd be sad. He knew that no matter what choice he made, he'd be sad. But... he also knew that this was the right choice for him. He might be sad to leave the desert behind. He might be anxious with all the new people and places they were bound to meet. But this was right for him. And he wasn't going to hide away any more. 

 Up on deck, Lydia was sitting beside Simon as he helped take out the braids in her hair. 

 “See,” she said, squeezing his knee, “I was right.” 

 “Hmm? About what?”

 “We have six new crew members.”

 He laughed. “I suppose you were right about that.”

 “Right. Because no one ever leaves the ship.”

 He groaned. “God, I hope that doesn’t actually mean everyone. I think Bloodshot and Ho’okele are going to come to blows if they stay together for much longer.”

 Lydia merely patted his leg. She was right, though. Six new crew members and a horizon full of new opportunities.

 The cyclical nature of the earth still happened. The sun, moon, and stars rose. There was a constant life and death of every living thing on the planet. A new day was about to dawn. A new year would start in a few short weeks. The cycle would continue.

 And now, for Simon and his small crew of newly appointed Mthabelan diplomats, a new cycle was beginning. 

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Chapter 24

Ismael didn’t know what had happened, but suddenly, there were the sounds of fighting just outside the castle walls.

 “What’s going on?” Rasha asked.

 “I don’t know,” Noah said, narrowing his eyes. “It sounds like we’re under attack. That can’t be possible. Who’d be dumb enough to attack?”

“Ismael? Is that you?”

 “Ho’okele would, apparently,” he said, turning to see the man dressed as a guard and running up to him.

 “Trevor, Hank, Benny!” Rasha said excitedly, running up to the three men that were following him.

 “Thunderbolt!” They scooped her up and hugged her.

 “This is my brother! This is Ismael! Issy, meet the guys who were helping me. Oh, but I don’t see Sawtooth, Skullface, or Bloodshot.”

 “Bloodshot’s taking over the prison right now. Skullface and Sawtooth are helping your people get to safety,” one of them explained.

 “Great, I found you. Let’s go. Oh, hi, Simon’s ex.” Ho’okele said, seeing Noah for the first time.

 Noah looked at him, a little peeved. “Excuse me?”

 “Are you like, on our side, or what?”

 “You guys came for me?” Ismael asked, still in awe that he was looking at someone here. He thought after his fight with Simon, they’d leave him.

 “Of course, we came for you. We weren’t going to abandon you. Now, Simon’s ex—”

 “I have a name.”

 “Are you on our side or what? Cause, we got to go. This whole place is rigged to explode.”

 “What?” Noah took a step back and looked around. Then, he cursed. “It’s that goddamn akerelyte, isn’t it? I knew there was something fishy about it.”

 “Yeah, it’s the goddamn akerelyte. Now come on. We got to get off this island and I am this close to relapsing.” He motioned for them to follow him.

 Ismael took a deep breath. As much as he felt like running away, especially now that he was so scared, he knew he couldn’t.

 “I think I have a way to kill the emperor, or at least, weaken him enough so that he can be killed. I can’t leave; not yet.”

 “But you can’t stay here. Simon is fighting him right now!”

 “No. You have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

 “Theoretically,” Rasha said as her friends put her back on the floor. “No one’s ever done this before, but we are going to try and hope for the best.”

 Ho’okele looked like he was about to have an aneurism. It would have been funny if not for the sounds of fighting that seemed to surround them.

 “No, no, no, no, no. You need to go with me. Simon would kill me if he found out that I found you and then continued to let you wander around the castle!”

 “We’re not wandering,” Rasha said. “We’re walking with purpose to carry out a political assassination.”

 “You said that with too much happiness in your voice. And you cannot kill him. You’re children!”  

 “We’re not going to be the ones who kill him,” Ismael said. “Mr. Noah will. After I make him mortal, that is.

 Noah did not seem on board with this statement, looking rather ill and queasy at the thought. “Or maybe you could do it?” He asked.

 Ho’okele shook his head. “Nah, man. I don’t do the killing thing. All the blood magic I did? No one died.”

 “Well, someone has to do it!” Rasha shouted. “We don’t know how long he’ll be incapacitated for once Issy rips the souls out of him.”

 Ho’okele went pale. “Um… what?”

 “Yeah, I’ve been slowly removing the souls from the Emperor for like a week now. If I can get all of them out, then he should be weak enough to kill.”

 “What?” Ho’okele said, this time sounding much more confused.

 Ismael decided he had had enough trying to convince him to come. He was either going to help, or he wasn’t. It wasn’t his problem right now. Besides, the more he argued with Ho’okele, the more likely he was to talk himself out of it. He didn’t want to talk himself out of it. He wanted to help defeat the Emperor once and for all so that everyone everywhere could finally be free.

 “Come on, we don’t have time for this.” He grabbed Ho’okele’s hand and yanked him towards the sounds of the fighting. Ho’okele continued to make noises of protest but Ismael ignored him. He only focused on his beating heart and how it connected with the energy of the earth. He only focused on the energy that were the souls trapped in the Emperor’s body and how he could free all of them.

 “Okay, but Simon, Lydia, and Roy are all currently fighting him. How do you expect to get close enough to him to rip his souls out?”

 “I don’t know? Tell them we’re here without telling the Emperor we’re here?” Rasha suggested.

 They rounded the corner to see the trashed throne room the battle was taking place in. It was a flash of violent colors and sounds as they all struggled to gain the upper hand without much success. It seemed like each hit on the Emperor was absorbed and healed so no injury could permeate him. Several of Lydia’s golems were attacking and it seemed like they were flinging stone everywhere.

 “Technically, they are the better fighters,” Noah observed, tugging them all to duck behind a chunk of stone that had been dislodged from the ceiling.

 “Yeah, but being the better fighter doesn’t matter if your opponent is invincible,” Ho’okele added. He turned to Ismael. “So, how exactly do you rip souls out of a body?”

 “I have to touch him and then grab ahold of the souls and pull them out. Like a baby. Except he’s not giving birth and it’s more of a metaphor.”

 Ho’okele pulled a face. “Okay, um, that doesn’t solve the problem we have.”

 “What problem is that?” Rasha asked.

 “How are you expecting to get close enough to him to touch him without dying? As soon as he sees you, he’ll know something is up. Can’t you just do it from here?”

 Ismael thought about it for a second while he watched Roy squash the Emperor under a particularly large chunk of concrete.

 “I mean, theoretically, probably. But I’ve never done it before. I might accidentally rip out everyone’s souls. Not just the ones the Emperor stole.”

 They watched as Lydia launched a piece of rebar at the emperor, pinning him to the ground temporarily, just in time for Simon to punch a hole through his chest. It didn’t slow him down, though. Soon, he was back up and fighting again.

 “We need to figure out a way to trap him more permanently,” Noah said.

 “We could hold him down,” Trevor said.

 “Yeah!” Hank replied. “We’re strong enough. If we all pile on him, that should be enough to keep him in place.”

 Noah groaned and pinched his brow. “We are talking about a man who is hundreds of years old. Do you think you can hold him down in a dog pile?”

 “Rope?” Ho’okele suggested.

 Noah gave him a look. “If we can’t hold him down in a dogpile, what makes you think rope will work?”

 He crossed his arms and glared at him. “No need to get snippy with me.”

 “What if we do what Lydia did with the piece of metal, but on a much larger scale?” Ismael suggested.

 “He can rip his body out of them.”

 “What about ice?” Rasha suggested.

 Noah shook his head. “No one here can do that kind of magic.”

 “I can.”

 This surprised Noah and he turned to look at her. “Since when?”

 Rasha shrugged. “Since always, but I just learned these past few months. Turns out, I’m really good at it. I just never could do it because where I’m from, we learn manipulation as the basis of magic, not transference. These bracelets,” she held up her wrist to show off the silver around it, “are used to train Suriyawellans in the art of transference magic.”

 Noah looked thoughtful like he was actually considering it.

 “There is a dam not far from here,” he said. “If we can break it, it’ll flood the palace. Rasha, you’ll have to pull the water to the throne room specifically. Think you can do that?”

 Rasha’s confidence suddenly vanished. “Um. Sure. I can do that.”

 “Are you sure, if you can’t—”

 She shook her head. “No.” She sounded different than before. Not more confident, but more resolved. “No, I can do this. I have to do this. If you can figure out how to pull souls out of a body in ten minutes, I can figure out how to pull water into the throne room and freeze it long enough so you can rip the rest out.”

 He nodded.

 “Alright, I’ll get Roy’s attention. He’s the best one we can count on to break the dam.” Ho’okele pulled what looked like a cockroach out from the rubble and then sent it on its way toward Roy. Ismael really would have to ask how animal magic worked later. It seemed so useful.

 They watched as Roy got the message. He took a hit from the Emperor and went flying towards the other end of the room.

 “And that’s our cue,” Ho’okele said. He grabbed ahold of Trevor, Benny, and Hank and started pulling them to the door.

 “Wait? Why are we going?” Benny asked.

 “Because I don’t know what we’ll need to break the dam. Roy might need all the help we can get. Now come one.” He turned back to them. “Try not to die in the meantime.” He smiled at them, gave a thumbs-up, and then sprinted out the door from the hallways they had just come from. A few seconds later, Ismael noticed Roy leave as well.

 He didn’t know if Simon and Lydia got the message as well. They certainly didn’t seem worried about Roy’s sudden disappearance, both fighting their hardest, but it was clear their strength was waning.

 “They won’t have enough in them to survive,” Rasha said.

 Noah sighed. “You two need to be on the opposite wall. That’s where the water will come in from. I’ll distract him. Stick to the walls and don’t be seen. Got it?”

 They nodded.

 “Great.” He pulled out a gun, aimed it at the Emperor’s head, and fired. Rasha and Ismael scrambled out from behind the concrete as Noah stepped forward and emptied clip after clip into his head.

 “My most loyal servant, now turning on me,” the Emperor growled, lunging forward to attack him, only to be blocked by Simon.

 “Please, I was never loyal. I was always looking for a way to bring you down.”

 “Then what took you so long?”

 “I have problems with procrastination, okay?”

 The Emperor didn’t seem to appreciate that answer and kept trying to attack him. Meanwhile, Rasha and Ismael were edging ever closer to the wall until they were finally there. The only problem, there was nothing to hide behind. Lydia, Noah, and Simon were doing their best trying to keep the Emperor’s back turned to them, but until that water came, they were sitting ducks.

 “Is it coming?”

 Rasha nodded. “I can feel it in my blood. It’s rushing towards us.”

 It didn’t rush fast enough as the Emperor threw Lydia over his shoulder, the momentum turning him just enough so that he saw them standing here.

 “Oh, I see what’s going on. You think if you escape, I’ll be weak enough to die.”

 “Yep. That’s totally what we were planning,” Rasha said.

 Ismael looked at her questioningly.

 Before he could say anything, she shoved him behind her and let out a cry. All around them water rushed into the room. It felt like he was being surrounded by the ocean once more. With another cry, Ismael watched in awe as the water slowly started to freeze.

 “Hurry, Issy. I don’t’ know how much longer I can hold on!” She shouted.

 Ismael nodded and scrambled up the ice bridge that was forming around the Emperor. He kept trying to smash through the ice but Rasha layered more and more on him until eventually, only the top of his head was open to the elements.

 Ismael wasted no time and plunged his hands through the man’s skull into his brain. He felt the grey matter and fluids coat his hands but he kept pressing on and on and on until he reached that dark place where the lights of the dead remained. This time, instead of talking to them, he let them coat his body, cling to his life force, all of them, until his entire being was completely covered in those who had suffered and died at the Emperor’s hand.

 Then, once they all swarmed him, he planted his feet on the ground and pulled. It was like he was trying to pick up a heavy boulder from the sand. His arms felt like they were getting ripped out of their sockets and the muscles in his legs tore. But he kept pulling. He kept working. No matter how much it hurt or threatened to destroy him, he kept pulling and pulling and pulling.

 Until there was a pop and he flew back. Instead of hitting hard ice, though, he fell through the water. Rasha was beside him, on her hands and knees, panting. The water rushed from the room.

 The Emperor rose to his feet, face red with rage.

 “I am going to kill you both!” He screamed.

 Then, like an angel, Sergei shouted, “I have the sword!”

 Ismael and Rasha looked up to see him hanging from the roof, a glowing blade in his hands. It all happened in slow motion. He dropped the sword. The Emperor lunged for them, his entire body going red with the residual blood magic that flowed through his veins. Ismael truly thought he might die here.

 He didn’t. Because Lydia caught the sword just at the moment that Simon threw him and Rasha to the side, clasping a hand over their eyes as the tell-tale signs of squelching filled the room.

 And, just like that, it was all over.

 “God, that’s so gross,” Noah groaned.

 “You know,” Simon said, panting, “I was the Chosen One. I should have been the one to cut his head off.” He was pulling Rasha and Ismael away from the Emperor.

 Lydia rolled her eyes. “Please, a job so important shouldn’t have ever been entrusted to you.”

 Sergei landed beside them. “We got to go. Mai Lan will be blowing up the island soon.”

 “Right you are, Sergei. Grab Rasha, let’s get out of here.”

 “But what about Ho’okele, Roy, Benny, Trevor, and Hank?”

 Simon paused for a second. “Did we ever have a Benny, Trevor, and Hank on our crew?”

 “No,” Rasha said. “They were part of my prison gang.”

 Simon looked like he wanted to say something about that, but decided against it. Instead, he grabbed Ismael while Sergei grabbed Rasha and started running.

 “They’ll meet us at the dock. Come on!”

 “You got a new arm? When did that happen?” he asked, upon realizing that Simon now had a shiny new arm that wasn’t rusted like his old one.

 “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

 They flew out of the castle, Roy and Ho’okele and the others coming up to join him.

 “Hey, there’s Bloodshot!” Rasha said, waving to a druid woman running with a band of prisoners and guards.

 “They’re on our side,” she called. “I made a very convincing argument.”

 Ismael didn’t think he wanted to know how a woman named ‘Bloodshot’ could make a convincing argument.

 “Is he dead?” Ho’okele panted.

 “Dead as a doornail.”

 “Simon, Sergei! I totally got rid of all the people who were chasing us and tons of other ones!” Mail Lan said, landing beside them. She hardly looked like she had been in a fight at all.

 “Great job! You did fantastically,” Simon said.

 “Oh, hi Ismael. How are you?”

 “I’ve been better.” He couldn’t even lie to her. His entire body felt like it was on fire and he was glad Simon was carrying him. He didn’t even think he could walk at this point.

 Mai Lan caused a small burst of fire to erupt from her hand, hitting a stone that looked like any other stone. Except, it wasn’t because it immediately started to glow red before causing a small explosion. This explosion caused several more explosions. Before Ismael knew it, the entire island was erupting into flame. He was worried they be caught in the explosion. Except, they all jumped in the water just before the final flames erupted to consume them.

 He wasn’t looking forwards to swimming all the way back, except he didn’t have to. A familiar presence came up from underneath him and gently pushed them to the surface.

 “Hey, this is the sea monster I healed,” he said as his head broke above the surface.

 “You healed a sea monster?” Rasha cried. “Why did you get to go on cool adventures and I didn’t? You don’t even like new people!”

 “You went on an adventure,” he pointed out. “Didn’t you become the leader of a prison gang?”

 “Yeah! Thunderbolt totally did!” Trevor said, wrapping her up in a big hug.

 “Yeah, I suppose I did,” she said, looking pleased with herself.

 Simon fell back on the sea monster, panting.

 Ismael looked back at the island, now up in flames. It was over. It was finally over. And, for the first time in his life, Ismael knew that the cycle had been broken.

[beauwalliswrites]

Thunderfists Trevor

Name: Thunderfists Trevor (Trevor Wyatt)

 Age: 25 years old

 Description: Very closely cropped hair, dark brown eyes, a scar over his right eye, missing several teeth, very muscular, shorter than Benny and Hank.  

 Country of Origin: Kinlick

Likes: Poetry, literature, art, music, slicing the throats of my enemies, cats.

 Dislikes: The Emperor, blood cultists, people who hurt cats, people who don’t like the arts.

 Favorite Food: Nothing beats a good old-fashioned piece of homemade bread, toasted, with butter and raspberry jam.

 Favorite Color: Purple

 Weapon of Choice: My fists! I’m not called Thunderfists Trevor for no reason. One good punch to the head will get your bell rung. It can quickly and easily knock out an enemy, or at least stun them long enough for you to win the fight! Stay tuned for more fighting tips from Trevor! (Author’s note: There will be no more fighting tips from Trevor. I don’t trust him to know how to actually win a fight.)

 Secret Talent they Have: I’m not sure if it’s exactly a secret, but I am a poet at heart. I love writing and reading poetry and started up the Slam Poet’s Club at the Prison to find like-minded people. Again, not exactly a secret, but something a lot of people don’t realize.

 Number of Warrants out for their Arrest: I guess zero, since I’m in prison right now. Though, I suppose at one point I had five.  

 Which does you prefer, unicorns or dragons? Um…. Dragons, I guess? It’d be easier to get out of prison if I had a dragon at my beck and call.

 Have you ever punched a nun? No. Never had the chance. I have punched a priest, though.  

 Would you rather have a camel the size of a hawk, or a hawk the size of a camel? Hawk the size of a camel. See my above answer about the dragon. It’s easier to escape places if you have something that can fly at your beck and call.

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Character Sheets: Sergei

Name: Sergei Anatoliy Makarovich

 Age: 31 years old

 Description: Tall, blond hair, brown eyes, always smiling. Nice and muscular from all that climbing.

 Country of Origin: Vologda

 Likes: Likes? I have no likes. Life is to short for likes. I have Loves! Dancing! Music! Jewels! Precious metals! Making friends! Making enemies! Visiting new places! Honestly, being on a pirate ship is perfect for me because I get to have all my loves all the times.

 Dislikes: Life is too short for dislikes. Or hates. Why would one want to focus on something so sad.

 Favorite Food: You ever had bortsch? Bortsch is very good, my friend. Have some.

 Favorite Color: Rainbow! Why love only one color when you can love them all.

 Weapon of Choice: I am lover, not a fighter. I do not use any weapons! Plus, Mai Lan is usually near me. And she is a weapon all on her own!

 Secret Talent they Have: I am a musician! No, really. I play music. You see, back in my country I went to university to be trained as a violinist so I can play in the Vologdan Orchestra. I also got a degree in 16th century Vologdan Literature. But, civil war broke out. I got shot. Went down to Bitovento, met Simon, and well, the rest is history, my friend. I do miss playing my violin.

 Number of Warrants out for their Arrest: Sixteen!

 Which does you prefer, unicorns or dragons? Unicorns! They are very colorful and shiny. I am like magpie. I love shiny things.  

 Have you ever punched a nun? Who would ever do such a horrible thing! No, no I would never punch a nun. My poor mother would roll in her grave if I did such a thing!

 Would you rather have a camel the size of a hawk, or a hawk the size of a camel? A hawk the size of a camel! Could you imagine the spectacle! I love it! Wonderful! Brilliant! Beautiful birds!  

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Character Sheet: Roy

Name: Roy

 Age: 59 years old

 Description: Very tall, very broad-shouldered man with cropped, black hair and a five-o’clock shadow. Hands and arms are covered in scars and burns from cooking and fighting.

Country of Origin: Kinlick

 Likes: Cooking, eating, learning about food, helping people, dogs

 Dislikes: People who do weird things to food for no reason. What is the purpose of serving stake on a tree branch? Why does that need to be a thing?  

 Favorite Food: I can’t choose a favorite.  

 Favorite Color: Black

 Weapon of Choice: My fists and my mind. Never overcomplicate that which can be done simply.

 Secret Talent they Have: I can understand fifteen different languages. I can’t sign them all, but I can understand you. So, don’t talk shit. You never know who’s listening.

 Number of Warrants out for their Arrest: Two.

 Which does you prefer, unicorns or dragons? Unicorns. Dragons feel like they’d be difficult to pet.

 Have you ever punched a nun? Yes

 Would you rather have a camel the size of a hawk, or a hawk the size of a camel? Camel the size of a hawk. It’d be like a small dog. I like small dogs.  

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Chapter 23

The trip to Dalheimer from Haarsignen was surprisingly short. Only three days in total. It wasn’t that Simon was expecting it to take longer. More it was just surprising how little time they had. From the warm sands of Uqaibha to the cold grey shores of Dalheimer, it felt like a dream. Even the short trek from Haarsingen to Dalheimer didn’t feel real. He felt like he needed years before he would be ready to face the Emperor once more. But they didn’t have years. Hell, they might not even have days.

“It’s not about the right people,” Chazaso told him the night before they set sail. “It’s about the right time. That is what really matters. While I applaud my forebearers' desire to get it over and done with as soon as possible, perhaps if they had not been so hasty, they would have seen relying solely on you was an exercise in failure. And who knows? There may have been other opportunities to kill that monster had they not been so focused on you.”

 “Way to make a guy feel special,” Simon replied, clicking his new fingers together, still marveling at how smooth everything worked.

 “As if you don’t agree with me.” She smiled at him, still as sharp as ever. Once more, Simon was glad this woman was on his side. He had a feeling that even if he hadn’t decided to reveal himself and go after him, Chazaso would have found a way to kill that man regardless.

 Never before had he realized what true power actually was. And now that he had witnessed it firsthand, he could do nothing but step back in awe and curse his own mentors for taking a page out of Chazaso’s book and focusing his training on being an effective planner and not necessarily an effective soldier.

 It was true that Chazaso had managed to amass a giant army. And this giant army was not just a rag-tag team of rebels that were bearing arms for the cause. It was not just a group of poorly trained idealists who only knew of life on a farm. These were actual, trained soldiers. Apart from her building up a vast network of spies and rebels, her chief advisor, the one who had ordered her ‘assassination’ and taken charge after the coup, had been prepping for an even greater battle. It wasn’t enough to just kill the emperor. He would be replaced by another, potentially more ruthless leader. It would be chaos as the world that had existed for centuries collapsed. They needed more than a simple assassination to put the world back on track. They needed to exterminate all seeds of his empire and build up a system of government that actually functioned. It was not just Mthabelo that had a government working to undermine the current leader. Xuchong, Suriyawella, Bitovento, Villeurbonne, and even Brøndlund, where they were now, were all working together to plan for the eventual attack and downfall of the Emperor.

 But, they weren’t going in guns blazing. Oh, no. Simon had learned the first time that was doomed to fail. They might have a large enough army to risk a full-frontal assault, and many of the generals had argued they should attack immediately, but Chazaso shot them down.

 “And what of the chaos that it will cause? Do you think the Emperor will sit on the front lines and fight us? No, he will flee with Ismael to another country and hide out until he is healed enough to restart his assault. You do not capture a mouse by charging at it. You must be patient, or it will fail,” she spat at them, words venomous enough to shut down any further arguments.

 They had asked Simon what he thought they should do. He at first tried to shift the responsibility back onto Chazaso. The last time he had been put in charge it ended in disaster. She wasn’t having any of that either.

 “You have executed more successful prison breaks than any of these idiots combined,” she scolded. “I do not expect General Jadhav to know the ins and outs of a prison system.”

 A criminal. She was asking him for his plan as a criminal, not as some fated Chosen One. He had to admit, it made him feel better and more confident than anything else in the world. He wasn’t the Chosen One. He was a wanted criminal who once broke Sergei out of a maximum-security prison because the idiot got distracted by something shiny when they were breaking into a duke’s summer home to steal a painting. If he could do that, surely he could break one measly little tribe out of a barely functioning prison.

 Which is why Saorise, Paola, and Ho’okele were currently getting dressed up like Guards.

 “Um, I’m not sure I can do this. Are you sure I can’t just wait back in Haarsingen?” Saorise said, looking down at her outfit while Paola finished up her touches. “I can bake a cake. Make it a proper ‘Welcome Home’ party.”

 “You’ll be great!” Mai Lan said, giving her the thumbs up. “Besides, Paola is going with you! You’ll have nothing to worry about.”

 “Thanks, Mai Lan.” She sounded like she was about to be sick.

 Simon couldn’t blame her. He didn’t want Mai Lan, Saorise, or Ho’okele anywhere near this island. Saoirse especially wasn’t used to this sort of espionage or even being in dangerous situations. He still remembered how she was tearfully trying to cheer herself up before getting executed for learning purification magic despite the laws. She shouldn’t be going anywhere near this battle, but they had no other choice. She was the only one good enough at purification magic to destabilize the akerelyte enough to make it explosive. They couldn’t risk having a huge influx of spies on the island. They’d be found out in a second. Besides, all Paola and Saoirse had to do was get in and get out. They’d be fine. And he trusted Paola to keep Saoirse safe.

 “Don’t worry, darling,” Paola said, straightening out her jacket. “Just remember to let me do all the talking. You just focus on… however, it is your purification magic works.”

 “I told you, I focus on removing the elements from—”

 “And I told you I don’t care.” Paola waved dismissively at her.

 Saoirse pouted and crossed her arms.

 Simon put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll do great. And, if all goes well, you’ll be off the island when we start fighting. You’ve practiced with the akerelyte that Chazaso gave you and you haven’t messed it up once.”

 “But—”

 “But nothing. I have faith in you. Mai Lan has faith in you—”

 “Mai Lan has faith in everybody!”

 “So, you need to have faith in yourself.”

 “He’s right, you know,” Paola said. “The biggest weakness you can have is not being confident in your abilities. People will sniff it out and pounce on it. You’ll do great.”

 Saoirse let out a shaky exhale. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ll do great. Absolutely nothing will go wrong.” She didn’t sound like she believed it.

 Simon would have loved to continue reassuring her, except he had other issues to deal with.

 “You’re sitting over there panicking, meanwhile I’m the one who’s going to be all alone,” he grumbled. He turned to Simon. “Are we sure this is a good idea? I mean, I’m not even on the island yet, and even from here, man it’s calling to me.”

 “You’ll be fine. You can hold off for thirty minutes. I trust you.”

 Ho’okele made a strangled noise in his throat that was not unlike a dying animal. “I wish I had your confidence in me, but I don’t know. I don’t want to relapse.”

 “If you do we’ll just deal with it later,” he said.

 His words seemed to take Ho’okele aback. “Wait, really?”

 He nodded. “Yeah. What else can we do? I know it’s not ideal. We can’t risk anyone else going with you and Chazaso’s army is going to be caught up choking out anyone escaping. If you relapse then you relapse. I can’t get mad at you for breaking, especially on Dalheimer.”

 Of course, that was all dependent on how bad Ho’okele relapsed. He could end up completely losing himself and becoming a bigger problem than the Emperor. However, Simon also knew that if he spent his entire time worrying about it, he was much more likely to do it. Hopefully this way, he felt calmer and more in control of himself.

 It seemed to work as his shoulders dropped. “Fine. I’ll do what you say. But if I sacrifice a goat and summon a demon or two, you’re going to have to help me get rid of it!” He pointed an accusatory finger at him.

 “Whatever you say, buddy.” He clapped him on the back. “Alright, guys, ready? We’re burning daylight!”

 “Yes!” Paola said brightly.

 “Probably not,” Ho’okele grumbled.

 Saoirse let out a strangled noise.

 “Alright, not quite the enthusiasm I was looking for but it’ll have to do! Let’s get going.” He watched as Roy helped lower their small rowboat into the water. As they sailed away, the fog covered them almost immediately.

 Simon took out a flare and shot it into the sky. For a brief second, the fog lit up orange. Then, it turned back to grey.

 “Start the clock,” he said. They had an hour to wait before the next part of the plan would commence.

 *****

 “Remember,” Paola said to her as they stepped out onto the rocky beach, “you will be fine. You are simply the cog in a very large machine doing manual labor that no one cares about nor has the time to question.”

 “Yeah, are you sure I can’t tag along with you?” Ho’okele asked, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

 Paola scowled at him. “I’m sure. Now go.”

 He mumbled something that she couldn’t quite make out, walking towards the castle. In his hand was a set of blueprints that Chazaso (who was a fucking queen!) had given him to find the prisoners.

 They had their own set of blueprints and their mission.

 Paola looped her arm in hers and led her towards their first mark. “Busy bees don’t get noticed by the queen. You have a job to do, just like everyone else here.”

 “Won’t they be suspicious, though?” The uniform itself was hot and scratchy. How these men managed to wear this stupid thing in Uqaibha’s sweltering heat was beyond her. Or maybe she was just sweating because of the nerves. “They’ve never seen us before. They’ll know something is up.”

 “My dear,” she laughed, “everyone’s lives are too complicated to worry about what two low-level grunts are doing. Even if one of those grunts is as beautiful as I am. They have their own worries, their own fears about their job. As long as you’re not actively killing someone, they’ll leave us be.”

 “But—”

 “Don’t question me on this, darling. Between the two of us, I have a lot more experience in the human condition than you do.”

 She was right about that. Saoirse should trust her. Paola was here to help distract any attention that was sent her way. She had her job to do.

 “Alright. I can do this.” She nodded to herself, wishing that Simon or Mai Lan had come with them. The added protection would have been nice. But no, they had had to stay on the ship until the next phase of the plan could be commenced. Mai Lan and Sergei needed to find Simon’s stupid sword and steal it back. Simon needed to stay out of sight until the time came to avoid exposing their plan before they were ready.

 A lot of their success depended on Saoirse and whether or not she managed to successfully purify the akerelyte properly. Having that amount of pressure on her was almost worse than being in the belly of the beast.

 “Here’s our first mark.” Paola dropped her arm and set up a barricade around them. It looked like official construction barricades. When did Chazaso have time to set all of this up?

 She swallowed. Busy bees don’t get noticed by the queen. She wasn’t an enemy spy. She was merely a grunt, purifying the akerelyte. She put her hand to the stone and focused on the chemical structures. She knew she wanted the oxygen and hydrogen to bond together to create water. She also wanted to create simple sodium chloride. After that, it was a matter of bonding the nitrogen together to make it gaseous, and then that would be it. The akerelyte would be primed for Mai Lan later.

 It only took seconds and then it was over.

 “One down, a hundred more to go.” Paola smiled at her.

 This time, she smiled back. She could do this. She didn’t even feel drained.

 For nearly an hour they moved along the path designed by Roy and a few other engineers. It was the path that would cause the most amount of damage. The further they moved, the more guards she saw. She had never seen so many in one place before, but it made sense. The island itself was small, tiny compared to her own homeland. She could probably walk around the entire thing in less than an hour. And, as far as she knew, everyone here worked for the Emperor. This was his main stronghold and there should be no civilians on the island. Rumor had it that if you had a significant other or child but were transferred to Dalheimer, the Emperor had them killed so that you had no attachments. What a horrible thing to do. She didn’t dwell on it, though. Instead, she focused on purifying the akerelyte one stone block at a time.

 Each time they set up the barricades, she worried one of the passing guards would know they weren’t supposed to be there and execute them on the spot. Her heart rate sped up each time one passed a little too closely or looked at her a little too long. Each one would eventually move away with a bored, almost vacant expression on their face and continue about their day.

 “Just one more,” Paola said encouragingly as they made their way to the very last block. It was back on the rocky shore they had first come in on. They had made their way full circle. “One more and we can get out of here.”

 “Ho’okele isn’t back yet,” she said, glancing at the hidden rowboat they were supposed to use to escape back to the boat.

 Paola pursed her lips and looked off into the distance. “I can get us back to the ship if you don’t mind getting a little cold and wet. I’ll have to leave a note for Ho’okele, though, so he doesn’t wait for us.”

 “But shouldn’t we wait for him?”

 “We don’t know what’s keeping him. Besides, he’s a smart boy. I’m sure he can get himself back to the ship once he gets Ismael and his people.”

 “But—”

 “Trust me on this. You absolutely cannot be here when the fighting starts. We’re going back to the ship. Focus on the rock. I’ll send the message.”

 She clapped her hands together and then blew into the small opening. Upon opening her hands back up, a small fly escaped, doing a few dizzy loops before zooming off to find Ho’okele.

 Saoirse swallowed down her anxiety and set to work on the rock. She didn’t like that they were leaving him behind, but Paola was right. They couldn’t afford to wait for him here. They had no idea what complications he had run into.

 “Excuse me, what are you two doing?”

 Her heart sank and the anxiety of leaving Ho’okele behind was replaced with anxious nausea that slammed into her with a force she wasn’t aware she could even feel. They had been spotted. Someone knew they didn’t belong.

 “Keep working!” Paola barked. She didn’t sound like the same person.

 Her tone was sharp enough to get her to jump and turn back to the rock. Paola could take care of this. She was good at this sort of thing. She had to take care of this.

 “We are under orders from General Harrison to do support structure inspections across the whole island. Do you know how easy it would be for this thing to sink into the sea? We’re on an active volcano. One wrong eruption and the entire castle goes sinking into the sea.”

 “Oh, do you have the papers from General Harrison? And do you have your working papers and orders?”

 No, they didn’t. They didn’t have any of that stuff.

 Saoirse continued to work on the purification, but it was taking longer on account of her nerves.

 “Of course, we have our papers,” Paola said. “Let me get them out.”

 Then, Saoirse heard something she didn’t quite know how to place. The sound of cloth ripping. Then the sound of a man choking. Then the sound of a body hitting the floor.

 Somehow, this was enough to buy her time to finish the purification and remove the impurities from the stone. She turned around and, predictably, saw Paola dragging the soldier behind a very large rock.

 “What happened?” She asked, even more shocked when Paola stood up to reveal her shirt had been ripped open completely, exposing her breasts to the world.

 “I took care of the problem,” Paola said, brushing some flyaway hairs from her eyes. “This blasted wind is messing with my hair. I know the buns are a bit utilitarian, but I still don’t like them looking messy.”

 “No, seriously, what happened? Did he do that?”

 “Absolutely not,” Paola scoffed. “The one thing that’s guaranteed to throw anyone off for a few seconds is the sudden exposure of a woman’s breasts.”

 “What if he wasn’t attracted to women?”

 “He doesn’t have to be attracted to women for it to work.”

 She supposed that was very true. She would have been thrown off if Paola ripped her shirt open in front of her.

 “Oh, okay. I’ll have to keep that in mind if I ever need a distraction.”

 “Chasazo was the one who taught me. Apparently, she forged the wrong visa for Vologda and was caught. Did the same thing to the police officer who caught her. Worked like a charm.”

 “I’ve never heard that story.”

 “You should ask about it. It’s amazing. Now, come on, before more people come.”

 She grabbed Saoirse’s hand and they sprinted towards the sea. She took one last look back at the castle. She hoped Ho’okele and Ismael were alright. For now, though, she had done her part. The only thing she could do was wait. And maybe bake a ‘welcome home’ cake in the ship’s kitchen. Even if it was the third ship they had been on in three months.

 *****

 Ho’okele was not having a good day. Of course, he hadn’t been having a good day for weeks now, come to think of it. As if watching Simon almost die wasn’t enough, he was now missing an arm and still thought it was a good idea to charge headfirst into the stronghold of the castle of an enemy he had failed to take down ten years prior.

 Oh, and speaking of Simon, he was the fucking Chosen One! What the fuck? Why the fuck? Who the fuck thought that was a good idea and why did Simon hide it from him for two years? But it didn’t just start and stop at Simon. Oh, no. Apparently, Chazaso was the fucking president of Mthabelo! Did anyone else have any secret hidden sides to them that he should know about?

 If Paola revealed that she was an actual goddess, he was going to throw a chair out the window. This was getting ridiculous.

 But he couldn’t focus on all of those revelations at the moment because he was now wandering around the enemy stronghold; a place that was practically buzzing with all the blood magic soaked into the ground. It was calling to him, scratching at his brain and begging him to take a little taste. He would be so powerful. He wouldn’t even have to kill anyone. Just a drop of blood and the power could be his. He could hunt down his bastard father and kill him for what he put him and his siblings through as children. He could defeat the Emperor that had hurt his friends and tried to kill the only people he considered family. He could make the world better.

 He flicked himself on the side of the head and focused on deep breaths. “Fuck, I’m probably going to suffer a relapse,” he groaned. “Why couldn’t someone come with me? Like Roy! Roy would have been a good option. Sure he sticks out like a sore thumb, but I’d be less tempted to try something.”

 The wind howled and blew around him, carrying with it the whispers of all he could accomplish. Just a little bit of blood magic. Something small. Something that would ensure their victory. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Simon said he would help him through the withdrawals again if he did relapse. And this was for the greater good.

 He flicked himself once more and focused on his breathing. In and out. In and out. Counting down from one thousand as he took each step forward. No, he wouldn’t do blood magic. Simon trusted him not to. Even if he said he’d help if he relapsed, he didn’t want to put him through that. He had already done so much for him and he could avoid the temptation for an hour. That was it. Two years of not doing any blood magic. He could avoid it for another hour.

 He kept walking towards the prison yard, head held high. According to Paola, if he looked like he belonged, then no one would question him. And he did belong here. He belonged here because the blood that seeped into the ground would make him powerful. He could make the Emperor bow to him and erase all the pain in his head.

 No!

 Focus!

 He started his countdown once more, turned the corner, and continued to walk. Almost there. He’d grab Ismael and the rest of his people and run. Or, walk with purpose. Fuck. How was he supposed to get over twenty people out undetected? Simon said something about a plan. Ho’okele was too busy panicking about being here to be paying much attention. Which meant…

 “I never was good at improvising,” he grumbled, finally making his way to the cellblock.

 The giant rec yard was separated down the middle by a high, chain link fence. There were guards everywhere, patrolling the perimeter with guns and eyes trained on the people below. According to Chazaso, because Ismael and Rasha were relatively low risk, they should be kept on the right side.

 He stepped onto the ground, glad that he wasn’t the only ‘guard’ that was out and about with the prisoners. A few were even talking with some prisoners.

 It didn’t take them long to spot them. They were over by the fence, a group of people with darker skin and dark hair. A few of the women had on headscarves. They all looked worried and were talking amongst themselves. He noticed a group of four men on the other side of the chainlink fence, right next to them, though they were facing away and playing a card game.

 Odd, but whatever. He didn’t care about the rest of the prisoners.

 “Welp, no time like the present.” He marched forward. A few of the guards looked up at him but otherwise said nothing.

 As he got closer to the group of people, his heart sank. He didn’t see Ismael anywhere. Unless the kid had a growth spurt and aged several years (after the week he had, he wouldn’t doubt it), he wasn’t there, and neither was his sister.

 “Shit. Things keep going wrong.”

 When he got to the group, they all stopped talking and looked at him. Their distrustful eyes roved over him as he tried to look as non-threatening as possible.

 “Hey, there,” he gave an awkward wave. “Common?”

 Oh, there were a lot of guards with very good guns wandering around this place. And very pointy swords as well. They should have thought this through a bit more.

 “Yes, who are you?” a woman asked.

 He laughed nervously. “So, you are not going to believe this, it’s a bit of a crazy story, but my name is Ho’okele and I’m here to get you out. Um… well, I’m here to get Ismael and Rasha out. So… where are they?”

 One of the men playing cards got up and walked away. He was acutely aware that the other men had stopped playing. Or maybe they never were playing, to begin with. Fuck, he felt like he was going to be sick.

 “Why should we believe what you say, blood cultist?” the woman spat.

 Alright, to be fair he did have the scaring and was dressed like a guard. Complete with a very large gun to shoot people with and a very large knife to stab people with.

 “First off, I told you my name, please use it. Second of all, why would I lie about this?”  

 “People lie about a lot of things.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.

 He glanced back at the other guards, one of whom was watching him with great interest. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. They were taking too long.

 “Are you talking about Thunderbolt?” the one with a mohawk said, not looking up from his cards.

 Ho’okele made a face. “Who the fuck is Thunderbolt.”

 The woman sighed, exasperated. “That’s Rasha. She was taken about a week and a half ago. We haven’t seen or heard from her since.”

 “That would have been about the time they captured Ismael,” Ho’okele said. “Shit! And they’ve disappeared? You haven’t got any word about where they might be?” Yay! More things were going wrong.

 “Why do you want to know?” the dark-skinned one on the other side asked.

 Ho’okele resisted the urge to grab his hair in frustration and groaned. “I just told you. I’m trying to get them out of here.”

 Before they could respond, a guard called to them. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

 Shit. He had been spotted. He needed to do something about this. What would Paola do if she were in this situation?

 Attempt to sleep with one of the guards to distract them!

 Oh, but the guard that had noticed them was male and not female.

 But, if Paola could bed the Grand Duke of Windsor, who was pushing close to 97 when she had sex with him, then Ho’okele could suck it up for a few minutes with this dude.

 “I said, what are you doing?”

 No, he couldn’t sleep with this guy. It’d take too much time and skills he didn’t have. Time to go onto Plan B! Which he didn’t have and was making up on the spot.

 He whipped around. “Fucking shut up, Marquis! I am trying to set up a fucking fight club to satiate my ever-growing blood lust. Get off my fucking back, you pussy-ass bitch!” He shouted.

 The guard looked taken aback and stammered for a bit before finally saying in a small voice, “My name is John.”

 “Do I look like I give a shit?”

 He stuttered some more.

 “Well, I don’t. Now get the fuck away from me before I use you a fucking bait dog. Goddamn.” He turned back to the group. “Now, where were we?”

 They were staring at him with open mouths. “Y’all know that was a lie, right?”

 Before they could respond, once more someone called out to him.

 “Who do you think you are?”

 He groaned. “Seriously? Who else needs to know?” He got his question when he turned to see a female prisoner on the other side of the fence. He paled when he saw her. A druid. A goddamn druid was now giving him the once over. And she brought friends. Scary friends.

 The man who had been playing cards with the others was cowering behind her.

 “A blood cultist,” she sneered, taking in his scars.

 “Okay, look, I don’t have time for this. I’m working with the president of Mthabelo, the name’s Chazaso, you might have heard of her. I am trying to get Ismael and Rasha off this island before it turns into a bloodbath because the Chosen One is here and looking to re-chop off the head of the Emperor. So, can someone please tell me where the kids are so I don’t suffer a relapse?”

 The druid finally looked like she believed him. “Why didn’t you say you worked for Lady Chazaso? I worked for her too.” She turned and motioned to the man who had a skull tattooed on his face. He nodded and went off.

 “Really? Are you a rebel?”

 “No, I was a part of her cabinet.”

 He was surprised. “Really? What was your name again?”

 The skull tattoo man was coming back with another man.

 “Bloodshot Clark. Now, I’ll start a distraction so we can get the innocents out of here. I’m assuming the naval brigade is waiting?”

 “Um yeah?”

 “You can go find Thunderbolt and Ismael. They’ll be in the main area of the castle.”

 “Still haven’t told me why they call you Bloodshot. I highly doubt that’s your birth name.”

 “Hmm, no. It’s not. Reginald, you ate the heart of a thirteen-year-old girl you kidnapped, correct?”

 The man looked nervous but nodded, eyeing the silver bracelets on her wrists.

 “Right then. This is why they call me Bloodshot.”

 She slammed her open palm on Reginald’s chest. For a few, brief seconds, Ho’okele couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. When his brain did catch up to his eyes, he was horrified. By hitting Reginald in the center of his chest, it appeared that Bloodshot had forced all the blood from his body out the back. But that wasn’t the only thing she was doing. The blood didn’t just spray out. Oh, no, it hovered there before being pulled and formed into a sword.

 For several seconds, no one said anything. There was stunned silence as all eyes were on her. Then, she tossed the sword to Skullface, turned to Ho’okele, and said, “Now then, let’s start a riot.”

 It seemed like that was the entire prison leaped into action with those words.

 “Go!” Bloodshot cried, ripping the blood out of more people. He hoped they were all as despicable as Reginald. “Skullface will get the tribe out of here. You focus on getting Thunderbolt and Ismael!”

 He nodded and rushed off. It wasn’t long before he realized he was being followed. He turned to see the three guys from before with him.

 “Um… what are you doing?”

 They stopped. “We’re going to help rescue Thunderbolt and her brother,” the dark-skinned one said.

 “Yeah, it’s the least we could do. She was trying to escape before the Emperor got ahold of her. We’re helping her see this through until the end.” The one with the mohawk was added.

 He wondered if he should trust these guys. But, screw it. He was running behind as is. He needed to get the kids out of here. Simon and the others would be starting their attack soon.

 “Fine. Whatever. Come on. We’re wasting time.”

 Hopefully, Simon wouldn’t be too mad that everything was falling apart. Besides, he had gained three new allies! That had to count for something, right?

 *****

 When Simon saw that Saoirse, Paola, and about twenty or so Ashi’rans (plus a random white man with a skull tattoo on his face) were on the way over to the boat, he almost sighed with relief. Until he realized that Ho’okele was missing, along with Ismael and Rasha.

 “What happened?” He asked, helping Paola into the boat.

 “According to them, Ismael was never held in the prison with them. Ho’okele went to find him,” she explained.

 “Oh, god, everything’s going wrong,” he groaned, gripping his hands in his hair and thumping his head against the deck of the ship.

 Roy whacked him on the back of his head and signed him to stop spiraling.

 “Don’t try to cheer me up now. My entire plan is falling apart!”

 “What should we do? Should we wait for him?” Lydia asked, pulling him back to the matter at hand.

 Simon bit his lip, his mind working over the problem in his head. It wasn’t just a simple rescue mission that they were responsible for. Their attack would create the opening for Chazaso’s rebel army to also attack and bring down the empire once and for all. Furthermore, if Ismael had never been brought to the prison and Rasha hadn’t been back (likely gone as soon as her brother got there) then there was a very real possibility that they were being watched by the Emperor, possibly forced to stay with him day in and day out until Ismael managed to heal him. Ho’okele wouldn’t be able to go up against him and win.

 “No,” he said, making up his mind. “We carry on like planned. Ho’okele is going to need all the help we can give him. Does everyone know what they’re doing?”

 They nodded.

 “Great, send the signal to Chazaso, we need to attack quickly and not give them time to recuperate and launch a counterattack.”

 “Are you sure you’re going to be able to do this?” Lydia asked.

 “Yeah. I mean, it can’t go any worse than last time.” He shrugged. That was a lie. Already it was going so much worse than last time. Ho’okele was still looking for Ismael and Rasha. There was a prison riot going on to attract attention. And Ismael had probably been healing the Emperor for weeks with no other option.

 He wasn’t going to focus on that right now. Right now, he was going to focus on the plan and make sure no other surprises happened.

 They all hopped off the boat and made their way onto shore.

 “Mai Lan, Sergei, I need my sword. It’s probably going to be in the trophy room,” he said, shuddering to think that anything of his could be considered a trophy. Come to think of it… “And, if you see my arm in there, please burn it.”

 “You got it!” Mai Lan said cheerfully.

 “Boss, is it okay if we take more than just the sword?” Sergei asked.

 “Of course, loot the place to your heart’s desire,” he said. “I want this man completely and totally wrecked.”

 Sergei gave him a bear hug. “Then, we will be back with your sword and whatever treasures we can find.”

 And just like that, they went off on their own.

 “Are you going to be okay? Physically, I mean.” Lydia asked. “You’re still healing from everything.”

 “Of course. Just stick with the plan and we’ll be fine.”

 Lydia and Roy nodded before also going off.

 Simon took a deep breath. On the horizon, he could see Chazaso’s army looming, growing steadily closer. “I have to hand it to her,” he said, “she is very organized. I’m so glad she’s on our side.”

 He forced himself to turn away and head toward the castle. He had a job to do, after all.

 The halls hadn’t changed much from the last time he was here. They were still the drab, depressing-looking hallways they had always been.

 “Seriously, he couldn’t hire an interior designer or something?” Simon grumbled as he made his way to the throne room. “Just because he’s evil doesn’t mean he has to let it sink into every facet of his personality.”

 “So, you’ve come back to face me, Chosen One,” a dark voice rumbled through the halls.

 Simon stopped and looked around, eyes straining to see through the looming shadows to spot the Emperor. Okay, maybe the dark and spooky atmosphere did serve a purpose. That man could be anywhere and Simon wouldn’t be able to tell.

 “I must say, I am surprised you managed to survive. However, this chance is too good to pass up. Once you’re dead, my victory is assured!”

 “Yeah, I don’t think so, buddy. You failed to kill a sixteen-year-old missing an arm and bleeding out. Do you really think you can beat me?”

 There was a sudden rush of air. Simon realized what was happening and barely managed to roll out of the way of an oncoming blow.

 “Yes. I underestimated you once, Chosen One, I will not underestimate you again.”

 Outside, Simon could hear the sounds of a battle taking place. Chazaso had started her attack.

 “Yeah, I hate to say It, but I’m not the Chosen One.” He blocked a blast of dark magic with his light magic, thankful they had decided to attack during the day when his powers were at their strongest.

 “Oh?”

 “I’m just a pirate, who happens to have a cool sword.”

 The Emperor, definitely looking more frail and old than the last time Simon had seen him, twisted his face into the perfect picture of rage and charged at him.

 “Impudent boy! How dare you suggest that I can be defeated by some run-of-the-mill pirate.”

 Simon blocked another attack and sent the emperor stumbling back.

 He rather enjoyed making the Emperor seethe and squirm under his nonchalance of this all. Maybe he wouldn’t have to pull out all the stops. Maybe Simon’s teasing alone would cause him to break down and for him to say the day.

 The Emperor landed a hit square in Simon’s chest, causing him to fly to the other end of the room and slam into the stone wall. On second thought, he needed all of the help he could get. The hit itself, while not too hard or damaging, was enough to throw him off his game. He could no longer block the Emperor or launch his attacks. He was merely focusing on surviving. If this kept up, he wouldn’t survive his second fight.

 Another hit brought him to his knees, this one causing blood to spurt out of something. Maybe his nose. Maybe some of the teeth that had gotten knocked loose. Whatever the case, it was almost too much for Simon to bear.

 The Emperor took a few steps back grinning down at him. “It looks like I’ve won again. All these years, all this training, and you’ve still amounted to nothing.”

 “Oh, that’s not true,” Simon said, grinning at him.

 “Oh really? What are you then?”

 “The distraction.”

 The Emperor’s smile slipped just a fraction, but before he could question, Lydia smashed into him with a fury Simon had never seen before.

 “You aren’t supposed to die, you idiot!” She hollered at him all while using the stone to continue the barrage on the Emperor, briefly managing to flatten him into a pancake. She created several more golems, much larger and more imposing than the ones she made on the ship. One hit from them alone would have flattened an ordinary man. Too bad the Emperor wasn’t ordinary.

 Simon winced as the pulverized bits of flesh knitted themselves back together. “I wasn’t trying to.”

 “Don’t lie to me. You were ready to give up!” She took her sword and slashed it through the Emperor. Roy appeared behind him and finished ripping him apart.

 “That’s so gross.”

 “Help us, Simon, or I swear to God I’ll mutiny!”

 “This is what would cause you to mutiny?”

 “Yes!”

 He rolled his eyes, but stood up, and continued to fight. Now, all they had to do was wait for Ho’okele and Sergei to finish their jobs.

 *****

 “Wow! Look at all of this stuff!” Mai Lan said as she and Sergei made their way to the trophy room. “Ooh! Look at that flail! And the surujin. Oh, I want to try the war hammer!”

 “Grab what you can carry, I will look for the sword,” Sergei said.

 “How do we know what sword it is? There’s like, a hundred of them in here.”

 “I do not know. But, I figure it must be easy to spot if Simon did not tell us any distinguishing features.”

 “I guess that’s true. Maybe to be sure, we should grab them all?” She didn’t much like using swords. She preferred weapons that were easier to manure but still packed a punch.

 As her eyes drifted over the swords, one, in particular, caught her eye. “Hey, what about that one?” she asked, walking over to it. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before. The blade itself shimmered even though it wasn’t under any particular light. Only the sunlight from the outside was filtering in, and the swords that were in direct light didn’t shine as this one did.

 “That is beautiful,” Sergei said. He sounded like he had seen a miracle. Maybe he had.

 Mai Lan looked closer, her brows furrowed as she studied it. “It looks like starlight,” she said.

 “Or sunlight,” Sergei added. “That would actually make sense, given that Simon is supposedly proficient in light magic.”

 “Yeah, but to make a weapon out of light is… impossible. I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

 “It makes sense, though. The skill it must have taken to forge this blade. It is truly extraordinary. Come, let’s get it to him.”

 Mai Lan nodded and plucked the sword out of its case. “It’s so light. It doesn’t feel like I’m holding anything at all. Do you think he’d teach me how to use it later?”

 “I do not see why not,” Sergei said. “Come, I understand now why he needs this blade if he has any hope to defeat the emperor. Let us get to him quickly.”

 They took back off down the hallway towards the throne room where Simon would be. They didn’t far though before running into a group of soldiers. Mai Lan went to attack them, but Sergei held up a hand.

 “Well, well, well,” a general said, stepping forward and grinning at them. “It looks like some trash was dragged in. Men, take out the big guy.”

 Sergei shook his head. “Oh, no my friends. You make a mistake. I am not the muscle, she is.”

 Mai Lan took that as her cue and lunged at the men, her swords disarming and scattering them with ease.

 She threw Simon’s sword at him. “Go, get this to Simon!”

 “Are you going to be okay?”

 “Yeah, you’re not great at fighting anyway. I’ll be fine.”

 “It is true. I am a lover, not a fighter. You meet back up at the dock with us. Okay?”

 “Will do!”

 She lunged at the men and started fighting them. It wasn’t difficult. They were well trained, but not nearly as well trained as she was. In a matter of seconds, they were down.

 “Now, then, let’s see who else we can find,” she grinned, turning and continuing down the hall.

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Character Sheets: Paola

Name: Paola Santos

 Age: A woman never reveals her age.

 Description: Long, black hair that is often pinned up with jewels, precious metals, and stones. Olive skin. Very curvy. Deep brown eyes with a small mole in the corner of the right one.  

Country of Origin: Boscara

 Likes: Fine jewelry, pretty clothes, spending time on my hair and make up, fun parties (even if the food is never as good as Roy’s), meeting new people, conning those people out of millions, ruining their lives and convincing their wives to divorce their sorry asses, leaving them poor, broke and destitute as their entire lives crumbles around them, painting my nails.  

 Dislikes: My father. Getting all dressed up and looking stunning only to have Simon crash the party because he got in trouble, thus ruining my hair, make up, and clothes.

 Favorite Food: A nice steak. Medium rare. With a side of seasonal vegetables and a wonderful wine.

 Favorite Color: Jewel tones. All of them.

 Weapon of Choice: Who needs weapons when you have words and the ability to read people?

 Secret Talent they Have: Cake decorating. What can I say? In another life, I would be a baker.

 Number of Warrants out for their Arrest: Twenty-six.  

 Which does you prefer, unicorns or dragons? Unicorns. Nothing says drama and glamor like arriving to a fabulous party on a unicorn.

 Have you ever punched a nun? Darling, no! Now have I ever seduced a nun… Well, it’s not proper to kiss and tell.

 Would you rather have a camel the size of a hawk, or a hawk the size of a camel? I’d rather have a hawk the size of a hawk. Camels are such smelly creatures and I can imagine a giant hawk would be very messy. What’s wrong with hawks being the size they are?

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Character Sheet: Ho’okele

Name: Ho’okele Onaona

 Age: Eighteen years-old

 Description: Curly black hair, medium length, often pulled back. Scarring visible on most of his body (the aftermath of being a blood cultist). Missing two fingers on his left hand.  

Country of Origin: Kainaka

 Likes: Reading. That’s about it. I like to read. Anything I can get my hands on.

 Dislikes: My dad. My mom. Pretty much anything to do with blood magic. The emperor. Most of my siblings. Whoever else was in that stupid cult.

 Favorite Food: Fresh fruit. Pretty much any fresh fruit but berries are my favorite. I could eat that shit all day.

 Favorite Color: Purple

 Weapon of Choice: I’m not really allowed to fight… (But if I had to choose, a silver dagger so that I can do magic and consume your immortal soul).  

 Secret Talent they Have: I’m actually a pretty decent story teller. I love telling stories and making people laugh.

 Number of Warrants out for their Arrest: Five. One for that time I accidently smuggled drugs over the border because my girlfriend at the time said they were for child cancer patients. Two for various activities related to my stupid family cult. One for the time I helped break Simon and Saoirse out of prison. And one for that time Sergei and I broke into a rich man’s house and robbed him blind. I was caught. Sergei was not.

 Which does you prefer, unicorns or dragons? Um… is that even a question? Dragon all the way!

 Have you ever punched a nun? Once. But, hear me out! I was eating wings, right? And wings get messy with all the sauce. And she had the audacity to sit there and judge me! She even started making snide comments about me. So, I decked the broad. I’m not going to apologize. Even if Simon wanted me to.

 Would you rather have a camel the size of a hawk, or a hawk the size of a camel? Okay, that one’s a bit harder. Let’s see here. I think a camel the size of a hawk. It’d probably be easier to control. Hawks take a ton of time and energy to train to listen to you. Camels are opinionated, sure, but how’s an eight-pound camel going to fight me? A camel size hawk on the other hand… Yeah, I’m getting carried away before I can even get a word in.

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Chapter 22

The next week was filled with Ismael healing the Emperor. Every day after breakfast with the man, he’d pull several souls out of his body while Rasha watched on the side. At first, he would always collapse, unconscious and dead to the world for at least an hour afterward.

 Sometimes he had the strangest dreams in this state. Sometimes Simon was there. Sometimes it was grandma. Sometimes it was both. Sometimes they encouraged him. Sometimes they demanded to know why he was helping such an evil man and refused to listen to his cries that it was necessary. He hated those ones. He did feel guilty every time he woke up and Rasha or Noah told him the Emperor was doing better; looking healthier. He felt like he was betraying every single person he had ever loved. He felt like he was betraying grandma and spitting on her grave.

Rasha always told him that it was the only way. Even if this didn’t weaken the Emperor like they had theorized, it still bought them time to figure another way out of here. He wasn’t sure he believed her and wondered if one of these days he’d have the courage to say no to him; to stand his ground and deny him help.

 Noah said that was stupid. “You can’t help anyone if you’re dead,” he snapped one evening. “Maybe this is the wrong choice, but we won’t know that until we see it through until the end or another, better choice presents itself. If you martyr yourself because you feel like you’re betraying your people, if you betray them for surviving, then they aren’t your people.”

 He sounded so angry when he said it, that it shocked Ismael into not complaining again.

 Luckily, by the end of the week, he had gotten to the point where he no longer collapsed every time he pulled souls out and he had increased his number from three to ten. He worried each time that he had accidentally absorbed the souls, thus making him a practitioner of blood magic.

 Noah checked him over after each session, looking into his eyes and underneath his fingernails. “No, you haven’t absorbed anyone.”

 “How can you tell?” Rasha asked, dubious.

 He held up Ismael’s hand. “The fingernails and whites of his eyes would have a red or pink tinge to them.”

 Ismael looked at his other hand. “My fingernails are pink.”

 “No, not like--” He dropped his hand and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just trust me, alright. If you had taken any of the energy of the souls, I would know. I can tell the difference between these things.”

 “Because you’re a druid?” Rasha asked.

 While buttoned up in his uniform, it was hard to see Noah’s tattoos. Occasionally, Ismael could see one peeking out from underneath a collar or sleeve. But, for the most part, they remained covered. He wondered if the Emperor knew or cared about Noah’s past.

 “No, I’m not,” he said. “I never finished my training. Look, you have to trust me. I’m still trying to figure out a way to get your people out. As soon as the Emperor’s dead, it’ll be chaos. We’ll have to move quickly.”

 Ismael’s stomach started doing flips again as the nerves and anxiety of the situation set in. “Are you sure this will work?”

 Noah shook his head. “Not at all, but we don’t have a choice. It’s either we try this or we run away now. What’s it going to be?”

 Ismael looked down at his fingernails. He could swear there was a pink tinge to them that wasn’t normal. Those souls, all those souls, they needed to be free. “I’m going to keep going. If we don’t, those souls might never find peace and the Emperor will continue to hurt people.”

 Noah shook his head. “As fantastic as that is to sacrifice yourself for the good of the world, keep in mind that if you give too much, the world will kill you and not even thank you for what you’ve done.”

 “You’re saying I shouldn’t help people?”

 Noah sighed again. He sounded exasperated. “No, I’m saying you shouldn’t die for a world that won’t even bat an eye at your sacrifice. Helping other people is good. Getting rid of a tyrant is good. But doing so at the expense of your life is not. Understand?”

 “I think so.”

 “Good. Now, I have to go. You two rest up and continue to do what you’re doing. I’m not sure how many souls we’ll have to remove before he becomes mortal, so the more you get rid of, the better.”

 He said goodbye to them and left them alone once more in the room. The room itself was cozy, if not a little boring. There were tons of law books scattered about. Word had gotten back to the Emperor that Rasha had checked out practically all law books from Mthabelo and added a few other countries to satiate her curiosity. Surprisingly, Rasha did read through a fair bit of them.

 Ismael let her continue her burgeoning law career and decided to sit and meditate on the energy in his body like Rasha had when she was learning about the different types of magic and how to break the cuffs. Of course, it would be easier to meditate if his brain wasn’t so loud.

 The Emperor, for his part, was looking better and better each time Ismael saw him. He still wore gloves unless Ismael was healing him, but every time he saw his hands, he could see the blackened skin was less intense than before. Even the Emperor had seemed to get more energetic as time went on. He wanted to get back to his normal blood magic ways. It was a shock to learn that he had stopped because of his worsening condition. However, with the help of Rasha (who he was realizing would make a very nice con artist) and Noah (who never seemed afraid to lie to the Emperor’s face) they were able to convince him that wasn’t a good idea. They pointed out that the two different forms of magic might cause an unforeseen consequence. Given that this was a completely new form of healing and magic, they didn’t want to risk anything. The Emperor didn’t seem to question it and let Ismael continue without stealing the souls of anyone else. As much as it was a way to keep him from turning back into a monster, they did have a point. There was no way to determine what might cause a rebound or something awful to happen to either Ismael or the Emperor. They couldn’t risk it if they wanted him to continue healing.

 Besides trying to convince the Emperor not to start up blood magic again, the hardest part was getting to know all the souls in his body. Some of them were playful and liked talking with him and asking him questions about the outside world. Some of them were angry and would spend the entire time he was trying to pull them out yelling at him. He didn’t mind. He understood that they were frustrated with how things had turned out and wanted to leave as soon as possible. He let them yell at him. It hurt, a lot, some of the things they said. He would complain about it to Noah afterward. They wanted someone to pay for their suffering. Sadly, Ismael was the only one who could pay, even if the only thing they could do was scream insults at him. Thankfully, though, most of the spirits seemed to understand that he wasn’t the cause of their suffering, he was trying to help them, and yelling at him wouldn’t do anyone any good.

 When he was finished for the day, he and Rasha would always go back to their little room. Sometimes, they would have another meal with the Emperor. Mostly, they were left alone. He wished he could go talk to the rest of his family, but the Emperor smiled and said later. He always said later. Ismael knew he meant never.

 “If I didn’t know any better,” Rasha said one night in their room, “I wouldn’t believe the Emperor was a horrible person. So far, he’s been rather nice. He feeds us. He lets us sleep in a warm bed. He hasn’t killed us or tortured us.”

 “Don’t let him fool you,” Noah said. “He knows how to get people to trust him when he needs to.”

 “I know, I’m not stupid,” she hissed. “I spent two months in a prison making friends with horrible people to survive. Though, I don’t think they’re horrible anymore.”

 “Trevor, Hank, and Benny are all in prison for murder,” Noah said.

 “I’m just saying, it’s no wonder he managed to gain so much power. I thought all blood magic users were crazy and muttered to themselves.”

 “It is odd that he managed to live for so long like this,” Noah agreed. “I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

 “Even now,” Ismael added, “the issue isn’t that he’s going crazy, it’s that his body can’t hold all of the souls he’s consumed and it’s ripping him apart from the inside.”

 Noah nodded. “How much longer do you think until he’s mortal enough for me to kill him?”

 He looked down at his shoes. “I don’t know. I’ve never done something like this before. It’s not like this is a normal situation for me.”

 “How will you kill him?” Rasha asked, much too happy about the question in Ismael’s opinion. “Cut off his head? Push him into a volcano? Use a very big rock to bash his brains open?” She seemed like she was getting more and more excited with each suggestion.  

 Noah looked taken aback by the question. “Um… I was just going to shoot him. I’m pretty good with a gun and being far away means he’s less likely to be able to use his magic against me.”

 “Oh,” Rasha looked disappointed.

 “Where would we even find a volcano?” Ismael asked.

 “I don’t know. I assume they’re somewhere in the world.

 “Did you want to bludgeon me to death with a rock?” Noah asked.

 She shrugged. “It just seems a little anticlimactic. A man who’s three hundred years old and has killed millions of people will be taken out by one bullet to the head. Sorry for thinking it’d be a bit more complicated than that.”

 “It is a bit more complicated than that!” Ismael cried. “Do you think my work is easy?”

 “No, that’s not what I meant—”

 “Regardless,” Noah said, cutting them off before the argument could get any worse. “You two will not have any say in this. When it does come time to kill him, you need to be as far away from this place as possible.”

 “Why?” Ismael asked, confused as to this newfound rule he hadn’t heard before.

 “Because you’re just kids. You don’t need to see someone get executed. Leave that to me.”

 “But—” Rasha said.

 “But nothing. Either you agree to this or I find another way. That’s final.” He pinched his brow. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with children about whether or not they should be present for an execution.”

 “No, that’s just Rasha. She’s naturally argumentative.”

 “Fine, we won’t be there when you kill him,” Rasha groaned, glaring at him. “But I want one of my people to be there, to make sure you did it.”

 “What, like Miria?”

 “No, I was thinking Bloodshot.”

 Noah paled. “What about Hank.”

 “Hank, Trevor, and Benny are a packaged deal.”

 “Fine. They can watch me execute the Emperor. Deal?”

 Rasha stuck out her hand. “Deal.”  

 Noah studied them for a moment and then nodded, seemingly content with their answers. He shook her hand.

 “Ismael,” he said, “tomorrow, try and talk with the spirits some more and figure out when the Emperor will become human once more so we can finish him off. The longer it takes, the more likely he will figure out we’re up to something and kill us.”

 Ismael swallowed and nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what I can figure out. But I can’t promise anything. They’re dead. They say they don’t care much about the world of the living anymore. Most of them don’t even remember their names.”

 “Just try and get some more information. Okay? But don’t stress if you can’t. One way or another, we will figure out a way to get you two away from him.”

 Noah bid them goodnight and stepped out of the room. Once they were alone, he and Rasha crawled into bed.

 “Do you think we’ll actually be able to do it?” Rasha asked quietly.

 It caught him off guard. He was so used to Rasha being the one who was always confident. He wasn’t used to reassuring her.

 “I’m sure it will. Even if it doesn’t, at least we tried something. Grandma would be proud of us for doing that.”

 She nodded. “Okay. If you think it’ll work, then I think it’ll work.”

 He hugged her tightly and let himself drift off to sleep. His nightmares were filled with screaming spirits, begging him to release them from their torment.

 *****

 Simon had had better days. Hell, he had had better years than the past week had allowed him. Turns out, there are complications for having your arm cut off in the ocean and then having a hunk of magic metal welded to it. A lot of complications.

 “It’s a new technique I’m experimenting with,” Temilade said as she used healing magic on Simon’s shoulder. “It should decrease the amount of healing time needed. Even still, it’s not enough for what you need.”

 “It’s going to have to work,” he said. “We can’t waste much more time.”

 “You don’t think I don’t know that?” Temilada snapped. “If this were any other situation, I wouldn’t even entertain this idea. The technique is still not perfected yet and there’s a very good chance I render the entire left side of your body useless.”

 He winced. “You’re not going to, right?”

 She smacked him on the back of the head. “No. Because I am the best. Come back to me alive and I finish fixing your arm.”

 He nodded. He was still bitter about this whole thing being his fight. Yes, he asked for it, but he was a child when it happened. A child in a bad situation who was looking for any way to escape. It could have happened to anyone. Despite this, though, he was now throwing himself back in the fray. All for a kid he had only known for a few months. That alone made the experience better. He wasn’t a Chosen One. He wasn’t the hero who was going to save everyone. There was no prophecy about him. There was no pressure. There was only him and apparently Chazaso, the current ruler of a country. How had he not seen that at all?

 “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lydia asked. “You don’t have to. You might die.”

 “I’ll probably die, but it’s better to die trying to fight for something than live out the rest of my life in fear.”

 “You seem very okay with dying.”

 He couldn’t help but shrug. “Eh, I’m probably disassociating. Or passively suicidal.”

 She surprised him by hugging him. In many ways, he felt like she was more shaken by the loss of the other half of his arm than he was by it. To be fair, it was the second time this had happened to him so he was already sort of used to it. And, the act of cutting off another piece of a human being, even to save their life, was probably more than a little traumatizing.

 “Well don’t be,” she snapped. “Do you think I put all that effort into saving you just so that you could up and die on me?”

 He sighed and sat back. “No, I suppose you didn’t. I’ll do everything in my power to stay alive. I want this thing ended as much as you.”

 “Good. Because I will cut off that man’s head.”

 “Hey now, I’m the one all the prophecies are about. If anyone should be cutting off his head, it should be me,” he said, without much bite to it. At this point, he didn’t care who killed the emperor. All he cared about was that the man was finally dead and their problems were finally solved. Or, at least one of their problems was finally solved.

 “Please. We both know that I’m going to be the one who cuts off that man’s head.”

 “It’s my sword.”

 “It’s my ability to see into the future and see that you aren’t going to kill him.”

 “You don’t have the powers of foresight. No one does.”

 “And yet, here you are, clinging to a prophecy in hopes that you will be the one to finally end this wicked man’s reign.”

 He couldn’t argue with that.  

 There was a knock at the door. Sergei stepped in.

 “Chazaso says all of her soldiers are ready, my friends,” he said cheerfully.

 “That was fast.”

 “Something tells me as soon as you started heading towards Athashire, she started planning this,” Lydia added.

 “Oh, most certainly, my friends,” Sergei said. “Lady Chasazo has always been one step ahead. I think we might be able to win this thing. Or at the very least steal some very amazing shit.”

 “Sergei,” Lydia groaned, “we are there to overthrow an emperor, not pick up some new trinkets.”

 “Still, if I see something shiny, then I will take it!”

 “Glad you plan to, Sergei.” He smiled and twisted his new arm. It certainly moved better than his old one. It was much lighter, for one. And, the mechanics made it move a lot more like an arm, smoothly and without a second thought. He could get used to this. Though, he would die before he told Lydia that.  

 He stood up and grabbed his coat. “Alright then, gang, let’s go overthrow an empire and kill a fascist dictator.”

 Lydia smiled and grabbed her sword. “Now that is something I think we can all get behind.”

  He may have been riding out to his death again, but this time it felt different. This time he felt older, wiser, and more powerful. And it wasn’t just him. There was an entire army backing him, ready to go to war with him. They weren’t relying solely on the work of children. He would make sure that Saoirse and Mai Lan weren’t the ones doing all the work. He may not be able to kill the Emperor, but he felt like this time he at least had a chance

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Character Sheet: Saoirse

Name: Saoirse Dunn

 Age: Sixteen years-old

 Description: Short brown hair, round brown eyes, freckles across the nose, pale skin that is often sunburned.

Country of Origin: Kinlick

 Likes: Learning about purification magic, fun shaped rocks (No, not diamonds, Sergie. Rocks! Rocks! Like the kind you get from the ground!), (I know you can get diamonds from the ground! I’m not talking about diamonds, though!), (Can you quit trying to convince me to like diamonds? I’m trying to talk about my own likes!), and… what were we talking about?

 Dislikes: Long hair, getting married, not being able to practice purification magic, peeling potatoes, cleaning the deck, listening to Ho’okele being a fucking nerd about magic, Simon telling me I can’t go swimming in the ocean… Am I a negative person? Maybe I should go hang out with Mai Lan some more.  

 Favorite Food: Cheese Any specific kind?  No.

 Favorite Color: Yellow

 Weapon of Choice: Um…. I don’t know? My fists? I guess? I don’t really know how to use a weapon. I should probably learn, though.  

 Secret Talent they Have: I’m really good at baking bread. Even Roy asks me for help when he wants to make bread!

 Number of Warrants out for their Arrest: One. Just from my home town.  

 Which does you prefer, unicorns or dragons? That’s a tough one. Unicorns, I guess. I know a dragon would probably be of more use, but it’s not like we’re actually going to be getting this so I’m going to indulge myself and say that I’d rather have the creature that poops out rainbows.

 Have you ever punched a nun? No! Never! Though… I did launch a spitball at one once. I was five though, so I don’t think that counts.

 Would you rather have a camel the size of a hawk, or a hawk the size of a camel? Camel the size of a hawk. It seems like it’s be fun to cuddle and, like with the unicorn question, we’re not actually getting either of these things and a camel the size of a hawk sounds like a lot more fun than a hawk the size of a camel.

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Character Sheets: Mai Lan

Name: Mai Lan (Last name unknown)

 Age: Eighteen years-old

 Description: Long black hair, almond shaped eyes, on the shorter side. Arms muscular enough to absolutely murder you if she so desired.

Country of Origin: Southern Xuchong

 Likes: Cheering on Sergei, sharpening all my knives and swords, being very high up and climbing up very tall structures, and chocolate!

 Dislikes: Not a lot. Why dislike something when you can like it?

 Favorite Food: Anything chocolate.

 Favorite Color: Green

 Weapon of Choice: Twin hook swords. Literally everything about them is super deadly so no matter what end I hit you with, you’re probably going to die.

 Secret Talent they Have: Contortion! I’m super flexible. It allows me to get into tight spaces. Or freak Ho’okele out whenever he annoys me 

 Number of Warrants out for their Arrest: Are we counting warrants that have my name or warrants that are for me, but they don’t know they’re for me? Because if it’s the first one, then zero! Yay! If it’s the second one, I don’t know. Maybe sixty-five or so. Maybe more. No, wait, definitely more. I just stopped counting after sixty-five.  

 Which does you prefer, unicorns or dragons? Unicorns! Their coats are so shiny and their horns are the colors of rainbows. Who wouldn’t want a unicorn?

 Have you ever punched a nun? Once. But, to be fair, she was in my way and would get out of my way.

 Would you rather have a camel the size of a hawk, or a hawk the size of a camel? Can I have both? The rules don’t say that I can’t have both so I’m going to have both. The hawk the size of a camel can murder my enemies and strike fear into the hearts of men. The camel the size of a hawk can be my cute pet that I take on walks and dress up in cute sweaters 

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Chapter 21

Someone was tapping incessantly on his cheek. It was rather annoying and he’d wish they’d stop if only so he could sleep a bit longer. His head felt like it was getting split open with a pick axe.

Sadly, it seemed like Rasha didn’t want him to sleep because she was being a jerk and wouldn’t stop hitting him. “Ismael, wake up!” she hissed.

 He groaned and rolled over to get away from his annoying sister. He was not going to get up yet.

 “Oh no, you don’t. I did not sit here for an hour trying to wake you up so you can go back to sleep. Come on! Wake up!” She started hitting him harder. It was making his headache worse.

 There were two ways this could play out. He could either keep trying to sleep, which would only make her hit him harder (and thus make his headache worse). Or he could open his eyes and get her to stop.

 He groaned and decided on the latter. “Fine, I’m awake.”

 “Finally.”

 They were in the room he had been taken to when he first arrived in Dalheimer. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, warming up the room and casting it in a warm orange glow.

 He sat up, wincing as he did so. “Are you okay?”

 “Am I okay?” Rasha huffed, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “I’m not the one who fainted. What did you do? Did you heal him?”

 Ismael bit his lip and shook his head.

 “But then—”

 “It’s souls, Rasha. I pulled out a soul from his body.”

 “Souls?”

 “Yes. I don’t really understand it, but the souls explained it to me. They said that blood magic gets its power from the energy of the souls of the people they kill. He has thousands in his body. But bodies are only made to house one soul.”

 “What does that mean for him, then? It worked. I saw that ugly black hand become less ugly and black.”

 “I think I’m turning him human again.”

 Rasha’s eyes lit up. “That’s great! If he’s human again, then that means we can kill him.”

 “We?”

 “Well, do you see anyone else around who’d be willing to do it? Besides,” she rummaged around her pockets and pulled out something that looked like it was once a spoon, but had been sharpened into a rather rusty point. “I made a knife. It’s not very big but if I can jam it into his eye, it might work.”

 “Where did you get that?”

 Rasha rolled her eyes. “I didn’t get it. I made it. Benny taught me how.”

 “Benny?”

 “One of the inmates I was housed with. Remember? He taught me a lot of things. He, Trevor, and Hank. Though, Trevor mostly taught me about slam poetry.”

 Ismael felt a little horrified that his sister had learned such dangerous and horrible things. He hated that she had been here for a month, scared and alone, not even their tribe to help her. Sure, she had survived, but survival wasn’t the only thing he wanted her to do.

 “Don’t look at me like that. You hired a bunch of pirates.”

 “Yes, but…” Simon and the others didn’t feel like pirates. They didn’t feel dangerous. Plus, Simon was apparently the chosen one, running away from his responsibilities. If Simon had just done what he was supposed to all those years ago, then none of this ever would have happened. He and Rasha could still be living with grandma and Mangy. They may have even gone to Uqaibha together.

 “Oh, Issy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Rasha said, patting his arm and putting the knife-spoon away.

 “No, it’s not that. I just… I don’t want you to kill anyone. That feels wrong.”

 Rasha slumped down. “I don’t want to kill anyone either. The shiv is more just for protection than anything. In case Sawtooth isn’t around.”

 “The what?”

 “Shiv.” She brandished the knife-spoon again. “That’s what Benny said it was called.”

 “What if we were to get Sawtooth to kill him instead? He sounds like a dangerous person. He’s probably killed lots of people.”

 “Eh, he’s not that dangerous. He was arrested for having a goat without a license. He used to run a store that sold paper. Only paper he said.”

 “Then, why is he called Sawtooth? That’s not the name of someone who used to sell paper and own a goat.”

 Rasha shrugged. “It’s prison. What can I say?”

 “What’s your nickname then?”

 “Thunderbolt. The guys gave it to me after they heard what I did with the Emperor. They were impressed.”

 “Okay?”

 “But we do need to get you out of here. As soon as you’ve served your purpose, he is going to kill you.”

 Ismael thought back to what had happened in that room; the soul he had talked to. Blood magic was something he wasn’t too familiar with, but he did know it was dangerous precisely because of the use of another person’s life force. What if… what if by healing the Emperor, he was weakening him instead.

 “Rasha,” he said evenly, “I think I need to stay and heal him.”

 Rasha stopped pacing and muttering to herself half-baked plans that would likely get them both killed. “What?” she asked, incredulous.

 “I know it sounds crazy, but I think me healing him is the only way to truly beat him. His body is breaking down because it is only meant to hold one soul. And he’s got hundreds, thousands in. It’s the source of his power, but it’s also the reason he’s dying.”

 “So, you’re going to reset him back to a human so that he can go on to capture more souls?”

 He shook his head. “No. I’m going to reset him back to a human so that he can be defeated. There are rebels all over the world fighting to stop him. If we can just get a message out to one of those people, then maybe we could get an army here to defeat him. Or just one person. It doesn’t have to be a whole army. I don’t think he realizes that me healing him is weakening him so he might not try very hard to stop me.”

 “How do we even get a message out? And who do we get a message out to?”

 Ismael thought for a second. “What about the men you met at prison? Maybe they could help us out. Or what about Miria? If she uses her birds, then maybe that bird will remember who it met up with and tell them we might have a way to kill the Emperor! You said that Benny and the others were in contact with them. That’s what we can do! We can figure out how to slip a message to them.”

 Rasha bit her lip. “That might work. We’d have to be careful about how we do this.”

 “It will take us some time, but I think I can convince the Emperor that I need to do it in stages. Hopefully, that will be enough to mask what’s going on.”

 “And give us enough time for someone to get here.” Rasha nodded to herself. “Alright, it’s settled then. We can ask and see if the others can come up here instead of sitting down in the prison. Then, we can ask Miria if the bird remembers who it went to.”

 Before they could finalize their plan, however, there was a knock at the door. Ismael jumped and shrank back. All of his bravado and planning disappeared the moment he heard that knock. How could it not? He was trying to figure out a way to weaken the most powerful man in the world. He was going to lie to him, to his face! He couldn’t even lie to grandma about his chores.

 He swallowed and steeled himself as the door swung open to reveal two guards. “The Emperor requests your presence,” one of them said.

 Rasha grabbed Ismael’s hand and squeezed it, smiling at him. “Let’s not keep him waiting, then. He’s a very busy man. He does things like collect taxes and… um… whatever else the leader of the world does. Every time I have a meal with him, he refuses to tell me how he runs this place.” She skipped out after them, tugging Ismael along.

 He swallowed nervously. His entire stomach felt seconds away from vomiting and everything felt like it was closing in around him.

 “Don’t be nervous, Issy,” Rasha said. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to heal him. Like normal!”

 The guards seemed to buy it and didn’t give them much thought. This was also Rasha’s way of letting him know to trust her and let her take care of it. He did trust her. He had to trust her.

 They stepped into the room, once more filled with so much food, Ismael wondered if the Emperor honestly expected him and Rasha to eat it all. But that wasn’t what caught his eye. What caught his eye was a familiar face. Noah, sitting down at the end with other important-looking people.

 They locked eyes and Noah visibly paled. Ismael was about to call out to him but thought better of it. He didn’t need anyone to know they had previously met.

 “Ah, I’m glad you’re feeling better Mr. el-Hassif,” the Emperor said, sweeping up to them and smiling. When he was in person, he wasn’t very scary. He looked like a normal human with normal teeth and eyes and nails, nothing of the predator that haunted his nightmares. And he often sounded very pleasant to talk to.

 “It happens sometimes when he overworks himself,” Rasha explained. “Who are all these people?”

 Well, she was certainly taking on her role of the talker very seriously.

 “These are various generals and soldiers who I trust with my day-to-day affairs.”

 “So, this is how you run your country,” she whispered to herself.

 Rasha nodded seriously and then marched up to them, still tugging Ismael along behind her. “Hello, my name is Rasha El-Hassif.” She stuck out her hand and then thought better of it and turned to the Emperor.

 No one reached out to shake her hands. In fact, quite a few of them reached for their weapons. Ismael inhaled sharply.

 Rasha just let out an exasperated groan. “Seriously! Is no one a handshake people? My entire life has been a lie.”

 The Emperor started laughing. This seemed to ease the tension in the room enough for the other generals to start laughing as well. Noah did not.

 “It’s fine, Ms. el-Hassif. I wanted them to meet the person who will be responsible for bringing me back to health so we can continue our reign and march towards total domination. There are still places in the far West and far South we have yet to conquer.”

 “Right.” Rasha nodded. “Issy gets a little nervous, that’s why I’m here.” She explained.

 For once, Ismael didn’t feel like arguing with her.

 “Come now, sit. We have enough food for you two and Ismael will need his strength if he’s going to continue healing me.”

 “You know it will take a while,” he said quietly, finally getting his voice to work.

 “Of course, of course!” The Emperor waved a dismissive hand at them. “I know a thing or two about patience, my dear boy. I hardly expect you to work miracles in a few days.”

 They sat down at the table. Rasha piled her plate with food while Ismael just picked at the various things on the table.

 “What exactly is wrong with the emperor?” One of the generals asked.

 Ismael flinched and Rasha froze beside him. How was he supposed to come up with a believable excuse? One that no other healer could deal with?

 “It’s the energy,” Rasha quickly explained. “Issy does a different form of healing than normal. He works more with energy to heal a person.”

 “Energy?” he asked.

 Ismael nodded. “It’s like a big ball inside of him. All twisted up. I’m trying to untangle it but it is very slow going. Like when you have a ball of tangled string. You can’t just go it all at once or else you’ll break the string.” Was that believable enough? Was that something the general would understand? What if he was a skilled healer? What if he knew that Ismael was lying?

 “How interesting,” Noah said, yanking Ismael from his worry. “I suppose all magic is simply an exercise in energy.”

 Yes! He was playing along. But why was he here? Would he help Ismael like back on the island? Or would he sit back and watch him die by the Emperor’s hand?

 The conversation stopped there and everyone continued to eat. Ismael felt like he could finally breathe and managed to get a few things down.

 Finally, the dinner was over and Ismael and Rasha were taken back to their room.

 “We didn’t get to ask him about our people,” Rasha groaned. “I was too nervous to do it in front of all those generals. What if one of them figured out what we were doing?”

 “I know. Maybe tomorrow, when I heal him?” Ismael suggested.

 Before Rasha could respond, there was a knock at the door. They looked at each other, Ismael holding his breath while he waited to see what monster could possibly be at their door now.

 “Ismael, it’s me,” Noah said.

 “Someone here knows you?” Rasha gasped. “Just what sort of trouble did you get yourself into? And why is it when I wanted to go to Uqaibha you were all scared but now you have friends with pirates, guards, and muggers? It’s not fair!”

 “It’s not like I wanted to make friends with all these people,” he hissed, going to open the door. “Besides, I don’t even know if Noah is a friend or not. He’s Simon’s friend, but I don’t think he cares about me very much.” He still wasn’t sure if he trusted Noah or not. Hopefully talking to him freely would help him decide.

 “What are you doing here?” he asked as Noah stepped in.

 “I was promoted and transferred up here,” he replied. “So, it’s true. You were captured by him. What happened to Simon?”

 Simon. Right. He was still angry at him for lying about the whole ‘chosen one’ thing and leading him to the island when he knew no help would be there. Although, he was pretty sure Simon may have died. But Lydia wouldn’t have let him. Right?

 “Did you know?” Ismael asked. Rasha was quiet beside him. She must have felt his energy.

 Noah sighed and sat down on the bed. “Yes. I was one of the people who originally traveled with him the first time to defeat the Emperor. I saved his life after his arm cut off. I barely managed to hold the Emperor off while I dragged him out of the castle. It was a miracle he survived at all.”

 “Why didn’t he tell me? He knew I was looking for him, but he didn’t tell me.”

 “It’s…” he sighed again. “It’s complicated.”

 “No, it’s not! Adults always say that but it means nothing. Just tell me what’s going on!”

 Noah looked at him and then deflated. “Fine, I’ll give you the short version. When the prophecy was made people searched far and wide to find the Chosen One. I’m not sure how they found Simon or figured it was him, but he was an orphan, poor, uneducated, and didn’t have a lot of prospects so he jumped at the chance. He was about your age if I remember correctly. After a few brutal years of training, being beaten and molded into a weapon, he rode off to defeat the Emperor. I and three others joined him. We all believed that he would defeat him because the Prophecy said so. We were wrong. I watched my friends get murdered and Simon get his arm cut off. We were only sixteen at the time, way too young to be riding into battle. After I managed to save Simon and stop him from dying, he… you have to understand it was very traumatic. I wanted to avenge our friends. He wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. The only thing we could agree on was that we were lied to. After his defeat, any hopes of rebellion dried up. It made me realize how much people had been relying on some sixteen-year-old to save them all. And how much Simon had lost to become what they wanted him to be.”

 Noah ran a hand down his face, looking more worn and tired than he had a second ago. “Simon’s a good person. He agreed to help you because he does want to help you. I do not doubt that he went to that island to see if there was something he missed. He just didn’t want the pressure of having to live up to a fantasy hero. Because the last time we tried to do that, three children were slaughtered and another one lost his arm.”

 Oh, well, that made things more complicated. Ismael was still mad at him for lying, but his feelings softened.

 “Why did you join the guard, then?” Rasha asked. “If you wanted to avenge your friends? It seems very counter-productive.”

 “That was a stupid decision on my part. I was young. I still thought overthrowing an empire would be easy. I thought that if I infiltrated the ranks, I could find information and use that to overthrow him. However, as time went on, I started focusing more on just keeping my head down and surviving to see another day. All the people who promised to help us overthrow him went away. I had heard whispers of another rebellion, but as far as I know, no one big enough to take on the Emperor exists. I never meant to become a guard. I meant to figure out weaknesses and take them over from the inside.”

 Rasha turned to Ismael. “Do you think we can believe him?” she asked in Tuuzanic.

 Noah watched them with his dark eyes. He probably knew what they were talking about.

 Ismael thought about it for a few moments. When Simon needed help, he trusted Noah to not turn them over to the guard, even when doing so would give him great prestige. They needed help. They had to trust him.

 He nodded and turned to him. “I know how we can kill the Emperor. I’m not healing him, I’m pulling the souls from his body. If I pull enough of them, he’ll turn back into a human again.”

 Noah looked at them, shocked.

 “We need you to kill him,” Rasha said. “Since I’ve never killed anyone before and I don’t want to start now. Issy certainly won’t kill him because he’s a wimp.”

 “Hey!”

 “Shut up. You know it’s true. Will you help us? This is our only chance to save people and stop this reign of terror,” she said. She reminded Ismael of grandma, strong and confident even in the face of such terrible odds. For a brief second, it was like she was standing with them, giving them all of the strength they needed to win this battle.

 Noah’s face hardened. “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll come by tomorrow and you can give me more details then. For now, keep your heads down and don’t do anything to cause trouble.”

 “He’s talking about you,” he mumbled.

 Rasha elbowed him.

 “I mean it,” Noah said sharply. He reminded Ismael a lot of Grandma. That thought scared him into silence more than any sword or gun could.

 They nodded. As Noah slipped out the door, a strange emotion came over Ismael. He felt scared, terrified of all the bad things that could happen. But he also felt calm and focused. He might die trying to save the world, but it was a risk he was willing to take. It was a risk he had to take.

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Character Sheet: Lydia

Name: Lydia Freeman

 Age: Twenty-four years old

 Description: Black hair, often in box braids, dark brown eyes, dark brown skin. Very tall and muscular, on account of working on a ship for most of her life

Country of Origin: Kinlik

 Likes: Playing with my golems, stealing very shiny jewels from very rich people, giving Simon a hard time (he deserves it most of the time), and listening to music

 Dislikes: Very rich people, cleaning the ship, listening to Paola talk about all the women she knows who would be perfect for me, and the guards

 Favorite Food: Caramel peach pie

 Favorite Color: Pink

 Weapon of Choice: A simple sword. I stole it from a sword master who refused to train me on account of me having breasts. Every time I use it to cut through someone, I’m reminded of that pathetic man and I hope he rolls in his grave knowing that I’m one of the best swordmen on the ship.

 Secret Talent they Have: Not really much of a secret but I am fantastic with transference, transformative, and purification magic. Ho’okele’s the only one that’s better than me. But I can easily beat him in hand to hand combat so I figure it evens out.

 Number of Warrants out for their Arrest: Five. Plus three extra where they don’t know I’m the one they’re looking for.  

 Which does you prefer, unicorns or dragons? Dragons. They seem like they’d be more useful than unicorns. Unless unicorns have some amazing powers I don’t know about, of course.  

 Have you ever punched a nun? Nope. But I have come close.  

 Would you rather have a camel the size of a hawk, or a hawk the size of a camel? Hawk the size of a camel. That thing would be useful in so many ways. It could fly faster, farther than a normal hawk. It’d be able to carry more on account of its size. And it’d be terrifying. Imagine, a pirate ship pulls up beside you. Above you, a hawk the size of a camel descends. You’d be surrendering in no time!

[beauwalliswrites]

Chosen Character Sheet: Simon

Name: Simon Germani

 Age: Twenty-six years-old

 Description: Sandy blond hair, tanned skin from working out in the sun, hazel eyes. Missing his left forearm, which is replaced with a heavy metal prosthetic. About five foot ten inches tall (approximately 1.77 meters). He’s got a fairly muscular build with a hand that is worn and calloused by life on the ship.

 Country of Origin: Grelfeia, a small island off the coast of Bitovento

Likes: Drinking, meeting new people, running from my demons (not that I have any), knitting (not that I’ll tell anyone)

 Dislikes: The guard, the emperor, people who like the guard and emperor, and trying to convince Lydia that the random person I picked up on the street totally deserves a chance to live on their ship.

 Favorite Food: A simple meal of toast, butter, and some homemade jam. Preferably raspberry jam.

 Favorite Color: Yellow

 Weapon of Choice: My trusty (and rusty) sword. I won it in a poker game when I was eighteen and it’s been by my side ever since! But, if the sword fails for whatever reason, I’ve got thirty pounds of metal strapped to my body I can use instead.

 Secret Talent they Have: I am very good at reading people. I can usually tell if someone’s good, bad, or anything in between. That changes how much I trust them. Take Mai Lan, for example! Not many people would look at a girl sitting in an alleyway covered in blood that was not hers with two knives in her hands (also covered in blood) and decide she’s someone they want to take in. But I did and now she’s a valued member of the crew! I know who to trust and how much trust to extend, even if Lydia thinks otherwise.

 Number of Warrants out for their Arrest: Six, for things varying from treason to theft.  

 Which does you prefer, unicorns or dragons? Ooh, tough call on that one. I’d have to say a dragon. Mostly because I can’t see a unicorn living a very happy life on a ship. A dragon can fly wherever it wants, but a unicorn would be stuck there until we got to land.  

 Have you ever punched a nun? Um… No? I don’t think. Seriously, who goes around punching nuns?

 Would you rather have a camel the size of a hawk, or a hawk the size of a camel? Um, let’s go with camel the size of a hawk. Something tells me the murder birds would be a pain to deal with if they were any bigger. At least at their current size a hawk is two pounds or so. I could take a hawk if I needed to. But a camel size hawk? No way. That thing would eat me for breakfast. Plus, a hawk sized camel sounds kind of cute.