Plop. Plop. Plop.
“Simon what is-” Catina began.
“Shh shh. Watch and listen first.” Simon said.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
It wasn’t a question of what they were looking at, as the scene was simple; like Catina’s own room, and seemingly like all the rooms, Simon’s inventory included a simple, dark brown cup that was currently housed on the bedside table that also matched Catina’s own. The cup was not merely sitting there however, instead, Simon positioned the cup on a small book in a way that tilted the cup enough to drip its unending contents onto the floor. Ready underneath was a waste bucket, its purpose originally for biological waste, catching each drop as it fell. The collection of water was starting to creep to the brim of the bucket.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Simon, still a sight of bloody horror, had clothed himself lazily in the same robe as the three of them. Shifting gazes anxiously between the cup to Catina, the cup to Modesto, and the cup to Aluin, it was almost as if Simon was catching the drops himself with his eyes. Catina began to focus more closely on Simon, observing him in the red dim light of the room, tracking his blue eyes as they shifted to Modesto, and then back to the cup just in time.
Plop.
Snapping back, Simon looked towards Aluin, the elf straining in deep thought as he stared at the cup. Then, Simon looked toward his craft.
Plop.
He was onto her now, their eyes locked on one another. She observed as his expression shifted from anxious focus to surprise as she ignored the cup and instead focused on him, unlike Modesto and Aluin. The widening of his deep blue eyes brought her realization that she was close to cracking the mystery, and before she sensed the smile on her face, she saw Simon beginning to smile back at her. He did not turn to catch the sight of this drop.
Plop.
“It’s consistently one second, isn’t it?”
Simon clapped both hands together, causing the two old men to startle out of their focus, and in direct contrast to the pure elation budding on Simon’s face. “Yes! Yes! One second exactly!” Simon said excitedly, as he made his way towards the cup, “A droplet from the cup falls into the bucket precisely in one-second intervals, unbothered and untouched for nearly one thousand years Angea continental time!”
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Catina couldn’t quite side with the excitement Simon displayed, sitting on the fence of wonder and disbelief both mentally and physically as she stood between Simon and the two old men, their faces twisted in a look of confusion and frustration, especially Modesto’s.
Simon caught the meaning of their looks quickly, “Well, how long do you three think we’ve been trapped here?”
The question sent a chill up Catina’s spine, shuttering at the mention of being trapped, both in preparation for Modesto’s opposite assessment and in her underlying agreement that she tried to hide. How long? An actual quantity of time didn’t seem real to her, it had been forever and longer, a torment with no end in sight.
Before the three could end the short silence and strike the question floating in the room, Simon followed up with, “How old do you think I am now?”
Aluin quickly replied, “I’ve been thinking the same question since the moment you opened the door. By the sight of you, and it’s not a pretty one, I’d wager no more than twenty or twenty and one.”
“Pfft, a guess!” Modesto chimed in, “You may be wise my friend, but even a wise man's guess is still but a guess.”
“Hmm, it’s not just a wise guess, but an astute observation Modesto. You know I was close with the boy's parents- bless their souls, might I add,” Aluin said, looking at Simon with empathy, yet receiving no form of change in the boy's expression, “The resemblance to his father at the same age, albeit difficult to match given your, sticky appearance if you will, is there in the cheeks especially.”
Simon smiled, though moved on to Catina. Eyes meeting again, Simon snapped first to the bucket, this time a hair or two early.
Plop.
“And your opinion, Catina?”
“Well, it can’t be much more than twenty. Aluin’s wager seems fair.”
“Then the two of you confirm it! You see, I confidently believed that my twentieth birthday had just passed, likely during the fifteenth hour four moons ago. Gods, the backing of my methods is a joy like no other I’ve felt!”
Modesto huffed, puffed, and began, “This is all such-”
“So you’re saying,” Aluin cut in, “If you were four years old when you came here, then the isle has been our home for sixteen years now?”
“Yes! No! Correct and wrong!”
“Right and wrong? What in the blazes is that supposed to mean?” Modesto said aggravated.
“So, for our souls within the walls, sixteen years have passed, but outside these walls-”
“One thousand years friend!” Simon finished for him, throwing his hands to the air and head back, as if basking in the answer, “You are beginning to grasp it! You should be very impressed with yourselves! It took me about two years to come up with the math, double that to get my internal clock in rhythm.”
“In rhy-” Aluin began, but the eld too could see what Catina had seen. Even if Simon failed to look at the droplet as it met the bucket, his middle finger on his right hand moved as if conditioned, tapping his thigh at the precise moment.
Plop.
“Ok Simon, I’ll bite,” Catina started, “If this is all to be believed, and I shall assume it is for the sake of the argument, for each one of the sixteen years we have been isolated on this isle...sixty-two...and a half?”
“Sixty-two and a half what?” Modesto said, eyes attacking Catina.
“Years! Yes Catina, oh the joy!” Simon stated, spinning with a grace that surprised Catina, “You’re still working it out, go further I ask, it all becomes a song!”
Catina was now using her hands to work the math, writing imaginative equations on her left palm, “If one year inside of here means sixty-two and a half years on Angea, then one day is also-”
“Good spirits, it’s also sixty-two and a half!” Aluin chimed in, halting the stroking of his beard in an act of understanding.
“Days? Sixty-two and a half days outside?” Modesto said, puzzlement obvious as he looked toward each of the three in the room for confirmation.
“And every hour here is-”
“Sixty-two and a half! Oh yes, you have done it!” Simon exclaimed, spinning again, and again, moving slightly closer to the three of them with each spin, “And so we sing! Oh, laugh, laugh! Sixty-two and a half! Laugh, laugh! Oh, when will I die!” Moving with the expertise of a teacher, Simon was full-on dancing and flowing between the three of them, coming ever so close but never touching the three. It was a sight for Catina to behold, both struck by the boy’s ability and in a sort of morbid curiosity, as the red hue of the room brightened to showcase the details of the still foul appearance that was his hair, beard, chest, and shoulders caked and layered with blood. Death had been greatly exaggerated, as it appeared to her that Simon was born again, though the blood was quickly churning both her description and stomach the longer the song went on.
“Oh, when will we die.” With surprising formality, Simon bowed after his performance, his hair not falling as much as it should as the drying blood wouldn’t allow.
Plop. Plop.
Catina and Aluin both looked at one another, then at Modesto. The old man had traded his impatience and confusion for bitter contempt and was ready to let them know about it.
“If you are right, which you simply can’t prove at this moment, we must be wasting valuable time standing here watching you dive deeper into insanity.”
“Valuable time? What’s the rush!” Simon said, then spinning once, then again, this time in the direction of his bed.
“Valuable time in Angea, time making the Third Wish, and the King’s time!”
“The King’s time! Oh, Spirits strike me for I have sinned! Show me no mercy, savage ones above!”
“You don’t speak to the Spirits like that in front of me, boy!” Modesto said, raising his voice.
“Oh, your Spirits don’t listen to me Modesto. I’ve asked them to off me for, well, sixteen years now. Bastards ignore me every damn time, even on my name day! Can you believe that?”
“I will not stand here any longer! You’re no special one, but a heretic! Your appearance, your resolve, and your soul disgust me! My faith may guide me to see the light, but all these years later your inclusion in this sacred fate is still nonsense to me!” Modesto stomped his foot in frustration.
Plop. Plop.
Simon was in a half smile, “It would be unbecoming of me to deny your opinion on the subject of nonsense, Modesto. You seem a scholar in that area, judging by the way you address a fool and a failure as ‘King’ still.”
That was the final straw. Standing there dumbstruck, mouth agape, Catina could nearly feel the anger radiating from Modesto. The old man’s fist was shaking by his side, body seemingly ready to explode in anger. But he wouldn’t allow himself here, not now amid a King’s task, and so Modesto spun on a heel, walked to and through the open door, and only made sure to catch a glance of both Catina and Aluin, a hint of anger and soon to be served vengeance on his face. Catina listened until she couldn’t hear his steps echo down any longer.
Simon had made his way to the bedside table now, looking directly down at the bucket between his feet. His back facing the two of them, Simon said, “Well, with you two backing my theory and the time we’re been waiting for upon us, I won’t be needing to worry about this contraption any longer. To be honest, I haven’t needed it for a while now anyway.”
Catina watched him closely, as Simon cautiously brought an arm out from his robe, and began to reach for the tilted cup. She saw a tremble in the boy's hand and immediately considered the longevity of the time-keeping rig. Had he ever taken it down before? Her immediate guess was no, that this simple cup and bucket was the comforting monotony and consistency that had helped keep Simon’s mind and soul alive all this time. Similar to the Kings’ five and Modesto’s outdated values, this was a comforting way to reclaim a world lost to them. She wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the hand withdraw into the robe without picking up the cup.
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Plop. Plop. Plop.
“Aluin, the last of the family Qiro, is that right?”
Catina and Aluin met eyes in disbelief, saying without speaking how could he possibly remember that?
“That is correct Simon.”
“Well Aluin, Catina, let me be blunt for a moment. Have these formative years where my mind has both grown in size yet decayed insanity created a sort of sensible madness that is the world I live in? I for one do believe it has. But there are attributes to madness I find very redeemable, and I do believe all who have moved the world in one way or another did so with a hint or more of this condition. In my own experience, I have never wavered from my desire to know how long I have been trapped, counting the seconds it takes for a day outside to go by during countless sleepless nights. I feel each second pass in my bones, and have a great gift of retaining how many of these have passed. For example…”
Plop. Plop.
“Two-thousand-eight hundred and eight seconds have passed since I opened that door for the first time in, fifteen years? That’s about three-fourths an hour, and some leftovers. Or about two days Angea time.”
Simon was looking at them both now, intently surveying their faces for a response. Aluin, hand to chin and face scrunched in thought, and Catina, pale blue eyes fixated on Simon, mouth slightly agape in both disbelief and total understanding. She took a step closer to Simon, reached out, and hugged him. Simon’s body shook, a foreign yet nostalgic comfort shaking him as he lifted his arms to hug Catina back.
<><><><><>
Though Simon had suggested they join the others, it did take some convincing for the lower half of his body to agree. Standing in the hall covered in the glow of the red light, Catina and Aluin offered comforting promises in an attempt to lure Simon from his room.
“Today is a great new day Simon,” Aluin said, “Today we all move on, together.”
Simon was looking past them, standing just inside the doorway to his room, eyes big and wandering. He looked as if he was in a trance, and with his face still matted and bloodied, his appearance gave off a sacrificial aura that unnerved Catina. She likened that this is how she looked too when she trailed off, her mind so often living in the past, or thinking of the future as Simon must have been doing now.
“Do you think that this is it for us?” Simon said, speaking both to them and seemingly to some higher power that could answer the question, “Like, really it? Will the final wish end our lives?” There was a twitch of a smile on Simon’s face with the last sentence, subdued quickly by genuine fear.
Catina and Aluin both knew well that they couldn’t feel what Simon was feeling now. In what seemed like another life, the two old friends had seen and accomplished many things; Aluin would always have the leg up due to shared time. Living for nearly 300 years in Angea, Aluin traveled and saw nearly all of the land in his day. Wisdom and counsel were what he offered, but it was his dedication to fostering relationships that had allowed him the place he had in the old world. He had been the Elvish ambassador and rightful to the first seat on the Counsel of (10), his father the current seat holder. A single scratch reported on Aluin would send the Elvish to war, but they were not the only ones. Friends in Runswick and Silver Acre would be quick to take up arms as well, making Aluin one of the most protected and treasured lives in all of Angea.
Catina would only ever know twenty birthdays on the continent herself, but the impact of her life would never be forgotten. In an age of Kings, it was Catina who would one day hold the throne of her lands. Suffering through pregnancy, it had been a miracle that both child and mother survived in the first place. Her father, the King, decreed on the very day of her birth that the rights to lands and titles are to be passed to the firstborn no matter the sex, a culture shock to the entire continent. While those in High Hillford scoffed and laughed at such a practice, other countries would only say that if she were to be the heir of her lands, she would be treated as any other heir and be subject to the same disciplines.
Catina was quick to learn the advantages and disadvantages she faced. The former displayed itself in her studies, her literacy, and of course the power she soon learned that could be used by all women; an ability to manipulate men. She had been less than thrilled with her discovery, admittedly shameful of the way she navigated her late-teenage years in court using dresses that made men lose interest in direct eye contact. But using the tools laid by the current landscape and her dedication to fulfilling a better future for other women in neighboring countries, Catina did exactly what was needed to get her presence known.
The disadvantages she took as excuses. It had been comedic at first when she was eight and had a bit of height on some of the other boys attending the defense classes. But by her teenage years, the scales had shifted. Her father was mortified by her first sparring practice, a blackened eye and bloodied lip had nearly sent her father to war against the sons and fathers enrolled in the combat classes. Catina lacked the strength to move the boys from their stances, and while her speed was on par, this too was beginning to look like she had hit some sort of cap that the boys would surely break through. It would be weeks before she began returning home with fewer bruises.
Her new strategy had been simple; if at the time of fighting, I am at a disadvantage, then I must tip the scales before I fight. Sparring days in the combat class started much earlier for Catina as she implemented this strategy; knowing her opponent, she would attempt to injure them a day before or even minutes before their teacher called them to fight. It was amazing what a stubbed toe or bashed finger could do to a boy's fighting ability, and Catina would do her best to either make the injury happen accidentally or seemingly through no fault of her own. It was all crafty, and though there were times she felt a bit of remorse before dropping a light but efficient stone on an exposed toe, shoulder, or even that one time where she concussed a boy, she was reminded every day growing up that the scales were tipped against all women every day for far too long.
Catina would graduate from combat class and move on from local politics to become an ambassador herself at the age of seventeen. Her first chariot ride was accompanied by Aluin, who was also leaving (10) for Runswick. He had been seated in the crowd, casting an excited and prideful yes vote, as Runswick voted in favor of adopting the policy of firstborns themselves.
There was so much more Catina would have accomplished, and Aluin had been so young for an elf still before the old world died. But they both had an impact and memories that would fill a hundred average lifetimes, experiences, and relationships that helped fill a void. But that void would always be empty for Simon. His most animated of memories being the sounds and sights of his world under attack, too young to do anything besides cry. Too young to do anything worth living for.
Simon’s eyes met Catina’s, an unmistakable look of fear taking over him. Catina could not help but liken his disheveled appearance to any city beggar; the baggy uncolored robe, unkempt hair, more defeat than man left in his eyes and soul. Pity couldn’t describe the feeling that swept over Catina, as Simon stood for more than just himself as an individual. Grief would be the only way to describe her heavy heart as she looked over the boy she had once carried to safety, the boy who was once considered the prodigy of a generation, a boy who had been destined to take the throne from his father. More than any of the eleven, Simon represented what had happened to their world.
Catina walked back through the doorway, watching Simon’s nervous shakes ease as the distance between the two was insignificant. She stood next to him, facing Aluin, and locked her arm with his. Giving Simon’s thin bicep a slight squeeze, Catina could see the beginnings of a smile protruding from the fear.
“I’m right here with you Simon, always,” Catina said, smiling herself. She took one step forward, and so did Simon.
Wading through the red glow of the hall down, the three had made it past the only turn they would need to take to get to the grand hall. In front of them now was a large arched doorway of at least ten feet in height and some more in diameter. Double doors of stained wood, with an ebony trim and intricate design, mirrored each other on each door, abstractly looking like a storm; large cloud-like shapes on each door roared with three bolts of black lightning ran halfway down each door, breaking at the point where each handle resided. Catina and the others had viewed and studied the door for years, or centuries, she thought, and was convinced the pattern took on a look of sadness; two large eyes crying with three streaks of tears forming on the face.
Simon’s face had gone pale in terror, “I...I forgot just how daunting it all is.”
“You were so little the last time you came to this room.” Aluin said.
“I had always thought the door represented something so painful. Now, I see the door is in pain just as we are. Is that God crying, you think?”
Catina squeezed harder on the boy's arm. It was as if Simon had been reading her thoughts, both from now and from all those years ago when she too discovered the double meaning. For as long as they had been apart and Simon locked in his room, the connection between the two seemed supernatural.
Muffled voices began to become apparent on the other side of the door as the three were now in arms reach. Aluin and Catina met eyes, nodding to each other, and Aluin took the lead as he used all the strength his elvish body would allow to open one of the doors.
A new light, white and radiant, flooded the three’s senses and most of the hall behind them. Adjusting, it was Simon who took the first few steps into the massive, dome-roofed hall. Disregarding the seven sets of eyes that had stopped speaking upon their entry, Simon could do no more than stand in awe at the power in front of him.
Taking up a large portion of the room, jutting from the center of the floor, was The Diamond. The Diamond rose from the floor like stalagmites in different directions, some points longer than others, but none longer than the center. Taller than the doorway they had entered through, the center rose straight as a tree, its diameter likely as thick, and its incredible sharp point somewhat sparkling in perfection. Seemingly reflecting its light, the slightest turn of the head produced a rainbow of reflections.
Catina couldn’t help but join Simon in awe, not as pronounced as the transfer the boy was in, but enough nostalgia to make all the others out of mind. Besides Simon, the others and herself once gathered in this room in the early years of their imprisonment. Nothing in the world could compare to The Diamond, it was unfathomable to consider just how many pounds of raw diamond were present in the room. An endless amount it seemed, compared to the small rings and jewelry that had been treasured by royalty on the mainland of Angea. It was Catina who quipped years ago that they were the richest group in the world, receiving nothing but cold, anguished looks in return from her elders.
Though even in those years, The Diamond only had shone the way it did now when they had all first arrived on the isle. It was as if the sun had entered the room, brightening everything in a glow that seemed holy in its hue and calming tone. Maybe it was all of the wading through red, a sea of blood in the mind of Catina, that gave this room such a profound appearance. Or maybe it was a higher power.
“Simon of the house Harewell,” The King interrupted their marveling, “You look horrible boy.”
Simon did look horrible. What hadn't shown in the red hue was now on full display. Even the filthiest of alley dwellers and street beggars would look handsome next to Simon. Catina immediately scanned some of the items she couldn’t quite make out before; the robe ending at his shins revealed legs and ankles as thin as Catina’s wrist, and she imagined her forearms and wrists were also thicker than that of the near skeleton that Simon appeared to be. And his skin, so pale and drained of color, was so pronounced by the tangle of webs that appeared to be his black hair and beard. It was easy to imagine that underneath the robe, the boy's rib cage and bones would be quite evident in his nudeness.
But for all the death Simon both appeared to be and represented, Catina and Aluin could also see that his eyes were as alive as they had been since the two confirmed his theory on time.
“So kind of you to say, King of nothing.” Simon said coldly.
Modesto threw back his hood, face curled in hatred and anger. Taking a step forward, he raised his voice, “You disrespectful little fool! You insult us all with your grotesque appearance, and now defy the logic of everything by insulting your King! Your head belongs-”
“Enough Modesto!” The King roared, quieting Modesto and bringing a chill down the spines of Catina and Aluin. Annoyance was apparent on the face of the King, but anger wasn’t present, “There is no time to squabble with such a waste of a man. All that is required of that beaten dog over there is his presence in this room, no more and no less.”
Catina was sure that Simon would return the insult, but the boy did not. Instead, he began to move towards the seven of them on the other side of the room, his head a bit bowed to the floor. Aluin brought out his hand, and Catina took it, following in Simon’s direction.
Modesto and the King were the only two that seemed to be animated of the seven. While they had moved to face the trio as they entered the room, only a slight turn of the neck was afforded by the silent majority. Eyes following Simon, Harlan Pressleye, Skyla Truemane, Esmond Waye, Lyndon Brunette, and Aston Underhill made no movements as Simon moved in front of the five, coming into proximity of the King and Modesto. Catina thought she may have seen the slightest of movements from the youngest of the men, Lyndon Brunette, but her attention was diverted back to Simon, who had suddenly turned as he came to the King's side. Facing the Diamond as the other five, Catina and Aluin fell in line with Simon’s action. The King soon followed suit, accompanied quickly by Modesto.
This side of the massive Diamond held an immediate attention-grabber; at about waist height, a portion of the Diamond was noticeably flat, almost like a plaque. Words were etched there, in two rows that read:
Bring Life
Save Humanity
“We have a duty, don’t we?” Simon finally said.
“Yes, we do,” King Winfred started, “But it appears nothing is simple.” Taking a step forward, the King began towards the Diamond. Catina felt a shiver down her spine, and memories began flooding of the last time the King had written a wish. The difference between now and then was so stark; the desperation had turned to blankness, tattered clothes of different colors were now uniform black robes and a young crying boy had turned into a young man. The major similarity Catina could form was the confidence the King moved with on his way to such a source of power. For all the bad Kings that had stood in the world, Catina did recognize Winfred Whitewood as a strong, just ruler.
King Winfred Whitewood now stood in front of the flat section of the Diamond, revealing his right hand from the thick sleeve of his robe. Pointer finger reached and made contact with the flat surface under the words Save Humanity, making a single motion, before retreating his hand to his sleeve.
“Your majesty?” Aluin said.
“It appears my assumption was correct.” King Winfred sighed, “The Diamond requires all of the earliest eleven bloodlines to be present for the final wish. It seems we require the orc, Egoth.”
All ten of them turned, facing the opposite direction that Simon, Catina, and Aluin had entered. There, an identical arched doorway resided, barred at three different points from the inside of the hall.