The Bell Tolls for Me

"Just how is anyone meant to contest such a fearsome ability? Even beginning to consider it is beyond me." Isabella shook her head as she sat across from the monkey, Sosen, on a fallen tree.

The monkey-mage had appeared rather fearsome at first, but after spending some time with him, she found herself revealing much more than she intended. He was gentler than an eyeball-eating monkey sounded. She presumed that anything she said would never reach the ears of another, and so she was being especially liberal in what she said.

"The answer to your question is obvious." The monkey poured out some clear wine into a saucer. The wine was kept in a primitive bottle that looked to have been made in the wilderness by hand. "You need to make yourself utterly unassailable."

Isabela scoffed. "Obvious, yes… but I'm looking for something I can actually do."

"And why do you believe that you cannot make yourself unassailable?" The monkey raised a bushy brow. "You have information enough about your opponent to formulate a foolproof strategy."

"I do?"

"Of course. Allow me to highlight this," Sosen said grandly. "The trigger for your opponent's ability must be death, based on what you've told me."

"So… you're suggesting that I play around that?" Isabella reasoned.

"Just so," he confirmed.

"Then I should endeavor to take him prisoner rather than kill him outright, circumventing it altogether," she pieced together.

"Smart girl."

Isabella tilted her head. "He would know this weakness. He has an object to trigger his reincarnation immediately, I'm told. He's a formidable warrior and mage on top of that. None before have captured him—not once. That says something. And his coming… I have simply no idea when or how he will attack."

The monkey took a long, long drink—and when it was finished, hit the bottle he held. "You humans… why can you not apply knowledge of over areas to this one?" He pointed. "When a rat retreats to its burrow. When a spider crawls beneath the furniture. Vermin are accustomed to hiding—and to kill them, you must lay traps, and draw them out of their holes."

Isabella stared at the monkey. His very existence was nonsensical, yet here Sosen was, giving her advice that might well save her life.

"When he has the benefit of attack, this foe you speak of may well be unassailable. He knows that capture is his sole vulnerability, and so he will never put himself into a position to be caught. But when defending? Sometimes, mistakes can be made at the beginning that only manifests weeks later." Sosen shook his head. "All too often, battles are lost because one is unwilling to concede a fortified position. You must be fluid, adaptable. You must set deep roots in this land—not only in the royal court, but in the whole of it. Make this kingdom your home—and indeed, do not fear to stray beyond it. Do not let it become your prison, elsewise you truly will lose."

Isabella contemplating his words for a long while in silence. A prison. She had never truly left Dovhain before—not the city, nor the kingdom. Brief forays out into the wilderness, highly contained. But her situation… was she making it a prison?

Isabella looked at the monkey. "Thank you, Sosen. I'm not sure my mind is fully settled, but you've given me much to think about."

"If you wish to thank me…" He stepped away for a few moments, and then produced a fancy decanter. It had some strange purple liquid inside it. "Drink this."

Isabella studied the decanter uncertainly. She had developed something of a rapport with this monkey, but she still didn't know if she wanted to go around swallowing foreign substances on a whim.

"What is it?"

"This draught… will give you truth," Sosen said. "Yet it will cast your life into doubt. Something which you view as certain will be brought to question. Your closest friend may depart… your most hated enemy may become your ally… or you may even find your love vacillating. That is truth—this very drink."

Isabella took the vial in her hand. "Could you perhaps give a less mystical and vague answer?"

"But that potion, my dear, contains not a drop of magic," Sosen continued. "It employs only what is contained within your own mind. It brings to the surface truths that your subconscious knows, but your rational mind rejects. It reveals the things that you have seen, yet stitches them together in such a way that all is clear." He sat down. "It functions far better when the consumer is in distress. I believe it will give you total clarity as to what you need to do next."

Isabella studied the vial of purple liquid. She had come here trusting that Valerio wouldn't harbor someone that was dangerous to her, but perhaps this was taking that trust too far. Even still, he had never once warned her of the monkey. If he was someone truly dangerous, surely Valerio would've taken measures to keep her safe.

Isabella could feel no magic coming from the drink. She gave it a sniff, but it smelled of nothing. Strangely, she felt safe here. And even though this might have been quite unwise, Isabella did the unthinkable and drank the draft.

"Hmm!" Sosen clapped his feet together as he lounged. "Exemplary. So few people are willing to face the truth. It may hurt you to learn; it may tear apart the peace that you have earned, but few lives built on lies are fated for longevity. The truth may be bitter, the truth may be sweet… or perhaps in the middle the two shall meet. Whatever the case, I shall protect you as you sleep," he said poetically.

"Sleep?" Isabella repeated, alarmed.

She could already feel it coming on. She tried to stand up, but her limbs were heavy. Rather than resist, she tried to find the most comfortable position that she could in this place. She felt the darkness consume her face—indeed, her face, not her eyes. The darkness pressed down on her, firmly… smothering her. And then the darkness lifted. It wasn't darkness at all—it was a pillow, clenched in both hands by Bernadetta.

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Isabella laid in her bed at the palace, dead. She was aware of herself, but she could exert no influence. She could move her eyes and she could hear the royal bells ringing, but beyond that there was nothing she could do.

Bernadetta took a deep breath and sighed. "That's that, I suppose."

Despite her words carrying a note of finality, Bernadetta lingered. She stared at Isabella's body with emotions that were indecipherable. Still, there were certainly some emotions there. Isabella didn't know what to make of that.

As time passed, a new person entered the room. Isabella recognized him at once. Arthur of Hamore, seven years older. He looked utterly haggard—far different than she remembered him. His eyes were watering.

"Is it done?" he asked.

"It's done." Bernadetta didn't look at him. "The illness will return to Edgar."

Isabella listened to the words with shock, but even as she heard them she knew them to be the truth. It explained who the husband Bernadetta mentioned was. It explained why Bernadetta had killed her. In truth, Isabella had always doubted that shallow motivation of personal hatred. Perhaps there was some hatred, but that couldn't be the sole reason for someone like Bernadetta.

Arthur walked up to her bedside and kneeled down beside her. He stared at her with an expression of grief that she'd never seen him wear. He cried, then—cried for her. She couldn't make sense of it. His words implied that he knew this would happen, and yet he was crying. Was he the one that had betrayed her?

"Why are you crying?" Bernadetta said scornfully, voicing Isabella's thoughts. "You were the one that made this happen to begin with."

"No," Arthur said fiercely, looking up. "You people were the ones that killed her. You, months ago. I had nothing to do with this."

Bernadetta scoffed in disbelief. "So… what, you wished to put her out of her misery?"

Arthur looked at Isabella. "She isn't dead."

Bernadetta looked over. "I must confess I've done this a few times before. I'm quite certain she is."

Arthur gave a bittersweet laugh. "You people have no idea what I've done, have you? In the end… I've won. We've won." He looked over.

"In what realm has she won?" Bernadetta asked, more confused than anything.

"When Isabella dies…" Arthur said, staring into her eyes. "…she'll be whisked back through time. I've made sure of it. Whenever she asked me to do research into helping her form her mana lock, I admit, I was… preparing for the return of Edgar. With the Archwizard watching my every move… before the king… before that terrible power he possesses… I could do nothing, I thought. I would fail to save her. I could say nothing, do nothing, without these fiends knowing."

"And so, you granted her my mercy," Bernadetta finished. "She was fated to live like this for the rest of the king's unnatural lifespan. You circumvented that," she said, almost glorifying him. The manipulation was obvious. "No one should be a prisoner in their own body for decades. You should be proud to give her this mercy, Arthur."

"Not mercy." Arthur looked back at her. "The reason why she can bear the wasting illness is because she has an ability just as her father's." He looked up at Bernadetta, righteous conviction on his face. "Isabella will return years back into the past, months after Edgar's disappearance. Of this, I am certain. There, she will be free of her father, free of the archwizard, free of you."

Arthur looked back to Isabella. His words were softer. "She… she will be able to form her mana lock, as she always wished to. She will avoid the specters of Albert, of Amaury, of all the horrors that Edgar 'the Great' wrought," Arthur said, saying Edgar's name with great contempt. "She will be caged by you people no longer."

"Then why are we still here?" Bernadetta asked with scorn.

"I don't know." Arthur sighed. "Perhaps we won't be much longer. Or perhaps the river of time has split, and now follows different valleys."

"Even supposing you're right… what if she fails?" Bernadetta posed cynically. "What if she again succumbs to Edgar?"

"I've ensured my memories will return in that eventuality, using the wasting illness as the anchor," Arthur said. "Perhaps, then, I can tell her what I've wished to say—what I've kept hidden, with spiders crawling all around. I will save her as many times as is needed for her to find happiness and a long life."

"You love her, don't you?" Bernadetta laughed. "You poor fool. Is that your dream? To reverse the clock, to sweep her off her feet, to ride off into the sunset for a life of comfort and splendor? And here I thought you deserved some respect, Arthur."

Arthur didn't respond. He put his hands over Isabella's.

"Well, you can engage in delusional fantasies. As for myself… I have a kingdom to govern." Bernadetta stood. "The realm will have much need of a regent following the reign of terror."

Bernadetta walked away. Once she passed a certain threshold, it was as though she simply stopped existing. Much of the world stopped existing, until it eventually came to be that all that remained was the bed, herself, and Arthur sitting at her side. He held her hand, shedding a few tears. Then, he raised his hand to her face.

"Be happy, Isabella."

He shut her eyes, and the world faded away.

Isabella sat up, taking deep breaths in and out. She wasn't in the same place that she had fallen asleep at, and she turned her head about frantically before calming. This was her room in Valerio's estate. She couldn't see the monkey anywhere, and instead of night, the sun was rising over the horizon. It barely peeked through her window.

Her heart simply wouldn't stop beating as she reviewed what that vision had imparted. The monkey had claimed that it was a vision that her mind had made stitch together from her subconscious realizations, taking an image of the truth. Had what she saw truly happened, or was that merely an abstract expression of that? It hurt her head just trying to decipher. She reviewed what she had seen, her head spinning.

Bernadetta… actor in a grand conspiracy working alongside King Edgar the Great, yet simultaneously positioning herself to become ruler of Dovhain as queen regent. It made much of what she had said before smothering Isabella make sense. It made her the sole victor in the conflict. If Edgar the Great really had fallen with the wasting illness, she would have him as an excellent figurehead while she could exercise authority as queen regent unchallenged. It was a masterstroke, politically speaking.

And beyond that… Arthur. What he did… was that reality? She thought of the many sessions where she and Arthur had where he endeavored to find solutions for her inability to form a mana lock. All of them had been entirely arcane and beyond her comprehension. Looking back on it… could he have been laying the groundwork for all of what he claimed in that vision?

More than what he said, the way he said it… it raced through her mind. He had cried for her. Cried more earnestly than any she'd known. He'd taken her hand so delicately, and when Bernadetta had asked if he loved her, he had neither confirmed nor denied that. He said that he would save her as many times as needed for her to be happy. If that was the truth of the situation, then…

Just as the monkey had promised, it was a bittersweet truth that left her head disturbed and her heart aching.

I thought to escape troublesome dilemmas… yet now my thoughts are more disturbed than ever, Isabella realized, cradling her head.