The King Trials.

~Little Mackie~

My glorious stay on the Storm Voyager seems to have been extended indefinitely. Well. Only by a day or two. It seems the threat of the storm clouds was indeed a foreshadowing.

Captain Devwar charted an alternative route to go around Erindor. But it seems the storm has followed us.

The clouds churn, boiling and roiling, they pause, merge and finally fuse into a vast thundercloud of pagan-black. All at once, the first splatters of rainfall and the sound of a sonic boom rents the hushed peace. Thunder rumbles a clangourous clap of fury. A  flash seems to stun the cracked sky. A gash of molten light appears from the breach above, a lesion in its seething surface. Splayed tentacles of sterling silver blast forth. An explosion of lightning-flame emblazons the Stygian sky, scarring its darkness.

The airship trembles in fear, and my cabin quivers in terror. Enduring the orchestra of lightning on land is nothing compared to suffering through it whilst airborne. The heavens roar with rage that seems it will smite us out of the sheer will of its blazing wrath. My luggage boxed up in the corner beside the wooden wardrobe, sways and rocks dangerously. My gaze shoots to the door.

 I swore I heard a knock or two.

 With all the clamour that bellows outside, I'm surprised I can hear anything.

"Aurora!"

I rise from the lounger and wobble forward, my legs like molasses. The heavy oak door cracks open and it is as if a hand grips the bow and jerks it upward—rotating my world. My feet lift off the ground and I'm hurled across the room. My ribs slam against the top of the metal frame of the bed that's bolted to the ground. Pain swells in my side and wires itself into me in a white-hot blaze.

I clamp my mouth shut, caging a scream.

Through the slit of the door, little Mackie clutches on for dear life, then slips inside, and the door bangs behind him.

Little Mackie is Schwick's younger brother, a child. They are both from an impoverished hamlet in Stonia, wedged between the kingdom of Mela and Aelron. Schwick left to alleviate their family's debt, and he took his brother along for a more practical education. So that together they can both help their family; an old father, ailing mother, and a wounded older brother who survived combat.

I peel myself off the frame, unhooking my arm. I drop to the floor. Mackie rushes over and looks down at me with rounded eyes, almost too big for his face. His appearance so much like his brother. His cropped hair is sheltered under the blue, square-shaped hat he wears. He's dressed in dirty-white nightwear—a long-sleeved shirt with pants that are stained with old dusty brown smears.

"You alright there, Aurora?"

I stretch my lips into a smile. Sincere but difficult to pull. "I'm... fantastic," I say. The chill seeps in from every direction, nipping at my bare legs. The ends of my angel-sleeved night gown rolled up to the tip of my bent legs. I push it, unfolding over my knees, falling to my ankles.

"What are you doing up so late?"

The wood groans and creaks, wailing from the icy whips of the storm.

"Uh, just thought I would check on ya. Thought you'd be scared."

I narrow my eyes at him playfully. His plump cheeks aflame and his doe eyes struck wide.

"Are you sure that it is me who is scared?" I lengthen my torso, sitting upright. I pat the space beside me.

Mackie carefully moves to plop down beside me, so close I feel his gaunt limbs shivering. I wrap my arm around his scrawny shoulders, holding the boy to me.

"It's alright to admit that you are scared," I say, rubbing my hand along his arm.

I feel him nod. "No matter how many times I hear it, it bangs on even louder. When mama was good, every time the lightning screamed, she came into my room and sung to me."

I look down at him. "What song did she sing?"

"The lost king," he mumbles into my sleeve.

I look up, and an idea plays in my mind. I clutch onto Mackie and hoist him up as I stand to full height, his head aligned with my shoulder. I guide him round the flank of my bed. With one hand. I skin off the two bedspreads. I nod to it, motioning for him to slip inside.

"Aurora... I shouldn't."

I smile and give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You should. How else will I sing you to sleep? It's very late and I'm sure your brother needs you to be bright-eyed tomorrow."

Needing no further persuasion, he slinks from my side and crawls inside the bed, laying on his back. I move forward and draw the bedspread to his chest, hands folding on his stomach.

Mackie sighs contentedly. "Hadn't had this in a long time."

I sit down on the edge of the bed right beside him. "Someone to sing to you?" I can imagine. And I'm sure drunkards hollering does not count.

"That too, but I hadn't had me own bed. We sleep in hammocks here on the ship with dozens of other sailors, it's packed and smelly."

"Well, you are always welcome in my chambers. Now let us see...."

I ruminate on all the songs I have learnt. Songs heard in the Regnum or sung in the town festivals. There is one I think he will like.

"Now I do not know of the lost king, nor will I sing as beautifully as your mother."

Seliah would agree. I have many skills, but singing and dancing are definitely not one of them.

"But a girl I know, Macie, younger than you. She taught me a little hymn. Lantheria. Is it okay if I sing that instead?"

He nods eagerly, closing his eyes.

I clear my throat and begin to hum a homophonic melody. Lantheria is a song that is well-suited for a soprano voice, with contemporary threads woven into the old song. I part my lips and allow the symphony to play from a vocal instrument as I strum the cords in my voice into slow-moving notes, idyllic and steady.

A clap of lightning thunders from outside—jolting Mackie's chest.

I sing a little louder.

"Ervas tu la nala us nala lala."

"Rerevia erkna la nala us nala lala."

"Tumke le vas nor walaa tu emka lu ervwere."

The crinkles on the edge of his eyes ease and his forehead is smooth, free of worry. Sleep entices him and he soon melts into its embrace. I hum the song for the second time and as I culminate, Mackie's consciousness slips away into the plain of dreams.

I stand and move to the foot of the bed where the winter blanket lays. I pick it up and walk to the lounger and as I do; I unfold the blanket. I seat myself on the cushion and burrow myself under the heft of the thick blanket, concealing myself from the cold.

Outside the thunderheads grumble a farewell, then a shroud of eerie silence descends.

Nothing moves. Nothing stirs. Nothing dares to breathe.

I inhale a breath, daring to close my eyes.