Through the Archway

Chapter Twenty - Part Three

 "Something must have happened. They were already dangerous — look at Caroline and John. But what if something else happened and the royals failed to hush it up? Then everything would have been exploited."

Rebekah's eyes lit up. "What if people had started to disappear then, too? And then, because the royals knew they had made a mistake, they covered it up — removing any mention of it at all!"

David nodded. "So do you think they could be out there, somewhere?" he asked. "The Commoners, I mean."

Rebekah turned away from him, toward the wide window that overlooked a large wheat field. "I don't know..." she said. Her voice sounded distant. "We have no idea how many archways there are, and we don't know how far their radius stretches or what goes on within them — look at what happened to Taylor. We have no idea where she is. I'm so worried about her."

David frowned. "We'll find her," he insisted, his voice stronger than he had thought it could be. "Don't worry about that."

Rebekah turned back to him. She had tears in her eyes. "I hope so," she said, her voice shaking. "I don't know what I'll do without her until then; she's my best friend."

David pulled her into a hug, patting her back awkwardly. It felt odd to be the one administering the hug — normally, it was Rebekah's go–to move. "You've always got Evelyn for the time being."

Rebekah pulled away, laughing. "Sure," she said. "Because Evelyn is so empathetic." She forced her face into a blank stare — a perfect imitation of Evelyn's usual expression. David grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. He was desperate to change the subject. "What about the councils?"

Rebekah pursed her lips. "You mean 'them'?" she asked. Her voice seemed much calmer and more business–like. "I wish I knew what they meant. It could mean the Primitives."

"I guess," David said, "Have you ever wondered why our tech is so advanced and they don't even have any?"

"Not really. I always thought it was because of the mountains and desert dividing us from the rest of the continent. You know, we just got more and more advanced and our ancestors decided not to spread the wealth."

A loud crash disrupted them before David could ask her anything else. He turned around, back toward the door. Another crash. He pulled the door open with a jerk, Rebekah behind him, looking equally as frightened.

It was coming from the room across theirs — the throne room. David hadn't realized how far they had strayed from the Ball. He pressed his ear to one door, Rebekah did the same with the other. He childishly recalled a time when he and Thomas, before their long feud, had done this exact same thing — though it had been an ambassador in the room that day.

This time, it was his father. His father and Thomas.

David pressed his ear harder against the door. He tried not to cringe as Thomas's low hiss of a whisper met his ear — though he could not decipher what he was saying. There was another crash, louder this time, and David cringed away from the door. He exchanged an alarmed look with Rebekah, who mouthed 'Should we go inside?'

David shook his head, though a large part of him wanted to push open the door and demand to know what Thomas was doing, to call for help — but he stayed where he was, because a small part of him, the part that oddly overpowered the other, was afraid of Thomas. And his fear made him feel cowardly and small.

"Please do as I ask and give me the throne! I don't want to hurt you!" Thomas shouted. There was a thud, and David knew that his father had been pushed to the ground. David wondered why his father didn't just blast Thomas away with his powers.

King Henry grunted something that was drowned out with another thud. "I can't get away, I'll never get away, they're always there, always right there!" Thomas yelled, "Don't you understand? I can't stop it anymore!"

Thomas began mumbling gibberish. His father was silent, making David uneasy. He wanted to go inside, he wanted to stop Thomas, to save his father. He didn't understand the tactic Thomas was using — why was he trying to coerce his father, why he didn't just end it.

David gave Rebekah a fleeting look. She was leaning against the door, her face pale. There was another loud crash, flowed by a crack, and David winced. "Stop that!" Thomas shouted. Was it his father making the noise? "What are you doing?"

Thomas's voice was no longer full of malice, but fear. David put his hand on the knob, abandoning all reason, when Rebekah took his hand and pulled it off the handle.

"No," she whispered, eyes as wide as saucers. "We won't be able—"

"Stop!" Thomas bellowed. "What's wrong with you?!"

Another bang, and then silence that seemed last a millennia. Then, Thomas gasped. "Help!" he screamed, "I need help! PLEASE!"

David once again put his hand upon the knob, and this time Rebekah did not stop him.

The room was a disaster; the drapes were torn, the tapestries were ripped, the chandelier had fallen from the ceiling and cracked the tile below. The thrones were overturned, and the wallpaper was scorched in places.

But the most terrifying thing of all, something that drained the blood from David's face, stopped his heart and stopped his brain, and filled his body with a kind of emptiness he could not describe —

David's father lay upon the floor and Thomas' weeping form stretched over the lifeless body.