"Authors are wannabe dictators, who, unable to be the actual Overlords of Earth, create our own worlds that we can manipulate and conquer. The only problem is, sometimes our characters are even more despotic than we are. In that case, the only thing we can do is drink heavily."—Brittanie Charmintine, Legendary* Author and Aspiring Overlord
Just kidding! That would suck if I died on the table with no ass-kicking, retribution, or a hot kissing sesh with my favorite swordsman! I love you readers way too much to do such a thing! So here we go!
Where were we? Oh, yes, never surrendering vs. death.
As you recall, (it was only a few paragraphs ago!) I was unconscious and dying from a lack of oxygen.
Because I was unconscious, I wasn't suffering. So that was good for a while until I suddenly woke, gasping for breath, my lungs expanding against my ribs. It was the most delicious breath I'd ever taken, even if the air tasted of metal coated with the now-familiar smell of magic—ozone. When I opened my eyes, the light in the lab was so bright I closed them immediately. Still, an ache pounded in the back of my eyeballs.
"Rowen! You're alive!" said a squeaky voice. I knew that voice.
Didn't I?
I carefully squinted one eye open only to discover my dear familiar, Vermeil, no longer made of stone, perched on my chest, bits of rope dangling from his whiskers and fur. He spat. "Those magic-suppressing ropes taste awful. Worse than rat poison. Which, now that I think of it, actually tastes kind of good. Almost everything tastes good—garbage, decaying garbage, my cousin Edna's niece's brother-in-law, overcooked parsnips. Everything except those ropes." He spat again and kicked bits of rope debris off my body like he was battling ants in a sugar bowl.
"Vermeil!" I said, my throat sore, my voice hoarse. "You saved me." I wanted to hug him or at least pat his little head, but I still couldn't move my limbs, only my eyelids.
"No. You saved me! I did not like being a lawn decoration. Let's just say I will make it my life's purpose to relieve myself on every pigeon I encounter. Vile creatures!" Who was I to argue? He deserved revenge, although I couldn't imagine how he would engineer this feat. Pigeons had wings.
"Mooooaaaannnn."
"Who was that?" I said, stomach flip-flopping. "Olivia?" Were she and Tyra waiting for me to turn back from a statue so they could suck out my magic? No, that couldn't be. They'd never have allowed Vermeil to gnaw through their precious ropes if they were here.
"Negative," Vermeil said. "Petronella."
"What? Why is she here? Petronella?" I called out.
"Moooaaannn," she repeated.
I tried to turn my head to look at her or yell at her for ruining my life, turning my dads into toads, and being such a shitty mom to Olivia that she turned into a monster, but I couldn't budge. Also, 'Mom' didn't sound healthy, so maybe now was the wrong time to tell her off. And while I'd enjoy it, it wouldn't be as satisfying to unleash my anger when Petronella sounded like a wounded animal.
"Vermeil, why can't I move? You got rid of the ropes."
"It takes a few minutes for your body to adjust to not being a statue."
"But I didn't get turned into a statue," I argued.
"You look pretty statuesque to me," he said. "Maybe the mirror didn't turn you to stone, but you're exceedingly rigid. Don't worry. It'll improve."
"I don't have time for this!" I hissed.
"Meerrrlllleeenn," Petronella croaked.
"I think she said 'Merlin," I said.
"She definitely said Merlin," Vermeil replied.
"Does she mean The Merlin? The guy from King Arthur?" I would've pointed out that he was only a myth, but who was I to talk when I was basically living in a fairy tale?
"Yeah, they were a 'thing' before Petronella took the oath. She had to kick him to the curb when she became queen. I heard she didn't take letting him go very well."
I couldn't blame her. Who chose a life without love? "What did she do?"
"Remember smallpox?"
"Not personally."
"Well, back in the 1500s, it was quite the killer. Rumor is, that was her."
"How horrible, but I guess she was only sixteen. Her frontal lobe wasn't fully developed. And rumors aren't always true."
"Rowen," Petronella rasped like a plague victim.
I ordered my head to turn toward Petronella's voice, but my head did not obey. "Is she okay?" I said.
"Depends," Vermeil said.
"On what?"
"On what you're comparing her to. She's in good condition for a corpse. But not in such great shape for a witch."
"What happened to her?"
"I think she had her magic sucked out by that giant machine. I'm afraid without her magic; she has progressed to her true age. All that's left is a frail dried-out carcass."
Gross!
Evidently, Olivia had finally succeeded in her greatest wish—she had magic. But she hadn't gotten it from our non-existent triplet. She got it from our 'mother.' Our creator. Petronella was the "there is another" Tyra had referred to. Of course, their magic would be compatible.
But I didn't get why Olivia didn't just take it from Petronella in the first place. Wouldn't that have been easier than kidnapping me? All I could think of was that Olivia wanted Petronella to live to see the object of her ridicule become queen. To gloat.
But the critical thing was Olivia had the magic she needed, and right now, she was on her way to take the oath, and I was trapped here on a table. "Enough!" I yelled. "Come on, Other Me!!! Let's do this! I focused on the magic swirling inside me, gathered it up, and sent it into my fingers, where it exploded outward as bolts of lightning. There was a horrible creaking sound, like metal crumpling, then the room erupted into chaos, with pieces of metal and glass and liquids and medieval weapons popping off the walls, and everything soaring through the air. I bolted upright, and Vermeil flew off my chest, careening into the abyss, flying dangerously close to sharp chunks of what used to be a magic-sucking machine.
"Rowen!" he screamed. "Help!"
"Prohibere!" I encanted. Stop in Latin.
It was as if time had frozen. Vermeil hung in midair alongside random medieval weaponry and shards of metal and glass that used to be the magic-sucking machine of evil. Petronella hadn't joined the flying circus of destruction, as she was still tied down. But a gleaming longsword hovered over her shriveled neck. I leaped from the table, shouting a spell to move the detritus aside, "recedite!" For extra emphasis so that the magic wouldn't have any doubt, I swept my arms wide, magically pushing everything toward the sides of the room. As Vermeil flew past, I plucked him out of the air. Everything dropped with an ear-splitting crash, clatter, roar, and rumble.
"You can put me down now," Vermeil said.
I set him down gently on my table, and rubbing the place on my wrists where the ropes had dug into, I rushed to Petronella's side. "Petronella! I said"
She lay in her usual white suit, her necklace broken, the pearls rolling loose on the floor. Petronella. Or someone who used to be Petronella. This creature was merely a shell. Her face was gray and sunken, her skin shriveled. Vermeil was right. She'd aged 500 years.
I cut Petronella's ropes with a nearby dagger, then held her hand, and squeezed. It was cold and oh so thin. "Petronella. Say something."
"It's too late to save her," Vermeil said. "But it's not too late to save Brittlebane. We must stop Olivia."
"I can't just leave Petronella," I said, swallowing past the hard lump in my throat.
"She was evil," Vermeil said.
"If you had to live without love for 500 years, you'd be evil too."
"Probably not. Rats don't love in the same way. Unless you're a moldy bit of cheese, then it's deep and abiding love at first bite."
I let go of Petronella's hand and tugged my fists into my waist. Ooh! I'm still wearing the silver bodysuit from the mirror room. Awesome! Kicking ass in a silver bodysuit is much better than in a gown. "You love me."
"Nope."
"Yes, you do."
"Fine. I do. But that's no excuse. Look what Petronella did to all those creatures in the dungeon."
"True." Still, I reached again for her papery hand.
"Stop Olivia," she whispered.
"I can't just leave you," I said. "There must be something I can do for you. Give you some of my magic?"
"You'll need it all to fight Olivia," Petronella said.
There had to be a way. And I had little time to devise a rescue plan.
"Now that we've got our priorities straight, we should we be off to fight your sister," Vermeil said.
Wait! Vermeil had magic! "How about we give you a little of Vermeil's magic instead?"
He shook his head wildly, and I shot him a glare.
"It's too late for me," Petronella said. "But it's not too late for Brittlebane. Do as your familiar suggests. Go."
"I'll come back after I defeat Olivia," I said. "I'll help you then."
"Perhaps," she whispered. "But one more thing."
"What?"
"Please forgive her."
I shook my head, trying to rid myself of disbelief. "Huh? She tried to kill both of us."
"I treated her horribly," Petronella said, a tear sliding down her cheek. "I wanted to be with Merlin so desperately that I took my anguish out on her. I needed an heir, you see. An heir with magic. And all I had was Olivia, since I did not know you existed."
"How can I forgive her?" I said.
"It won't be easy. But remember why the magic chose you. Take the oath, but please don't turn into me. That's my dying request, and therefore, legally and magically binding."
"What? Are you a lawyer now?" I teased.
"Where do you think you got the knack?" She coughed. A few wisps of blue magic came out of her mouth.
"Okay, I promise not to hurt Olivia permanently, but you have to promise me you won't die before I return."
"Tell Merlin I love him," she said, and closing her eyes, she suddenly became still.
"No!!!" I cried, sobbing. Sure, Petronella was the worst, but who among us hasn't caused a plague or imprisoned innocent creatures or turned a person's dads into toads?
(Okay, so none of us, but that's not the point. What matters is that Petronella was a victim as well. Sure, she was awful. Did horrible things. But maybe if she'd been given the opportunity, she could've found her way to being good. Like I did. Hopefully!)
Anger at Olivia rose within me. I clenched my fists. I would make her pay!
"Rowen, let's go," Vermeil said. "But you better fulfill her dying request. As she said, those are legally binding."
"So, what's going to happen if I don't?" I snapped.
"I guess you'll turn into her."
"You mean evil?"
"No, I mean shriveled up like a smelly dead corpse."
Wow. Vermeil wasn't much on the euphemisms. "Let's go defeat my sister."
"And forgive her?" Vermeil squeaked.
"Jury's still out on that one," I replied. "I may not have the strength. Now, how do we get out of here? Back through the dungeon?"
"Don't think so," Vermeil said. When you blew up the machine, it blocked the passageway."
"Great! Well, I'll blow up the passageway then."
"Or you could use the door," Vermeil suggested.
"What door?"
"That one." Vermeil pointed to a spot behind where the machine had stood. Sure enough, there was a large white door. I reached for the doorknob, and a million volts of magical energy whizzed through my body. The air filled with the smell of burning flesh.
"Oops," Vermeil said. "Should've known it'd have a locking spell."
"Locking spell?" I gasped. "That was a killing spell."
"Same, same. The dead cannot escape," Vermeil said.
Could anything ever be simple? "So, smarty-pants, how do we get to Olivia and battle her for the crown?"
"No idea," he said.
That's when I heard a loud banging on the other side of the door, like the sound of a sword biting into the wood. Of course! When magic failed, a sharp weapon could be super effective. Or at least hitting something would make me feel better. I scooped up the longsword, nearly falling over. Turns out, longswords are a lot heavier than those Medieval warriors make them look. I dragged it over with two hands, and managed to smacked it with all my might into the door. The wood splintered and opened a gash to the other side.
"Hey, Rowen! Cut it out! I mean don't cut any more of the door. You're giving me splinters over here," Blade said from beyond the door.
"Blade?" I said. "What are you doing here? I sent you to take care of the other thing because it was safer."
"Oh, yeah. Safer. You try convincing a two-ton monster that you're the good guy! Anyway, I finished that, and now I'm here to rescue you."
I gladly dropped the longsword, arm muscles aching. "I don't need rescuing!"
"I'm going to do it anyway. I have my manly pride, you know!"
"Fine!" Never interfere with a man protecting his fragile ego.
He slashed away at the door, and I took a step backward, narrowly avoiding the point of his sword.
Dearest readers! So happy to see you here in Chapter 43! I hope you had a good time reading it. If you did, vote and comment and all that good stuff! If you didn't? Well, then don't tell me. I'm a delicate creature! Love you!!! Britt/Deb
*A legend in her own mind at least!