The third day after the masked man’s arrival began.

James and Mina fed their children and descended from the royal apartment for a council meeting.

Today was the day that they were to address the religious group’s continued residence.

The previous evening, James had requested Cyrus’s presence.

[Cyrus, I hope you and your group have had enough time to come to a decision on whether you want to stay or go. Tomorrow, we are having a special council meeting to discuss your situation. I would appreciate it if you would bring anyone else from your group who you think ought to participate in the discussion.]

Cyrus chewed his lip for a moment thoughtfully. James was watching him with his powers, waiting for an answer.

“You can hear me, can’t you, Fisher King?” Cyrus said finally.

[Yes.]

There’s no point in denying it, he thought. It would certainly make conversation inconvenient, if I had to pretend not to hear his responses. And if he does end up staying, he’ll remember that I lied when he figures out that I can, in fact, see and hear at a distance. James assumed everyone would know that eventually.

Cyrus shivered slightly, but his expression looked pleased, as if he was happy to know that James could spy on everyone. James found it creepy. Even he felt ambivalent about this power. It would be good for the security of the state that he was building, but he had read 1984 and had more than his share of skepticism of mass surveillance. He knew he would have to behave with more restraint than anyone would expect of him if he was not to abuse this power.

Then Cyrus’s lips moved silently. James read the words, “I bet you can see me, too” on his lips.

James didn’t acknowledge that. Cyrus could speculate about the extent of James’s abilities all he wanted. James didn’t intend to lie about them. But he certainly didn’t have any intention of playing “Twenty Questions” with this Prophet.

“That’s fine,” Cyrus said aloud. He smiled thinly. “‘Render unto Caesar,’ as they say. We will comply with your command.”

It felt ominous to James, the way this man was citing religious authority to explain his decisions. Perhaps James was paranoid, but the rest of that quotation sprang immediately to mind.

“Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's.”

The following morning, as James and Mina walked into the community center hand in hand, James saw that Cyrus had brought more than just a few members of his group to the meeting. Most of the seats in the community center were filled. James was reminded that he intended to enlarge the building at some point.

What is that, all the men? There were only a few women present, and they were all older ladies, most dressed as if going to church. Wait, no, there are some of the men absent too.

Only one of the Galts was present, the father. There were probably other males absent, too, but that was the family James was most familiar with out of the visitors.

He had occasionally used his powers to check in on them over the last few days. He had been pleased to observe that they seemed to be enjoying the Kingdom and had even volunteered to help out in the fields, along with some others from their group.

“I see you brought a lot of guests,” James said as soon as he saw Cyrus.

“Only the heads of household,” Cyrus replied. “Tragically, however, many of our number are the last surviving members of their families.”

That is a tragedy, James thought. Something my citizens are also familiar with, I think. Hopefully there will be a baby boom after everything is more settled here, to restore some of our lost numbers.

He remembered that according to the System’s first announcement, somewhere around half the world’s human population, or more, had been killed in Orientation.

“We will be fruitful and multiply, of course,” Cyrus added.

“I take it that everyone who needs to be here from your side is actually here, then,” James said.

“Yes, sir,” Cyrus replied. “We’re ready for you to decide our fate, Your Majesty.”

“It won’t be just me deciding,” James said mildly, looking to seem generous and calm to Cyrus’s followers. “This will be a bilateral process. I didn’t tell you to bring so many, but I’m glad you did. It will make decision making a much quicker and easier process.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cyrus replied, dipping his head slightly. A smile that James read as arrogant crept across the Prophet’s face, and James found himself again having to conceal his distaste for the man.

James turned to walk the rest of the way to the stage and his place at the center of the great table atop it, but Cyrus spoke again.

“Is everyone ready on your side?” he asked.

James scanned the table for a moment and frowned. Dave, Leo, Luna, Duncan, Magnar, Samuel, Ysabel, and all the various heads of committees were already there. Damien Rousseau was also seated. James had asked him to attend, with the idea that Damien might be trained to function as another military leader alongside Dave. But there was one person missing.

[Mom, are you on your way?]

Even as he sent the message, he could sense that she was just outside the building.

He took a step toward the doors, and they burst open.

There stood his mother.

James raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Mina. She looked like she wanted to laugh, but she quickly got control of her expression.

On the last several occasions James had seen her, Zora had worn her normal clothes. Tasteful and functional. Black or gray turtlenecks and jeans, a slightly frilly blouse, or a simple dress. She had clearly managed to keep most of her pre-System wardrobe.

Today, she was dressed—there was no other way to put it—like Margaret Hamilton’s Wicked Witch of the West. Everything but the green face paint.

James let go of Mina’s hand and approached his mother, careful to affect calm, as if this was normal. As soon as he was close enough, he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“Mom, what the hell are you wearing?” James asked.

“What, you don’t like it?” she replied.

James pulled back slightly and saw that Zora had donned a mischievous grin.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“As far as pranks go—” James began.

“I’m just testing,” his mother interrupted quietly, her expression turning darker, “whether or not they’ll suffer a witch to live.” She wrinkled her nose, leaned in, and added, “It was either me or Mina who was going to have to test this, one way or another.”

James deflated slightly. “Yes, well, you could have warned me,” he muttered. “I don’t like these kinds of surprises.”

“Now where would be the fun in that?” she asked.

Without another word, Zora stepped forward, where everyone could see her outfit, and with big, ostentatious movements, she crossed the room and seated herself to the left hand of James’s chair.

James glanced at the faces as the religious folk saw Zora’s outfit. He was pleased to note that most of them were indifferent, but slightly dismayed at the minority who looked disturbed and distrustful at the sight of her.

So, there’s not nothing to that idea, exactly…

He closed the door behind Zora. Then he returned to Mina, took her hand, and walked with her to their seats. His mind was still on the task at hand, deciding whether the religious group should stay in the Fisher Kingdom, but now there was another concern on that subject tugging at him.

How well would these people respect his wife’s authority—or if necessary, his mother’s—if he and possibly Mina were away?

They were both women and could be considered witches—Mina’s Class was Witch of Thessaly, while Zora was a Necromancer, but James didn’t think they would make the distinction about who was and was not technically a witch.

Don’t they have Mages in their group? he wondered. He had sporadically observed the group over the last week, but since he had not seen them fighting, and they were mostly wearing street clothes or armor, he wasn’t sure if they had any magic-wielding members besides Healers—who he suspected would naturally be looked on as different from witches.

“Let’s begin the meeting,” James said, faking enthusiasm. “I would first like to take in the general view of our guests. Assuming you have the option, who here would like to stay in the Fisher Kingdom? Please raise your hand if you currently want to become a citizen.”

Cyrus got up from his seat and started talking almost immediately after James finished.

“Your Majesty, there was something I wanted to raise first, on behalf of the group,” he said.

But it was too late. More than half of the hands were already raised, though people slowly dropped them as Cyrus spoke.

“Go ahead and raise your point, Cyrus,” James said. He stroked his beard with one hand, hiding his small smile. He was pleased to know that the majority of Cyrus’s followers were interested in staying. That information reduced Cyrus’s leverage.

“We need a leader who is not merely strong, but righteous,” Cyrus said.

James raised an eyebrow. Didn’t we kind of go over this when you and I first met?

“I am not asking for any sort of specific policy change right now,” Cyrus continued, speaking as if James had verbalized his internal question. “Rather—Christopher, would you please bring me the crown?”

There was a quiet murmur from among the religious folk at that.

James heard snatches of phrases like, “So soon?” and “Is he sure?”

So soon for what?! he wanted to know. What crown? What’s going on?

Christopher Smith, who James recalled was Cyrus’s lieutenant, stepped forward with a closed, dark wooden box and handed it to Cyrus. Then Smith sat back down.

“I am looking for a declaration, not of personal faith, per se, but of principle,” Cyrus said. “I request that the country declare officially its allegiance to the God of the Bible, the Torah, and the Koran—without whose favor your great success and prosperity would surely be impossible.”

James put a hand to his temple. This damned Prophet…

No, this was not technically a policy change, but it was perhaps more extreme than any policy change that Cyrus and his acolytes could have asked for. Even where the old United States had adopted policies that seemed clearly inspired by religious belief, it had also always stringently maintained a strict separation of church and state, throughout the 20th and the first half of the 21st Century.

I’m not going to do it, you idiot, he thought. If that’s what you want, you can go straight to Hell.

There was a hot, burning sensation on the back of his ear, and James realized that Hester was receiving a message from the Spider God.

“Lord Anansi apologizes for his uncharacteristically long silence on this matter,” Hester began. “He has been a bit busy with some matters of cosmic importance…”

At the same time, however, Zora had begun to speak from James’s left side. James gently tapped the side of his neck to signal for Hester to wait a moment. He wanted to be careful of how much he let his mother and Cyrus say to each other. She had already tried to provoke the religious folk with her choice of clothing. With so many of them crammed into the community center, there was a chance of things getting out of control with the wrong—or right, depending on her intentions—words.

“What does it mean to you, to have a leader who respects this demand of yours?” Zora was asking. “You say you are not asking for a policy change, but suddenly declaring a religious state seems like a bigger ask to me. Like saying you’re not asking for a nickel, you only want a dollar. And we’re supposed to take it as less of a request, because a dollar weighs less, or something.”

James had to suppress the urge to laugh. Wise words.

Cyrus smiled nervously—and, James thought, with thinly disguised dislike.

“There is a long history of believers in the one God being persecuted,” he began. “Christians in Ancient Rome, Jews and Christians under the Ottoman Empire, and Muslims under Communist China. We have learned it is necessary to have a leader who will take our side.” He looked up at James and made steady eye contact. “The Caesars killed Christ, you know. Not directly, but it was under their laws that his actions were deemed criminal. And subsequent Caesars persecuted the Romans—”

“Until the Romans were taken over by Christianity,” Zora finished.

“Some people would say that was the beginning of the fall of the Roman Empire,” James added.

“You have only just founded your country!” Cyrus exclaimed. “For the Romans, Christianity undermined their traditional religious beliefs. The situations are entirely different. Europe endured for over a thousand years as an array of Christian states.”

Constantly warring with each other over religion, James thought, like the Middle East in modern times.

“And for taking that small risk, you would receive a critical advantage in your effort to impose order on this fallen world,” Cyrus added.

He opened the wooden box that Smith had handed him with a flourish.

He drew out a thick, golden and jeweled circlet. A crown that looked to be the perfect size and shape for James’s head.

Well, if you had shiny objects to bribe me with, why didn’t you say so in the first place?

“The Second Iron Crown,” Cyrus said.

James raised an eyebrow. “It looks like gold to me.”

“Mostly gold, Your Majesty,” Cyrus said. “But like the original Iron Crown of Lombardy, it contains an iron nail from the True Cross.” He pointed to an iron band running through the center of the crown.

“Wow. That is quite something,” James said. He wondered what powers the crown came with. And it was easy to picture himself wearing it.

That would mean an unacceptable level of commitment to one god, though. In a world where I know many gods exist, that’s a bad bet.

“The item description also states that an eligible wearer can become a Holy King,” Cyrus said. “If a Ruler willing to fight for God possesses this, that Ruler could become even more powerful.”

You bastard. You knew just what to say all along, didn’t you? Ugh. You’re actually making this hard. At least a little harder than it was.

“My council and I will discuss your proposal privately,” James said.

Cyrus smiled. He seemed to think he had won James over.

“In the meantime, I would ask that the members of your group discuss what they would do in the event that I refuse,” James added. “They must be prepared to give me their decisions in the event of either outcome.”

Cyrus’s smile faltered slightly. Then he simply dipped his head.

“As Your Majesty commands.”

When Cyrus lifted his face again, he seemed firmly back in command of himself.

What a guy, James thought. Even if I don’t like or agree with him, I have to respect the effort and planning. He and I aren’t so different. It’s just that he’s putting his religion at the front of everything, and I’m putting my family first, followed by my country—and then very distantly by the gods.

But he supposed that made all the difference.