Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

Thor noticed the King of the Dead stand up in his throne, looking down on him in shock and awe.

Thor turned and threw himself into legions of beasts, moving faster than he’d ever had, reaching back and slashing with the sword. He found that the sword, instead of slowing him, despite its weight actually made him faster, as if it were slashing on its own—as if it were an extension of his arm. Thor found himself cutting through beast after beast, taking out one soldier after the next, cutting through them like they were not even there. Shrieks rose up all around them as he felled one creature after the next, on the ground and in the air alike. He drove scores of soldiers back into a lava pit, screaming. He blocked their blows as they charged him with their halberds, the sword so powerful that it sliced the halberds in two, as if they were twigs. In the same motion, Thor swung around and took out a dozen soldiers in a single blow.

With a fierce battle cry, Thor charged whomever remained of the beasts, slashing with all his might, killing them left and right, going faster and faster in a chaotic blur. His shoulders no longer felt tired—now, he felt invincible.

Soon, Thor found himself standing there alone, facing no more enemies. He did not understand what happened. All was still. The floors were covered with corpses, and there was no one left to fight.

Thor stood, his heart hammering, and faced the throne.

In the silence, the King of the Dead, a grave look on his face, looked down at him in disbelief.

Thor could not believe it.

He had won.

Darius sat beside the fire at sunset, hunched over, his back raw, stinging, the pain worse than anything he’d experienced. It felt as if his skin had been ripped off his back, and it hurt to breathe, to move, to sit up. Dray sat loyally by his side, whining, his head in Darius’ lap, unwilling to leave his side. Darius offered him small pieces of food but Dray, downcast, would not accept it. He gritted his teeth and grunted as Loti, kneeling at his side, placed a cool rag on his back, doused in ointments, running it along his skin as she had been doing for a while now, trying her best to ease his pain. As she did so, he noticed tears in her eyes, and he could see how guilty she felt.

“You did not deserve this,” she said. “You have suffered for my actions.”

Darius shook his head.

“You have suffered for all of our actions,” he corrected. “It should not have fallen on you alone to have to stand up to the Empire. What you did for your brother, for all of us, was an honorable thing; what I did for you was the only thing.”

Loti cried softly as she rubbed his wounds, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“And now?” she asked. “What was it all for? They’ll return in the morning. They will take me, and maim us all. Or worse—they will kill us all.”

Darius shook his head emphatically.

“I will not let them take you,” he said. “I will not see them offer you up to save all of their lives.”

“Then we shall all die,” she stated.

He looked at her, her face grim, severe.

“Perhaps we shall,” he said. “But are there not worse things? At least we shall die together.”

He could tell by her expression how touched she was, how loyal she was, how grateful.

“I shall never forget what you did for me today,” she said. “Never. Not as long as I live. You have my entire heart. Whether we die tomorrow or not, do you understand me? I am yours. I will love you from now to the end of eternity.”

She leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her back, a long meaningful kiss, and Darius felt his heart beat faster. She pulled back, her eyes glazed, and he could feel her sincerity. Her kiss took away the pain of his wounds; he would do it all again gladly for her, despite all the pain, despite all the suffering.

The village horn sounded, and all around the village fire, there gathered near Darius and Loti the Council of Elders, along with hundreds of villagers. Darius could sense the anxiety in the air, could see the panic across all their faces as they all swirled about, mumbling loudly, arguing with each other, a sense of desperation in the air. Darius could not blame them—after all, this could be their last night on earth. Tomorrow, a wave of mutilation or destruction was coming for them, and there was little that they could do about it.

The horn sounded again, and the villagers quieted as the chief elder, Bokbu, stepped forward, raised his palms, and faced them. He looked down sternly at Loti and Darius.

“Your actions have endangered our people,” he said slowly, his voice grave. “But that matters little now. What matters,” he said, looking out at the people, “is the choice that lies before us. At daybreak, what will we choose? Execution or maiming?”

A loud grumbling arose, villagers arguing with each other.

“We’ll take maiming over death any day!” one shouted.

“I shall not be maimed!” yelled Raj. “I will die first!”

More grumbling erupted, everyone seeming to feel differently about it, and no one happy. Darius was shocked; even with faced with maiming, his villagers still wouldn’t stand up, wouldn’t all agree, as one, to fight back. What more did they need? Had their spirits been crushed so deeply?

“It is not a choice,” one of the elders said, as the crowd slowly quieted. “It is not a choice that any man can make. It is a horror, a curse open us all.”

The crowd fell deeply silent, somber, for a long time, all that could be heard was the whipping of the wind.

“We do have a choice!” a villager yelled. “We can hand the girl over to them!”

There came a muted cheer of approval amongst some villagers.

“She’s endangered us all!” he yelled. “She broke the law. She is to blame! She must pay the price!”

There came a louder cheer of support among the crowd, mixed with arguing. Darius was amazed to see his people at such odds with each other, so willing to give her up.

“There is another choice!” another elder yelled out, raising his palms as the crowd grew silent. “We can offer them the girl and plea for our lives. Perhaps they will relent. Perhaps they shall not maim or kill us.”

“And perhaps they should do both!” another crowd member yelled out.

There came a cheer, and the crowd once again broke into an agitated murmur, long and intense—until Bokbu stood and raised both of his palms. As he did, all eyes turned to him with respect, and finally, there was silence.

He cleared his throat, his presence grave, commanding authority and attention.

“Because of the actions of this one girl,” he boomed, “our entire village has been put in an impossible situation. Of course we cannot accept death. We have little choice but to accept life as the Empire wishes us to have it, as we always have. If that requires handing over the perpetrator to them, then that is what we are compelled to do.

“As much as it pains me, sometimes one must sacrifice for the sake of the whole. I see no other way out. We must accept their sentence. We shall be maimed, but not dead. Life will go on for us, as it always has.”

He cleared his throat as the crowd remained silent, and he turned and fixed his gaze on Darius.

“Tomorrow, at daybreak, we will do as the Emperor commands and you, Darius, as they requested, will represent our village and present our offer to them. You will hand over the girl, we will accept their punishment, and we will move on. There shall be no more talk of this. The elders have spoken.”

With that, Bokbu reached out and slammed his staff on the hollow wooden log, making a definitive sound, the sound always used to mark an important ruling. It meant the ruling could not be changed, could not be argued.