The King, The Rebel, and The Emptiness

Viktor

Rage was not the right word for the feeling that consumed Viktor. Fury was a fire—hot, rushing, and wild. This was its opposite. This was ice. A glacial resolve settled deep in his bones, a coldness that radiated from his core, chilling him from the inside out. In its grip, he felt utterly in control, his thoughts sharp, calculating, and clear.

He let his gaze drift across the carriage. Opposite him, Natalia sat rigid, her festival garments still stained with blood. In her lap, she cradled the head of his dearest friend, Markus, her fingers moving in a soft, automatic motion through his hair. Hours had passed since they had found him, yet he remained lost to unconsciousness as they journeyed back to the palace. Each time Viktor looked at Natalia, he saw the same vacancy in her eyes; she was there in body, but her mind was adrift, lost in the shock and horror of the day’s events.

Viktor had to admit, with a bitter irony, that before the carnage, he had been enjoying himself more than he had in a very long time. He had found a genuine, uncomplicated pleasure in her company. But that feeling was a distant memory now, incinerated and replaced by this unforgiving, icy resolve. Revenge was not a question of if, but when, and he was certain it would be soon.

While Natalia remained lost in her own private nightmare, Viktor began to plan. Only two factions would have the audacity for such an attack: the kingdom of Ethon or the rebellion. In the end, it did not matter to him which it was. He would destroy them both. He would obliterate their men, burn their farms to ash, and sow their fields with salt. He would poison their wells and slaughter their livestock until nothing remained but the memory of what they had lost and a legacy of suffering. He would leave only the women and children alive, so they might serve as a living testament to the consequences of defying him.

When he was finished, no one would ever dare to cross him again. Never again would he be made to feel this searing, gut-wrenching anguish. No one. Not ever.

Morgan

Lord Jon’s son was finally well, but instead of being allowed to return to my modest cottage, I was summoned to a duke’s estate. An outbreak of chickenpox had reached his home, and he demanded I cure his daughter. I offered my professional advice, explaining that allowing the other children to contract the illness would build their immunity for life. The lord would not hear of it. Instead, he threatened to have me decapitated if I allowed any “unworthy children” near his precious daughter. It goes without saying that I tended to the young girl.

From that day, I was passed from one noble manor to another, my new moniker, the “Miracle Worker,” preceding me. It was some time before I finally returned to the small, impoverished village I had begun to call home. When I did, I was met with a sight that filled me with incandescent rage. Midwife Elspeth had seen to it that the hospital I had fought to build, and my own home beside it, were demolished. Everything was exactly as it had been before my arrival.

"What have you done?" I screamed at her in the center of the village square.

A sickeningly sweet smile graced her lips. "Oh, my dear, I simply had the structures removed for other uses. I didn't think you were ever coming back." My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides as I fought for control.

With a dangerously quiet voice, I asked, "Why are the people not using my treatments?"

"A community is built on its traditions," she stated, her tone maddeningly calm. "They exist because they work. To save these people, we must sever the root of new, unproven methods. Unlike our ways, they have not stood the test of a hundred years."

Don't hit her, Morgan. Do not hit her. She wants you to lash out so she can discredit you to everyone.

"And how do you think traditions are born?" I shouted, my voice rising despite my best efforts. "They begin as new ideas! If you wish to advance, you must be open to change! Not all change is for the better, I grant you, but without it, we remain stagnant!"

"Do not speak of things you know nothing about, girl."

"No! You are the one who speaks from ignorance!" My composure finally shattered. "You would rather these people die than sacrifice your pride and your foolish traditions!" I took a shuddering breath, and when I spoke again, my voice was as cold and sharp as ice. "Every death caused by your arrogance, Midwife Elspeth, is on your head. Every last one. You might as well have killed them with your own hands."

I turned on my heel and walked away. A leader is nothing without followers. The terrible truth settled upon me: Elspeth could not have torn down those buildings alone; I had fortified them myself to last. Even her small circle of initial supporters would not have been enough. An act of that magnitude required the quiet consent of the populace. She had their backing. I saw it clearly now.

Saul generously gave me some supplies. I said goodbye to his family and walked out of the village. Not one of the people whose lives I had saved came to see me off.

As I walked away, I cast one final look back at the little community I had nearly considered home. At the edge of the settlement, a single, tiny figure was waving. It was little Benjen. A sad smile touched my lips, and I returned the wave before turning my back for good and beginning my journey anew. Change can only help those who are ready to welcome it, and that time had not yet come for these people.

So I walked. I walked to the next town, where the resident physician accused me of being a witch, and I was promptly run out. I kept moving until, just as I was about to be chased from yet another town, a messenger on horseback stopped me. He had orders to bring me to the palace. King Stefan himself had chickenpox. During the treatment, the king’s constant, unnerving gaze made me uneasy, but after he recovered, I made a choice. His royal physician, Josias, knew nothing of the pox and was eager for us to discuss treatments. Seeing an opportunity to share my knowledge with someone willing to listen, I agreed to stay on as his apprentice. And that is how I came to live in the palace.

Natalia

Markus told me today marks my one-hundredth day in this world. A little over three months. So much has happened in that time. Markus himself has recovered from his injuries, though he has no memory of the attack. The wedding is the last thing he can recall, leaving a gap of more than a week and a half in his mind—a fact that deeply troubles Viktor. The day Markus awoke, Viktor spent hours recounting what had transpired.

Today, however, Viktor left at dawn. Markus explained that intelligence had located a major rebel headquarters, and Viktor intended to lead the assault himself. Since Viktor was away, I decided to spend the afternoon with his uncle, the General, who was visiting the palace.

"Hello, Uncle Julian," I said as I joined him in the palace garden. We were having tea, or at least, he was. I’ve never cared for it and was drinking a glass of milk.

"Good afternoon, Natalia," he returned cordially. "And where is my nephew today?" he asked. The question struck me as odd. As the General of the army, wouldn't he know? Viktor left to command an attack on a rebel base. Surely a general would be aware of such a thing.

"You mean you don't know?" I replied. "Viktor has gone to capture a major rebel base in Kingston." A small, ironic smile touched my lips. "A rebel base in Kingston. Funny, isn't it?"

"I was not informed," he said, a grimace briefly clouding his features as he sipped his tea.

"Oh." An awkward silence settled between us until the General spoke again.

"What do you know of magic?" he asked, his eyes suddenly sharp and focused on me.

"Magic isn't real," I replied reflexively.

"False," he said flatly. "It is all around us. It is the force that gives life to everything you see." Normally, I would have dismissed such a notion, but being in another dimension had made me more willing to believe the impossible.

"What do you mean?"

"Magic is what brought you here," he stated plainly. My eyes widened, and I carefully set my glass of milk down on the table.

"Can magic… can it get me home?" I asked, my voice trembling with a sudden, desperate hope. Beneath the table, I crossed my fingers so tightly my knuckles ached, leaning forward in my chair.

"It can," he answered. Why were his answers so short? Give me more details! I screamed internally.

"How?"

"I do not know," he said, and my heart plummeted. I slumped back in my chair, picked up my milk, and stared into its blank whiteness.

"I see," I said, my voice flat.

"But," he continued, "I may be able to find a way." I lifted my head, my eyes locking with his.

"You would? Truly?" I begged, my voice thick with a raw, desperate yearning.

A sly smile touched his lips. "You scratch my back, and I shall scratch yours." I nodded immediately, without hesitation. That seemed fair. One rarely gets something for nothing.

"What's your price?" I inquired.

The General set down his teacup, his smile widening. "One of the reasons my nephew and I do not always see eye to eye is a simple lack of understanding. Viktor is a closed book, and he has no interest in knowing me better. I wish to extend an olive branch, so to speak." I nodded in understanding. Poor Uncle Julian. If only Viktor would spend more time with him, perhaps they could mend their relationship. "As you saw today, Viktor never informs me of his plans. I would like to throw him a party, a surprise to show my goodwill, but with this rebel business and the looming war with Ethon, I never know when to plan it. So, if you could simply keep me informed of his upcoming movements—"

"Yes!" I agreed at once. Uncle Julian was so thoughtful! How could a man like Viktor, who was a complete jerk half the time, have such a kind and considerate uncle?

"Wonderful! Now, I want this to be a true surprise, so please, do not speak of it to anyone," Uncle Julian said with a conspiratorial wink. "Not even Markus. He would surely tell Viktor." I nodded again, but then a question occurred to me.

"How would I get the information to you?" I asked.

He smiled. "Easily. Isaak's master was once my family's personal physician. A message can be passed through them."

I nodded one last time, my mind already racing with excitement. Oh, Viktor was in for such a wonderful surprise!