Authors: Andrew Ball
vampiric spell."
Xik clasped its white gloves together on
its cane. "You’ve changed your minds?
That’s excellent news. I’ll be sure to -"
"You misunderstand." Her father’s face
darkened. Eleanor stiffened. Even she felt
edgy when her father had that look in his eye.
There was a reason he could get away with
interrupting Rothschild. "We want no part of
that evil."
"…I see. Then what could have
prompted such a gathering?"
"Do not patronize us!" The president
pointed an accusing finger. "I received a
report not last week from our members in
Cleveland. A young man—possessing no
indication as to his order, allegiance, or rank
—wielded magic power. His enchantment
absorbed an extractor. We have two
eyewitnesses to the fact. You ignored our
agreements outright!"
"Caught red-handed, then." The hint of a
smile touched Xik’s lips. "It’s for your own
good."
"Our own good." Henry clenched his
fists. "Our ignorance has brought our world
to the brink of darkness one too many times
for me to believe that kind of posturing."
"Cleveland, hmm?" Xik rubbed his chin.
"He’s moving quickly."
"Who is?"
"The young man you mentioned." Xik
shook his head. "I told him to lay low, but to
think he was able to finish off an extractor
already…I knew I was right to keep on him.
He’s incredible potential."
"Then you not only cursed him, you
helped him hide from us?!"
"Yes."
Henry looked ready to kill. "Were it not
for the fact that we cannot afford it,
Xikanthus, your actions are provocation to
war."
"My people realize this," Xik said. "It’s more than about time you changed your terms
with the demons, by the way. Your universe
has the advantage of being naturally
intertwined with another. You’d be fools not
to use that."
"…how did you know -"
"Your little parlor tricks are easily
detected and discerned." Xik stepped closer
to Eleanor’s father, and to the assembly. "I
tire of these games, so I will be frank. Do
you simpletons understand the magnitude of
what you face? Before the raw power of the
Vorid nobles, your greatest spells are
inconsequential mutterings. Their king has
absorbed quintillions of souls. If he so much
as blinked, your entire planet would be
annihilated. Do you know what keeps him
from running rampant? Do you know what
keeps the multiverse locked in an unstable
cease-fire? The Klide. The sacrifices of my
people."
Throughout all his dealings with them,
Xik had been civil. This was different. He
was still calm. His voice was still measured.
But his words were like bricks thrown
through glass.
He gestured across his chest. "Despite
the fact that we have lost more lives to this
war than the total number of humans that
have ever lived, you have the gall—the sheer
arrogance—to turn your nose up at our
assistance. You are consumed with your own
self-righteousness. If you truly believe you
still have the luxury of morality, then
humanity deserves the fate that awaits it." He
let his hand drop. "That of a slow, steady
decline as the Vorid’s weakest scouts eat
you away."
It was quiet for a long time. Her father
was silent. No one in the chamber moved.
Xik took it all in with a clinical expression.
Almost bored.
It was the way he looked at them—the
way he saw them as ants, the way he floated,
aloof, thinking himself an emperor that had
spared some of his precious time to address
them. Eleanor took a step forward. "You
know nothing of humanity."
"You’re right. I overestimated you."
"You’ve underestimated us. We’d rather
die than sacrifice who we are. We’d rather
suffer a thousand painful deaths than live as
monsters!" Xik laughed in her face. Even
Eleanor was surprised by his reaction, but
she steeled herself. "Laugh if you want,
ambassador. I won’t be cowed."
"Oh, no, it’s not that. You made an
admirable retort." Xik’s humor faded. "The
young man in Cleveland said the same thing."
She blinked. "What?"
"He said he’d become a monster, that he
wasn’t human anymore. And he told me to
remember that you’d rather die on your feet
than live on your knees. It seems he’s
grasped you all rather well. I’d watch out for
him. I know I would."
"Whoever he is, he’s the exception, not
the rule."
"And he should be the rule. You’ve all
come together, united under one roof at last.
And what do you have to show for it? What
grand strategy have you created? Where is
your sense of responsibility to the millions
that have already died?"
"The demons are with us," Eleanor said.
"Even they recognize it’s in their best
interest to help us."
"The demons," Xik said. "A class 1
civilization. Better off than you, in both
technology and magic, but not by much, and
they cannot bring that might across the bridge
between your universes. The Vorid will flick
them away."
"And what you’re suggesting is
supposed to be better?!"
Xik fully turned to face her. "I offered
you a weapon that would at least give you a
chance of survival. What happens after that
is up to you. But at least there would be an
after
."
"Enough," Henry said. "Do you have any apology to make, or will you continue to
waste our time?"
Xik brought his cane up and gave Henry
a slight bow. "On account of my actions, and
what I will continue to do, I have not a single
apology or regret. As we’re clearly talking
in circles, I bid you good day." And with
that, he was gone.
A moment passed. The lingering shadow
of harsh and impending doom peeled off the
room. Everyone began to mumble and talk
amongst themselves.
Eleanor felt more than one reappraising
glance fall on her shoulder. Her father
moved so his back was to the audience
chamber. He gave her a subtle nod. "Well
said."
For a moment, she basked in her father’s
acknowledgement, but a tiny crack of
confusion undermined her pride. If what Xik
said was true—if the boy that took the power
knew what he was doing to himself, and the
consequences of that choice—than why did
he do it? Why go that far?
"…father…is it the right thing? To reject
the contractors?"
"You don’t understand what happened
before. You haven’t seen what unchained
magic can do."
"…but he…" Eleanor clenched her fists.
For all her eloquence, she wasn’t sure that
she’d been in the right. What was her
experience compared to Xik’s? What if they
were only holding themselves back? "He
mocked us for our powerlessness," she said.
"I was angry. Maybe rightfully so. But we
are losing. And so many people are dead. Is
this really enough? Is the treaty alone enough
to avenge them?"
"We don’t even know if we can trust the
Klide in the first place." He squinted hard.
His face seemed old to her, then, older than
usual. Tired. "It’s right to put them off. It has to be."
He said the words. But he didn’t sound
very sure.
****
2 Months Later
****
Rachel made for the steps of the grand
stair within the mansion’s foyer. The gold-
carpeted staircase split in two at the upper
landing, branching out in two curves over the
marble floor below. Lighting the space was a
chandelier about the size of a car. Even after
years of living there, the lavish decorations
made her feel out of place. She toed her way
down the carpet as if expecting an angry
maid to leap out and demand to know why
she was wearing boots indoors.
She cracked open the oak doors and
walked out over the gravel drive. She
stopped at the fountain that was the
driveway’s centerpiece and stared at the
water bubbling out the mouth of an angel.
The cherubim statue was poised above the
stone pool, pointing to the sky with a little
bow and arrow.
Eight long years ago, she’d been brought
here from home. She remembered pulling in
through the forest, then the gardens, and then
seeing the castle itself. When she was ten, it
seemed like a wild adventure.
They got out of the car. Her mother and
father held her. The worries started to come.
The palatial lodgings didn’t change the fact
that they were leaving her there. She’d never
been away from them before. Not like that.
Her mother knelt down next to her.
"Don’t worry, Rachel. You’ll be able to visit
us in a few years."
"…but what if I want to visit sooner?"
"I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that."
Rachel gripped her mother’s arm. "I
don’t want to go."
"Rachel." Her mother tapped her on the
nose. "This is an honor. You’ve been chosen
by the main family because you’re special.
You’ll have the best of everything." Her
mother’s hand moved to her cheek. "I
couldn’t be more proud of you. Everything
will work out. You’ll see."
Rachel nodded, but she still felt water in
her eyes. She tried to blink her way out of it.
It didn’t work. "Do you think she’s nice?"
"I think you’ll be best friends, soon
enough." Her mother smiled. "You’re a big
girl. You’ll do just fine. Make sure you take
care of Reggie."
Rachel tucked her doll into her side.
Reggie was a mess of patches and exposed
stuffing, but she’d made him herself. "I will."
Then they left.
And then Rachel had met the president,
and Eleanor, his daughter, one year Rachel’s
senior. Henry treated her like one of his own.
Rachel trained hard to become a good
attendant.
One day, Rachel couldn’t find Reggie.
She searched the entire house for him, even
the gardens. When Rachel still didn’t give up
after a week, Eleanor came and told Rachel
that she’d thrown him out. Her attendant
didn’t need a ratty old doll. She should just
buy a new one.
Rachel was furious, of course. But her
ten-year-old self couldn’t vocalize the
emotion she felt. The only way she could
express herself was by hitting the person that
had hurt her so much.
She was supposed to be shut in her room
with only water for 24 hours as punishment,
but Henry relented after just a few of them.
The President told her what she’d done was
wrong, but he left it at that. Once he left for
the day, she was quickly pressured into
apologizing by many of the older attendants.
Rachel had felt bad about it; she didn’t need
the prodding.
And so she found Eleanor, and told her
she was sorry for hitting her; it was just a
reaction. It wasn’t worth a doll.
Eleanor didn’t say anything. She just
turned and started walking away.
"What about you?" Rachel asked.
Eleanor looked back. "What do you
mean?"
"You should apologize too! Reggie was
important!"
"I won’t apologize for doing what’s
right."
"Reggie was mine," Rachel said. "You
can’t just throw out other people’s things!
My mother showed me how to make him, and
he’s always -"
"He?" Eleanor said. "It is a doll. Was a doll. Now it’s trash."
"But -"
"You’re my attendant," Eleanor said.
Even then, her eyes were like ice. "You
don’t get to have things I don’t like. It’s part
of the job."
Rachel was stunned. If she had said
something like that, her mother would have
spanked her until she cried. But Eleanor
went off like it was nothing.
Her mother had taught her how to sew.
In silent rebellion, Rachel continued with her
hobby with greater ferocity. Her room
became littered with her dolls, pillows,
blankets.
Eleanor threw most of them out. Rachel
didn’t complain, not even when Eleanor
made her drag the bags to the dumpster
herself as a punishment. Not even when
Eleanor whined to her father. She just made
more.
Eventually, Eleanor gave up on her anti-
doll campaign and instead quietly purged the
unworthy—dolls that had loose stitches, or
were losing a bit of stuffing here and there. It
was sort of a game, then. Survival of the
fittest. Rachel worked harder.
And then Rachel beat her to the punch.
She’d knit, and knit, and then give them
away, before Eleanor had enough time to
decide which ones should stay and which
should go.
It wasn’t really about the dolls, Rachel
realized. It was about control. And so she let
Eleanor have her control, and worked around