The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 23
John was doing his best to try to comfort his wife amidst the chaos surrounding them, and despite Cynthia’s disregard of his efforts, when Richard came barreling back into the room, breath heaving and face looking as though he were going to be sick. The older man grasped hold of the doorframe, holding himself up as his mouth worked silently, unable to get the air to form audible words, while around him he was ignored in favor of loud arguments and recriminations from all sides. He knows something, John thought, and it’s not good. What else could go wrong? Leaving Cynthia for the moment – It’s not like I’m helping her much anyway – he walked quickly over to help the winded priest to a chair, fighting the urge to interrogate him the entire way. It can wait a minute or two until the man’s gotten his breath back, John told himself, though his gut was urging him to faster action.
He didn’t have to wait as long as he had feared, however. As soon as Richard was in the chair, he grasped onto John’s forearm with a surprisingly strong grip and pulled him down to whisper in his ear.
“I need to talk to everyone,” he said between breaths, his urgency allowing him only the minimum time necessary to get the air to form the next word. “Get them to quiet down if you can.” Obediently, John waved his hands and shouted for everyone to shut up, that the priest needed to speak. Initially, he doubted that he would be heard or heeded, but invoking Richard’s authority brought him the respect his own outsider status would have ordinarily been denied, and the room settled down. Within a minute, every eye was on the priest as he sat, face white as a sheet and gaze wild with panic. At first, he didn’t speak, and as the crowd quickly picked up on his anxiety, murmurs began to slowly grow again, only to shut off like a spigot once he finally mustered the energy to begin.
“I’ve been consulting the texts in the Great Library,” he started, voice at first a strained whisper but gaining strength, “and I fear I have discovered something terrible.” Jessica nearly fainted at this, and her husband had to hold her steady; a low gasp spread throughout the crowd. John just felt sick to his stomach. “Abby and Darrick have run off without completing their bond. Do any of you know what that will cause?” Everyone looked around, curious to see if anyone would speak up, but all anyone gave was a shrug of ignorance. “Well, neither did I,” Richard admitted, “to my shame. In my defense, the tradition of marrying soon after the bond has matured is an ancient one, and very strong, and it has prevented this situation from arising within living memory, or maybe even in the last few centuries. So I never learned what the result would be. But I remembered reading something about it long ago, when I was still in my apprenticeship, and I was able to find it again.”
“What is it?” Anthony asked with ill-concealed impatience.
“Get on with it already, Richard,” Cynthia said, with a bit less skill in concealing. Richard nodded in acquiescence.
“The bond changes the recipients into each other’s perfect mate,” he continued, voice calm though his eyes and hands flickered restlessly. “That’s common knowledge. The completion of the bond finalizes this process. Without that completion . . .” He took a deep breath. “The bond will continue to try to change them, beyond what the human mind will allow. The mind will resist, fight back. The stress will build, slowly at first, and then increasingly faster, as the bond and the mind battle.” Richard clenched his hands together, bit his lip, and bowed his head.
“And then what?” John asked when Richard fell silent. “What happens next?” He tried to sound as encouraging as he could, but he knew his growing frustration was showing. Why couldn’t the man just spit it out?
“Madness,” Richard finally said, he own voice cracking on the word. “The stress will slowly tear their minds to pieces. I don’t know exactly how it will go or how long it will take; apparently, every person reacts differently. But their grasp on reality, on themselves, will tear more and more, until eventually their minds will be all but lost.” Jessica buried her weeping face in her husband’s chest. “And, then, not long after, death. The strain will eventually kill them.” Jessica’s wails could be heard even through Anthony’s shirt, and tears were running freely down Anthony’s face. Cynthia was still holding onto herself, but barely. John himself was wondering how much longer his legs would hold him. He couldn’t, however, shake the feeling that there was yet another shoe to drop, and until then, he would have to keep a hold of himself.
“That’s not all, is there?” he asked Richard, and even though the priest did not immediately answer, even his hesitation made the answer clear. John resisted the urge to shake the answer out of the man. He’s doing the best he can. This is hard on us all. Finally, Richard was able to respond.
“What I have to say next,” he said, “only the parents can hear. Cynthia, Anthony, Jessica. You stay with me. Everyone else, if you would please leave.”
“What?!” John exclaimed, enraged. “I’m the boy’s father, even if I’m not one of your own precious people. There’s no way in hell you’re sending me away.” Anthony started to reply, but Richard held up his hand for silence.
“You’re right, John,” he said, sounding tired and broken. “My apologies. You have every right to know as much as the rest. But everyone else must leave.” The crowds started to file out, though not without some grumblings. “That means you too, Meredith,” Richard said when Abby’s friend looked to be staying. She bowed her head in solemn acceptance and followed the crowd. “And you as well, Patrick.” Patrick almost protested, but one look from his father was enough to send him scurrying away. After hearing what Patrick had done to Darrick, John was tempted to follow him to deal out payback, but he reminded himself that there were more important things to worry about now than the behavior of a bully. Eventually, the room was empty save for the four of them, and all eyes – red-rimmed and watery though they may be – were on Richard.
“What I have to say now,” he said softly, “has been a kept secret by the priests of Atlantis for millennia. I believe that, under the circumstances, all of you have a right to know, but the information cannot leave this room.” His voice and inflection changed, and all four listeners felt themselves seized by a powerful force. “You will speak of this to no one outside this room. This knowledge will remain buried in your hearts and minds, never to be shared, directly or indirectly. This is my command.” John knew that he could never tell anyone even if he wanted to; that even if he should so much as try, the breath would freeze in his lungs and the words stick in his throat. It was a profoundly disturbing realization, and looking around at the others, he could see that the sensation was shared by all of them. If this is Atlantean magic, he thought, I’m glad I’ve been able to stay away from it until now. Only after this would Richard continue.
“Darrick is no ordinary young man,” he said. Cynthia smiled proudly, but Richard held up his hand before she could agree. “I don’t mean in just the way that every mother thinks her son is extraordinary. Darrick is the heir to the royal line. Cynthia, your House is our only remaining nobility, and even though in Atlantis you would not have normally been considered in line for the throne, with the death of all other branches of the noble Houses, the royal heritage falls to you. And with your brother’s death and your sister’s marriage into another House, Darrick is the only remaining natural heir.”
“I know that,” Cynthia said, “even if most people don’t give him the respect he’s due. That’s certainly no great secret.”
“Yes, but what you do not know is that the royal family is more than just another line of monarchs,” Richard said, a bit testy. “Nor are they the symbolic figureheads most Atlanteans treat them as nowadays.” He shook his head. “We claim to keep ourselves separate from the world, but its ideas still infect us. But that’s beside the point. Have any of you ever heard of the story of the Fisher King?”
“Wasn’t that a movie?” John asked, confused. “Robin Williams playing a crazy homeless man.” Anthony rolled his eyes.
“It’s part of the Arthurian legends, isn’t it?” Anthony said. “I don’t remember much about it, though.”
“It got incorporated into the mythos, yes,” Richard said, “but it didn’t begin there. It’s origins actually go all the way back to Atlantis. It’s a story about a king who receives a wound and is dying, and as long as the king is dying, so are the land and the people. That’s how it worked with the Atlantean kings. The health of the king was the health of the people, literally. And it still works that way today. Have none of you ever wondered at our continued survival? It’s almost unheard of in human history for a landless nation to survive, especially for thousands of years. And yet, we do. Not a single House has been lost since the Cataclysm. That’s because the royal line has never yet failed. The Cataclysm was actually the closest it’s come, but it – and we – survived by the skin of our teeth. In fact,” he continued, looking to Cynthia, “a very strong geas was laid on the royal family to do everything possible to make certain it didn’t die out. Cynthia, I’m convinced that’s why you took a husband and had a son, even though most of the exiled children never marry. You didn’t know it, but the geas was working to preserve the line.” Cynthia looked uneasy at the notion, and John felt roundly used. That’s all I am to these people, breeding stock to keep up their royal family. He beat down his anger for the moment, though; there were more important issues. His son was still in danger.
“So you’re saying,” Anthony asked, “that, if Abby and Darrick go mad and . . . die, then all the Houses will be lost?”
“Yes, but it gets even worse.” Richard clenched his hands tightly together to stop their trembling. “Because Darrick – no offense intended, John – because Darrick isn’t pure Atlantean. Based on my own studies, I believe that his mixed heritage means that the effect could be spread to the entire world, not limited to just our own people.” He looked now at Anthony and Jessica, frozen in shock. “That’s why I pushed so hard for you to accept Cynthia’s bonding request. I believed – I still believe – that if Darrick were in a loving, happy Atlantean marriage, than it could bring great things to the world at large. Maybe even a Golden Age. Worldwide peace and prosperity. I hate to admit it, but I used you and your daughter to that end.”
“Not to mention our son,” John interjected angrily.
“Darrick, too,” Richard said, “though, given his situation, he would have been used one way or another, I fear. I was at least trying to use him to achieve the best result possible.” He looked down at his hand, clenched so tightly they were almost bloodless. “But now, I fear the worst has occurred. Darrick’s happiness could have brought about a golden age. His madness . . .” He trailed off, unable to say any more, but his meaning was clear. John felt compelled to state it for him.
“You’re talking about the end of the world.”
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 23
John was doing his best to try to comfort his wife amidst the chaos surrounding them, and despite Cynthia’s disregard of his efforts, when Richard came barreling back into the room, breath heaving and face looking as though he were going to be sick. The older man grasped hold of the doorframe, holding himself up as his mouth worked silently, unable to get the air to form audible words, while around him he was ignored in favor of loud arguments and recriminations from all sides. He knows something, John thought, and it’s not good. What else could go wrong? Leaving Cynthia for the moment – It’s not like I’m helping her much anyway – he walked quickly over to help the winded priest to a chair, fighting the urge to interrogate him the entire way. It can wait a minute or two until the man’s gotten his breath back, John told himself, though his gut was urging him to faster action.
He didn’t have to wait as long as he had feared, however. As soon as Richard was in the chair, he grasped onto John’s forearm with a surprisingly strong grip and pulled him down to whisper in his ear.
“I need to talk to everyone,” he said between breaths, his urgency allowing him only the minimum time necessary to get the air to form the next word. “Get them to quiet down if you can.” Obediently, John waved his hands and shouted for everyone to shut up, that the priest needed to speak. Initially, he doubted that he would be heard or heeded, but invoking Richard’s authority brought him the respect his own outsider status would have ordinarily been denied, and the room settled down. Within a minute, every eye was on the priest as he sat, face white as a sheet and gaze wild with panic. At first, he didn’t speak, and as the crowd quickly picked up on his anxiety, murmurs began to slowly grow again, only to shut off like a spigot once he finally mustered the energy to begin.
“I’ve been consulting the texts in the Great Library,” he started, voice at first a strained whisper but gaining strength, “and I fear I have discovered something terrible.” Jessica nearly fainted at this, and her husband had to hold her steady; a low gasp spread throughout the crowd. John just felt sick to his stomach. “Abby and Darrick have run off without completing their bond. Do any of you know what that will cause?” Everyone looked around, curious to see if anyone would speak up, but all anyone gave was a shrug of ignorance. “Well, neither did I,” Richard admitted, “to my shame. In my defense, the tradition of marrying soon after the bond has matured is an ancient one, and very strong, and it has prevented this situation from arising within living memory, or maybe even in the last few centuries. So I never learned what the result would be. But I remembered reading something about it long ago, when I was still in my apprenticeship, and I was able to find it again.”
“What is it?” Anthony asked with ill-concealed impatience.
“Get on with it already, Richard,” Cynthia said, with a bit less skill in concealing. Richard nodded in acquiescence.
“The bond changes the recipients into each other’s perfect mate,” he continued, voice calm though his eyes and hands flickered restlessly. “That’s common knowledge. The completion of the bond finalizes this process. Without that completion . . .” He took a deep breath. “The bond will continue to try to change them, beyond what the human mind will allow. The mind will resist, fight back. The stress will build, slowly at first, and then increasingly faster, as the bond and the mind battle.” Richard clenched his hands together, bit his lip, and bowed his head.
“And then what?” John asked when Richard fell silent. “What happens next?” He tried to sound as encouraging as he could, but he knew his growing frustration was showing. Why couldn’t the man just spit it out?
“Madness,” Richard finally said, he own voice cracking on the word. “The stress will slowly tear their minds to pieces. I don’t know exactly how it will go or how long it will take; apparently, every person reacts differently. But their grasp on reality, on themselves, will tear more and more, until eventually their minds will be all but lost.” Jessica buried her weeping face in her husband’s chest. “And, then, not long after, death. The strain will eventually kill them.” Jessica’s wails could be heard even through Anthony’s shirt, and tears were running freely down Anthony’s face. Cynthia was still holding onto herself, but barely. John himself was wondering how much longer his legs would hold him. He couldn’t, however, shake the feeling that there was yet another shoe to drop, and until then, he would have to keep a hold of himself.
“That’s not all, is there?” he asked Richard, and even though the priest did not immediately answer, even his hesitation made the answer clear. John resisted the urge to shake the answer out of the man. He’s doing the best he can. This is hard on us all. Finally, Richard was able to respond.
“What I have to say next,” he said, “only the parents can hear. Cynthia, Anthony, Jessica. You stay with me. Everyone else, if you would please leave.”
“What?!” John exclaimed, enraged. “I’m the boy’s father, even if I’m not one of your own precious people. There’s no way in hell you’re sending me away.” Anthony started to reply, but Richard held up his hand for silence.
“You’re right, John,” he said, sounding tired and broken. “My apologies. You have every right to know as much as the rest. But everyone else must leave.” The crowds started to file out, though not without some grumblings. “That means you too, Meredith,” Richard said when Abby’s friend looked to be staying. She bowed her head in solemn acceptance and followed the crowd. “And you as well, Patrick.” Patrick almost protested, but one look from his father was enough to send him scurrying away. After hearing what Patrick had done to Darrick, John was tempted to follow him to deal out payback, but he reminded himself that there were more important things to worry about now than the behavior of a bully. Eventually, the room was empty save for the four of them, and all eyes – red-rimmed and watery though they may be – were on Richard.
“What I have to say now,” he said softly, “has been a kept secret by the priests of Atlantis for millennia. I believe that, under the circumstances, all of you have a right to know, but the information cannot leave this room.” His voice and inflection changed, and all four listeners felt themselves seized by a powerful force. “You will speak of this to no one outside this room. This knowledge will remain buried in your hearts and minds, never to be shared, directly or indirectly. This is my command.” John knew that he could never tell anyone even if he wanted to; that even if he should so much as try, the breath would freeze in his lungs and the words stick in his throat. It was a profoundly disturbing realization, and looking around at the others, he could see that the sensation was shared by all of them. If this is Atlantean magic, he thought, I’m glad I’ve been able to stay away from it until now. Only after this would Richard continue.
“Darrick is no ordinary young man,” he said. Cynthia smiled proudly, but Richard held up his hand before she could agree. “I don’t mean in just the way that every mother thinks her son is extraordinary. Darrick is the heir to the royal line. Cynthia, your House is our only remaining nobility, and even though in Atlantis you would not have normally been considered in line for the throne, with the death of all other branches of the noble Houses, the royal heritage falls to you. And with your brother’s death and your sister’s marriage into another House, Darrick is the only remaining natural heir.”
“I know that,” Cynthia said, “even if most people don’t give him the respect he’s due. That’s certainly no great secret.”
“Yes, but what you do not know is that the royal family is more than just another line of monarchs,” Richard said, a bit testy. “Nor are they the symbolic figureheads most Atlanteans treat them as nowadays.” He shook his head. “We claim to keep ourselves separate from the world, but its ideas still infect us. But that’s beside the point. Have any of you ever heard of the story of the Fisher King?”
“Wasn’t that a movie?” John asked, confused. “Robin Williams playing a crazy homeless man.” Anthony rolled his eyes.
“It’s part of the Arthurian legends, isn’t it?” Anthony said. “I don’t remember much about it, though.”
“It got incorporated into the mythos, yes,” Richard said, “but it didn’t begin there. It’s origins actually go all the way back to Atlantis. It’s a story about a king who receives a wound and is dying, and as long as the king is dying, so are the land and the people. That’s how it worked with the Atlantean kings. The health of the king was the health of the people, literally. And it still works that way today. Have none of you ever wondered at our continued survival? It’s almost unheard of in human history for a landless nation to survive, especially for thousands of years. And yet, we do. Not a single House has been lost since the Cataclysm. That’s because the royal line has never yet failed. The Cataclysm was actually the closest it’s come, but it – and we – survived by the skin of our teeth. In fact,” he continued, looking to Cynthia, “a very strong geas was laid on the royal family to do everything possible to make certain it didn’t die out. Cynthia, I’m convinced that’s why you took a husband and had a son, even though most of the exiled children never marry. You didn’t know it, but the geas was working to preserve the line.” Cynthia looked uneasy at the notion, and John felt roundly used. That’s all I am to these people, breeding stock to keep up their royal family. He beat down his anger for the moment, though; there were more important issues. His son was still in danger.
“So you’re saying,” Anthony asked, “that, if Abby and Darrick go mad and . . . die, then all the Houses will be lost?”
“Yes, but it gets even worse.” Richard clenched his hands tightly together to stop their trembling. “Because Darrick – no offense intended, John – because Darrick isn’t pure Atlantean. Based on my own studies, I believe that his mixed heritage means that the effect could be spread to the entire world, not limited to just our own people.” He looked now at Anthony and Jessica, frozen in shock. “That’s why I pushed so hard for you to accept Cynthia’s bonding request. I believed – I still believe – that if Darrick were in a loving, happy Atlantean marriage, than it could bring great things to the world at large. Maybe even a Golden Age. Worldwide peace and prosperity. I hate to admit it, but I used you and your daughter to that end.”
“Not to mention our son,” John interjected angrily.
“Darrick, too,” Richard said, “though, given his situation, he would have been used one way or another, I fear. I was at least trying to use him to achieve the best result possible.” He looked down at his hand, clenched so tightly they were almost bloodless. “But now, I fear the worst has occurred. Darrick’s happiness could have brought about a golden age. His madness . . .” He trailed off, unable to say any more, but his meaning was clear. John felt compelled to state it for him.
“You’re talking about the end of the world.”
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