Chapter Four- The Golden City

All intruders are to be killed? What the hell is that all about? The villagers just glare straight ahead at me, and I can’t help but shudder a bit as I realize they will kill me. But why, though? What have I done to them at all? Do they really think a shrunken eighth grader is a threat to them? Then again... Koreth had said something about my “powers”... but that strength wasn’t my own, it was the power of whatever was controlling me... right? Right?

They didn’t go back. The villagers killed them. Well, I have no trouble believing Koreth now. Yet I still can’t figure out why they should have been killed. What did they do? What did I do?

“Koreth, sir, If you do not step back, we will not be responsible for your injuries, sir!” the obsequious mayor warns. The villagers take a step closer. The ends of one of the pitchforks pricks into my arm, sending a little stream of blood running down to my hand. Koreth doesn’t move, and I can’t help but feel a bit of affection for him because of that. N-nothing important, just, you know, thought I’d mention it...

A-anyway... coming back to the point now.

“Okay people,” I say quickly, “I’m pretty sure we can talk this out if you all just calm down...” Why oh why didn’t I sign up for peer mediation when I had the chance?

“Silence, fiend!” the mayor shouts, sounding a little scared.

“Uh, what?” I can’t help but reply. Just now, with my life on the line and my world disappearing and someone I’ve barely met reaching out to save me, I, just for a moment, lose my fear. Just for a moment, I’m sick of being weak and trembling little Emma, hiding in a corner and bowing and scraping and avoiding glances. I can’t stand it anymore, I really can’t. Of course that doesn’t change the fact that snapping at people who are pointing sharp weapons at you isn’t necessarily very bright, as I find out when a nearby fire poker digs into the back of my shoulder. With the fresh pain from there, I feel as if I’ve been put back in my place, and I am no longer brave. That Emma just flees, and I’m left with just the plain old ordinary me, the one of the bowing and scraping variety. The one who wouldn’t make for a very good protagonist in a fantasy novel, but is good at begging her way out of little scrapes like this.

I’m just about to employ that little skill when Koreth speaks up.

“Just what’s this all about?” he asks slowly, frowning, “Emma hasn’t done anything wrong.”

The mayor doesn’t look at all interested in what I may or may not have done wrong. “Th-this thing and its powers are a threat to our village! It’ll try to kill us off, just like the other ones did!”

“The others would not have turned on you had you not threatened them first.” he turns to the gathered villagers. “All of you, put your weapons down!”

“Do not lower your weapons!” the mayor commands.

The villagers look from the mayor to Koreth with something like indecision. Seeing as indecision is a whole lot better than full-on killing intent, I’m prepared to call that a step up. Pitchforks, regular forks, kitchen knives, and even the fire poker quiver a bit in a few hands. The mayor glares somewhat ineffectively at the group.

“Please, lower your weapons.” Koreth says, with incredible calm. The villagers look genuinely scared now. My slow brain finally clicks the concept together: they’re afraid of the spell! They must not know Koreth’s already used up his one spell for today.

Slowly, little by little, the fires in the mob’s eyes go out. Slowly, little by little, the million pinpricks vanish as the weapons are pulled back and ultimately dropped to the ground. The mayor, having lost his makeshift army, gives an unbecoming little squawk of dismay.

“Thank you.” Koreth says, sounding, to the evident relief of just about everyone present, marginally more cheerful. “Now please, why do you wish to harm Emma? I’m afraid I don’t understand your explanations.”

“Koreth, sir!” The mayor looks to be just about at the end of his patience, his servile speech belying the fact that he is practically screeching with rage. “This abomination is just the next in a long line of vicious fiends sent upon us by Sareil!”

“Emma hasn’t even ever been to Sareil.” Koreth says, with the air of one trying to reassure a slow child, “she doesn’t even recognize the name.”

Scattered murmurs from the crowd.

“A highly unlikely story.” The mayor says, his pompous manner returned to him. He speaks to Koreth, but he addresses the crowd, as though trying to gain back their support. The crowd begins to murmur again, a few people are nodding.

“Koreth’s telling the truth!” I snap at them. The people closest to the front of the crowd flinch back, as though some type of zoo animal has just tried to bite them. The villagers glance at the mayor as though seeking guidance. I can’t help but groan. Just how dependent are these people on their damn idiot mayor?

“Listen, the point is, she hasn’t done a thing to any of you.”

“That doesn’t matter, it’s still a threat! With that unnatural strength it has, it could kill us all within a matter of instants!” The mayor walks back and forth as he speaks, waving his arms and generally making himself look like an idiot through unnecessary theatrics.

Unnatural strength? I’m about as powerful as a field mouse. Besides, I’m getting a little tired of being referred to as “it.”

My arm trembles. The blade in my hand trembles with it. Again I feel a strange sensation of being controlled, of some invisible string raising my arm ever-so-slightly– NO! If this thing is able to control me again, if I put so much as a scratch on any one of these people, they’ll be convinced forever that I’m nothing but a killing beast. With all my willpower, I try to freeze my arm in its tracks, ignoring the whispers and the muttering underlying the debate going on next to me.

“Listen, you quite simply cannot kill her. The laws state that you need an official governmental approval to carry out an execution–“

”Very well,” one of the villagers pipes up. The mayor gives him this puppy-dog-eyes look of hurt and betrayal, “We’ll send her to Naroth’s Court, then.” The mayor’s ostentatiously miserable expression twists suddenly into one of smug triumph. Well. That doesn’t look good for me at all.

But, “Not possible,” Koreth interrupts, “Naroth, lets admit it, aren’t exactly known for their fair and unbiased verdicts. She won’t get a word in edgewise before they kill her. Besides, they’ve been locked down because of that missing prisoner, no one without identification gets in or out. Even if we managed to obtain a pass, Naroth is days away from here. We’d need a lot of time to prepare, during which–“ Koreth gives the mayor a sarcastic smile, “–your future voters might be at risk. And you don’t want that, right?”

“So what are you suggesting we do?” the mayor snaps back, sounding about as argumentative as a catty cheerleader, an amusing image considering his noticeable bulk.

“Simple. Either you let Emma go free, or she can plead her case before the Council themselves.”

“Th-th-the Council have far more important matters to attend to!” the mayor shouts, so desperate to avoid losing in front of his beloved voters that he drops his servile manner completely.

“More important than your ‘terrible and vicious fiend of Sareil?’”

After a moment of silence, the mayor adopts the expression of one scraping something nasty off that bottom of his shoe, before turning back to the apprehensive crowd and saying to them:

“The emergency is at end. I thank you for your cooperation, now please, return to your houses.” His personality has made a complete 180 from a few seconds ago. Before he was ranting and raving at us like a cross between a crazy drunk at the back of the subway and one of those equally crazy talk show hosts from the super-biased news stations, and now he speaks with the cool and unruffled manner of one of those “do not leave your bags unattended” warnings in airports.

My arm, evidentially lacking the ability to tell when a threat is gone, refuses to stop twitching and trembling. The marionette thread does not want to listen to all my mental energies anchoring it still, to all the strength in my arm being depleted as every muscle fights to return to my side.

Dammit, whoever the hell you are, LEAVE ME ALONE! I scream in my head, as if it will do any good.

Use your strength on your own, then. a voice in my head calls back.

My arm drops uselessly to my side.

As I stare straight ahead in blank shock, the mayor turns to us, sighs theatrically, and says:

“All right, you’re going to Chiren.”

* * *

The long dirt road stretches ahead of us, with an almost endless quality to it, fading off into a vanishing point somewhere far off on the horizon. To both the left and the right of it lie emerald green fields, as far as the eye can see. The long stalks of grass, untouched by the hands of pollution and the development of gated communities, sway idyllically in the gentle breezes of warm spring air. High above us, the blue dome of sky is unbroken except for amiable clouds drifting happily across the face of the far off noontime sun.

If it weren’t for the armed guard, the whiny little mayor, and the very real possibility that I may have gone insane, I would be rather enjoying myself at the moment.

The mayor, being a busybody as well as a suckup and an idiot, has decided to come with us. Supposedly, this is because he wants to argue his side of the story with these Council people.

As for the guard, he’s being punished too. After all, It’s his fault that I, the “vicious fiend of Sareil,” got into Yoake in the first place, so he’s on trial too. Considering that we’re both about to be at the mercy of these Council of Chiren people, I’d expect some more sympathy, maybe even a bit of camaraderie, but nooo, seeing as I’m the one at fault for existing here. The guard just walks along and persists in acting like a pit bull whenever Koreth or I speaks, steps out of the straight line we’re walking in, lags behind, or looks at something.

Which, of course, brings me to Koreth. He’s followed along, presumably to... well, I don’t know. Quite honestly, I can’t see a good reason for Koreth to be here. After all, the villagers are scared of him, so he’s not going to become their human shish-kabob anytime soon. So why accompany us to Chiren? It just doesn’t make sense. I mean, I’m sure he’s got better things to do, and besides, just what on Earth would posses him to care about me?

But then again... already, he’s saved me twice in the space of what, an hour? What does that say? Well, actually, I have no idea, but I just can’t imagine that he would have stopped the dragon and prevented the villagers from spearing me if he didn’t at least want me to stay alive...

Stop it, Emma, I tell myself, you’re reading waaay too much into this, girl. There’s absolutely no possible way in the world–

I shake my head to clear it and just stop thinking about it. Ever since sixth grade, when I was first teased for my height (or, to be more specific, lack thereof), scrawniness, dirt colored hair, overabundance of freckles, and general unattractiveness, that one thing has been my shelter, my shield, my only defense. Don’t think about it. Don’t even think about thinking about it. The only problem with this strategy is that it invariably brings up something even more troubling to think about.

That voice, for example. Use your strength on your own, then. It wasn’t my thought, that’s for certain. I didn’t even know this was my own power. So, I’ve got a voice in my head telling me to use my strength on my own, or some other Yoda-esque nonsense. Insanity? Probably. After all I’ve seen today (or perhaps, thought I’d seen?) I wouldn’t be surprised if I was completely and utterly nuts. Then again, there’s always a possibility... there’s magic in this place, I figured out from the dragon and instant death spell and all... so it could be, just maybe...

I’ve been controlled by something twice today. Maybe, just maybe, it’s that thing that speaks in my head. Maybe, that someone or something is messing with my brain, had some reason it wanted to destroy the villagers and, even, perhaps, judging by the encounter with the dragon, might just want to keep me alive.

Wait...

My steps halt suddenly as I realize it. That voice from my head... and that voice on the telephone, my mother’s voice with its odd little inflections... now that I think about it, I’m truly and absolutely sure. They were the same.

The guard makes his pit bull sound again, warning me to pick up the pace. I snap myself back to reality. Don’t think about it Emma, don’t think about it. Especially not now, when you’re headed somewhere that could very well be your grave. Don’t think about it, don’t think.

I have to do something, or I’ll go insane. Well, more insane, anyway. Thank God I at least have someone to talk to.

“Koreth,” I say, in an undertone in case the guard overhears, “Just what is Sareil?”

“Sareil?” Koreth repeats in the detached sort of voice of one who has just been snapped out of his thoughts, “They’re a country.”

“Care to be a little vaguer with that?”

“To the west of us. And we’re at war with them.“

My situation seems more serious than I thought. “So, basically, I’ve been accused of being an enemy spy.”

“Yes.” says Koreth, unusually taciturn.

“And ‘we’re at war with them’ meaning Hanora is, right?” I ask, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

“Yes.” Koreth raises his head and smiles suddenly. “Ah, finally, we’re here.”

I follow his gaze to a white brick wall over the next hill.

Oh, God... I think, unsure if I’m swearing or praying. Panic surges back to me again. What the hell am I going to do? This is bad, this is really bad….

As we cross over the hill, I can hear the sound of shouts off in the distance. Not real panicky, sound-the-alarm kinds of shouts, more like an argument.

The mayor and the guard hurry forward, leaving Koreth and me to just stand there and look stupid. Deciding it’s not a good idea to just hang out in a place where I don’t know anything and the populace is a tad violent, I hurry after them, and Koreth follows.

Climbing the next hill, the white walls tower above us, so high up that the various evils of three-point-perspective make them seem to meet, blocking out the inside of the city and piercing a patch of sky. A (comparatively) small arch cuts through the middle of it, judging by the length of the tunnel it forms, the walls are a good 10 feet thick. At the foot of the gate stands a guard, of course, because we all know I have great luck with guards. This guard is another specimen of the medieval armor variety, but a bit scrawny for a guard, looks like he’d fit in better in a palace than at the gates of one. He is standing self-importantly and shouting at a girl who doesn’t seem able to get a word in edgewise.

“Because of the recent strikes by Sareil–“

”Y-yes, sir, I–“

”–Several important government members have been injured–“

”Y-y-yes, that’s why I’m–“

”Meaning no one is to enter this town other than medical personnel–“

“I understand that, but I am–“

”So, you would be better off leaving before the authorities are called–“

”I understand what you are s-saying, but I am medical p-personnel!” the girl says, voice raised in order to compete with the guard’s volley after volley of shouts. Beneath all the stammering, there’s a surprising firmness in her manner of speaking, coupled with a note of the self-certainty coming from hard-earned knowledge. I could totally imagine her teaching in some college lecture hall, if she could just get over that stutter.

“Do you have any identification?”

“Well, not b-being a citizen–“

”You don’t have identification?”

“I do, but it’s not–“

”And you think I’ll just let you march straight into the city? Look at what happened in Naroth: they let a whole bunch of kids in, thinking they were Ealymian students, and it turned out they were all witches, and spies, worse. They only managed to capture one.”

“B-but that was years ago--”

“Yeah? Well, I hear it got away before they could get any information out of it. Killed someone, too. No mercy, the lot of them.”

Okay, maybe it’s just hearing yet another guy who seems to have made a habit out of referring to other human beings as “it,” but the guard’s words are starting to irritate me. Probably, though I’m just ticked because he’s being such an insufferable jerk. The girl looks like she has a lot more to say, but has finally lapsed into silence out of sheer frustration.

“Er, sorry, but ... umm...” Yeah, real powerful interjection, Emma. That’ll get ‘em to listen. The mayor glares at me, the Yoake guard growls, and the Chiren guard and Koreth both look a bit surprised. I’m taken aback myself, now that I come to it. I can’t believe that I was really angry enough to step in and interrupt the conversation. I can’t even remember the last time I intentionally entered an argument with someone. I just don’t know where this (albeit polite) voice of protest came from.

The girl turns around to join the group of people staring at me. She’s taller and probably older than Koreth or me, long pale hair braided back neatly, grey eyes gleaming with alertness against very pale skin, looking utterly bleached of color even compared to the blinding lemon-white bricks of the wall. Her clothes are simple, a long pale blue dress tied neatly at the waist with a white sash. She carries a heavy looking green bag over one shoulder, in her other hand, there’s an impressive pillar of books that look almost frighteningly unsupported by her muscle-less spaghetti noodle of an arm. Her expression is rather level, her brow slightly furrowed with concern.

Well, now that I’ve gone and drawn attention to myself, I have to say something.

“Er... mister, um, guard person, sir, I suggest you... um... let her.... finish... speaking?” I stammer, my tone going up and up and ending in a squeak. A lame way of passing the buck, sure, but at least the attention’s off me.

The girl looks confused. She stands there, looking from me to Koreth to the mayor to both the guards. A very awkward silence ensues.

“Yes well!” the Chiren guard shouts, “Let’s move on, now...” he then turns to address the girl. “Now, move on, would you, bother someone else. You’re wasting my time.”

“But... I...”

“He’s probably not going to listen.” Koreth points out. “Why don’t you come with us to the Council, have them sort this out?”

“I… well, you see… I’m not s-sure that the Council would…”

“If you’ve got some important reason to be here, I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you.”

Iarin nods, clearly unconvinced. Rolling his eyes, the mayor motions for the guard to let us in.

The guard, (the Chiren one, this) walks over to a large and complicated looking series of metal pulleys off to the side of the entranceway. With as much muttering and grumbling as he thinks is necessary to let us know how reluctant he is, he pulls on one of the ropes. At the end of the tunnel formed by the wall, I can see a huge portcullis lifting slowly, theater curtain style, so that the way to the city beyond is open. It certainly is an impressive defense, considering what was surrounding Yoake.

But as we pass through the archway it becomes clear that Chiren is not only a whole lot better defended than Yoake, it’s of a whole different breed.

The central path that we step on as we enter is covered in red brick, arranged in a complex-looking spiral pattern. From the inside, the blue-grey of the wall stones has not been painted over, and surrounds the city like a darker ripple of sky. The street is lined with aspen trees towering like flagpoles, their leaves just beginning to pierce through, spearmint green and seeming to gleam against the white houses and stores, which fall along thinner paved paths that break off from the main road like the branches of a tree. Even the simplest of the houses is decked out with thin spires, gleaming mosaics, reflective pools in which the early dead of the leaves float serenely. At the very edge of the long road stands the most elaborate building I have ever seen, a mesh of floor-to-ceiling stained glass that blinds my eyes, towers capped with gold, Gothic arches, statues inlaid with silver. Right in front of it stands a huge fountain, it’s plaster carved with intricate designs of tumbling vines and wilting flowers, the pure water that flows from it leaping and arching even higher than the aspens.

“Holy–“ is all I can manage to say, standing with my jaw dropped about a foot, staring blank-eyed at the mile after gleaming mile of ostentatious splendor.

“Welcome to Chiren.” Koreth says with a sarcastic grin.

Guard (Yoake, we left the Chiren one behind at the wall) and Mayor look unimpressed. Evidentially, they’ve been here before, and aren’t a bit hurt by what their government’s been spending their money on while they cower behind a wooden fence and a few windmills. The girl looks a tiny bit surprised, but, evidentially, she was expecting this too, and here expression fades into one of scholarly interest, falling behind us a bit to examine the workmanship on some of the carvings before running to catch back up.

Following the mayor’s confident, pompous steps and backed by the guard, who shuffles along as though trying to hide from all the light, we trudge across the even stones, first Iarin, then Koreth, then me. I can’t help but giggle at the mayor’s expression of bliss, as though he’s trying to picture himself heading for his new job as Councilman. Koreth blinks in surprise.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“I... didn’t know you could laugh.”

“Sorry.” I mumble quickly.

“No, don’t apologize,” Koreth adds hurriedly.

The silence remains rather awkward all the way up to the big building. Up close, it looks even more imposing than before, and I can’t help but think that people in this city must need sunglasses to look out the window.

The huge oak doors swing open as we step into the cold shadow of the hall. The floors are tiled in green marble, the chill of which I can feel even through the rubber soles of my tennis shoes. The walls are grey stone, the ceiling high and vaulted. The stained glass is facing us now, but still blazing in the orange sunlight of early evening. Hanging from the far wall, there’s a dark green banner with a pale green oak leaf in the center, which I can only assume to be the Hanoran flag.

The flag is above a long table, raised on a dais to be self-importantly above our heads, the backs of the seats rising far higher than their occupants’ heads require.

Three people sit in the chairs, two men and a woman, all of them dressed as though it’s the freaking Renaissance Fair, all of them looking important, well-educated, and conceited. Through their haughty eyes looking down haughty noses from haughty seats, the Council of Chiren surveys us, one by one.

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Ah, the epic fail. I am unhappy with this chapter right now. Very unhappy. I'm worried about how the plot is working together. In the year-long time period between when I wrote this and when I finished the final chapter, a lot has changed, most of it concerning the part of the plotline that revolves around Koreth. I had to do a lot of editing to mend the yawning plotholes and I think the quality of this chapter, in dialogue especially, suffered greatly as a result. So yeah, all critiques are vastly appreciated.