“The Aeon of Tiphareth was in your bedchamber last night?” Remiel repeated loudly. Prior to this point, he had listened with commendable stoicism, holding his questions until the whole story had been told, but this appeared to be more than he could tolerate in silence. A mix of horror and disbelief coloured his words as he lost whatever semblance of focus he’d been maintaining, his posture going slack and leaving him wide open.
“That is what I said, yes,” Michael said, grimacing. He rewarded his Regent’s distraction with a sharp jab to the chest, smacking the dull point of his practice sabre against the padded vest Remiel wore.
Remiel rubbed absent-mindedly at the sore spot, but the hit otherwise did not seem to register with him. He did not move back to his starting point, ignoring the fact that he had lost the bout. “Not the drawing room, even? Your bedchamber?”
“Could you repeat that once again with a bit more clarity, please? I don’t think the entire staff heard you and we could do with a bit of baseless gossip,” Michael said. He cast an anxious glance around the room.
He needn’t have worried. It was shortly after daybreak and training room seven was empty save for their trio, as it was every morning. Michael and Remiel stood opposite each other in the centre of the sparring area that took up most of the room, both of them sporting the thick white vests and gloves designed to prevent accidental injury during a match. Tall, arched windows dominated the outer wall and ensured the room was brightly lit. While the high ceiling meant their voices carried well, the equipment racks lining the walls offered no hiding spots and the doors to the rest of the palace were securely shut. No one was listening in on their conversation, but Michael couldn’t help but worry even as he felt foolish for his paranoia.
“The point goes to the Aeon. Reset when ready,” said the third member of their group, Saerim Mahariel, from her spot at the edge of the strip next to the windows. She was not dressed for combat, there to mediate the match rather than participate, clothed instead in the sharp, dark blue uniform of the peacekeepers she would be joining once they finished here, her ginger hair braided in a faux-circlet around the crown of her head. Her call was short and clipped, lacking her typical comments on their form, and her hazel eyes were shadowed with both displeasure and exhaustion; Michael wondered if she had slept at all since their return from Kether in the dead of the night before.
“No. I’m sorry, I’m having a difficult time with this,” Remiel said. He removed the protective mask so he wouldn’t have to speak through it, revealing mussed dark curls and a ghosting of stubble over his square jaw. “During the two days of your absence, my Aeon, the palace was under my supervision, and, at the time you are describing, it was shut down for the day. As far as I was aware, everything was in order and under control. Now you’re telling me the Aeon of Tiphareth pranced in here under our noses, made herself at home in your personal bedchamber, and no one was aware of this until well after the fact. Michael, this is a nightmare. Why, oh why, did you wait to oh-so-casually mention it to me the next morning?”
Michael removed his own mask as well and rubbed at his forehead, grateful to be free of the mask’s protective but stuffy confines. “It was very late,” he said, knowing the excuse to be a poor one even before he uttered it.
Remiel stared at him as if trying to decide whether the trip to Kether had cost him his mind. “You could have woken me up, you know. I would have appreciated knowing you were back safely, to say nothing of this staggering breach of security.”
“I know, you’re right. I asked Mahariel to let you sleep, but…” Michael sighed. “I needed the time to myself to clear my head. There was too much I needed to think on. I wouldn’t have known where to begin.”
“I see,” said Remiel. He turned and meandered back to his marked starting point on the strip but did not put on his mask, not yet ready to resume their match.
“Did the Aeon of Tiphareth explain how she evaded our notice?” asked Mahariel. With her back to the windows and the morning light wreathing her, Michael had to squint to make out her expression. Her eyes were narrowed, her mouth pressed into a thin line that screamed of grave insult and embarrassment.
“She gave me good reason to believe she arrived through the window,” he said. “I insisted she leave through the main hallway, but, in retrospect, it seems foolish not to have escorted her from the palace proper. In all likeliness, she left through a different window as soon as I shut her out.”
“Isn’t the Aeon of Tiphareth supposedly blind?” Remiel asked, his voice cold as he slipped his mask back into place.
“I watched the Aeon of Tiphareth during our travels to Kether,” said Mahariel. “I believed her difficulties to be genuine. If that was a front, then she is more dangerous than we could have expected.”
“It’s not a front,” Michael said. He moved back to his own starting point on the strip opposite Remiel and placed his mask over his face so they couldn’t read his expression. Now was not the time to voice the doubts he’d had while facing her last night. “Her condition is genuine, as is her distress.”
“Then it is inexcusable that she avoided our watch,” said Mahariel. “I expected the peacekeepers to be on high alert during our absence. I will have words with those who were on duty last night. Such negligence cannot be permitted twice.”
“I would hardly consider it negligence to be surprised by something previously considered impossible,” Michael said. “There was no way to know the Aeon of Tiphareth would arrive in Hod before us, much less that she would defy our boundaries of personal space. I don’t know that it’s fair to blame your teams for that.”
“It is our job to be prepared to respond to any circumstance that may threaten us. How unlikely that circumstance may be is irrelevant. We’ve become too lax, particularly in light of this… vision the Aeon of Yesod spoke of. On your guard,” Mahariel announced once both participants were in place. They settled into their stances with an ease that came from many hours of practice. “Ready? Begin!”
Remiel opened with a light attack to Michael’s left, but this was a feint, followed immediately by an aggressive lunge aimed at Michael’s centre; Remiel’s attacks were quick and confident but regrettably predictable. Michael took half a step back and parried the attack, deflecting Remiel’s blade with his own and knocking it aside with a flick of his wrist.
“How did she get here before you?” Remiel asked as Michael pressed the attack and they fell into the familiar rhythm of a match.
Michael hesitated, and it cost him the initiative of attack. The only reason it didn’t cost him the bout was because Remiel was too distracted to act on the opening immediately. “I forgot to ask. It wasn’t my top question at the time.”
“What did she want?”
“An ally, I suspect.” Michael narrowly sidestepped another strike to his shoulder and countered with an attack of his own. Remiel was unfocused enough that he failed to deflect the blow in time, and Michael’s sabre connected with his left shoulder.
“Point goes to the Aeon,” Mahariel said. “Regent, you must watch your opponent and not simply focus on attacking. My Aeon, widen your stance and check your elbows.”
Michael adjusted his stance accordingly before he dropped into a relaxed pose. “Truth be told, I’m not certain exactly what her goal is. I get the impression she doesn’t know how to ask for the help she needs. I’m not even certain what help she needs -”
“She needs to be taught that it is unacceptable to break into anyone’s personal quarters, much less yours, my Aeon.”
“You know, Remiel, I actually thought to tell her that,” Michael said. “I was quite insistent on it, as it happens. And in exchange for this revolutionary advice, she claimed she could teach me how to control my gift without a focus.”
Remiel twirled his sabre thoughtfully as he wandered back to his starting point. “And do you believe that to be something she is capable of? We’ve devoted considerable thought and effort to that problem in the past with precious little success. Only the seals you divined from the Source have made any reliable difference. What would the Aeon of Tiphareth know of your situation that you do not?”
“I thought of that, as well,” Michael said. He was grateful the protective mask obscured his expression as he went back to his own mark. “It is entirely possible Aeon Raphael will have no useful insight. Perhaps it is a hopeless cause with no solution save avoidance. Perhaps true control is beyond me and the best I can hope for is to mitigate the damage I cause. Perhaps Aeon Raphael possesses neither the ability or intent to help me. Perhaps she does. I believe she does require help, and, for now, that is sufficient cause to humour her. If all that’s accomplished from our cooperation is that Aeon Raphael learns to use the front door as a civilised person ought to rather than crawling through the window like some unholy night terror, that is progress enough to justify the effort. If she’s able to do as she suggests, that’d be nothing short of miraculous. I have nothing to lose by seeing what she wants.”
“On your guard,” Mahariel called out.
“I disagree, and I think you are overestimating how much you stand to gain even if she does intend to help you,” said Remiel as he fell into the starting posture. “Most High made it clear she injured herself by abandoning the Sephirah Tiphareth. If she wants her condition to improve, she should be in Tiphareth tending to her duty as an Aeon, not trying to solicit favour from the newly appointed Prince.”
“It isn’t like that,” Michael said as he mirrored the stance, but his quiet doubt from the night before hissed at the back of his mind. “If she wanted to appeal to my better nature, there are dozens of better ways. Hundreds, even. And even if that were true, it doesn’t change the fact that she does need help.”
“That may be, but she doesn’t need help from you, she needs to help herself. Michael, the King disagreed with the theory that she was attacked. Do you disagree with the King?”
Michael bared his teeth under the mask. “I can’t.”
“Ready?”
“Then there’s nothing you can do for her,” Remiel said. “Let the problem sort itself out. Send her home to care for herself and focus on your task of leading the construction of the beacons.”
“I can’t,” Michael hissed. “Remiel, I know what I saw. Or, I don’t, exactly, but it was something. There is more at work here than a dereliction of duty, even a sacred duty. It all comes back to Aeon Gabriel’s vision, I’m sure of it.”
“Begin!”
They started forward at the same time and met in the centre of the strip. Remiel opened with a light attack that Michael interrupted by stomping his front foot on the floor, hoping Remiel would misread the movement as a lunge forward and throw off his own timing to defend against it; he did, and Michael pursued the advantage with a volley of quick strikes in rapid succession to prevent Remiel from regaining his balance.
“Then the Aeon of Yesod can deal with it,” Remiel said. He parried Michael’s strikes successfully but could not take the priority of attack. “It was her vision that caused this, and she has more in common with the Aeon of Tiphareth than you do. If she wishes to defy the King’s orders to pursue her vision, then that’s her prerogative, not yours.”
“No one is defying the King’s orders! He said that Aeon Raphael might recover on her own in time; He did not say we couldn’t look for ways to help her in the meanwhile.”
“Since when do you accept technical truths by omission?”
“I don’t!” Michael lashed out, lunging forward with greater ferocity than he intended. Remiel thankfully succeeded in blocking the blow with his own sabre. Michael’s blade, heating up and overstressed, snapped like a matchstick on impact.
“Halt!” Mahariel shouted, hurrying towards them.
It was a redundant command. Michael removed his mask and threw it to the floor, his mouth dry with concern. “Are you all right?”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“No damage done, my Aeon,” Remiel said. He winced as he shook his hand in an attempt to regain his full range of feeling. “It was a good hit, though.”
“Let’s call it for the day,” Michael said. He pulled off the protective glove, hating that he could smell the first traces of burning fabric, and dropped it on top of the mask along with the heat-warped handle of his broken training sabre. “Excuse me a moment.”
Michael left the strip and went to the shelf on the wall that contained his personal equipment to retrieve his sword from the bundle of his clothes. The heavier weight of the thicker blade was a welcome familiarity after the unreliability of the much lighter practice sabre. Retrieving the sword from Remiel that morning had been like reuniting with an old friend whose advice he wholly relied on.
Remiel and Mahariel conversed softly with each other on the strip, but Michael pushed their voices from his mind as he undid the ribbon tying the blade into the scabbard. The divine seals etched into the blade were his only focus. His awareness of the world around him faded as he concentrated on them, blanking his mind and clearing his thoughts. Fragments of the previous day intruded without warning: the scent of Aeon Gabriel’s burning flesh, the voice of the King speaking of the Golden Legend, the eyes of the others dissecting his shortcomings when he had been named Prince, the first words his father had spoken to him since the Shattering telling him he needed to be better. Jittery, volatile energy gripped him, obscuring the peace the seals normally provided. It was a struggle to push it from his mind, to pretend, for the moment, that the day before hadn’t happened and focus on the present. It took longer than he cared to admit to regain what limited control he ordinarily possessed after a relatively minor incident.
By the time Michael opened his eyes again, he was unsurprised to see Remiel waiting beside him and that Mahariel had excused herself from the room. Remiel had removed his own mask and glove and was holding the broken sabre, considering the pieces in silence. When he noticed Michael watching him, he held out the shattered sabre blade for Michael to see. “We should reconsider the design of these things. They break too easily.”
“It’s for the best they’re lightweight,” Michael said. He set his own sword back on the equipment shelf and took the broken sabre blade from Remiel, turning it over in his hands to examine the dullness of the edge and point. “The less likely they are to cause injuries during practice, the better. After all, it’s hardly conducive to learning a new skill when every mistake leads to prolonged recovery times, or worse.” He bent the blade of the sabre once to show off its flexibility, then snapped it in half like a twig of kindling with a wry smile. “They do break too easily, however. Shame that those appear to be the only two options.”
Remiel chuckled dryly. “So, do we prefer safe or durable, is that it?”
“That does seem to be our choice.” Michael tossed the broken sabre onto the shelf next to his things and began unbuckling the padded white vest they wore to every morning session.
They were both silent as Remiel considered him. After a moment, he cleared his throat tentatively. “Pardon my earlier interruption, my Aeon. Was there anything else you wished to speak of?”
“If any other details I have forgotten to mention suddenly become relevant, you will be the first to know.”
“That was not the spirit of my inquiry, my Aeon.” Remiel took a breath before asking, “How was the mood of the King?”
Michael flinched. “The King was as He has always been. His mood was ineffable and his motives were driven by His focus on the greater good. I was not His primary concern at the council. As was proper, given the changes in the world and the threat of that vision. I know that.” Michael sighed, slowly folding his vest into a tight cube just so he’d have something to do with his hands. “Just as I know I ought not to complain. The council went quite smoothly when one considers how drastically the world has changed now. I know that. I ought to be glad, relieved, or even grateful, I expect is the proper response. And yet, no matter how many times I remind myself of that…” He slammed the vest onto the shelf in an explosion of fury. “I had to open my stupid mouth. I just couldn’t keep quiet, I just couldn’t stay out of it, and for daring to act out of turn I was rightfully stuffed back into the corner I belong in. Isn’t that just what I deserve for forgetting my place?”
“But ‘your place’ is one of high honour and tremendous responsibility that the King would not entrust to the unworthy,” Remiel said. “It is a compliment, one that speaks of your value to Most High.”
Agitation and an inescapable, mounting dread pounded on the inside of Michael’s skull. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is! My Aeon, it is precisely that simple. The situation surrounding it may not be, but the core itself is. Most High is King; His word is law, and whatever Most High declares to be true is true. Most High declared you are the Prince, and you are. No one sane would question the validity of that statement, Michael. You are the Prince, and the King has simply reminded the other Aeons of this. But He would not have done so if He did not feel you were worthy, even I know that. What exactly is the problem here?”
‘I’m the problem,’ Michael barely stopped himself from saying, but the words rattled around his head without end. Instead he said in a commendably steady tone, “I am not qualified. I have no business leading the other Spheres in anything.”
Remiel stiffened in visible umbrage. “I would prefer you retrain from insulting my Aeon with such lies in front of me.”
He was so dreadfully serious that Michael couldn’t help but laugh. “What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means? We’re standing in proof that my Aeon is a perfectly qualified leader. Look at our home, Michael! We built this. You taught us how to build this. Do you remember when it was just the twelve of us, before the daeva? We Saerim couldn’t agree on anything, much less set reasonable goals for the future. We would have floundered and stagnated before we even truly began if left to our own devices, but you rallied us together. You gave us focus, you gave us guidance. You mediated our arguments and you taught us how to solve our own problems. You made us who we are and look at what we’ve accomplished because of it. Have you forgotten?”
He had. Well, partially, anyway. Michael remembered the first breath of a new world, fresh and perfect and warm, and the curious sensation of having been remade to suit that world. He remembered the curious thrum of the Sephirah Hod engulfing his mind, too loud to drown out, too powerful to contain in himself alone so it overflowed as fire around him. He remembered the first thing he had seen was his Saerim kneeling before him, innocent, trusting blank slates waiting for him to shape them. Michael remembered that his first orders had been to tell them to stand, to never kneel before them, to never fear to speak their minds to him. He remembered drowning in loss and confusion and feeling frozen with disoriented panic whenever they weren’t watching. Either he had forgotten more than he realised or Remiel was remembering a version of the past that hadn’t happened.
“You give yourself too little credit, or too much to me, I can’t decide,” Michael said. “What could I have accomplished on my own? A fat lot of nothing, that’s what. Don’t romanticise the past to prove a point, and don’t pretend I’ve always given perfect advice, either. We’ve had our fair share of setbacks, many of them due to my own lack of foresight. I’d try to fix one problem only to cause a new one. This palace is proof of that, as well. Just think of how many times we’ve had to rebuild it for one reason or another.”
Remiel shrugged. “Accidents happen, my Aeon. The important thing was you always got us on track afterwards. We’ve learned from our mistakes. At least we’ve never made the same mistake twice. And look at Hod now! As of this season, the capital has an estimated twenty million daeva living within the city limits alone, to say nothing of the smaller rural communities throughout the rest of the basin. I will not tolerate anyone saying my Aeon is not qualified to lead after he has brought us to this point, not even you, my Aeon.”
“Remiel, has it occured to you that the other Spheres feel the same for their Aeons?” Michael asked. “I am not qualified to lead their Spheres and I have no right to even try. The Spheres were created as separate entities for a reason! Our purpose and goals intersect but never fully overlap! It’s absurd to declare that one of us now rules the others and expect no resistance to come of it.”
“Every Sphere has always been ruled by the King,” said Remiel.
“That’s different,” Michael said sharply. “Most High is above everything we can imagine. He is beyond us. I, on the other hand, am distinctly not. Would you feel the same about the situation if, say, Aeon Gabriel had been given power over us?”
“I believe you place too great an emphasis on feelings, my Prince,” said Remiel, smiling wryly. “If Most High commanded it, we would adapt. They will adapt as well, in time.”
“It ought to have been Aeon Gabriel,” Michael muttered sulkily. “She is the one with the visions of the future.”
“She may see the future, but she has no history of leadership during a crisis,” Remiel said. “If this vision of darkness is as desperate as she claims, then that is crucial. The King knows you can be trusted. We know you can be trusted, both from what we’ve seen and the stories we know. The other Aeons will know those stories, too.”
Michael flinched away to pace in a tight circle, wringing his hands as his head spun in dizzying panic. “Yes, and that is exactly why I cannot lead their Spheres! They know. They already know.”
“Now I know we’re talking about two different things,” said Remiel. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like us talking about this around you, but what could you possibly think is so negative about the -”
“Remiel, don’t. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Ignoring it won’t erase the problem, Michael,” Remiel said gently.
“I’m not ignoring anything, I can’t. I just don’t see the point of talking about it all the time. Talking about it won’t change anything, will it? I just don’t…” He trailed off as he came to a standstill in his pacing. A horrible weight of raw dread festered in his mind like an open, aching wound, one that he couldn’t remember gaining and didn’t know how to treat. Prodding at it made the wound ache even worse, so he turned away and focused on methodically stashing the last of his practice equipment on the proper shelf and secured his sword to his hip once more. Its familiar presence at his side was an immense comfort. “I’m being ridiculous, you’re right.”
“I never said you were being ridiculous,” Remiel protested.
“No, but it’s the truth. I appreciate your trying to talk me out of my snit, but I’d rather not speak of this further if it’s all the same to you.”
“Michael, I think -”
Michael slapped his hand against the shelf with more volume than force. “Enough! I’m done talking about this!”
A beat passed. Remiel straightened from his relaxed pose. He pressed his mouth into a thin line and turned his attention to putting away his own equipment. “As you say, my Aeon.”
Michael exhaled slowly as he rubbed at his temples in a failed attempt to ease the tension building there. “Look, Remiel, I apologise. I’ll figure out what to do about this mess, so for now let’s… let’s speak of things closer to home. How were things while I was away? Assuming I understood your earlier comments properly, would I be correct to infer that your stint without me was free of further complications? Barring the intrusion of our uninvited guest last night, of course.”
“That is correct, my Aeon,” Remiel said, his chest puffing with professional pride. He fell in step beside Michael as they made their way towards the exit. “We were determined to prove ourselves worthy of your trust. The daeva were less than comforted by your absence, as we were, I’ll admit, but the kindling did an admirable job of keeping everyone calm. Once we heard Most High’s declaration that you were named Prince, the mood improved considerably.”
“Of course everyone heard that part,” Michael realised with a soft groan. “I don’t know why I’m pretending to be surprised. The King is not known for passively allowing His words to be spread through the leisurely gossip of others.”
“The general reaction in Hod was relief that you would be returned to us so promptly,” said Remiel. “I doubt you need to hear my recommendation that it would be wise for you to issue a statement on the matter yourself. Hearing from you directly would do wonders to alleviate whatever concerns yet linger among the public, my Aeon.”
“You’re right. I’m sure they have many questions.” Michael paused just short of the door as he considered what could be done to preserve the illusion of stability he had so long taken for granted. “Do you think we’ll be able to schedule something for midday? Will that give us enough time to prepare?”
“For a blanket statement of reassurance, yes, quite easily,” said Remiel. He produced his well-used information pad from a pocket in the dark grey shirt worn under the training vests to jot down a few notes to himself. Michael hadn’t even known the training uniform had usable pockets and was surprised to discover his did as well. “I expect it will take more time to establish a healthy, ah, foreign relations policy? How we plan to interact with the other Spheres. I suggest you avoid discussing the subject today.” Remiel glanced up at Michael with one eyebrow raised. “Unless you have a plan at the ready, my Aeon?”
Michael shook his head. “You would be the first to know if I did, Remiel.”
Remiel nodded brusquely and returned his attention to his notes. “It is a situation we will need to address, and soon. We’ve already received a number of inquiries from citizen councils wanting to know the guidelines for contacting other Spheres. And, speaking of the councils, I’ve accrued a handful of projects awaiting your final approval. Nothing urgent at the moment, but I see no reason to condemn them to languish in uncertainty.”
“What fun. Have the reports sent over, if you haven’t already. Hey, do you think we could have the morning reports outside today? In the courtyard, perhaps?”
Remiel paused, his pen hovering over his pad in surprise. “It is likely to rain today.”
Michael cringed. “Well, if it did, then we would move back inside. It was only a thought.”
“Why can’t we use the regular room?”
“No reason. It’s nice out. Shame to be cooped up inside, just thought it’d be nice to be outdoors for a bit. No reason.” Michael shrugged, unable to voice the discomfort he felt, and turned away to open the door so his face wouldn’t give him away.
Mahariel hadn’t gone far since she’d been stalled by a daeva wearing the dark navy peacekeeper uniform. Michael’s stomach lurched unpleasantly at the sight of the two of them huddled together; their expressions and sharp gestures told him this was not a conversation filled with casual platitudes.
“Mahariel, has something happened?” he asked.
“My Aeon, I’ve just received notice that an envoy from Kether has arrived and wishes to speak with you,” said Mahariel. She gestured for the daeva beside her to speak up.
“One of the Saerim of Kether along with an attendant, my Aeon, waiting for you in the throne room,” the daeva blurted loudly, bowing so hastily and deeply that Michael worried he would lose his balance. “They arrived mere moments ago.”
“A Saerim of Kether?” Remiel repeated. “Here?”
Michael did not wait to hear the daeva’s reply. He took off at a run down the hallway, bolting through the familiar passages of the palace to the main hall.