The Historian’s Novel

A stone flew through the air towards Heimdall. From her elevated seat, Amelia winced as it came precariously close to hitting his head, then traced the projectile’s trajectory back to where a group of dissatisfied young nobles stood on the grass with their lackeys.

Evidently, some of them had taken issue with Heimdall sullying the sacredness of a duel by forfeiting. Or perhaps they were dissatisfied with how fast the fight had concluded.

“What brats,” Martel commented, as Heimdall twirl the severed head of his opponent to scatter the youth by throwing it at them, “haven’t they noticed their parents aren’t laughing along? Talk about a generational gap.”

“Kids will be kids, I don’t mind their reaction,” Grace said to Martel, “it means word hasn’t spread about what this is really about.”

“They’re not much older than we are,” Amelia said, finding Grace’s remark amusing. She stood as Heimdall passed by their stand in a showing of thanks, which publicly displayed her full support of his actions. “Let them yap all they want, an overmorrow from now their tunes will have changed.”

Having spotted Amelia, Heimdall rolled his eyes. He offered a wave in return, one that seemed to chastise her for ever thinking his actions needed gratitude to begin with.

Truly, how foolish Amelia felt. In the end, she was but one person. No matter the hand she assembled, when it came time to play, winning would always be up to the cards once set down on the table.

She watched Heimdall cheekily tap his own arm, on the exact place Stanton had wrapped Amelia’s handkerchief, before he disappeared into the crowd. Amelia giggled and made plans to prepare a second. Returning to her seat, the heckling of the few youths who couldn’t read the room now struck her as meaningless drivel.

“Really,” Amelia said, once she had resumed work on her circlet of flowers, “It’s like they’re forgetting what Heimdall forfeiting means.”

Already, like a spreading tidal wave of excitement, the few cackling jeers that remained were getting drowned out. Both Martel and Grace exchanged a strange glance. Then, they looked over the dueling fields to where stood a certain red and white tent.

“Aren’t you worried?” Martel asked, “Is there a chance this might be a mistake? I trust your father… But wouldn’t winning have been safer?”

Refusing to allow the entrance of doubt in her heart, Amelia answered with conviction and faith, “I don’t know if Heimdall planned this with my father… But I agree with his choice…We need to show the world our family shouldn’t be messed with.”

A single tear formed in the corner of her eye. The Marquess of Rutherford might have forced things to get to this point, but she could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Amelia tapped her friend’s leg. “Grace, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Grace’s head jerked in startled surprise. “It’s… It’s pretty loud right now. Why don’t we talk once this is over?”

“Of course,” Amelia said, wanting her friend to be as comfortable as possible when she broke the news that their Kingdom would soon have a princess. She could only hope spoiling the surprise early might earn her some forgiveness for having taken so long. Though her confidence that the day was already won, took a hit when a certain man with a scar on his face, leapt down from the foreign prince’s entourage to land on the field.

A hint of nervousness flickered across Amelia’s soul as the Leviathan, under the confident eyes of the Marquess of Rutherford, took center-stage. She gulped, as the Patron-Saint of a foreign god, the very man who had taken the King’s head and killed her grand-father in the Historian’s novel, raised a fist in self-assured victory and pointed a finger to the sky.

Once blue and clear, the sun’s light soon found itself swallowed as an unnaturally dark cloud developed above them. Striking enough to bring about a hushed awe in the crowd.

“Grace,” Amelia whispered, under the pitter-patter of rain that began to fall on the stands roofing, “Are you able to discreetly pass my father a message?”

“Easily.”

Amelia passed on the words she wanted her father to hear in a whisper. “I don’t think there’s going to be a better opportunity,” she said defensively, when Grace raised an eyebrow, “The Marquess of Rutherford is playing his best card. This is our chance to strike a crippling blow, and I think it’s the best way to do it!”

Grace laughed, “Sorry, sorry, you’re right… Maybe I’m just on edge for some reason. You can say some really frightening stuff despite acting cute most of the time.”

“Then do it,” Martel said, and both she and Amelia watched with anticipation as Grace, using fire for ink, traced in the air a message bearing only four words:

‘Burn him to cinders.’

Sent out on the wind, Amelia’s request had barely entered the tent her father was in, when the entire thing without warning erupted into a pillar of flames; piercing the Leviathan’s cloud in defiance. Hot enough to be felt even over the distance.

Havoc emerged from the blaze, along with Stanton proudly carrying a standard-flag heralding the Strightsworth’s family crest, as if Havoc were but another of Amelia’s knights, and Stanton his own personal Squire. A rumble of thunder growled above as they approached, growing louder still when Havoc burned his way through the dueling field’s ropes.

Of the two men larger than life, in dissatisfaction, Havoc spoke first. “I can sense the blessings of a creature with some modicum of power upon you. Enough to earn worship, though hardly the rumored strength of an… actual God.”

“I’ve heard tales of your blasphemy,” the Leviathan snarled, and the tattoos on his skin undulated as if they were alive. The multitude of blue lines swayed back and forth as the sky continued to darken. “I will stamp your flames of heresy out.”

Rolling his neck, Havoc asked slowly, “Tell me, is your God blind in one eye?”

Lightning struck the ground between the two men. Revealing an enormous trident as the blinding scent of ozone diminished.

“Perfection would not suffer a marred body,” the Leviathan said, taking the weapon in hand as it crackled with power.

“Then I am glad I didn’t waste my time in attempting to meet it.”

The final trumpeting bell tolled, marking the duel’s start. And in their first exchange of trident on fist, the shock-wave that rippled outwards sent those who weren’t immediately bowled over, scrambling for safety.

Amelia remained unaffected. After all, she had Grace, who with an open palm before her had stopped the after-math of the terrifying exchange in its tracks.

“We should probably leave,” Grace said, as she slapped away a stray gust of wind towards the Marquess of Rutherford’s tent, where it cut through the canvas like an invisible knife, exposing those still inside to the rain.

Amelia thought that was a silly thing to say. “I think it’s important I watch this… Can’t you protect us? Don’t worry, I trust you.”

An explosion erupted as Havoc reared an arm back. His fist, now engulfed in fire, blazed to strike the Leviathan down. In response, another blue bolt descended, wreathing the Leviathan in an elemental armor for him to receive the attack.

“But there’s a limit, right?!” Grace yelled, when in a twinkling display, the impact between both men became a maelstrom of intermixed fire and lightning.

Death, began to encroach on those who had yet to make for the hills. However, Amelia’s faith once built would not be so easily shaken. She knew neither her father, nor the princess would ever allow significant harm to befall her should they be present.

“Nope!” Amelia answered, before she used what many thought were their lasts moments, to sneak in a kiss upon Grace’s cheek.

Stunned for only a moment, Grace gritted her teeth and extended both arms with her hands clasped together, “Fine! But you owe me big time!”

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Amelia answered, and her heart filled to the brim with a joyous love, as the woman she cared for screamed in exertion and split the sea of crackling fire away to both sides before it could kill them.

Oh, if only they could be like this forever. It was a shame the Marquess of Rutherford had already fled... The view was to die for. To the point Amelia forgot how to blink as she watched the exchange of blows that had never once stopped.

“Die knowing your faith was misplaced!” howled the Leviathan, as he speared Havoc’s arm and withdrew, drawing a fountain of blood.

Havoc’s wound burned itself shut. “Is that all you can do? Talk?”

“I’ll do more than talk!” said the Leviathan, and he began moving his trident in a strange swaying motion; entreating the heavens to answer his will.

The storm clouds above them, began swirling in sync with his weapon. Like the slathering maw of a serpent opening wide, a torrent of rain began to beat down on the earth, whipping what flags still stood in a wind that soon became a gale blowing every which way.

“No thanks,” Grace said drily as she kept their group drier with a middle finger to the sky, allowing for Amelia’s clear viewing of where earth and sky prepared for a penultimate clash.

By then, the only bystanders remaining besides them were Stanton, who fought on his knees to keep his tattered standard aloft, and two men on horseback who rode up beside where Amelia sat.

“We’re evacuating!” said the Duke of Winchester loudly, as Amelia met him at the edge of the viewing platform, “Why are you still here?”

“I’m supporting my father!” Amelia answered, before happily adding, “Hi Heimdall! Have you come to watch too?”

Heimdall slid off from his horse and climbed up onto the stands to join her.

“We’re here for you, not the fight,” Heimdall said, and he gave Amelia a hug as the Duke of Winchester grumbled something about being too old for such nonsense before joining the group, “Don’t you know how bored our patisserie chef has been since you've left? It’s my job to make sure you get home.”

Amelia’s heart trembled with want. “Almost,” she said in a whisper, as two horses whinnied in panic and raced each other for safety, “Just… Just a few more things Heimdall, then I’ll come back.”

“In that case, I guess all I can do is wait,” Heimdall said with a chuckle, before he took a seat for himself, when all of a sudden, the cry of a bird pierced through the storm’s noise as if it were laughing down on the world.

To Amelia, the sound meant nothing. But even she could tell something strange had begun when the shadow of a bird descended from out of the storm clouds to perch atop a distant tree overlooking the Duke of Winchester’s Mansion.

It was a crow, utterly normal, in every which way except its behavior, and the fact it appeared to be missing an eye. Amelia looked towards Grace to comment about the strange sight, only to find the princess with trembling lips, and her eyes wide open in what could only be fear.

“Grace? What’s wrong” Amelia asked, growing more concerned still upon spotting the state of her father, whose chest now rose and fell with sharp ragged breaths.

“What’s this?” asked the Leviathan who had noticed Havoc’s strangeness, as the storm of a spell he had prepared finished reaching its apex, “Have you realised that in the face of true grace, no pretender may stand?”

Seeing how easily both Grace and her father had become distracted by the bird in the distance, Amelia had a horrible thought. Could the Leviathan have called forth the deity whom he worshipped? Were the bloodlines of the princess and her father reacting in a way she couldn’t understand now that they were face to face with the powers of a god?

Amelia yelped in surprise when Grace suddenly grabbed her by the waist. Given no time to ask why, she soon found herself atop Grace’s lap, as the princess held her in a similar fashion to how Amelia held her own doll; in a base desire for comfort.

“It’s here to watch,” Grace said, speaking against the back of Amelia’s head like she was hiding, “It’s… just here to watch… That’s… That’s all I can say.”

“O-Okay?” said Amelia, not daring to ask more, as the duel resumed under the noise of a thunderous clap. A bolt of lightning, larger and greater than any before it, zig-zagged towards the trident the Leviathan raised high above his head, imbuing both the man and his weapon with an eery glow that uncontrollably sizzled.

The air split as the Leviathan swung forth a beam of pure energy. Havoc tore his gaze away from the unnatural bird and slammed his foot down with a guttural roar, engulfing himself with a molten inferno, which erupted from the earth’s core in the shape of a dragon.

Like a tsunami, the dragon crashed down to bite upon the Leviathan’s might, consuming any resistance the white electric light could put up, before it plowed forwards still to submerge the man.

Overcome, the Leviathan’s protection crumbled around him. “Impossible,” he rasped, now buried up to his torso in hardening stone, “No mortal could endure the Leviathan’s power!” he shouted, towards Havoc who walked his way over, despite the flickering traces of damage marring his own body.

“I have allowed you time to worship your God,” replied Havoc, “Now, it is my turn.”

Amelia watched her father lay his hand on the Leviathan’s head. And with bated breath, she witnessed the greatest obstacle in her life become nothing more than burnt cinders that drifted away on the wind.

She checked in on the bird, which began flapping its wings as if clapping in praise. Then, it ruffled its feathers and flew away, disappearing into the clouds that started to disperse.

“What’s going on?” Amelia asked Grace, upon feeling the princess’s grip begin to relax.

“We’re surviving,” Grace whispered, but she said nothing else.

“This isn’t good…” Martel said. The older woman was looking between Havoc and those who had been watching his battle with the Leviathan from a safe distance, “Havoc’s powers are seldom witnessed in person… After such a display, I worry the nobility of our Kingdom might deem him a threat.”

“Not if I give him a weakness,” Amelia said. Vowing to talk things out with Grace later, she left her doll with Martel and took the stand’s staircase two steps at a time, onto the charred dirt. If she could, she would have jumped to get down. However, unlike the rest of her family, friends, and most of the world, she would have probably ended up twisting her ankle.

After all, Amelia was weak. But that was okay, since now was the time to put that weakness to use. Not caring for the attention, she had begun to attract, Amelia’s slow walk quickly turned into a run, allowing everything except her father to fade away into the background.

Approaching the injured, blood covered, terrifying figure of Havoc like none other could, Amelia shouted to catch his attention in an intentionally childish manner.

“Daddy, you did it!”

Then immediately, unintentionally, tripped on a rock.

Implementing her lack of coordination into her plan on the fly, Amelia face-planted and waited for her father to sweep her up in his arms like she knew that he would. And with grass strains on her front, did she place a crown made of flowers onto his head.