Chapter Sixty-Three: Sins of the Mother

“Of the Uldans, there are currently five. There is the father, the Shining Spear of Aldoran, Aedon Uldan. There is the mother, Illia of Oster, fairest of the land. There is the eldest son who is now deceased, the Shining Prince, Willard Uldan. There is the daughter, youngest of the family, the blooming wildflower of Faengard, Celianna Uldan, and finally, the middle son, the dark horse, with ash-white hair and violet eyes—Aeos Uldan.

“A bright future awaits the family. I will be looking forward to how things progress in a few years’ time.”

—Turnis Hibernon, Royal Bloodlines of Faengard

It saddened Celianna to see what state the people of Aldoran had been reduced to. The air was rife with dissonance; screaming and shouting, children crying out for their mothers, all while the guards tried to control and direct the entire population of the first two walls. Their responses had quicky gone from incredulous to frenetic once Menkraft had fallen; their false beliefs in the indestructible city fast fading. That had been when the chaos had truly set in.

If someone had told her a few days ago that people could be capable of this, of pushing and shoving, scuffling against each other in a bid to race ahead, hair-pulling and scratching and biting each other like animals, she would have laughed and questioned their sanity. The merchants who tended the stalls during the day, the labourers who worked the bellows in the Soulforge, the wives who went about their daily housework while the children played in the yards, they were not animals. They were people, bound by the rules of society, bound by laws of respect and empathy for their fellow man.

But the people she saw before her now, they were without a doubt animals.

Celianna closed her eyes and waited against the shadow of the wall, trying her hardest to block out the swearing and the cries of pain as the frantic mob jostled past. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t understand them. She, too, would never have expected Aldoran’s outer wall to fall so quickly. But it had, and spiralling into degeneracy was not the answer.

Once the last of the discord had faded into the distance, she emerged under the moonless sky. It was not a natural sky. It was too dark, darker than black. Without the lampposts on either side of the road, she would have been blind.

Celianna was tired. She’d been roused by the guards shortly past midnight and hadn’t slept since, working with the servants to alert the other inhabitants of the Keep. On any ordinary day it should have been dawn by now, and she would be returning to her chambers to sleep once more. But tonight—or today?—was different. Even if she allowed herself to, she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Her blood was pumping too quickly. Things were mounting, escalating, building towards a peak. Tonight would define the future of Aldoran, and perhaps Faengard itself.

Besides, Gilfred was out on the front lines, fighting, possibly hurt. She couldn’t sleep without knowing he was safe.

She threaded her way through the shreds of torn clothing and sandals left behind in the dirt, to where the Legion’s garrison was positioned by the walls. They paid her no heed as she passed, and nor did she expect them to. It wasn’t the first time she’d snuck out of the castle, and hopefully it wouldn’t be the last. The soldiers were too occupied to pay attention to a lower-class woman in a plain robe, even on a normal day.

She managed to reach the watchtower without being stopped. The door was wide open, the interior in a state of ordered chaos. She kept her head lowered and climbed up the stairs, calmly yet quickly. She didn’t use her Soulsong.

Coming out onto the ramparts of Wall Norn, Celianna stopped at the edge and surveyed the chaos. She’d already gleaned a look from Uldan Keep, so she wasn’t surprised by what she saw. The majority of Menkraft—both the district and the wall itself—was intact, though the gates had been broken wide open. The houses and buildings were empty, some of them aflame from broken lampposts and untended fireplaces. The smoke was acrid and eye-watering, its smell seeping into her clothes.

Worgals streamed through the streets of the abandoned district with a crude method to their madness, clearing out houses in packs of four or five, starting with the smaller ones and leaving the large complexes to last. Occasionally they would find people within, only to slaughter them and take them back to the camp. Celianna watched as a young couple was dragged out of one of the buildings and thrown across the ground. The man placed himself before his lover, pressing his face to the pavement, begging. The Worgals killed him and took his wife too, and carried them back to where they’d begun to occupy the city, one bloodied corpse over each shoulder. They took the soldiers too, lying limp like lifeless dolls, and the cityfolk unfortunate enough to have been trampled to death during the evacuation. Celianna felt a pain in her hand and looked down, only to find that her nails had left marks in her palms. She forced herself to unclench her fists, taking deep breaths to steady herself.

Can’t they leave our dead? the Princess thought in despair. Why must they be taken?

She already knew the answer. The Worgals didn’t see humans as sentient beings—they saw them as livestock, like the way humans saw sheep. Sickened, she turned her back to the sight and continued to wander along the walls, passing the Captains and the Sergeants as they surveyed the damage, the tacticians as they formulated their plans. There were no ballistas except on Wall Menkraft, and the Legion had used up almost all their arrows and oil. The majority of the fighting would be happening on the ground from now on, the commanders said. The best they could do was have the Songweavers weave a mist of brine across the battlefield to weaken the relicts.

“We can’t win this fight,” a familiar voice said, a short way ahead. “Not with those two on their side. They haven’t even taken part yet, and we’re already losing.”

It was a voice Celianna knew well, the voice of a man who was all-too serious sometimes, one who didn’t know how much people looked up to him. She identified where it was coming from and made her way closer, leaning with her back against the parapet so he would only see the side of her cowl if he looked her way.

Gilfred Leonhart was speaking to Aedon and Illia, frustration plainly written across his face. Aedon himself was calm, though his eyes betrayed the fury within. Illia meanwhile looked distraught, her eyes downcast, shoulders hunched as if she were bearing a great weight. Celianna rarely ever saw her mother like this—the only time she could remember Illia being depressed was when Willard had passed away.

“We can’t back down,” Aedon was saying. “They’re like wolves, Gilfred. If we run, they’ll chase us. But if we fight, they might just retreat.”

“They’re not like wolves.” Gilfred was struggling to keep himself from raising his voice. Celianna could tell from the way he kept his jaw clenched. “They’re demons, Your Majesty. They’ve already broken through our greatest defenses, and the Apocalypse Knights haven’t even stepped in yet. If we try and hold this wall, we’ll do nothing but feed them. We should be evacuating, like the rest of the city.”

The King slammed a mailed fist into his free hand. “We will not retreat,” he growled. “We are the jewel of Faengard, the greatest of its standing fortresses. We are the custodians of the Heart of the World and the Protector. If we run, then we give up two of humanity’s greatest treasures. We cannot run, damn it!”

“They will take them anyway, whether or not we fight back,” Gilfred said with a shake of his head. “It’s only a matter of time. The Heart of the World cannot protect us by itself, and the only hope we held of Aedrasil’s recovery is now dead.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Do you seriously think they’re still alive? Ein was just a boy, and Aeos not much older. As powerful as Talberon is, he is but the last member of a dying organisation. You sent them to the Summit of the World, where not even Edric and his company returned.”

“I have faith in my son. He will succeed.”

Gilfred narrowed his eyes. “So you’re acknowledging you have a son, now?.”

Celianna drew a sharp breath. The topic of Willard was taboo among her parents. It was no secret that the public knew how Aeos was treated among his own family, shunned for his appearance and character. There wasn’t a day that passed without Aedon or Illia berating Aeos for not ‘growing up’ and acting like a Prince.

Her father reacted as she expected him to, falling deathly silent. An angry flush coloured his neck as he regarded Gilfred with a murderous look. “You will not teach me how to parent my children, Kingsblade. Might I remind you, your life dances upon the palm of my hand. I could crush you at any time.”

“You judged them guilty before they’d even left,” Gilfred continued. “As far as you were concerned, you’d sent your son, along with Ein Thoren and his companions to their death. You didn’t think at all that their quest might be legitimate, that they might be needed alive to prevent the world’s destruction.”

“It’s all my fault.” Illia’s voice was the faintest of whispers. She wrung her hands, shutting her eyes against the screams coming from the city. “I was so sure the bomb would work. If only I hadn’t listened to him…”

“It’s not your fault,” Aedon said, gently placing a hand on her back. “No one had any idea about Dominus’ true nature.” He glared at Gilfred. “I’ll admit I was a bit hasty in sending Edric and his party to Raginrok. But Edric is dead now, and Aeos’ party is several days’ gone. There is nothing left we can do but pray, and buy as much time as we can. Protect Aedrasil until our dying breath.”

“And I’m saying that it’s futile. I don’t think they’ll make it back in time, if they make it back at all.” Gilfred sighed. “Well, at least Alend is still alive. Even if he escaped execution by the skin of his teeth.”

“He deserves it. He’s a disgrace to his name and a traitor of the highest degree. The only—”

“You don’t understand,” Illia interrupted. “I… I started this all. I turned Alend against you, Aedon.”

Aedon paused. “What are you talking about, Illia?”

Gilfred too had frozen. “Surely you’re not serious, Your Majesty?”

Illia kept her eyes down. “Alend is innocent. I am the real traitor.”

Mother… what are you saying?”

Celianna felt weak at the knees, and when the wind came and pressed against her, she nearly fell off the wall. She grabbed onto the stone edge with both hands and struggled to gather her thoughts.

Her mother? A traitor? Surely it wasn’t true. Surely not. She didn’t know Dominus had been a servant of the enemy. She’d said so herself.

But why then did she look so guilty?

#

Gilfred was so stunned he nearly tripped over his feet and toppled off the wall.

Merciful Cenedria, I can’t believe it.

It must have been the smoke or the cold, or just fatigue. He had to be hearing things. Had the Queen just made a confession? Had she just admitted that Alend had been telling the truth, that she—and his his father—had been traitors to the King?

“There’s more to it than that,” Illia continued, while Aedon’s mouth hung open like a goldfish. “You would have done the same in my place. Please don’t condemn me just yet.” She reached out for him, but he stepped away.

“What?” he said numbly. “What is the meaning of this?”

“It started long ago, shortly after Willard’s birth, when I was pregnant with Aeos,” she began. She spoke quickly, her eyes darting frantically around her. No one had caught on yet, the Legionnaires still making their preparations. “I had a dream, and in that dream, something spoke to me. An entity beyond my comprehension, something from the realm of the gods. It told me to do things, bad things, and if I didn’t listen to it, my next child would be cursed. He would be weak and cowardly, and he would be tainted like a demon. I dismissed it, of course. I thought I’d gone mad, so I ignored it. And then I gave birth to Aeos.”

“Al’Ashar’s eyes and ears,” Gilfred murmured. “What the hell…?”

“Illia…” Aedon stared at her with a blank look.

“I had never seen anything like it. A child with stark white hair, violet eyes like a crimson night, as pale as a sheet. But he had come from my own flesh and blood, and I refused to believe he was cursed.

“However, As Aeos and Willard grew, I realized the extent of my mistake. Aeos was not strong or brave like Willard, but a reclusive child who loved to keep to himself and his books. He also talked about dreams he would have, strange dreams where he would see things that had been misplaced. Dreams where he would see things happen, and they would happen. Dreams where he would see people die… and they would die. We kept it a secret, of course. It was hardly an image fitting for a future King, and they stopped early in his childhood.

“We didn’t think of it anymore after that. It wouldn’t matter, because Willard would become the King, and Aeos would simply remain a Lord. I never thought otherwise, that Willard…” she broke off for a moment and cleared her throat. “That he might not live to see that day.

“It was a few years later, when Willard was entering the prime of his youth, that we tried to have another child. That was when I became heavy with Celianna, and the voice came to me again. I was frightened; I didn’t want another demonspawn like Aeos.”

He’s not a demonspawn, Gilfred thought angrily. Aside from his appearance, he’s just the same as any of us.

“This time, I listened.

“The voice told me to kill Aedon. It told me of Rainier Leonhart’s plans to take the throne, and it told me to help him. Fearing for my unborn child, I did just that.” She kept her eyes downward, ignoring Aedon’s crumbling gaze. “We plotted to kill the King. I would poison him, and then Rainier would take the throne. In exchange, the voice told me it would spare my unborn child, and it would ensure Willard and Aeos held an important place in the age that was to come.”

Gods. My father was a traitor. Gilfred shook his head in despair. His father had always been adverse to the Uldan rule, but he never would have expected Rainier to plot against the King.

Two lions cannot rule alongside each other.

The words his father had always loved to say. They finally made sense.

“This voice,” Aedon said. “Why did you never tell me about it?” The King was struggling with what to make of his wife’s confession. Gilfred’s own head was hurting as all the facts came crashing together.

“Alend came across the letters I was writing to Rainier,” Illia continued. “And then I panicked. I had to get rid of him, or else the entire plan would fail and Celianna would suffer the same fate as Aeos. I tried to kill him, Aedon. And when I failed and he ran away, I took full advantage of it and turned you against him, in the hopes that you could find him and finish the job. I’m sorry, Aedon. I’m so sorry.”

Aedon knitted his brows. “So he was not a traitor.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Alend was not a traitor,” the King repeated, tasting the words on his lips. He looked at his wife. “You owe him an apology.”

“I asked the voice what to do next,” Illia continued. “Alend was out of the way, and everything else was in place. But then, Rainier died… he died, and after that, the voice told me that I had failed. It said I was a disappointment, and that I would come to regret this day. I apologized to it, asked it how I could right my wrongs. I was a thread away from madness, Aedon. I was not born to become a backstabber, a scheming witch in the dark.”

“What happened next?” Gilfred demanded. He didn’t want to hear about his father anymore.

“Celianna was born, as beautiful as the sun, and I didn’t hear the voice for a long time. For a few years, I forgot about it—until the accident with Willard. I had forgotten the voice, but it had not forgotten me. I was so grief-stricken, so resentful of myself. If only I’d listened to it, carried out its instructions without fail. Then, Willard might have lived. He might still be alive today, tall and strong, like his father was before him.” She shook her head. “But it was over. He was dead, and he wasn’t coming back. Or so I thought.”

“You heard it again…?” Aedon asked.

“I did,” the Queen whispered. “Recently, when Aedrasil told Celianna that she was dying, and that she needed the blood of the Three Kings. I heard it again in my dreams, and it made me afraid. I was so afraid, dear, that it would take away Celianna. We lost two children already. I would go mad if we lost all three.”

“It seems like you’ve gone mad already,” Aedon said sadly.

“No!” Illia shook her head. “You don’t understand. It was the voice. It was the voice! It was like a snake, whispering promises into my ear. It said it could restore life, bring Willard back, just as it had cursed Aeos. All I had to do was listen to it. It didn’t ask for much; in fact, it wanted to help me. It told me there was another way to defeat the relicts, a way that didn’t involve the precarious trip to Raginrok to find the Lachess heir. All I had to do was sponsor Dominus in his research.”

“Sponsor a Faceless,” Aedon said in a low voice. “This voice of yours… I think I can guess who it belongs to.”

“I didn’t know,” Illia said. “I didn’t know the minister was evil. I couldn’t see any harm in the demonstrations he showed me. I thought I was helping to mitigate the relict threat, creating a miracle solution to an ancient problem. I never could have imagined that this would happen, that the bomb would fail to work and even aggravate the Worgals.”

“There is no way to bring back people from the dead,” Gilfred said. “Not unless you are Sonata the Speechless. Your Majesty… I think the Oathbreaker has played you like a fiddle.”

“No!” A shrill voice cried out. Aedon and Gilfred turned to the watchtower, where a hooded girl was running towards them. “Mother, this can’t be true. Please tell me it’s a lie, please!” The hood fell back. Gilfred stiffened.

It was Celianna.

Damn it. Why now, of all times? “Celianna,” he said, moving to cut her off. “Don’t come any closer—”

“Mother!” the Princess cried again. “It’s a lie, isn’t it? You’re lying!”

“I had no idea,” Illia said. “If I’d suspected that the voice belonged to Al’Ashar, all the way back before Aeos was born, I would not have risked a third child. I just wanted Willard back, darling. I just wanted my son back.”

“Willard is dead,” Celianna cried, tears welling in her eyes as she struggled against Gilfred’s grip. “Not even the Oathbreaker can bring him back. And there’s nothing wrong with Aeos, he’s perfectly fine the way he is! Whether or not it was Al’Ashar who made him look different, he’s still your son and my brother inside!”

“I didn’t want you to hear this,” the Queen said. “Anyone but you or Aedon. I didn’t intend for things to turn out this way.”

“It’s not over,” Aedon said. “The battle isn’t over yet. The Oathbreaker has made my wife insane, and caused me to turn against one of my closest friends. I will make him pay.”

“It’s over,” Illia shook her head. “Aeos… my son will not be returning. Without a Lachess, we cannot save the Protector. You haven’t seen the things he’s shown me, Aedon. Things so horrible it pains me to even think of them. He can do things no one else can, the voice. He will crush us, like insects.”

“Mother,” Celianna said. “What are you saying?”

“I am not worthy to be called your mother anymore.” Illia suddenly turned around, taking a step towards the wall. “I am sorry. Aedon, I have brought shame upon your name.”

“Illia. What are you doing?” Aedon moved towards her. “Illia. Don’t take another step!”

Gilfred darted at the same time as the King, tossing Celianna to one side. He lunged across the battlement to where the Queen had been standing, but she was already on the parapet, swaying in the wind. Soldiers everywhere began to shout; Captains nearby were calling for her to step down, to back away from the wall.

“I have sinned,” she said. “I have caused Aldoran’s fall.”

She leaned forward and allowed the wind to pull her over the edge.