Chapter 86: Ch. 86: The Walking Dead

WE ARE INTERRUPTING YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING FOR ANOTHER INTERVIEW WITH FUTURE WINTER, 24 HOURS LATER.

historical

Producer: So... you brought the man back to life? Like Jesus or something?

Winter: Yes! How crazy is that! I literally have healing powers, dude! That’s why I said I would not have bothered with trying to win my dad’s heart if I knew I had this kind of ace up my sleeve. Who needs an emperor’s love if you have incredible powers to leverage to your benefit?

Producer: ....Right. At least remember that with great power comes great responsibility.

Winter: Is that doubt I’m hearing from you? Cut your hand right now, I’ll prove it to you!

Producer: Thanks, but I’ll pass.

BACK TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING.

.....

Now, it wasn’t as simple as just waking John up. In the split second that I made contact with him, a lot happened, although according to Emma’s witness testimony, my hands just, “glowed bright gold for a moment”.

However, my experience was much more than a flash of bright light. I had been baptized in a geyser of golden light that burned so bright I could see it even behind my closed eyelids. The pain building up inside me found an outlet, flowing from my scorching flesh into John’s significantly cooler body. His skin turned immediately warm to touch, his whole body back as new as we stared at one another with wide eyes.

Flabbergasted. A word that is funny to say but could not be more accurate to the moment. Everyone is flabbergasted.

Magic has always been a part of this world and is nothing new to the people of the Erudian Empire. You see, magic is just a tool or a conduit, as opposed to an all-powerful force of nature. For imperial physicians, those blessed with magic but don’t wish to go into the Holy Church, magic can help identify injuries, isolate poisons, and rid the body of impurities. For battle mages of the Holy Church, magic can turn ordinary stones into deadly projectiles and set bodies ablaze with a single glance.

True feats of power, such as causing massive explosions and saving people on the brink of death, have always been impossible. Until now.

“Uh.... hello John?” I say in a desperate attempt to ease tension. The man who was dying on the ground minutes before stares back at me like a deer in headlights. But I can see when reality catches up with him as he scrambles to his feet and bows to my seated figure.

“Y-Your highness!” He salutes.

Everyone gathered around gapes at John as he moves like a man who was never grievously wounded. And they’re not alone, for no one can be more surprised than me the very person who did it.

I stare down at my hands as if they are on fire and stare at John in absolute surprise. The man is similarly patting himself down, unfurling his bandages frantically to reveal unblemished flesh. Very audible gasps sound before me.

“By Helio’s light...”

“Holy Akira!”

“My eyes... they do not deceive me? John, you... you live once more?” John’s close buddy who had been crying minutes before is the first to approach the reanimated John, his entire body shaking as he sets a tentative hand on John’s shoulder.

Colson, the chubby, mouthy soldier comes running in as fast as he can at this moment, his eyes frantic until they settle on the bewildered John.

“John! John? I-I heard that...” Colson’s voice cracks as his eyes turn red, “I heard that something had happened.”

The sun is cooking away at the military camp overhead, leaving me feeling like this is all a fever dream. A wave of dizziness passes through me and my body wavers like a weak flower subject to the weather’s follies. I’m not particularly surprised, as it is logical that healing someone would take my energy and I haven’t even eaten anything today.

Emma, as always, is the first to notice. Quickly kneeling beside me and propping me up. “Your highness,” she murmurs, grabbing my arm and helping me stand. I’m in no danger of fainting, but my body feels like it’s been run over by a bus, then reversed over again by said bus.

To be frank, I feel like shit. But my weariness cannot overpower my joy and awe at my newly realized power, the power of a promised child.

“Help escort the princess back to her tent,” Emma swiftly commands the two guards who, true to their rigorous training, recover from their shock as if nothing had happened. Standing around Emma and I like a wall between the murmuring gossip, we stumble away for me to take a much-needed nap.

“It was the princess, she saved him.” People are muttering to one another behind me.

“But how?” The nurse asks, her kit dropping out of her hands as she watches John speak with his good friends.

“Was it a charm by chance? A special relic of the royal family?”

“Fool. Do you see anything in her hands? She did it herself. It was the princess, she saved this soldier.” The mess servant blurts out, his face turning red at his sharp words. But deep down, his words are what was in everyone’s heart.

A general consensus is reached by those gathered around, soon reaching the ears of everyone in camp before spreading its wings and spreading across the empire swifter than a brush fire: the newest imperial princess is the promised child.

I wake up with a gasp in a pool of sweat, the feeling of nausea making me dry heave for a few breaths. There’s nothing in my stomach, so nothing comes out, but the wretching noises send Emma rushing in to pat my back.

“You know I didn’t plan that, right?” I say between gasps of air as I slowly sip the cup of water she handed me.

“Yes, your highness,” she answers promptly.

The high is gone. And in its place, a mild panic has set in. “Shit. This power is an absolute boon but-“. My words trail off, but when I look at Emma, her dark eyes hold the same name within them.

Katya.

My nominal mother is going to wish to kill me even more now.

“I’ve appointed more guards to the tent,” Emma reports.

“Smart! But will it be enough?” I rub my head, feeling ready to fall back asleep and escape my newfound problem.

Emma doesn’t answer, which in its own way, is an answer. She too knows that my odds as an unprotected princess are quite poor.

I sigh longingly. “I came all the way out here to escape, and now it seems like it might not even be enough.”

The light filtering in from under the gap in the curtains is gray. But I’m not sure as to whether that is because I slept most of the day away or from the residual clouds of dust and smoke from the explosives deployed on the battlefield.

I grit my teeth, frustrated with my current thoughts. “Why am I so afraid of her anyways? Get a hold of yourself, Winter!” I mutter, whacking the side of my head in punishment. The blows are ineffective though because I’m coincidentally using my right hand which Empress Katya permanently crippled. If it weren’t for the limited range of motion it still has, I would be down one hand.

But most of all, my hand reminds me that I have every reason to be afraid of my ‘mother’.

Emma slightly clears her throat. “What?” I ask, before drool nearly spills out of my mouth at the warm piece of paan in her hands.

“Oh my god, I love you,” I moan. Emma’s right. Food first, potentially deadly problems second.

“You say that often, your highness.”

“Well, this time I mean it more than ever!” I answer, with my mouth stuffed.

I wash it down with sour ale, the only beverage that is left since the shipment of tea with the rest of the military rations is delayed due to Sarsaval infiltrators attempting to sabotage the delivery.

I lick my fingers, a move that would significantly raise the ire of my old etiquette teacher Mrs. Laroche if she were to ever see me. I have a feeling that with all my current problems, that would be the least of my offenses.

“Do you have any injuries, Emma?” I grab her hand, anxious to do something other than reminisce in the past and dread the future.

“No, I’m fine, your highness.” She tugs vigorously to free herself, but I’ve grabbed her with my left hand and don’t want to let her go so fast.

“Your highness, do not tire yourself,” Emma urges, “I shall heal naturally.”

I smirk at my closest companion. “What makes you think I’m doing it for you,” I chuckle lightly. “Just pretend I’m doing this to test my new abilities.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch Emma’s hand like a lifeline.... but nothing happens.

“What the-? Do my powers not work anymore?” My cheeks feel warm and I’m sure they reflect the effort I’ve just put into trying to heal Emma.

“Wait, let me see where your injuries are,” I instruct. Emma rolls up her sleeve to reveal a shallow nick from an arrow, a healing souvenir from our run-in with the assassins.

“Goddamnit. Ok, let me try this one... more... time...” I squeeze my eyes shut. Heal Emma. Heal Emma. Heal Emma. The words go through my head over and over again but nothing happens. The pain that had been relentlessly burning away at my insides earlier today is nowhere to be found, nor the shower of gold.

I drop Emma’s hand, discouraged. If this healing power will only occur once in a blue moon, then it’s more of a hindrance than a life-saving grace.

“The best defense is offense,” Emma murmurs in the middle of my funk.

I rub my eyes, too busy wallowing in self-pity to hear her properly. “What was that?”

“Robbie told me that the best defense is offense. Attack first.” She stands from the chair and swings her arm in a swift arc as if holding a sword. Her arm moves so swiftly that the short baby hairs around my face flutter with the breeze.

“You’re right. No more running away.” I laugh slightly, but my eyes are still on the ground. “I keep telling myself that I’ll pick myself up and fight. Fight for myself. Fight for my future. But instead, all I want to do is run at the first sign of trouble. So pathetic.”

Emma looks conflicted as she visibly searches her mind for something to comfort me, like an NPC that has been given an impossible command. “Your hi-” she tentatively begins before I cut her off with excitement.

“Emma, quick. Give me your hand!” A familiar burn has begun to fill my hand.

So is that my trigger? Strong emotions? I latch onto Emma’s palm right when the flames begin to climb up my insides and the pain releases into Emma, the gold light covering my entire vision as if I’ve just entered the pearly gates of heaven. The light dissipates like bubbles in a champagne glass and I look at Emma expectantly, barely noticing that the flames weren’t nearly as hot and painful as it was the first time.

“Your arm! Let’s see!” She hastily rolls up her sleeve. Nothing. I help Emma pull her sleeve higher just in case we missed the wound, but from shoulder to wrist, no injury mars Emma’s flesh.

I even pat Emma down like a TSA agent to check for pain, but she simply says she feels, “Fine, your highness.” But Emma is similarly surprised by her healed arm, her mouth opening in a cute little O that is almost more surprising than what I’ve actually done.

As luck would have it, my trigger seems to be strong emotions. I was naturally moved to see a young man like John die so young, which influenced the first time I healed him. This time, I thought of the many injustices I’d faced from Empress Katya. I grin, Emma mistaking my smile for joy at replicating my abilities once more.

With the life I have lived so far, manufacturing strong emotions will be little more than a walk in the park. I have to do little more than try to use my right hand out of the habit of being a right-handed person, or feel the small ridges on the back of my calf, or think of my time in the filthy dungeon to feel ‘strong emotions’.

Can I call them a gift? For Empress Katya, by her own hand, has delivered to me a never-ending fuel source to be the promised child she tried so hard to bury.

“His Majesty’s courtier, requesting entry!” A muffled voice calls from outside the curtain. Emma and I stiffen, instantly vigilant.

I clear my throat. “You may enter,” I reply in the most imperious tone I can muster.

The curtain parts, a courtier in my father’s livery bows and says the words I’ve been expecting ever since John woke up from near death.

“His Majesty, Emperor Helio, summons your presence, Princess Winter.”