CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Marty’s nostrils flared as he and the rest of the party, apart from Surjan, were marched into the grand chamber of the royal council. The stern-faced guards flanked them, their expressions unreadable. The chamber itself was about thirty feet square and the furniture had been rearranged. Gone were the divans in a circle, suggesting conversation and conference.
Outside, the dawn was obscured behind sheets of rain.
Now arrayed around the back wall were sturdy-looking wooden chairs with a single oversized chair encrusted with glistening uncut stones and pearls. Halpa sat on the throne, the wooden chairs filled with the Neshili elders, most of whom Marty recognized.
The room was filled with tense silence, broken almost immediately by the echoing footsteps of a new set of warriors.
A murmuring arose among the councilmembers as Surjan walked into the room with a grim determination in his step, escorted by a foursome of spear-wielding guards.
The soldiers who had drummed Marty and others from their room had offered no word of explanation.
Halpa sat elevated above the council members, regal and imposing. Her eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto Surjan as he was brought to the center of the room. The murmurs of the assembled councilors ceased as the queen rose to speak.
“King Surjan,” she began, her voice dripping with accusation, “you have failed us. Your magic, which was supposed to protect this island, has faltered. The flooding that has brought chaos to our people is proof of your failure.”
“That didn’t take long,” Lowanna muttered.
Marty felt a shiver run down his spine. The queen’s words cut through the air like a blade, and the atmosphere in the chamber grew heavier. The queen’s tone was accusatory and bordering on venomous. This woman was undoubtedly the one in charge of these people, so why the charade of needing a king? Why the charade that the gods or the magical power of the king had anything to do with who sat on the throne? How did they even get into this situation?
He looked over at François, who stood beside him, and the man’s face held a confident yet serene expression. The Frenchman stepped forward, his voice calm and composed.
“Your Majesty,” François began, his voice carrying a hypnotic quality that seemed to draw everyone’s attention.
Even Marty felt a sense of near-compulsion as the liquid words spilled from the man’s tongue.
“If I may speak on behalf of King Surjan?”
The queen’s eyes narrowed, but she gave a curt nod. François turned to the assembled council, his voice taking on a captivating rhythm as he addressed them.
“Queen Halpa, elder councilors, I am François, speaker of wisdom, keeper of lore of the natural world. I am familiar with the things that are happening around us. We are witnessing a great change, a natural phenomenon that is beyond any one man’s control,” he explained. “We are at the end of a great ice age. The climate is warming, and with that comes significant changes to our world. Allow me to explain.”
He paused, allowing his words to sink in. The councilors leaned forward, their expressions wide-eyed with curiosity and bafflement at the same time.
It had largely been unspoken among the team members, but Marty had noticed more than just the physical changes to François. It was easy to see that the man had shed twenty years from his appearance, but Marty saw that subtler things had changed: at times, something about the Frenchman’s voice became hypnotic. Listening to François, he could imagine how the sirens of mythology might have lured sailors to their death.
It was obvious to see that hypnotic power were being employed now as Marty noticed the tension in the councilors’ faces beginning to ease, their focus entirely on François.
Even other members of the team and the guards were focused on the French financier-turned-adventurer.
It was only Queen Halpa who seemed unaffected.
“In the far north,” François continued, “there are massive sheets of ice—vast expanses that stretch farther than the eye can see. These ice sheets are unimaginably large, greater than the size of our entire island many times over.”
The queen interjected, her voice sharp. “What has this to do with our flooding?”
François met her gaze without flinching. “Your Majesty, these ice sheets are melting. Sometimes, they crack and massive pieces break off, falling into the ocean. You have seen these chunks of ice yourself. You have all seen them. This sudden influx of ice causes the sea levels to rise abruptly.”
He turned his focus back to the council, his voice resonating through the chamber. “The iceberg that recently slammed into our island is but a small fragment of these immense ice sheets. Imagine, if you will, an iceberg so vast it dwarfs our island. When such a mass collapses into the sea, the resulting waves and rising waters can reach far and wide. In the short term, the waves will strike and then withdraw. We have seen this. But eventually, as more and more ice melts into water, the ocean levels will simply rise, and the waters will cover Nesha.”
François’s explanation was met with stunned silence. These common people might not grasp the full science, but they understood the scale of what he described.
The queen glanced at her councilors on either side of her and shook her head.
Marty saw the queen’s expression shift as François’s words painted a vivid picture.
“It is not Surjan’s magic that keeps the water at bay,” François said, his voice firm. “That is a higher power, a force of nature beyond our control. King Surjan’s role is to lead us, to guide us through these challenges, not to control the elements themselves.”
An elder councilor, his face lined with age and wisdom, seemed to snap out of his stupor. He stepped forward, his voice challenging. “How can we fight the water, keeper of lore? What are we to do against nature itself?”
François turned to him, his expression earnest. “We must adapt, wise elder. We must build barriers, find higher ground, and prepare for the changes that are coming. We cannot fight the water, but we can work with the world, using our knowledge and strength to protect our people.”
A general murmuring ensued.
François turned to the council and raised a hand. “If I may, I would like to call upon a witness. Someone who can testify to the fact that the flooding predates our arrival.”
The queen’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. A Neshili woman, an elderly woman named Ilyana, stepped forward. Her weathered face and steady gaze spoke of a lifetime of experience and observation.
“Ilyana,” François said gently, “please tell the council how you and I met.”
“You bound my wounds,” the old woman said. “During the storm.”
“Thank you,” François told her.
“And you rescued my grandchildren,” she continued. “And that one saved my llama.” She pointed at Lowanna.
“Thank you,” François said again. “Will you please tell the council what you have witnessed regarding the flooding?”
Ilyana nodded and addressed the council, her voice strong despite her age. “The flooding started long before these outsiders arrived. It has been growing worse each season, steadily encroaching on our lands. I have lived on this island for over seventy turns of the heavenly wheel, and I can tell you that these floods are not the result of King Surjan’s magic failing. It is something else entirely.”
The council members murmured among themselves, and Marty saw a flicker of frustration cross the queen’s face. François continued, seizing the moment.
“Your Majesty, elders of the council, the changes we are experiencing are part of a larger pattern. The climate is shifting, the ice is melting, and the seas are rising. These are forces beyond our control, but with understanding and preparation, we can adapt and protect our people.”
The queen interjected again, her voice less assured. “But how do we know you speak the truth? How can we be certain about this direction when our lives are at stake?”
François’s voice remained steady. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, but this is the reality we face. The floods will get worse in our current position if we do nothing, regardless of whatever magic we use.”
The elder who had spoken earlier now looked thoughtful. “If what you say is true, then we must learn to live with these changes. Adapt. We cannot blame the king for the will of nature itself.”
François nodded. “Exactly. We must work together, use our knowledge and skills to build barriers, relocate to safer grounds, and prepare for the future. This is not about blaming King Surjan or anyone else. It is about survival and adaptation.”
The council fell silent, considering François’s words.
Marty felt a surge of pride and gratitude at the Frenchman’s helpfulness in a sticky situation. François had not only defended Surjan but also provided a path forward for the queen and the council to think on.
The queen’s expression softened.
As the councilors fell to debating among themselves, one of the younger warriors stepped forward. “What about our magic? It can’t be totally useless, can it? Can it help us fight what the water is doing?”
François shook his head gently. “Magic is a powerful tool, but it cannot stop the forces of nature. We must use our magic wisely, to aid in our preparations and protections, but we must also rely on practical measures and cooperation.”
The chamber buzzed with murmurs as the council discussed the matter. Marty exchanged a glance with Surjan, who looked relieved but resolute. They had faced countless dangers together, and now they stood on the precipice of a new challenge. With François’s newfound eloquence, they had bought some time.
Marty wasn’t exactly confident about the next steps, but all he needed to do was look at the malicious glare coming from Queen Halpa and he knew one thing for sure about how to plot his course of action: he must do the opposite of whatever it was she had in mind.
The chamber of the royal council was filled with tense anticipation. The queen had reluctantly stepped back, allowing the council to deliberate on François’s compelling explanation of the flooding. But the air was still thick with unease, and it wasn’t long before Tudhal, the high priest, stepped forward with an air of grim authority. The queen’s gaze followed the rail-thin councilor, her expression one of satisfaction.
“The omens are clear,” Tudhal proclaimed, his voice echoing through the chamber. “There are no places of safety on these islands from the wrath of the gods. The gods have shown me visions that the king’s magic has failed. Our protector’s power is no more. There is nowhere to hide from their wrath unless we appease the gods with sacrifices, starting with the newcomers.”
Marty felt a chill run down his spine. The priest’s words were met with gasps and murmurs of fear from the guards and some of the councilors themselves. He stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest.
“High priest,” Marty began, his voice strong and clear, “I too have had visions. The gods have spoken to me, and they have shown me a path to safety.”
All eyes turned to Marty, and he felt the weight of their gazes. He took a deep breath and continued, “The gods will lead us to safety in the south. They have shown me a place where we can find refuge from the rising waters.”
Surjan, standing beside Marty, seized the moment. “We must act now,” he declared. “Let us go to the ships and prepare to leave. We cannot waste any more time.”
François stepped forward, lending his voice to the moment. “Elders of the Neshili, listen to your king! We have the means to survive this crisis, but we must act together. Follow King Surjan, and we will find safety. Do anything else, and the sacrifices will be the entirety of the Neshili population itself.”
The people crowding the chamber, already mesmerized by François’s earlier words, were now fully rallied. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber, and the people began to move, driven by a renewed sense of purpose and hope.
The queen’s face turned red with fury, her eyes blazing with anger. She stepped forward, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “A mistake has been made in appointing this king. This must be rectified. Blood sacrifices at the temple will appease the gods and ensure our survival.”
The high priest nodded and yelled above the din of the chamber, “I agree with the queen’s direction. We cannot listen to the false king. The gods have need of such sacrifices before things will return to normal.”
Lowanna rushed up to François and whispered something into his ear.
Marty’s blood ran cold as he took stock of his surroundings and gathered himself for a fight. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as François took a step forward.
The Frenchman pointed at the high priest and yelled, “You’re blaspheming against the will of the gods, and they will not bear a priest of theirs lying on their behalf!”
The moment François lowered his arm, the chamber filled with a blinding flash of light.
Marty was pushed back as a loud clap of thunder erupted, mixed with the queen’s scream and yelling from others.
Tudhal, the high priest, lay on the ground, his robes smoking and his body convulsing.
Gunther rushed forward, and before Marty could suggest that maybe they were better off not healing the guy who wanted them dead, a glow bloomed from the German’s hands and seemed to get absorbed by the no-longer convulsing high priest.
Surjan stepped forward, addressing everyone in the chamber with a commanding voice. “The gods have spoken and shown who is speaking untruths. We cannot waste time on false prophecies and deceit. We must move forward and prepare to leave. The safety of our people is our highest priority.”
The guards and others in the chamber, still reeling from the shock of the high priest’s collapse, slowly began to rally around Surjan’s leadership. The queen’s face was a mask of fury, but she knew she had been outmaneuvered. Her personal guards moved to her side, their expressions wary.
Surjan walked up to Marty and was about to say something when Marty patted the large man on the shoulder and murmured, “You and François handled that well.”
François glanced over at Lowanna, who held an expression of disgust and was busy staring at the queen and high priest talking to each other. “I was just playing politician, it was Lowanna’s idea to insert her finger-wiggling pyrotechnics, which probably sealed the deal.”
“The water is still rising,” Surjan whispered. “This island is low ground, and if the sea level rises much it will go under. I think you’re right about your vision, Marty. We need to get the people to the ships and ensure we have enough supplies for the journey. Time is of the essence.”
“You’re right. That’s our priority.” Marty shifted his gaze toward the queen. “But realize we also need to deal with that queen of yours. She’s dangerous and probably still has influence with the people.”
“I know.” Surjan’s face held a grim expression. “Trust me, I don’t like having to look over my shoulder every waking moment of the day.”
“Speaking of that,” Marty said as he panned his gaze across the chamber. “Where’s Kareem?”