Fernan XI: The Bringer of Peace

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Fernan asked cautiously as he stepped around a steaming puddle of water, remnants of Mara’s efforts to clear the path.

“I’m fine,” Florette said through grit teeth. “Believe it or not, you can trust me to walk up a hill in a straight line.”

“Fine. Just offering.”

Florette did seem to be walking fine for the moment, but given everything she’d been through, it seemed like a pretty reasonable offer. According to Laura, the tips of her hands were still mottled and grey, some of her fingers shriveled and missing their proper nails. Her gloves hid that, but not the large gash across her forehead or the stitches that stopped it from spilling open. Even now, Fernan knew she was rotating her magic ring between hands and feet every hour or so to better heal the frostbite. Her aura had a pale cast to it, still dim where it had once blazed so bright.

All from saving me. “You also don’t need to come if it’s a struggle for you. You’ve definitely earned your rest.”

Florette stopped walking, fists clenched. “Fuck off.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“I got enough of that condescending shit from Eloise. When I say I have it handled, I have it handled. If you’d understood that with Glaciel, we’d be in a way better place, but you could at least start now.”

“Of course.” Fernan took the opportunity to drop the subject, leaving them plodding up the mountain in silence once more.

What could I even say? She risked everything to save me, and I screwed it all up in return.

Emile Leclaire had taken him to Laura, given him the opportunity to make his case, and she’d actually understood, actually agreed.

Arriving with help, relief at the final hour — it was supposed to be a good thing, finally turning the tides of a losing battle. Not without its costs, given Flammare’s inevitable involvement, but Mara and the light sages had been so crucial in the battle, and things had turned sharply against them once energy began to run out. Getting Laura was supposed to be a way out of an unsalvageable situation.

And instead it might have just ruined everything.

Flammare had arrived at the hour of victory, the final culmination of what journals were calling the Battle of White Night, burning through the clouds of snow in the air and the Hiverriens it sheltered with equal fervor.

The Fox-King had declared a great victory, Glaciel repelled so thoroughly, and Florette was the key part of that, along with all of the other villagers who had pledged their help.

I knew the plan, and I still thought all was lost. It was impossible not to feel guilty about it. And yet, given what I knew…

It wasn’t condescending to doubt that Florette could pull it off, not after Levian had joined the fray. Anyone would fail fighting two spirits at once, at least if they were doing it alone. At that point mere survival was a lot to hope for, and…

The image was still there in his head, almost as real as his actual memories of the battle. The final reversal, trails of flame touching down on the ice as Glaciel’s eyes widened with shock. Her hand had been wrapped around Florette’s throat, on the verge of killing her if no one intervened.

But then the air was filled with thunderous noise, and the weight of his decision became clear.

“Fernan!” Mara hissed out as they arrived at the crater. “I was worried you weren’t going to be warm enough to come.”

“It’ll take more than a couple of ancient spirits trying to kill him to put Fernan down,” Florette assured her, probably playing it up a bit in case any other spirits were listening.

“That’s nice of you to say.” Even if it’s blatantly wrong. It almost took a lot less. “Where’s Gézarde?” The odds were slim by now, but if they could make the case for him as the next sun to enough of the spirits and block Flammare’s ascent, an entire nation of people might be saved.

Not to mention the fact that a fundamental force of the world wouldn’t be a tyrant anymore.

“He’s talking to that horse spirit over there, the one with the sharp fangs. Apparently she dwells in the mountains as well.”

“Oh, fantastic.” Building support on his own, for once. Every little bit gave them the slightest chance. “We should try to do the same. Some of these spirits might yet be convinced, and the Convocation will start soon.”

Florette nodded. “We’ve got Corro and the Fallen for sure, and hopefully Lamante too, since she and the Fallen are… whatever they are to each other. I talked to Corva, and if any of us are willing to promise to return the Gauntlet of Eulus to her, she’s promised a boon we could cash in here.”

“You already talked to her?” Maybe it was a bit uncharitable, but preparations and Florette didn’t really seem like they belonged in the same sentence. “That’s great. Given what Flammare did to her partner Fala, I think we have a decent chance at getting both of them even without making that promise, especially if we can show that there’s a real viable alternative.”

“Still worth tracking it down if we can. A boon from a spirit like that is no small thing, and I think I might have figured out an idea of where it would be.”

“Good, but there’s no need to deal with that tonight. For the moment, we want to convince as many people as we can.”

“You mean, ‘as many spirits as we can’ though.”

“You know what I mean.”

Florette shrugged. “I’m not trying to be a pedant, but you need to remember how different their motivations can be. Showing that Flammare is an asshole won’t be enough, or he’d never have been in contention in the first place.”

“Unfortunately.” Fernan turned to look out over the mountainside crater, warm water pooled in the center where snowmelt was accumulating, flame spirits burning a trail wherever they moved. Many of the auras were the same as they had been at the first meeting, like the winged horse by Gézarde or the headless boy, but there were more tonight that Fernan didn’t recognize, either late arrivals or those who only felt the need to appear for the Convocation itself.

Among them was an almost alarmingly thin spirit, hair and aura as white as the snow around them. The tips of her toes floated a few inches above the ground, but her posture remained fixed. Perched on her nose were twin crescents at an angle perfectly matching the moon above. Lunette, the moon spirit. The fact that Corro, who served her, stood beside her only confirmed it.

Florette was doing the same thing Fernan was, though trying harder to be subtle about it, by the looks of her body language. “Remember Miroirter, the shiny rabbit? He was skeptical of Flammare’s motives. Something about seeing worlds. I think he’s worth a conversation.”

“For sure. I was just looking at Lunette, and—”

“I don’t know. We should probably just trust Corro to talk her into it. We don’t have much time.”

“We can’t just assume that she’ll share his perspective. I was just talking about this with Emile Leclaire, actually. We want to—”

“That asshole? I’ll bet you anything he’s most of the reason you almost died. Him making a deal with Glaciel and then Levian showing up on the wrong side is about as suspicious as it gets.”

“Sure, but he at least claimed that it was out of his hands. And he helped get me to Laura—I know, kind of a mistake, but he was helping me get where I wanted. The point is that it’s a subordinate position, being a sage. If Levian wants to mess things up, there’s not really much that they could do about it.”

Florette tilted her head back at that, a gesture Fernan had learned by this point meant she was rolling her eyes. Fair enough, I guess. Leclaire is still pretty suspicious. “I’ll go talk to Miroirter. Can you do a round and make sure everyone we think is on our side actually is?”

“Got it.” She was on her way before the words had fully left her mouth.

Camille hadn’t mentioned Miroirter at all, which meant he probably wasn’t a spirit whose sages were relevant to her political maneuvering, if he had any at all. And yet his voice had carried weight at the last meeting, and he’d spoken out against Flammare.

“Spirit Miroirter, could I have the privilege of talking to you for a minute?”

The spirit’s aura shimmered with reflected moonlight, distorting as it moved to face Fernan, then bared his fangs. “Better to speak for an hour, or a year. A minute allows time for little but miscommunication and despair.”

Fernan covered a sigh with his hand. So is that a no, then?

“I cannot blame humans for being content with shallower sensation, but I have no intention of limiting myself to the same.” Combined with his tinkling voice, the effect was almost maddening, but this was a spirit; it was hardly unexpected that it would be strange.

Miroirter seemed to notice Fernan’s eyes for the first time, tilting his head in turn. “But then, your sight is not quite as limited as the rest of your ilk. Not sufficient to see the reflections of the world, nor to witness anything beyond Terramonde, but less terrible. Should you prove that you comprehend it enough that it would not be a waste, perhaps I might help you to do it. Though, of course, there are things I would want in return.”

“That’s generous,” Fernan said, willing himself not to ask what the fuck this spirit was talking about. “I’m actually here to talk to you about the Arbiter of Light, though. Flammare seems to think it’s his role to lose, but there are alternatives.”

“The weak hermit and the gregarious leader. Diurne and Nocturne. The dark spirit and the light bringer. These are not reflections, but opposites. And yet they too orient around each other, their commonalities drawing parallels. And with the right passage, they too can be traversed.”

“Right. Well, anyway, I just wanted to—”

“Your purpose is transparent, sage of Gézarde. As we lack the time to communicate properly, I shall be expedient in my response: Flammare will not have my support. He has proven inadequate to face the direst threat before us. He warned us of Glaciel’s wrath with such fervor, yet remained absent until the very last moment, after the battle was already over. Little changed in the reflection where he arrived earlier beyond Glaciel’s death, nor when he arrived late. After the damage Khali’s exile wrought, we can ill afford a poorly exercised response.``

“Ok, great.” Whatever the fuck you just said. More importantly, he wasn’t going to aid Flammare. Confusing spiritual riddles about Khali could wait.

“...And let it be known that Glaciel was at my mercy. If Flammare had not interrupted when he did, I could have killed Glaciel. I’ll swear that before any spirit you put in front of me; we didn’t defeat her because of him, but despite him. And without his interference, Glaciel wouldn’t have ever gotten away.” Florette walked confidently up to them, Lunette floating gently just behind her.

“It’s true,” Fernan assured the moon spirit when she arrived, damning himself with his own words because they were correct. “Flammare didn’t do much of anything besides mess things up with Glaciel. The battle was won without him, may you take my soul if I lie.”

“You do not need to explain to me the character of Flammare. I know him far better than you do, given everything he’s done for Soleil.”

Right, Soleil. “My condolences for your father’s passing, spirit Lunette.”

“That itself was no great loss, save for what it meant to those who dwelt upon Terramonde’s surface. There is no doubt that Flammare was his chosen successor, but Soleil’s choices are no longer of consequence to anyone.”

Perfect.

It wasn’t that long after that that the Convocation convened in earnest, Flammare unsurprisingly running the show. He began with a verse about being strong together that didn’t flow as well as they usually did, but then he invited the spirits to make their choices. For a spirit that had wanted to wait three months for this, things were moving shockingly fast, but perhaps he just tasted victory in the air and couldn’t help but follow the scent.

“Flammare,” began the bull embedded in the earth.

“Flammare,” repeated a pale red boy with crackling lightning for a head.

And so they continued. So many of them weren’t even possible to understand, either communicating differently like Fala or beyond visualization at all, like the Fallen. They seemed to be speaking in some kind of order, but it was impossible to make sense of the pattern in any meaningful way.

“Lunette,” said Miroirter, the shimmering rabbit whom Florette had suggested talking to, the first vote for the moon spirit so far. At least he’s not helping Flammare.

“Gézarde,” voted a little imp spirit Fernan had never even spoken to, apparently convinced all the same.

Fernan allowed himself the barest hope, but the rebellious votes were followed by seven in a row for Flammare.

Either way, there’s nothing left to do about it.

“Gézarde.” The wind carried Corva’s words, a pause for Fala following shortly after.

“Gézarde,” repeated the face stealer, with the Fallen presumably voting the same way.

“Flammare,” said a burning candle with a crackling voice.

“Flammare.” By the blazing orange wings, that was probably Yves’s patron Phoenicia, which was a shame.

“Flammare.”

“Flammare.”

Again, again, it just kept going. Gézarde voted for himself, as did Flammare when his turn came, but the flame spirits seemed otherwise in lock step behind the spirit of the hearth, bound by respect or fear.

A few more scattered votes were cast for Gézarde, from a spirit with spider legs bursting out of an otherwise-human body to an enormous worm creature whose aura seemed to be constantly crumbling to sand without ever quite losing its shape.

But the conclusion seemed inevitable at this point, and it only grew more obvious the more time that passed.

By the time the Convocation reached its decision, Fernan could do nothing but brace himself for inevitable failure.

“And so the Arbiter has been chosen,” Flammare announced, stretching out his metal wings with a burst of flame. “Though some thought fit to try to rush their time, the natural order did prevail tonight. To all of you who chose to speak my name, I shall not soon forget your trust in me. The rest, I’m sure, will learn the way in time. Decisions have a way of coming back around and making sure your fate arrives, the consequences your decisions wrought.

“Lunette, given your grief and suffering, I shall forgive your challenge and proceed.” He paused, the metal cage of his chest growing hotter as flame spilled out, then moved on without making any acknowledgement of Gézarde. “And now it falls to us to see this through. Queen Glaciel is weak, and running home. Her foul abominations have been bled, and now Hiverre has even less defense. Our task remains both simple and past due.

“Three days from now, in time if not in light, I shall ascend to Soleil’s seat and claim my role as Arbiter of Light at last. Three days from then, we make for Glaciel. I vow before all of you spirits now, Hiverre shall not persist beyond year’s end. Nor shall we let ourselves be picked apart, battered, betrayed, and killed by human hands. It won’t be long before those days are done, and in their place, a true reflection of the natural way of things for all spirits.

“And then, at last, the need to fight shall end, for those who do oppose our aims will die, and all perversions of the natural way will be exterminated to the last, along with fools who thought to challenge me. I do believe we ought collaborate, and all unite beneath this one fair goal, and so I do invite you all to join. The spoils of th’winter court shall not be slight, for e’en abominations do have souls, which all of you might claim from those you slay. You may decline, but I will not forget. All spirits of the flame and light must fight, or know that they have earned my ire and more. And yes, Gézarde, that does include you too. Fala, Lunette, Corva, and all the rest who cast their doubt against the rightful heir, this fight shall be your final chance to act.”

And that was that. The next Arbiter of light had been decided, and Hiverre would burn in a week. And it’s all my fault.

Fernan wandered back to Guerron in a daze, following Mara’s path and guiding Florette in turn to make sure no one lost their footing in the darkness.

He left Florette and Mara behind when he ascended to the roof of the temple, a jug of nightshade in his hands.

Camille had demanded to know when the new sun would ascend as soon as the spirits decided, and since Fernan already felt terrible, it wasn’t like talking to her would make things much worse. Might as well get it out of the way now.

He only saw one vision before he could focus enough to shift to Camille, and it was a sight he already knew.

The fire in Fernan’s eyes didn’t yet blaze as bright, and Mara was nowhere to be seen, still hiding outside the bounds of the city back then.

Florette, unscarred in body and mind, was searching desperately for justifications to steal from Magnifico even when they couldn’t risk pissing him off. She’d been wrong on that, and yet somehow her words had perfectly hit the mark.

Fernan well remembered the sentiment behind them, but hearing the exact words again cut him to the bone.

“You never think you have a choice, Fernan. You always just follow the path in front of you, without any critical thought. You became a scout because it was expected of you; you became a sage by accident; you came to Guerron because of a plan your creepy alderman and I came up with! If Mara hadn’t burned you, you never would have seen anything more than half a mile outside the path between Villechart and The First Post until the day you died, because you’re that complacent.”

And perhaps this was why: he just screwed everything up when he tried to take the initiative. The thought of everything staying the way it was felt more wistful now than it had even then, when the loss of his eyes had been so fresh.

Florette hadn’t yelled at him for bringing Laura and Flammare, though she’d had every right to. She’d even claimed some of the blame for hesitating to kill Glaciel, which to Fernan’s mind was pretty thoroughly undeserved. She’s stepping lightly for once, for my sake, even though she’s been through so much worse.

She’d braved the frigid sea to save his life, and all she’d asked in return was respect, confidence that she could pull off the plan. And I couldn’t give her even that.

It lingered in his mind even as he gave his report to Camille, supplying perfunctory words while his thoughts were elsewhere. Once that was finished with, sheer exhaustion was enough to get Fernan to sleep, but still he did not rest easy, for the image of Hiverre in burning ruin couldn’t leave his head.

Florette was waiting for him when he woke, pacing outside the door of his room. “I think there might be another way,” she said once Fernan roused himself. “It’s risky—you might call it reckless—but there’s no safe way to do something like this. I could really use your help, but at a minimum you can’t get in the way. Promise?”

I wish I could say that was unfair, but after the White Night… “I promise. But I reserve the right to try to talk you out of doing something if it’s a bad idea.”

Florette shrugged. “Fair enough.” She paused. “It’s going to screw over Laura. Not because I want that, but I just don’t think there’s a way around it. Are you sure?”

Maybe we can still find a way to do it. Maybe once I hear… It sounded delusional even in his head. Flammare was to be the sun, and any means of stopping him would inevitably blow back on his sage.

But this is a decision I have to make.

“I trust you. What’s the plan?”