Angelfire

2. Lincoln

2

LINCOLN

Raedwulf and I slowly march through the ornate corridors of Arx Hall. We’re taking the scenic route to the Eminence cavern. The people adore Raedwulf. I love giving them extra time with him.

Both Raedwulf and I wear our royal best, meaning a formal tunic, chain mail and leathers. Everywhere we go, thrax fill the hallways. If I’d decided to march around with a zombie version of Elvis, I don’t think our subjects could be more interested. In fact, they’re so excited, they break with tradition and just call out to Raedwulf.

“I have Ghost Sight!”

“Hades is real!”

“We want to join the festival, too!”

This happens every year, but I never gave it much notice before. Now, I can’t help but notice how Raedwulf nods and waves, but he doesn’t say anything back.

When I next speak, I take to use a low voice that only Raedwulf will hear. “Why don’t you tell them they’re right? Ghost World does exist.”

Not that I believe such things, but Raedwulf does.

“Our everyday subjects are powerless,” replies Raedwulf. “Having them speak about Ghost World to their nobles will only make things worse.”

“Have you ever spoken to what you call an everyday subject?”

“Bah.” Raedwulf sniffs. “Have you?”

“All the time.”

“Enough to discuss their personal views on Ghost World?”

“Ah, no.”

“Nor will you. That’s why we have nobles and court. It’s how the world works, my lad.”

We continue to our stroll. With every step forward, my thoughts churn over the fact that Raedwulf is right. I don’t really speak with my subjects. Royals deal with nobles… the head of each house runs their different group of subjects… and that’s the way it’s always been. Sure, things are different on Earth. But thrax are part-angel, not human.

Eventually, the corridors narrow and the crowds give up. I also drop my thoughts of how Antrum’s government.

After navigating a series of stone passages, Raedwulf and I reach the Eminence cavern. It’s a long and rectangular space that’s formed from exposed rock, except for a stage that sits at the far end of the cave. This raised platform is a simple wooden affair that holds a stone wall as well as a trio of skulls.

Yes, skulls.

One set of bones is huge and human. The other two are small and animal. The human option is supposed to be a magical creature that got trapped in Antrum from a parallel dimension. The Doyen. Supposedly, this skull has the power to hold magical tournaments between ghost conjurers.

I scan the skulls and shake my head. Talk about ridiculous. Who really thinks these relics are from another dimension? Everyone agrees this ceremony is just some goofy fun. Every year, Raedwulf and I act out the whole thing on stage. Together, we bring Vaudeville into the middle ages.

Raedwulf and I cross the empty cavern to hang out behind the scenes. At the Eminence, the backstage area is an open stretch of rocky ground directly behind the stage’s stone wall. Everything starts off normally. Grandfather and I are here hours early, so we stand around and catch up on what’s happened over the last year.

Then, it happens.

Grandfather sees something over my right shoulder. His already-gray face turns white. I step closer.

“Raedwulf, are you all right?”

He whispers one word. “Hades.”

I follow Raedwulf’s stare to check behind me. For a moment, I spy a massive humanoid lurking in the shadowy depths of the cave. I inhale a shocked breath.

Calm down, Lincoln. You haven’t had a decent rest in days.

After blinking a few times, I scan the place once more. Nothing’s there.

Raedwulf never looks too steady. But after seeing this co-called Hades, Grandfather seems ready to fall over.

“I’ll get you a chair,” I offer.

“Please.”

It takes some running around, but I find a few wooden folding chairs. When I return backstage, Raedwulf leans against a patch of stone wall, heaving in deep breaths. I open the chair and guide Raedwulf to sit upon it.

“Is that better?” I ask.

Raedwulf stares off into the spot over my right shoulder. “Did you see him? That’s Hades, I tell you.”

“I checked. There’s nothing.”

A knowing glint shines in Raedwulf’s eyes. “Not even for a second?”

I open my own folding chair and sit down. “I saw something for a moment, but that’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I’m seriously sleep-deprived.”

Grandfather eyes me carefully one more. The last time Raedwulf inspected me, his face held a proud look of the my, how you’ve grown variety. Now, his eyes glisten with fear.

“Someone may need to use the Beryl Xyston far sooner than I thought… and, you know…” He doesn’t say it. Even so, I know what Grandfather is thinking: And imprison me and Juno forever.

A tense silence falls between us. For his part, Grandfather takes to staring at the floor silently. With every passing moment, his skin turns more papery and gray.

I’m not sure how long we sit in silence. At some point, my parents join us backstage.

Mother is a petite figure in her traditional black Rixa gown. Her elegant features are highlighted by pulling her gray hair into a neat chignon. Father is a barrel-chested man in his black tunic, pants, and boots. He has a round face and white, chin-length hair. Both of my parents sport silver crowns.

Connor stands before Raedwulf’s chair. “Octavia and I went to the North Tower. Where were you?”

Raedwulf keeps staring at the floor. “Lincoln walked me here.”

Connor rounds on me. “From the North Tower?”

“No,” I reply. “From my private rooms.”

“That’s unacceptable,” bellows Connor. “I’m king. I should close the door on one old man and know he’ll stay put.”

Raedwulf looks up. “You’ve never been one to believe in the unusual. Juno would always cast extra spells on her phantasms, just so you could see them. But you’re too proud. You’d pretend they didn’t exist. Just like you pretend not to know I can sneak out of any cage in Antrum.”

That little speech is so shocking, I almost fall out of my chair. Father knows Juno is alive, too?

Connor tilts his head back and laughs. It’s a great show of carefree joy. And I’d believe it, too. Only this particular display is one Father uses all the time. It only has a fifty percent chance of being true.

Father sets his hand on Raedwulf’s shoulder. “Why don’t I go on stage with you this year? “

“Because,” says Grandfather slowly. “You don’t believe in conjurers or phantasms. You’ll only grumble that it’s all nonsense. The Achilles Festival is fun for our nobles. Your sour face ruins things.”

“That’s not true.” Father turns to Mother. “Is it, Octavia?”

Mother keeps her features level. “I seem to remember the last time you went on stage, a certain unpleasant noise erupted from the crowd.”

I work hard to hide my smile. What a day. The crowd all blows raspberries at Father until he retreats from the stage. The problem? Connor keeps lecturing them on something they already believed—the fact that Ghost World isn’t real—and they hate every minute of it. After that, I start leading the ceremony with Raedwulf.

“Everyone is against me on this,” says Connor. “I’ll stay backstage with Octavia.” Father glares at Raedwulf. “But you need to do things the right way. I’m talking about slapstick fun, fake audience volunteers, all of it.”

“The volunteers are ready,” confirms Raedwulf. Grandfather looks to Octavia. “I’m a little chilly. Will you get me a shawl for my shoulders?”

Mother smiles. “In other words, you want some alone time to upset my husband. I’ll give you five minutes.” She saunters away without another word.

Raedwulf looks to me. “You heard what your Mother said. Better get started.”

I frown. “But we always walk on stage together.”

“Not this year. Go warm up the crowd for me. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Maybe it’s the light, but Grandfather seems paler than ever. I have the sinking feeling this may be the last time I see him.

I shake my head. I’m imagining things. Raedwulf will live to be a thousand. The crowd seems to agree with Grandfather’s assessment of what should happen next. They take to chanting.

“We want the show! We want the show!”

My instinct is to give Grandfather a hug, but I hold back. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Yes,” says Raedwulf. It must be more tricks from my sleepy mind, but I think his eyes are lined with tears.

As I walk toward the door, Connor and Raedwulf mutter to each other. Their words are too low to hear, except for Father.

“Fine. You have my solemn promise.” Father bites out the words like he hates every syllable.

What can Raedwulf be asking from Father? The two hardly see each other. The only time they talk is that the annual Achilles Festival, and I can count their exchanges on one hand.

My heart sinks. Raedwulf might really be dying. If so, he might be asking Father some final wish. It’s one of our many thrax traditions.

Don’t think about that now, Lincoln. You already promised Raedwulf to start the show.

Steeling my shoulders, I grip the handle and pull open the stage door. As I walk out onstage, Father speaks five more words that upend my world.

“I vow to visit Juno.”