Chapter 21

Wheel of Light

“There are Nine Songs, one for each Eye; To Sing them all, it is to Die.”

Folk-songs Collection, ‘Nine Songs’

Olivia sat on her knees, her hands pushed against her chest, eyes closed, muttering a prayer in a language even she didn’t speak. Four tiny walls enclosed a small, empty room with two doors – one ordinarily stone-made, inlaid with Light, impossible to move without it. The other, the one she was kneeling in front of at the moment, was a majestic sprawl standing at forty feet, inlaid with rivers of light and gold in flattened patterns, like veins, cycling upwardly toward the center where a triangular gem, bright golden in hue, stood, shining.

With each one of her prayers, the doors seemed to hum in reply, their shine bolstered. At sides, they were framed in pure silver-alloyed steel, projecting a holistic image onto any who had the privilege of glancing at them. However holy they were, however, they guarded something even holier – something that the Lumina Kingdom defined as its heart, mind, and soul.

The doors cracked with a deep bellow, causing a stirring blast of wind to echo out, washing over Olivia, nearly toppling her onto her back. She slowly got up on her feet as the doors continued to open, white, blinding light piercing from the central crack, forcing her to close her eyes as the winds continued to stir, causing her silver-white dress to flutter backward.

It all settled only a few minutes later as the doors spread open completely, revealing a somewhat small, spherical hall. A single bridge extended from the entrance, made entirely out of pure gold, looming over the darkened below, leading up to the center of the room – where, right above it, hovered a wheel of gold. It spun ceaselessly, sparks of gold and coral mixing like fire, jets of liquid-like substance ushered from its surface with each spin, vanishing just a few inches away from it. It lit up the room better than the sun lit up the world, its core seemingly cast of ordinary wood, edges inlaid with sapphire gems that stood out as the sole, alien thing almost against the otherwise light-infused creation.

At its center, a massive gem, the size of a grown man’s head, stood still – beneath its surface, even from the distance, one would spot tiny tendrils, like worms, wiggling about, creating a rather eerie sight for the first-timers. Olivia, however, was hardly so; even still, she couldn’t help but feel the sense of nothingness when she looked at it – the Wheel of Light. Her throat turned dry, eyes shining, her golden hair almost losing its hue in the presence of true light. There was something beyond majestic about it – a will beyond comprehension. Halfway across the bridge, she instinctively fell to her knees, crawling the rest of the way, plastering her head against the bridge’s surface once she reached the edge.

She remained silent, shaking, waiting for the Wheel’s judgment. It was not a person, but a thing – as far as anyone knew anything of the Wheel. What it did not want the world to know, the world did not know; and what it did want the world to know, it riddled in dreams, illusions, and lies. Even still, without it, the Light would cease – at least the Light they have at the moment. It would reform to its primeval form, the one given to them by the First One – the extremely powerful, but twice as limiting one.

Even her Father and the Lightbringer had to kneel with their heads to the gold-built bridge, praying and hoping the Wheel would accept them. She still remembered her father telling her of his third visitation – the day after he became the King. He knelt for seven days and nights straight, but the Wheel never accepted him. Since then… it never spoke to him. She feared the same fate. She'd visited it only once herself – the time she came to enrich her Light – but that encounter completely changed her life. She was as dependent on the Wheel as she was on the air she breathed.

The surroundings suddenly melted into the flickering gems of light, pulling back like the shadows in the sun. The Wheel was no more, and neither was she; from the borderless darkness, a singular pillar of right surged. It shone brightly and kindly, washing over the darkness and giving birth to all manner of nature – creating a world of the light itself. It created the blue skies, the blue oceans, and rivers, the green pastures and forests, the tall and short mountains, the flowers beyond comprehension… for a moment, it all seemed peaceful and perfect, as though nothing could ever go wrong – yet, it did. From beneath the pillar, a singular tendril of black arose, bit by bit wrapping itself around the pillar, elongating. The golden pillar began losing its hue, shaking, quivering like a leaf in the wind, while the expanding darkness continued swallowing it – until it swallowed it completely.

The world the pillar created was cast into the fire, the golden replaced by the crimson and coral. It all burned, like firewood in the hearth, casting ashen smoke into the clear skies, dyeing them gray. The tendrils wound up consuming the pillar, the dark consuming the light, and it all withdrew back, like the carpets folding over the floor – from the dark, it returned to the dark. Silent. Eerie.

From within the dark, a spray of blood erupted, flying off in droplets toward all ends before converging into a mirror beyond measure. Simple, copper-framed, clear. In it, she saw her reflection – but she was older. Wiser, she thought. And she was crowned. But the crown… was not the Crown her Father, and his Father before him wore. And the throne was not the throne in their palace. Grander. Holier. Behind it, the Wheel spinning, spitting out jets of light. The reflection stared right back at her with hollow eyes for a moment, just a moment, before a trace of red ran over her throat. The blood gushed out like a stream, dyeing her dress, the throne, the floor, the crown… everything… in red. She screamed, but her voice rested in her throat. She reached out, but the mirror began cracking, from top to bottom. All she saw was a silver flicker of a strange dagger as it drew back from her bleeding throat.

The mirror exploded into shards beyond count that right after turned into the droplets of blood, trailing off into the nothingness, restoring the dark. A thousand eyes suddenly opened with it, surrounding her, looking, staring. She felt naked – she was naked – beneath them. They knew her, saw her, understood her – they knew of her dreams, of her treason. To cry for help would be in vain. They were everywhere. They were everything. They seemed to snicker for a moment before closing, kindles of fire rising in their place. At first small, pebble-sized, they quickly grew to rapturing masses, the towering shadows of doom. They roared and swallowed the world, yet halted against the dark – push and pull, push, and pull. Flickers of light, golden and otherwise, bounced against the edges, relentless.

“LIAR!!” an unfamiliar voice echoed out from all ends, angered. “DARK FIEND, BLOOD-BOUND ONE!!”

“…no… no more…” Olivia whimpered, cradling herself within her arms, shaking in the midst of the nothingness. Just as her voice got swallowed in the dark, she found herself back on the bridge, kneeling, shaking, sweating, crying. She instinctively looked up and saw the Wheel; it was still spinning, as ever, as though nothing had happened. But it has. It has spoken. In its own way.

You could not ask the Wheel questions, nor hear its answers; it told you what you needed to know in its own way. It spoke to her, and it was up to her to understand what it meant. However, her rapidly beating heart didn’t want to understand any of it – even without reading into it, it spoke one thing beyond clearly – she would die. She would be killed. She would become a Queen, crowned and holy, and she would bleed still. Was it ascertained? No. The Wheel did not show the future, it showed its likeliest outcome. Based on what? Nobody knew. Nobody could know.

On the occasion that what it showed did not happen, Dacents would gather and run through the events of history to determine what needed to happen in order for its word to come true. However, they never came up with a conclusive answer. Not to the chances of its ‘prophecies’ happening, not to how it made them, not to on what it based them… not to anything other than they are likeliest to happen at the particular moment it showed them to someone. And, right now, the likeliest outcome for her was death – yes, she may have been older there, but not by much. She didn’t seem even forty.

Doused in sweat, still whimpering, she turned around and began crawling back, her mind a restless mess. She tried to forget, but what the Wheel speaks cannot be forgotten. It will forever be with her, even if she lives on beyond that moment. She would always recall the time her throat was slashed and she was left to bleed to death on her throne.

Also the voice… it continued resonating. Over and over again, on a seemingly infinite loop. She was certain she didn’t recognize it, no matter how deep she dug. It was youthful, yet sagacious at the same time; angry, bitter, resentful, furious. Not at her, no. At someone or something else. For one or another reason. Perhaps because of her? Maybe it was her future lover, trying to avenge her death. She couldn’t know. It was just as likely it was something that should happen a hundred years from now, and that it had little to nothing to do with her.

She reached the edge of the bridge and got to her feet, glancing at the shining Wheel one last time before exiting. The doors behind her closed, and she fell back to the silence of a small, squared Praying Hall. She didn't know how she stood, for she hardly felt her feet or legs. She felt both dead and alive at the same time; terrified beyond anything else she had experienced in her life. I can survive, a small part of her mind suddenly spoke to her as she came to her senses. I became a Queen – yes, I was the Queen. Noah made me a Queen. If he can do that… he can protect me. Yes, Noah can protect me. I’ll have him protect me. Then, I’ll be safe. That’s what the Wheel was telling me – he made you the Queen – he can keep you alive as well.

She hurried out, bounded toward his chambers in her mansion. Just as she exited the Palace, however, she was forced to come to a halt as a familiar face showed up before her, just as surprised to see her as she was him – Ludwig. She hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since she gave him the Royal Seal for the foundation he was starting, and she hardly wanted to see him or speak to him right now. She needed to go to Noah. Needed the affirmation that he can protect her.

"Your Highness," Ludwig quickly recovered from his shock, smiling and bowing in courtesy. "Is there something wrong? You seem unwell." He asked, putting on a concerned expression. His twilight-colored eyes, however, betrayed his true emotions – confusion beyond the concern.

“Ah, Lord Ludwig,” Olivia quickly calmed herself down, regulating her breathing as she responded. “You have seen me in a rather desolate state – I must apologize.”

“No apology necessary, Your Highness; if I can help in any way, I would be more than glad to do so.” Ludwig said.

“I am afraid it is more of a personal issue,” Olivia said, smiling faintly. “But thank you for offering.”

“Ah, very well,” he withdrew slightly, still maintaining a smile. “Forgive my transgression.”

“Nothing to forgive,” she shook her head. “May I ask why are you here?”

“Ah, yes – His Majesty and my Father are currently in council,” Ludwig said. “I escorted my Father to here and was ordered to wait.”

“Ah, is that so?” Olivia mumbled, wondering why was her father meeting Duke Godwind. “I would love to keep you company, but I am afraid I have personal matters to attend to.”

"Of course; forgive me for taking up your time, Your Highness." Ludwig stepped to the side, taking up on the cue, bowing.

“Until next time, Lord Ludwig.”

“Likewise, Your Highness.”

Olivia maintained her even pace as she began moving toward her mansion; her anger toward Ludwig for stopping her subsided and was instead replaced by gratitude. She was too hasty; if she said something to Noah now, she might influence his decisions too much for the future. It’s best I wait until he makes me the Queen, she thought. Before mentioning anything. Until then… the best option is to try and get close to him as much as possible…

With a calm mind, her worries eased considerably, a tiny smile managing to crawl onto her lips. Everything would be fine, she knew.

**

Two men, both aged, though one considerably more so than the other, currently occupied solitarily the Throne Room. King Jovyer O’vorell sat on the throne, his image imposing, seemingly independent of his age, looking down at the kneeling figure clad in thick, light-bound steel armor. Duke Godwind Fyrost looked the same as he always had – tall, broad, and rough-looking, with short, dark hair and a pair of black eyes. He had entered his fifth decade and was yet to begin graying. Even Jovyer envied it slightly, though it was hardly anything unexpected – Godwind’s father hadn’t begun graying until sixty-five, after all.

“… I understand your predicament,” Jovyer said, sighing lightly, tapping the index finger of his right hand against the throne’s armrest. “But what would you have me do, Wind? You are no fool – by now you should have realized I am preparing for my retirement. I need to start loosening my grip on the Kingdom.”

"… I understand that Your Majesty," the man spoke in a deep voice, shaking slightly. "And if I had any other choice, I would not have come to beg. Yes, I am begging."

“You will kill him.” Jovyer said.

“No,” Godwind shook his head quickly, glancing up and meeting the King’s stern gaze. “I swear upon the Light itself, I shall not deal the killing blow.”

“…”

“Your Majesty,” Godwind muttered, gritting his teeth. “I have endured, no? For twenty years, nearly. I’ve bought crop at thrice the price, and the only reason I was able to grow was because of Your merciful donations. I have always considered my Dukedom first; I needed to feed my people, to ensure we had our winter provisions… but what of it when I am forced to forbid my people from having more than one child, Your Majesty? I only want—”

“Fine, I will consider it, Wind,” Jovyer sighed, relenting in the end. “Give me a night to think.”

“Thank You, Your Majesty.” The Duke suddenly smiled childishly, barely containing his excitement.

“Haah, what is with your House and Revvors?” Jovyer chuckled bitterly. "Do you know that the day of my Crowning, my Father approached me and said 'if one or another assassin doesn't kill you, it will be those two clawing away at each other'?"

“Ah? Grand King said that?” the Duke exclaimed in surprise.

“And, by Light, he was right. Haah… as promised, I will think about it. You are dismissed."

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Duke bowed quickly. “Thank You for considering my thankless request.”

Jovyer watched the Duke saunter out of the throne room with happy-feet, almost breaking out into a dance, while the former shook his head and sighed once again. He hardly had many more years to live, yet it seemed as though the Kingdom wanted to squeeze whatever he had left from him before he could enjoy them in the retirement.

“Hm?” he mumbled, glancing to his right, beyond the walls. “The Wheel spoke to someone?” he exclaimed in faint surprise. “It’s been a while… I wonder… is it all still on track?” he frowned for a moment before averting his gaze to the front, getting off the elegant and a rather massive, gem-inlaid, throne chair. “You confirmed it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” a voice spoke out from nowhere. “He’s an Outlander, assisting Her Highness.”

“… it’s best I begin… then,” Jovyer sighed, glancing out the stretch of stained-glass windows behind him. “Lest… it be too late…”