The Starlight Sword

There weren't always dragons in the valley.

And there weren't always phantoms in the cemeteries and fairies in the woods, either.

They all emerged around the same time, when the world collapsed in on itself due to human neglect. Due to our neglect. We called that the Reckoning. Us mortals had to give up what was left of our world to the Fae- the creatures that crawled out from the black hole in the middle of the Pacific called the Vault. That was a hundred years ago. And the world is still a huge steaming pile of shit.

One of the generals that led the initial battle against the Fae was my grandmother. She was a firecracker, everyone always told me. Never showing any fear and always willing to take risks. But because Earth was already so fucked, the Fae squashed the human army in a matter of days. The creatures took over our remaining governments and that was that. A majority of us complied.

Those of us that didn't, hid.

After her devastating defeat, my grandmother formed the People’s Republic, a secret society of mortals hellbent on overthrowing the Fae and forcing them back to whatever hellscape they crawled out of. Their main weapons were espionage and manipulation, since outright violence didn’t work. They learned the secrets of the Fae, and exploited those secrets to get even closer to their goal. When my grandmother died, the People’s Republic was only just getting started.

And now, we’re closer than ever.

***

The sky is overcast and foggy, most likely due to the perpetual wildfires ravaging the coast a few hundred miles away. Clouds, dark gray and billowing, loom on the horizon like nuclear mushrooms, and the breeze plays with the strands of my copper hair. Even though the sun barely shines, I adjust the oversized black sunglasses I’m wearing, making sure they hide the puffy redness of my eyes.

The clearing hidden deep in the Fae Forest is eerily quiet, but typical for this time of day. Mid-afternoon is when all the Fae sleep, as they’re always active between sundown and sunup. But still, I keep my eyes peeled for the damned creatures. I notice the fresh piles of soil on the other side of the clearing, and panicked sweat begins to drip down my forehead. Five graves already? We’ll have to find a new clearing to bury the dead- and soon. Phantoms are nasty creatures, with translucent, stretched-thin smiles and a hankering for mortal souls. They haunt cemeteries and are kill now, ask questions later type of creatures.

The minister begins a prayerful chant as attendees step forward and throw handfuls of dirt on the casket. I flinch each time the soil hits the coffin and try not to think about the person laying inside- the history we share, and the responsibility she just placed on my shoulders.

“You doing okay?”

My heart stops briefly as Starla steps beside me, their normally sea-blue eyes gray in the gloomy weather. Their silver-blonde hair is tied in an intricate braid down their back, and there’s a bruise forming on the angular planes of their left cheek.

“Your face-”

“You should see the other guy,” Starla says, smiling, “that werewolf will never cross another mortal again.”

“When did this happen?”

“There was a raid on a nearby village last night. Apparently the werewolves need even more territory. They refused to move their village yet again, and a massacre ensued.” Starla spits on the ground, their narrow eyebrows downturned in fury, “we’re being herded and killed like cattle.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I knew I had to. “How many?”

Starla closes their eyes, so I know it’s devastinging. “We lost 117 villagers. Over half, including the village elders and general.”

“Where are they now?” I whisper, my breath catching.

“The remaining seventy-two are at Hawthorne Base, but we don’t have enough space for them. They will need to be relocated.”

“To where?”

Starla glances at me, sympathy swimming in their eyes, “I suppose that’s for you to figure out, hm?”

My eyes widen slightly, and I turn to look at the casket. The line of people throwing dirt is waning, and I know it will be my turn to say something soon. But how can I? How can I possibly find the words?

My mother is dead, and now I have to lead the world’s largest rebel organization all by myself?

Anytime I think about it too much, the world turns kaleidoscopic and I have a hard time breathing. I always knew leading the People's Republic would be in my future, but I figured I’d be more experienced, that I would have had more opportunities to watch my mother. I never anticipated her being gone so soon.

It happened a couple weeks ago. A basilisk- a large, blind serpent with fatal venom- had been spotted near Hawthorne Base. A basilisk not only has the power to kill mortals, but if the venom isn’t extracted, the dead mortal can be reborn as an undead basilisk-human hybrid. Those abominations are virtually unstoppable. My mother had led a group of soldiers out into the woods to find and kill the creature, but only one soldier returned.

I glance at him now, my throat tightening and my eyes tearing up. Matthias Glasser was my mother’s lieutenant and right-hand man. Even though he’s only a few years older than me, he’s a far more respected and experienced soldier. There’s been a few whisperings that he should be the new Prime General, not me.

He glances up then, his forest green eyes searching and snagging on mine. Even though I'm wearing sunglasses, I know he can tell I’m staring. Long brunette locks curl at the nape of his neck. His long-sleeve black shirt and matching pants are muddled with dirt. A gun is holstered at his hip, and I know he has more weapons hidden on his person. He’s been interrogated three times since the incident two weeks ago, and he refuses to say anything. It was too traumatizing, he claims, too brutal.

I think it all seems very suspicious.

“Noa, you’re staring,” Starla whispers, and I snap out of my reverie.

“Nobody can tell, I’m wearing sunglasses,” I mutter.

“He’s the only one standing over there.”

“Everyone expects me to name him as my second-in-command,” I say.

“And what do you want?” Starla asks. They face me, and I now realize how dirty their all-black uniform is. They must not have changed since the raid last night.

“To do something unexpected.”

“And now,” the minister’s voice raises, and he gestures over to me, “we will hear from Genevieve Hawthorne’s only child and predecessor, Prime General Noa Hawthorne.”

All eyes turn to me, and I immediately freeze up.

What should I say? What should I say?

Starla grabs onto my elbow, and looks at me with wide eyes, “do you hear that?”

“No?”

“Exactly.”

The regular sounds of the forest- birds chirping, the breeze shuffling the branches, has disappeared. The atmosphere is too quiet, and a mist is creeping into the clearing.

And mist can only mean one thing.

“They’re here.”

“But how did they find us?”

“Form a perimeter!” Glasser shouts, and there’s a hesitation as everyone looks at me.

Shit, I’m supposed to be ordering people around.

“Weakest fighters in the center!” I holler, mustering as much authority in my voice as I can. Glasser glances at me sharply, his expression unreadable.

“You heard her! MOVE!” Starla roars, and everyone immediately stirs . I veer toward where the mist is thickest. Starla stands to my right, Glasser to my left. Everyone holds their breath.

A carriage, unguided, rolls idly into the clearing, the mist swirling around its wooden spokes. People around me shift uncomfortably as the mist reaches their knees and brings with it the feeling of numbness and the staticy taste of magic in the air.

The door creaks open, and a delicate slippered foot steps out of the carriage. The woman exudes regality as she makes her way down the steps of the carriage. Her black and red velveteen dress thuds dully as it hits the steps after her. She finally reaches the forest floor, and sniffs in disgust at the dirt. With hands clasped in front of her and a gilded ruby crown atop her flowing mane of purple-black hair, she finally looks at us, baring sharp canines in a wicked smile.

“My name is Princess Indigo Bellefonte, and I’ve come in search of the People’s Republic.”

I blanche, my face paling. A Fae knows of the People’s Republic? “I’m not sure what you mean,” I reply.

She rolls her eyes, “don’t play stupid with me, human. Us Fae have known about your antics since we first arrived. You aren’t in trouble.”

“Who are you?” Glasser demands.

She glares at him, her crimson eyes cold. “I’m the heir to the Scarlet Throne.”

My blood stills. Vampire royalty? Here? I glance at Starla, who looks as grim as I feel. We’re fucked.

“Who is the ruler here?” Indigo demands.

I step forward, trying to remain calm, “that would be me.”

Indigo chuckles, “a child leads the People’s Republic? How quaint.”

My face burns, “again, I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

The vampire walks closer, her eyes narrowed in annoyance, “I don’t like repeating myself, human.”

My fear turns to irritation, “My name is Noa Hawthorne, but you can call me Prime General.”

She smirks, “Well, Noa Hawthorne of the People’s Republic-”

“Indigo, I don’t know what you-”

Before I can react, one of Indigo’s seemingly delicate, pale hands is wrapped around my throat and I’m lifted two feet off the ground. My sunglasses fall to the ground with a crunch.

“I strongly suggest,” She seethes, “that you don’t interrupt me again, human.”

I gasp for air, my hands clamped around Indigo’s wrist, as I look at the expressions of the people around me. A look of utter distaste is morphing Glasser’s features, and the few humans surrounding him look equally unimpressed. The only one who looks concerned, a hand on the gun holstered to their hip, is Starla.

This is my first conflict as the Prime General of the People’s Republic and I’m failing, hard.

“And it’s Your Majesty to you.” Indigo snarls as she finally throws me to the ground.

I scramble back to my feet as quickly as possible, “and I suggest you never do that to me again,” I snap.

“Cute,” Indigo snorts, “anyway, as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve come as an ambassador for all Fae. We seek your help.”

“Our help?” I ask, totally taken aback.

“Surprising, I know. But it’s true.”

“What could you possibly need our help with?”

A look of grief crosses her face momentarily before she regains her cool composure, “our world, it’s dying.”

Everyone gasps. “What?” Starla exclaims.

“I thought the Fae were our saving grace,” I retort, disbelieving, “what do you mean it’s dying?”

“We’ve tried to keep the truth from your feeble minds for as long as possible,” Indigo says matter-of-factly, “but it’s true.”

“How long do we have?” I whisper.

“We have three months before our world becomes totally, completely uninhabitable.”