Page 21

The Vision

Mildred Anguine

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T he hotel conference room is a typical take on over-modernization from floor to ceiling with barre gray wooden flooring, and plush, black wheely chairs to match the cold stone table the monarchs sit at.

Well, every monarch plus Mildred and Roon but minus Remington.

Everyone sits with an empty seat between them and an armed Guard from their island standing behind them.

“Hmm, King Remington won’t be in our presence today, I presume?” Jonah asks, curling his thick mustache and crossing his legs. He sits next to Sophie and across from Mildred.

She surveys each monarch with disdain but satisfaction—always reveling in the fact she’s the only person with her position who exists, and only for Remington.

They must treat her as his substitute.

Judging by the pointed brows, curled lips, and flared nostrils, they’ll never truly welcome this fact, even if she’s dutifully served the King for several years now.

“The King’s care for his island and the world has brought illness to his heart,” Mildred replies, holding her gaze until Jonah clears his throat and looks away. He drums his fingers on the table before Sophie closes her notebook and rises from her seat.

“We should begin then,” she starts. “This won’t be long given the world’s state.”

Queen Allison snorts and takes off her oversized, black shades revealing her freckles. She’s slouched at the far end of the long table. “You’re wrong, as per usual. Zeala is going to shit, so this won’t be quick.”

Roon slinks out of his seat next to Mildred and steps out with his phone. No one pays attention. Glares bounce around the room as the hum of the AC powers down. Mildred nestles in her seat, waiting.

Sophie sits, tensing her jaw and cutting her eyes to Allison. “This month’s meeting rotation landed on MY island. Do not forget whoever hosts the meeting is also the timekeeper. If I decide the meeting has become unproductive, it will end.”

Jonah straightens up and reaches to pat Sophie’s back. She jumps and looks at him with a pleasant smile. Mildred studies her, waiting for a slight crack but Roon returning to the room interrupts her focus. He strolls over to whisper low in Mildred’s ear.

“Lady Anguine, Queen Sophie does have three eggs in her possession,” he says.

“Many blessings, Roon. Meet me at the station?”

“Of course.”

Roon’s second departure catches everyone’s attention, so Mildred stands up and places her hands softy on the table.

“My friends, we’re in much need of time and prayer,” she says. The monarchs nod, but Mildred sees the narrowing of Sophie’s eyes—the one to watch out for.

Out of the five monarchs, Sophie was the only one who Mildred didn’t attempt to sway in her favor. The level of mutual trust they’ve carried never felt... good. It was easy to find the right price for the other four monarchs. So, by the time they met, and Remington ignorantly suggested leaving the crisis to the Guards, everyone was compliant, even Sophie.

But she also looked skeptical during that whole meeting.

“Oi... Spirit Users are out of the question?” Oona asks, looking around for confirmation. Allison throws her shades back on and crosses her arms. Jonah withdraws his hand from Sophie’s back and looks down. King Evan grumbles and slouches while Sophie’s lips tighten into a grimace at Mildred.

She’s onto me. But greed will keep the rest quiet.

“Correct. It would be best to keep it this way,” Mildred confirms. “Unless someone objects?”

Jonah shrivels in his seat and shakes his head. The white swirl in his chestnut hair hits the lighting right, his gray strands more apparent. “Nay, nay, nay. An abundance of dragons in the nest have never been good practice.”

“Even when our world is at stake?” Sophie asks, turning to face him. No matter how much makeup she wears, it’ll never age her up the way she wants it to.

Oona is fidgety, eyes darting everywhere every five seconds while she tugs on each finger before switching hands. She’s a liability who gives Mildred a headache; promising an evolution of science to “cure” the world that would put Onyx on the map should still be enough to keep her quiet and dismissive to the problem.

Evan occasionally looks at Allison but remains slouched with her and uninterested in participating.

“Indeed, Sophie. Jonah’s analogy is the perfect reason we don’t want to involve them. It can do more harm than good,” Mildred says.

“Then we dispatch more of our Guards to search deeper into the person—or people,” Sophie suggests. “We can’t leave without a solution to stop this! It’s our reality now.”

“So, little Miss Timekeeper not only threatens to end the meeting WHENEVER she wants but now tosses the idea of holding us hostage until she’s satisfied? MY Island does not have enough Guards for this crap!” Allison barks. Her velvet purple halter strap shirt reveals a beautiful constellation of freckles on her tan chest. “We shoulda, coulda, woulda deployed Ultima but—” She twirls a red pen and pinches her thin lips. The heavily tinted large shades make her expression hard to decipher. “—that... obviously won’t be happening, for good reasons, of course.”

A chance to secretly mine for riches and resources on the most nourished island that’s never been touched? Mildred swore Allison’s eyes turned into coin signs from the very thought of finally drilling into Garnet. This would in turn benefit Sapphire, so Evan was onboard by default.

“Queen Oona? What swirls through your mind?” Mildred asks, sitting down to rest her feet. Her height fails her when her knees bang under the table, startling Jonah.

“Ah, it would be fantastic to have more Guards heavily guarding common dragon areas,” Oona offers. She’s still tugging on her fingers with a trembling smile to match her unsteady wide eyes.

“I concur,” Sophie whispers.

“Aye.” Jonah fiddles with a button on his chartreuse blazer.

“My heart is with this decision.” Mildred places her hands on her chest and bows toward everyone.

Allison slams her pen on the table. “Whatever, I guess it’s fine. I’ll just borrow some Guards from Evan, and pay them on Sapphire time, not mine.”

“Of course,” Evan scoffs.

Sophie is scrawling a few things in her notebook before staring at everyone with a smile. “So, we’ve agreed to continue not using Spirit Users, but widen the search with more Guards and have them protect common areas where dragons lurk. Are there deprivations anywhere that we can assist with?”

“Crops are wasting faster than we can blink, Sophie dear. It would mean the world to Emeraldians if we could have some aid with resources to continue productions,” Jonah says.

Sophie nods favorably, the incline of her head conveying affection. “Absolutely.”

“Oi! We have labs already studying artificial growth of everything that’s been ravaged by the dead soil,” Oona gushes. Her neon pink waistcoat is fitting. “Please come over some time to check it out! We’re hoping to get this underway before we lose the food supply.”

Jonah’s face brightens, scrunching up his round eyes and large, pointy nose.

“Scrumptious! I’d hope once we figure out how to slow this down to a hard stop, I can resume sending everyone wine.”

“That’d be nice,” Allison grumbles.

Mildred cracks a smile, pleased from how well everyone is coming together, even if it is for their own gains. Jonah is doing great with his desperation act—fully betraying Sophie. He’s been cooperating glumly, but the fresh spring water that’s being imported from Garnet is worth more than any friendship. This is the only solid thing Mildred was able to promise that hasn’t gone to waste from the rotting world. Yet.

Mildred claps her hands together. “Let us continue this chat on our email thread. I will report back to Remington and pray this nightmare is over soon so we can resume our lives again. Please, do not hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

The monarchs nod and mumble their agreements. Mildred takes one last look at each royal figure, and then at each Guard silently behind them, all branded with a scarlet A on their hand.

M ildred shuffles through the Garnet tunnels, heels dangling from her hands, feet worn from new shoes she hasn’t broken in yet. Roon is busy making a few calls. Soon, she’ll need to return aboveground to check on Remington’s staff, but she wants to make sure everyone here is all set. Living a double life wasn’t her intention.

She heads downstairs, now converted from the platform and subway tracks into a simple throne room built from rusted scraps of train cars. Mildred launches the shoes in the far corner of the makeshift room with a thud on the trunk that’s collecting another layer of dust.

Flexing her toes against the cool floor, Mildred entertains the thought of opening the large chest again. It’s been a while.

“Mmm.” She sits in her metal chair with a crushed pillow underneath that’s not doing any justice. She shifts and tosses her veiny, calloused feet over the chair arm, stroking her chin. The neck itching urge builds. “Hmm...”

Finally, she hurls out of the chair and rounds it to open the chest tucked crookedly in cobwebs accompanying the dust. Some of the contents are as random as ever: an opal necklace dangling from a broken, rusted gold chain, baby shoes that belonged to her daughter, Madison, and a developed photo of Mildred with her late best friend, Nancy.

Mildred scans the silver watch she stole from her father before she was kicked out for her string of petty crimes that always landed her in jail. It pained him to banish her, but it was a simple directive from her mother—the coward who couldn’t face Mildred to do the deed herself. At least the watch is her piece of Heath Anguine she cherishes since his untimely passing.

“If only your eyes could gaze upon me now, dad,” Mildred whispers. “My soul did not find college or trade school, or my own business, but I’m doing splendid in the role I’m in now. I have a purpose greater than the Superiors themselves.”

Footsteps descend the stairs to Mildred’s space as she quickly slams the trunk shut, wipes her dusty fingers, and sits back on her cold, hard, throne. She inspects the approaching chiseled Guard, Thaddeus, with a frown.

“Dearest Thad!” she gasps. “What in Naven’s name happened to your arm? Roon mentioned you captured the guy, but nothing about this cut!”

“It was messier than I anticipated. The guy is a strong fire Spirit User.” Thaddeus grunts, holding up his singed red robe. “Everything worked out in the end as planned except my robe got burned and the girl got away.”

“Quell thy thought. Speaking of fire, did you have time to burn that Ultima girl with the violin yet?” Mildred asks, wondering if she missed her chance to dispose of Lynn Wu when she was first Traced in front of her and Remington. Mildred’s promotion via blackmail distracted her from considering the girl another risk.

“Yes, however; she’s not dead.” Thaddeus hesitates. “I don’t think I quite understand... what the purpose of doing that was.”

Mildred stands up to slam her huge hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him. Her muscles flex as she firmly grasps the collarbone poking through his uniform.

“Fire is ever so sacred. Your conjured flames did not take her life, and I trusted you with that. The world is folding in our favor. She didn’t see you, right, Thad?”

“No, ma’am.” He adjusts his vest. “Thank you for trust me!”

Mildred looks up in time for a lanky figure to huff as he descends in a skip down the stairs. He moves his brown dreadlocks while Thaddeus steps aside and nods. Mildred sits back on her throne, sighing happily at her prized member for returning. He had been a lost soul when she discovered him and one of her first followers she educated on the world. Logan is still the only Spirit User follower Mildred has and cares about since Nancy’s unfortunate passing.

Well, there’s also Thaddeus.

“Logan, darling! We’ve been ill with worry for you.” Mildred grabs his cheek when he’s close enough, digging her clawed red nails into his flesh until it breaks and draws blood in her palm.

“Sorry. I had to lay low to avoid getting caught.” Logan whips his head to move more locks from his face, slipping from Mildred’s iron grip. “I... I think I failed Elite’s auditions.”

Mildred relaxes back into her chair and crosses her thick calves. “Do not fret; relief is within us for your safety. You did your best! Are you still going to Wave Riding Season?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Perfect.” Her taut skin stretches over her high cheekbones, narrowing her eyes from her odd smile. “I won’t be able to go, but everyone will be in place. Isn’t that right, Roon?”

Logan’s eyes dart around until he turns to Roon speed walking toward them, elegantly brushing a strand of his thinned hair from his forehead. Thaddeus chuckles gruffly under his breath.

“Yes, ma’am. All parties are in place,” Roon chirps.

“And Topaz Island?” Mildred asks.

“Superb. Since we have confirmation of the eggs, I will send someone to retrieve them from Sophie at once,” Roon replies, writing notes in his blue spiral notebook he carries everywhere. His two loose ringlets get in his face again, so he wildly whips his head and blinks hard. “Also, what should we do about the Elite we captured? He hurt poor Thad over here.”

“I’m fine! Practically carved from stone,” Thaddeus grumbles.

“Not with that foul gash on your arm,” Roon mutters with a petty eyeroll.

“Enough.” Mildred waves dismissively. “He’ll be a gift to Ultima, eventually.”

“Why not have him join us?” Logan asks with a half shrug. “If we talk to him, maybe he’ll understand.”

His curiosity is genuine, matching the innocence in his voice. It’s possible to keep the member for herself, but Mildred isn’t particularly interested in having another Spirit User amongst her community. They’re problematic to deal with. Like Fae.

Roon rolls his beady eyes again. “I dunno if telling some rando to join our group to kill people to distract them from us ALSO killing dragons so we can juice up 60,000 plus treelings to create a bridge to Naven would fly with someone like him,” he says in a single breath.

Logan frowns.

When Roon puts it like that, it sounds incredibly absurd, yet it’s their reality. Mildred serves her community every day, even if she has to make tough decisions for them so they can live the life they deserve.

“I’m ill with the thought of our safety. He just wouldn’t be the right fit for us,” Mildred replies honestly. “I don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt again. I care about everyone.”

All of them. I will bring the dead with us and bring them all back. Nancy. Dad. Everyone.

Roon awkwardly smiles, casting shadows across his face from the cheddar cheese texture of his skin. “So, is it gonna happen?”

“Well, with you three—” Mildred sweepingly gestures across the three of them as they smile bashfully and share a look. “—it will happen sooner than planned. My soul appreciates you.”

Thaddeus sheepishly rubs his bald head before bringing Logan and Roon in for a massive side hug with his arms.

“I’m not scared of what’s to come, so bring it!” he shouts. Roon winces and whines before pushing himself out of the hug and fixing his curly bun. Logan stays locked in Thaddeus’s embrace, rolling his eyes with a smirk.

Roon was deep in debt on the verge of ending it all. Mildred found him on the roof before counseling him to come down. She put him through it, but with years of hard work, Roon worked off his debt with her gentle coaching.

“Well, it sounds like Roon has everything under control here. What should I do in the meantime, then?” Logan asks.

Mildred scratches her eyebrow. “Two things: Find Fae. Roon almost had her on Sapphire, but she’s probably on her way here since Wave Riding Season is coming. Follow up with Elite regarding your application. Craftiness will be your greatest asset, and I believe in you.” She looks at Thaddeus. “Thad, see to it that no one notices my absence at Remington’s; I’ll be up there shortly.”

Thaddeus finally releases Logan. “Yes, ma’am.”

She watches the three guys shuffling away together, all talking over each other with big grins. Somehow, the Superiors have failed them. Zeala has failed them. Society has failed them.

M ildred grabs an oil lamp and red cloak from the back of her chair before heading upstairs to the tunnel labyrinth. Copper stones curving inward into a round ceiling encase the tunnels, veering in different directions. Wooden torches are built into the walls every five feet to guide the community of survivors of crime, pain, and loss. They walk with gratitude and relief. The tunnel ceiling showers dust as traffic roars above. Mildred manages a tired, inflated grin at the family she’s created.

She reaches a different train platform—the one that may have gone in the direction of Topaz Island judging from the worn signs. Walking the tracks has never been her favorite thing, but it’s the quickest way to get to the cooler.

The darkness envelopes Mildred as she turns on the oil lamp to guide her through the rusted tracks to avoid tripping. Up ahead, the cool blue glow of the touchpad on the walk-in freezer is visible. Mildred quickens her pace, eager to visit her new friend.

When she reaches the stainless steel, ten by ten-foot wide cooler, she sets the lamp down and adjusts the temperature with the touchpad. She unlocks the door and steps in to find the Elite member huddled in the corner with a layer of frost coating his clothes and skin. He shivers violently with a grimace.

Mildred takes off her hood and smirks. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

“Not... n-not really.” His teeth chatter.

“I’m Mildred,” she says. “What you did for Alice was brave. I admire loyalty.”

“Go to hell,” he hisses.

Mildred frowns. “It pains me we had to put you in this box. I’ve heard you violently react to strangers touching you and can increase your body’s temp to 500 degrees. A lot of my friends have trauma with fire. They may have lost their home, burned themselves—it’s an exquisite element.”

“The p-people you’ve brainwashed? Whatever. You’re just as bad as Ultima,” he scoffs, sitting up. “The name is Nick Hardy.”

“Nick, why are you in Elite?”

“Why don’t you start with telling me why you’re killing people and dragons. We know it’s you,” he spits, arms crossed while shivering against the wall.

Mildred strokes her chin and tuckers her loose hair behind her ears. “If I did, you’d fall asleep. I will say that The Light of Judgment is destined to strike again. We know of the first time this happened; it turned Zeala into six wonderful islands and the Isle of Superiors,” Mildred explains. “If it strikes an island again, it’ll crumble, not split.”

“So? Let nature run its course.”

“Why when we can save everyone?” Mildred presses.

“By killing them?” Nick counters, arms still wrapped around him and failing to maintain his body heat. His fiery Trace Mark flickers.

“They’ll come back,” Mildred admits. Nick makes a weird face. “It’s the truth. Naven was built for us; it’s a place with endless opportunities and a chance to reunite everyone with their loved ones. You can be with whomever you’ve lost in your life.”

Nick’s eyes glow. Mildred considers stepping out to bring the temp down again, but she doesn’t want to suffer with him. He stays pressed against the wall, so maybe he doesn’t have much energy.

“Why is that any of YOUR business to do? How would an inferior Zealan like you know what the Light is gonna do?” Nick asks, voice laced with disdain as he wrinkles his nose. Mildred clenches her jaw, concentrating on not shivering to appear strong.

“My eyes saw the future,” she says. “It came to me after my best friend and her son departed this world. You’re probably going to mock me for not being a Spirit User, so let’s save you some of your limited energy and confirm that you’re right. I’m not.”

Nick snorts with a smirk, eyes still glowing.

“Zeala is in trouble, sweetie. I rather lose people we can bring back in a new world than lose them because the Light decided it was having a bad day,” she explains. “On Naven, everyone is equal, has food, and a home.”

“So, you’re a self-proclaimed prophet AND the chosen one? That’s rich,” Nick chortles.

He’s a trembling mess—legs quivering until his knees buckle, arms squeezing tightly around his body, and chest heaving with no sign of fire producing. Mildred stares pitifully at him.

“Why are you with Elite?” she asks again.

“I . . . I lost my little sister, so I’m out to kill someone,” Nick admits.

“Join me!” Mildred offers, outstretching her hand. It quivers as it meets the icy air. She likes him enough to make the exception. “I’ve heard Spirit Users are weaker from the dying dragons, so Elite cannot serve you well in the long run. Please know that’s not my intention. Treelings, like your friend, are powered up when a dragon is killed. They can—”

“My coworker is in a coma because of the dragon deaths. You are completely full of it.”

Mildred gasps, confused from the results of her finely timed actions. “Is she now? How unfortunate. I’ve met several treelings just like her and they too mentioned feeling weaker before they grew stronger. Wasn’t sure if this was the case with everyone, but... she’ll awaken soon. I’m sure of it! All Spirit Users will benefit from this, but the treelings specifically can create a bridge between worlds, so we can all go to Naven together.”

There’s also the fact that the Superiors may have plans of their own, but they’ve been quiet all this time. Mildred can’t be sure of anything that goes on with them, and she refuses to wait.

Nick rolls his eyes. Frost covers his eyebrows and fuzz around his face, but those gold eyes ablaze with his hatred. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll leave you with this, if what I’m doing is so wrong, so morally evil, then why haven’t the Superiors stopped me? I’m doing the right thing, and you’ll admit it to yourself someday.”

Nick’s top lip curls as a deep growl vibrates in his throat. Mildred steps back in time for Roon to open the door with a beaming smile as he adjusts the temp on the touchpad. His notebook is tucked in his armpit with his pen in his ear.

The temp in the cooler drops dramatically to the dry bone-chilling air that brings Nick back to his knees, shivering as the glow in his eyes fade. Mildred leaves the cooler and takes the cloak off while Roon holds her oil lamp. His head barely reaches her shoulder but keeps a good pace beside her due to his long legs.

“You tried talking to him, didn’t you?” he asks.

“At least Logan can’t say I didn’t try,” Mildred mumbles, rubbing her arms. Her shirt tightens from the movement, reminding her to get a bigger size next time to be able to move around comfortably. “How’d the calls go?”

Roon passes her the lamp and flips through pages of his notebook. Each sheet has a cartoon doodle of a monarch he sketched with his red pen.

“Well, Remington just came down with the nastiest cold, so he won’t be doing any public speaking for QUITE some time,” he gushes with a sly smile. “No Wave Riding Season for him this year.”

“Good, good,” Mildred murmurs. “And everyone else?”

“Allison and Evan are good. Oona has already launched her artificial farms and will be implementing them on Emerald soon. Jonah just received another shipment of wood and water from us. Sophie is still in communication with Azul—dumb and snitching as usual.”

“She’ll never understand our vision.” Mildred claps her hands together. “I prayed every night hoping she’d come around.”

“I know!” Roon squeals before briefly glancing down. “Um, why aren’t you wearing any shoes?”

“I like my toes being out, it’s freeing.” She misses soaking in the sun in dresses when she was young enough to not understand crime and maintain her innocence. She missed burrowing her toes into the sand or feeling the blades of the tall grass.

They climb the stairs and head back to the other station platform, her room. A few members stroll by and wave while holding books Mildred provided on essays regarding the lushness of Naven. It’s never talked about enough in school, but people need to know that there is truth to Naven being called the Glorious Paradise of the Alternate World.

Mildred hurls her balled up cloak in the corner where her heels and trunk wait to welcome the new item to the pile. She squats in her chair, flexing her ashy feet from the newfound ache and soreness that’s accumulating. Her shoulders slump as she contemplates an excuse to not go aboveground because of her exhaustion.

“Ma’am... does offing Drake Strife count? I believe he’s... one of them,” Roon whispers, pacing around the platform.

Mildred jerks her head up. “Elaborate.”

“Well, he’s an Ultima member who can go through walls and turn into a dragon. Is it a coincidence or...? You know, the forgotten history?”

Doubt courses through Mildred as she ponders the thought. The Spirit User power may be just walking through walls. But the dragon part? He may indeed be one of them.

“Let me think about it a little and I’ll give you a definite answer later,” she mumbles, smoothing out her shirt.

Thaddeus hurries down the stairs, feet tapping quickly as the belts, keys, and attachments of his Guard uniform jingle to his jog toward Roon and Mildred.

“Lady Anguine, I have news!” he huffs. He’s supposed to be at his post on Remington’s estate. “Word traveled from our Onyx buddies about a young boy adopted by a woman by the name of Vinyl Steed.”

Her attention is caught as her eyes widen, heart racing in anticipation. Roon crosses his arms and sticks his hip out.

Thaddeus stares at them, bald head shiny from sweating. “They did some digging and the boy is Wren Crest. Son of the late Nancy Crest. He’s on Emerald Island. The father recently passed.”

“Wren is alive? B-But the news said he died in the fire with Nancy.” Mildred dazes until her vision doubles as she’s briefly sucked in a cave of memories. She clutches her brown silk shirt to calm her tremors. “My sweet lunar-son has been alive all this time?”

“Nancy is the bestie, right? And Wren was like, the kid you were blessed by the Superiors to take care of if his parents died?” Roon asks. He pops gum in his mouth and smacks it obnoxiously, breaking Mildred out of her reverie.

Roon has been ignorant to most common knowledge of Zeala and just... everything in general, but it makes sense he may have no memory of a birth blessing in the ocean.

“Correct.” Never mind the fact that it was Nancy who had the vision of the Light striking Zeala. Mildred only wonders if Wren also has the gift of sight. He may have more visions she can tell her followers.

“Roon, you have a new assignment,” Mildred states, staring intensely at the waving flame in the torch in the wall.

With everything falling into place with Garnet’s Wave Riding Season and Topaz’s dragon eggs raid, Emerald’s hunt for Wren can be added to Zeala’s list of headaches.

Roon pops his gum again and brushes a handful of his platinum-tipped hair back.

“Anything for you, honey drop.”

Mildred inhales, closing her eyes and reveling in the new blissful life she’s excited to live in soon. “Order the retrieval of Wren and bring him here,” she says, opening her eyes and blasting them at Roon. “Even if you have to pry him from a dead woman’s hands.”