Alicja
That afternoon they confirmed that Uncle Max is in the madness. He is declared unfit. He can't be Regent any longer.
We're standing on the balcony, overlooking the largest forum they have in the city. It is spread out below us. The venue seats five thousand. It takes up a large chunk of the North side of the hill. We're standing in an area above the populace below, and with fifty nobles from the houses standing around us.
Below are the fifty members of the council, and the twelve of the senate. To the right of them are the three judges but they have no capacity at this gathering, which is to declare Uncle Max's new state of citizenship.
With their declaration, the throne is vacant.
This has not been a state of affairs anyone can remember happening in their lifetime. There are, I was informed by Jeffery, who it turns out is a trivia nerd, three mentions in the histories he's read, where this has occurred.
The wars that followed each of those three, were devastating to the country, and the second one left them so vulnerable that they were in servitude to the Sidhe for a hundred years afterward.
If Victor doesn't accept the throne, there will be civil war. Uncle Max assured me the night we had dinner; war was the only alternative. And this was Victor's strongest desire â to make that alternative moot. To bring the possibility of a peaceful transference of power into being.
"I don't have an heir," he told me a few days ago. "If I die, this country will be ravaged over a matter of state. A matter which should have a better answer than, 'kill them all and let god sort it out.'"
I searched the crowd as I listened to the Reader announce the council's decision. I saw the crowd, and the stonework, and envisioned blood splashed across them both.
Was it mine to say? Did I have a voice in his ear on this?
What was it to be with him?
Thousands of eyes were on him, and more on the council. They knew what they were saying. They knew his mind on this!
A murmur went through the populace and I knew I wasn't alone in my observation. There were some shouts of ill defined angst. I had no idea if they were for or against or if they just broke a leg.
How does he stand this? I marveled.
He's not oblivious. He can hear them. He wants to hear them. They are an extension of him, his second mind, ... and he needs to do this, as much for himself as for them. But how does he bear the weight of that many hungry eyes?
The expectant stare is not massless. Everyone has felt that weight between their shoulders, as they walked away from something they had to walk away from. The cables and weights of energy become a drag, and every judgment becomes more weight.
Yet he stands. At ease. Listening. Waiting.
I would burn them all!
...
The voice is not mine, but it is in my head. I feel my eyes have widened. They're stretched open.
I've heard it before. That voice, I've heard it before. She has a snarl in her words, with unfamiliar vocal ticks which sound slightly mad. As in, angry and incensed. And logically fluid.
Just because they were after Ismael, doesn't mean they aren't after me.
I'm trembling. A dark shadow passes across my eyes, inside me!
"What the fuck!" I hiss, my voice less than a whisper. No one shows any sign they noticed â my throat is constricted, and something is inside of me.
...
"It's been a long time," the Dragon says behind me. His cave is stone and dank. It smells of moss and rock and earth here.
"You knew, didn't you," I said, as I looked out across the forum, at the crowd, and the judges, and the spectacle. "Why not just tell me?" My voice was strong. Sultry. Relaxed. Testing.
"Knowing isn't always wise," the Dragon said.
"You thought I couldn't take it? Or perhaps I am a poor choice for avatar?"
The Dragon scoffs, "No, Not because of what might happen to you, but what you might do. You are not a pacifist dear."
I smiled at that. No, I've always been a self-starter. A verb. A storm.
...
I feel a jolt, and stumble backward.
Arms and hands grab me. Someone is looking inside my eye. My body spasms, like it's been hit by an electric current. I jolt in seizure. And again.
"Don't hold her head, you'll snap her neck!" a voice nearby says, but I can't make out the source.
"Back up, get back!" a more urgent voice demands.
"Is she ...? Changing?" asks another voice. He's younger, younger than me. His voice trembles at the edges like white lace in a tempest. Younger, and very afraid.
"Ah, shit!"
...
I open my eyes. Why is everyone blue?
I blink. Colors drain back into my vision. "What's going on?" I ask, but the words come out as a croak.
The look of worry on Victor's face smells like sandalwood and lime. "Can you help me up? Please?"
Victor lifts me up, and puts me on my feet. This is far too easy for him to do. He does this by taking both of my hands in his and pulling me up to near a sitting position, then bends putting my hands on his shoulders, then grasping me around my waist with both hands he lifts me up while he stands and straightens, setting me right, up on my feet like a toddler.
"I'm good." I tell him, and hold on to him anyway. "I'm not sure what just happened. I think I might be Changing."
"Victor, may we proceed then?" the Reader asked from his place on the floor.
Victor's expression flashes his annoyance at the Reader. Some how the vital essence of that annoyance flashes from witness to witness. The sound of a few hundred people shifting awkwardly rustles the air. Quite a few giggle nervously. But he's already forgotten the intrusion, returning his attention to me with a kinder concern. "You sure? You just had a seizure, you know that right?"
"Yeah, but I'm good now."
Was I? Was I really?
"You know, people who are fine usually don't have to ask themselves for verification," he pointed out.
I smile, and then become serious. "I'm fine. Want me to tell them?"
He gave me an annoyed look, that everyone else could feel as well. "Yes, Reader," he says, while still examining me, "My apologies. She appears to be fine."
Victor fascinates me. He's in his element. He was raised in this environment. Listening and speaking at the forums all of his life.
The word Exile broke through my thoughts and my attention snapped back to the Reader.
Did he just say...? Who? Exile for who?
The populace hushed and the sudden quiet sent chills across me, raising the hairs on my arms.
The Reader felt it too. He wasn't supposed to respond to the crowd. He was there to read. Nothing else. But he feels it, and it gets to him. He falters, and takes a breath before he can continue with his reading.
I look to Victor, like thousands of others do. It doesn't matter what he chooses, his Uncle Max is to be exiled. Not killed. Exiled. From everything the old man loves. Nothing Victor does can change that now. The reason for exile was in deference to Victor's beliefs about killing.
Victor stands, listening.
...
Son of a fucking bitch! I rage inside my skull, as the world grows darker around me, and then...
"Why, exactly are you angry?" the dragon asked, with a hint of disdain.
...
Everything is slow. I feel a sudden and crushing change in the atmosphere, which roars in my ears.
No. No that's not right. Adrenaline has shot into my bloodstream. I turn toward the roar of a dragon come to life. Uncle Max has lost his shit.
The crowd loses its collective shit, next.
Sweet mercy people don't trample each other.
Guards are on the ground approaching Max, but this is different. I can feel it. Uncle Max has gone nuclear. And these guards can't get there. Not like Max. They don't have the rage.
They need that drive of rage to truly gain power. Uncle Max was beyond rage, and well into a firestorm. He must have been steaming down there for hours.
"Oh no," I whispered.
Then Victor pulsed up. I felt the heat off him flash down my body. I yelped and stepped back. "No!" I shouted. "You can't get there. He's out of it. You won't kill! He will!"
"Not an option," he says, and his eyes fill with flame, and then they're the eyes of a dragon. Green gems of amazing beauty, wreathed in orange flame.
The people around us are moving back â out of the way. Someone grabs my arm and pulls me. I slap him away and point my finger at him â "Get off!"
Then I hear Victor's wings waking up. The crackle of the sinew, the popping of bones.
OK, it was time to go then.
I ran after the man I ordered to stop trying to save my life. A flash of heat hit me from behind like a blast furnace wave and stumbled me forward. I turned, falling, just in time to see Victor leave the balcony and fall like a thunderclap to land in the space between the guards and his Uncle Max.
"Mine," he ordered the guards, and they didn't argue. They back up fast, and get out of the way.
I rush to the edge of the balcony, and hold onto the railing, I watch Victor and Uncle Max measure each other. Old and young, pace slowly to the left, and then to the right. They are both in what they call, armor. It's their skin, but with dragon scales and spikes. Their wings are folded but occasionally beat the air.
It happens fast.
They slam each other. Then they walk back a few steps. When they hit it shakes everything. Every stone vibrates with the impact of their assault. Slam! They hit. Boom! The stone across the forum shakes. They walk it off, circling. Measuring.
Their claws can cut through iron. When they strike on the other one's armor, there are sparks. When there aren't sparks, there is blood.
"Get a hold of yourself!" Victor commands Uncle Max.
His Uncle breathes fire.
They can do that?
Victor is near his full transformation. His helmet is wrapped around his head. His wings are short, but out. His tail snaps the air and slaps the ground.
I sleep next to that man.
I look around, but I'm pretty sure that voice in my head was me, but...
Then they hit with a fury of strikes, blocks, kicks, and tail slaps.
The council has left the building, fearing the place will collapse. It's just the two of them down there.
When I get a clear look at Uncle Max, I don't recognize him. He's inside a madness rage. His face is a burning emotional storm. His whole body, including his face, flickers with flame. The flames lick out of the spaces between the scales of armor.
When Ocean walks through the doors, he's dragging a Senator with him. "Here!" Ocean shouts above the battle raging a few yards away. "This is the contract. I swear it is my blood."
The Senator looks out at the battle. He's not frightened. He's a dragon as well. He looks back to Ocean, then nods his head. "I accept the proffered contract. Do as you are bound."
The Senator leaves, returns through the doors. Ocean takes off his jacket. "Sorry for keeping you old man!" he yells into the battle.
Victor and Uncle Max back off each other, and look to the new arrival.
"What are you doing here, Ocean?" Victor roars, which is all he can do at this point, I think.
Ocean rolled his neck, and then said, "The old man and I have a prior agreement. Back off. He paid well for this. He should get the full service. Without interruptions."
"You're going to kill him?" Victor says, stepping between him and Uncle Max.
Ocean grins, but it is a worried grin. "You don't know me, kid. Don't do this. This is trouble you have not known."