Emerging Rebellion : a Men of Myth short story Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  Also by Brandon Witt

  Lavender Shores

  Cozy Corgi Mysteries

  Copyright © 2020 by Brandon Witt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: Ron Perry Graphic Design - rperrydesign.com

  (Inspired by original cover art by Dreamspinner Press)

  Wings of Ink Logo Design: A.J. Corza - SeeingStatic.com

  Original Editors of first edition: Desi Chapman and members of the Dreamspinner Press team

  Beta Reader 2nd Edition: Anita Ford and Desi Chapman

  Visit Brandon’s Webpage: BrandonWitt.com

  Amazon Reviews: Emerging Rebellion

  Created with Vellum

  One

  Though forbidden, I stepped closer, nearly becoming a part of the throng. I normally wouldn’t make such a risk. Not that it mattered. No one was watching me. Every gaze was trained toward the center of the clearing; every breath was held. Though the rebirth ceremony was identical for us all, royalty and outcast alike, the importance of this particular event was lost on no one. Nor was the drama. Soon the second and final child of the queen and king would emerge. There was no doubt what every soul was thinking, maybe even what a few were hoping. What if it happened again? Might there be another upheaval in the monarchy? What if the second son was defective like the first?

  Like me.

  The massive plum-hued chrysalis quivered, causing me to lean forward despite my best effort. The movement of air, caused by the wings in front of my face, made me pull back before accidental contact was made. I forced myself to retreat a couple of paces.

  The rebirth ceremony is the most solemn of all our gatherings. It has none of the cacophony of lights of the New Moon celebration, nor any of its free-flowing wine or copulations. At least not until after the transformation has been witnessed. Even our farewell fête when a fairy passes from life is marked by riotous revelry. Not so with a rebirthing. Things can go so very, very wrong.

  Moonlight reflected off the pewter canopy from which the chrysalis hung suspended. Pearls, diamonds, and translucent crystals were woven into the twisted metal, the only adornment allowed. Its opulence was surpassed by the beauty of Xenith’s chrysalis. Over the months as he hung suspended, the cocoon had grown both in size and splendor. Spirals of crimson swept across the deep purple skin, soft green dots speckled over the surface, and golden ridges circled around its circumference.

  Nearly forgetting myself, I cried out when at last one of the seams began to split open. Again, no one noticed me. There were many other undulations besides mine. I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the small opening. It split further when dark fingers curved around the edges.

  More fingers grasped the other side, and the split ran like a streak of lightning up and down the chrysalis.

  Despite the hundreds in attendance, there was no sound, no movement. Night birds fell silent. The wind vanished. Even the insects waited with bated breath.

  First a foot, followed by a long, muscular leg emerged. No sooner had the toes made contact with the mass of purple crocus growing below the chrysalis than the second leg pushed free. With that, Xenith slid from his confines and crumpled into a heap among the flowers. His wings were wet and covered him entirely, only the tips of his toes and the back of his forearms as he shielded his face were visible. He remained in that huddled position, as was custom. It would be up to him if he would use his power to heal the final unfolding of his wings or if he would let nature have its way. If he were anything like me, he would wait. Savoring the anticipation. Heightening the thrill of the crowd when he at last unveiled his perfection.

  That’s what I had chosen. Looking back, I see I played the fool. But how was I to know? I’d waited, feeling each of my feathers drying, waiting until I was certain. Then, and only then, did I stand. I kept my wings folded about me, savoring each moment. There was nothing to fear. If there had been, my wings would have eradicated them. They were feathered, and huge. Like a swan. Each white plume edged in silver. My wings were feathered! A true prince. Most fairies had wings of insects; very few had wings of birds. Only the most exceptional emerged with a mix of the two. Still, even the king and queen had wings of an insect. I might not have had wings of the most rare variety, but I had those of a swan. There was no doubt I would rule. I’d waited with my wings about me until the anticipation of the gathering felt like it was going to erupt.

  It seemed Xenith did not take after me as much as I had assumed, which I prayed boded well for him. He remained folded on the ground for only a few seconds before he stood. His wings now dry, there was no mistaking the pattern of the luna moth. Edged with a smoky violet, the mint green glowed in the moonlight.

  I wasn’t sure. Was it a sign of hope or doom? I’d prayed he would have wings of insect and bird alike so there would be no question of his royalty. But Xenith’s wings didn’t even surpass my own. Surely we both wouldn’t be flawed.

  Waiting for Xenith to uncover his face was nearly a physical pain. It was my rebirth all over again. I could feel my excitement, my surety of my place. Even after all the years, after all I’d survived, it might as well have been but a heartbeat before. That instant when I’d spread my wings wide, causing the court of fairies to gasp at their splendor, only to be broken when the first scream erupted from the queen. Her cry, like a contagion, spread throughout the crowd. Each face transforming from awe into revulsion as they looked at me. It had ages before I saw the transformation for myself.

  I knew the second before Xenith spread his wings. I wanted to scream out to him. Tell him to remain protected in his moth wings. To crawl back into his chrysalis. I wanted to rush toward him, drag him off into the trees, and be lost for all eternity.

  Instead, I did nothing. Life is what it is, and fate will have its way. With his wings flayed out around him, they were truly glorious. They could not compete, however, with his face.

  Jealously flooded through me.

  Xenith was beautiful. Nearly otherworldly. Well over six feet tall. Flawlessly muscled and lean naked body. Perfectly portioned face, all angles and strength. Skin, dark and glowing; bright eyes a shade deeper than his wings’ green.

  The fairies had found their prince. The monarchy would remain intact for at least one more generation.

  Still there was no sound, such was his beauty. All were captivated. Myself included. The sight of him cut to my soul. My heart broke, though I hadn’t known there was anything remaining that could break.

  It wasn’t jealously. The realization offered some relief. I could not be jealous of Xenith. This was the outcome I’d barely dared to hope for.

  Even though jealousy had no hold over me, I cursed myself for my own sense of loss. But no part of me would ever wish Xenith to share my fate, even to alleviate my own loneliness.

  With an ease that betrayed the uselessness of his pupa wings that came before, Xenith’s luna wings lifted him above the pewter canopy. At his ascension, the solemnity of the rebirth was shattered. The air filled with floating orbs of light. Fire of shifting colors rained down upon the crowd, scattering into the shimmering confetti as
outstretched hands lifted in celebration. Simultaneously, music cut through the night, both the music of the fairies and the songs of nature’s creatures that rejoiced with us.

  From Xenith’s elevated position above us all, I thought his gaze met mine, but then it was gone. A phosphorescent mound of flowered moss began to form amid the crowd, and they parted, giving it room. Many of the fairies lifted into the air, joining their newly confirmed prince in his maiden flight.

  I watched only a few moments longer as the mound continued to grow, spreading out to form an elevated platform. The mating ceremony that follows a successful rebirth lasts for days. Even outcasts are permitted to join in the celebratory orgies during a New Moon festival, only the pure could partake in this mating. While I would not wish to deny Xenith his rightful passage into adulthood, neither did I have any desire to witness its verification. I turned and walked away, the flood of emotions assaulting me too much to face.

  Two

  There are intervals where I forget I am nameless.

  Sometimes that instant of waking, before my eyes let in the light.

  Others when I am lost in dreams. When my wings lift me toward the sun. When my face is beautiful. When I am once again the queen’s eldest.

  For those fleeting seconds, I am Quay once more.

  I hate those moments. With all I am, I hate them! Would that I could forget the creature that came before me. That his perfect young reflection would be stricken from my mind. I am thankful I never experienced soaring through the clouds outside of my dreams, that royal guards fell upon me before I could have the chance to take flight. I’ve lost enough. To be familiar with the taste of the rivers of the wind only to be further denied would be too much. I could take no more.

  Better to know there was nothing before. I have been a slave for nine years. Before that, I was nothing. That prince? That wasn’t me. He was carefree, blissfully ignorant. Arrogant. Happy.

  Yet, as I watched Xenith from afar, I couldn’t help but see the prince I used to be. In every movement, he was confident. Xenith was not cruel to the lesser around him, nor did he notice them. He came and went from his chambers, free and the rightful heir apparent. Fairy monarchy is chosen by their beauty and their ability to reproduce that aspect in their offspring. Xenith earned his position. I did not.

  Like Xenith, I had been a beautiful child. Perfect in every feature. My royal parents did not need to be concerned. I should have realized they had their doubts when Xenith was born during my eighth year. He was doubtlessly the hedging of a bet—though I didn’t know it then. Indeed, from his birth until my rebirth, I rarely left his side. I loved him more than my own life. I was selfish in every way, save him. And in return, he adored me. Of course, all that changed, as surely as my clear, useless pupa wings of childhood transitioned into those of a swan. It would not do to have contact with a malformed brother. Quay was no more. I was dead to my parents, to the fairy population, and to Xenith.

  At least that was what should have been. And with one exception, how it had been.

  Unlike Xenith’s rebirth, there had been no mating celebration to welcome me into adult life. Before my wings could lift me into the air, they were upon me, my mother’s guards pinning me down in front of the horde that would have been my subjects. Their riotous cheers drowning out my cries of agony as the royal guards ripped my silvery white feathers out of my wings, leaving them nothing more than bloody, fleshy spikes jutting out of my back. Even my screams during my castration could not be heard over the tumult. They branded the left side of my face, the side that hadn’t been malformed, marking me a servant to all. As if their burning brand was not evidence enough, the brutality of their public rape confirmed that I was no longer royal, no longer a prince to rule, but a being to be used by whomever crossed my path.

  While I’d had only the slightest worry before my rebirth, nothing more than a fleeting what-if, even if I’d given more than a momentary thought to the possibility of not retaining my status, I wouldn’t have understood where my fate would leave me.

  A rebirth that leads to physical imperfection ends in exile. They are left to be nothing more than the forgotten of our society, save for the New Moon celebrations, which includes all of fairy descent. They truly are the forgotten. Before my own transition, I’d only had a vague awareness of their existence. They did not affect my life to any degree. They were below even my thoughts. I was beautiful. I was royal. I was a fairy. They were… other.

  After my rebirth, the outcasts of our society are still other. For them, I feel jealously. I covet what they have. I am not an outcast. I am the abomination, the failure, the vile. I am the fallen. As such, I am punished.

  I failed my family. I betrayed their blood. As a result, I live only to serve witness to their purity.

  Though I wish for death, long to escape my torment, my reflection is all that is required to confirm that I have earned my fate. It was weeks after my rebirth before I saw my transformation. The branding had healed, leaving its puckered mark over the only part of my features that gave testament to the beauty I’d nearly had. I almost wept as I gazed into the reflecting pool. My dark skin was splattered with pinkish white, puffy, starbursts over my forehead, cheeks, and jaw. The creases of my right ear were folded in upon themselves. I’d been able to feel their malformation, but seeing it was worse.

  I nearly allowed myself to see what I would have looked like had the right side of my face matched the left. I barely stopped myself. Should I have witnessed that perfection, I would never have been able to see anything else. However, as I stared into the pool, gazing at the boney goose-fleshed protrusions on either side of my back, I willed my wings to show what they would have been. What they had been for those few brief moments.

  Their shimmering beauty nearly concealed the imperfections of my face. Nearly. I willed the illusion to take life. As I watched, snowy feathers sprouted from the bare skin. I folded my wings about me, creating a glowing cocoon. Running my hands over the stiff strong feathers, I wept. Tears had not come since my rebirth. There had been too much agony for tears. But in the shelter of my wings, the tears came at last.

  I unfolded my wings and prepared to take my first flight. I could flee. I could truly be the outcast. Never seen again. I would no longer be the symbol of the royal family’s devotion to purity. I would live out my days alone, however many they would be until I was discovered.

  Then Xenith’s young face invaded my mind. His child’s adoration and love filling me.

  I could not betray him. I could not leave him. I would not.

  As my tears dried, I pulled the feathers from me once more. Using the pain as a promise to never abandon him.

  By the time I snuck into my beloved brother’s chambers that evening, I’d healed the bloody stubs of my back, and Xenith noticed no change.

  Three

  “Surely now that I have confirmed my right to ascend the throne I can change the law.”

  I tried to smile at him, but I couldn’t quite force the expression. Not even for him. “Xenith, I don’t wish to have this conversation again. Things are how they are. Can we not leave them be?”

  “Mother and Father will listen to me. I’m their rightful heir.” Frustration flitted over his features as he glared in my direction.

  We’d had the same conversation every night since Xenith’s rebirth ceremony ended three months earlier. The fact that he continued to simply argue about it and had yet to defy my words and actually approach our parents—his parents—told me that he knew it was hopeless. Whether he realized it or not.

  “Is Flesser still coming to see you?”

  My cheeks heated at his sudden change of topic. “I shouldn’t have told you about him.”

  Xenith’s grin was so big and innocent that for a moment he looked like he had as a child when I would sneak into his chambers to see him. “Of course you should have! You’re falling in love with him.”

  It took me a second to respond. “No, I’m not.”


  The laugh that Xenith let forth betrayed his naivety, despite his transition into adulthood. I coveted his ease. “Your hesitation says otherwise. Where did you meet this time? Did he admit his feelings for you?”

  “He doesn’t have feelings for me, nor I him. Such would not be allowed.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Well, neither is starting a relationship between the two of you, but it’s still happening.”

  “No. It’s not.” Even at my own words, my heart betrayed me, beating harder with fear and hope in equal measure. Well, not really equal.

  “Quay, come on! Allow yourself some happiness.”

  “I’ve told you never to call me that. What if you are heard?”

  “What if any of it is heard? You worry too much. I am the prince. I can do what I want. Including having a relationship with my brother.” A knowing smirk crossed his handsome moonlit face. “As for your relationship with Flesser… I could give it my sanction.”

  For the billionth time, I considered telling Xenith everything. He wasn’t a child any longer. He needed to know. As every time before, for the past nine years, I stuffed the harsh truths away. Despite the fact that an adult sat across from me, I still saw the six-year-old who had wept when he saw me after my own rebirth. I’d told him that my metamorphosis had gone wrong. Which it had. That I was no longer able to see him in public. That he must keep our late-night meetings a secret from our parents, from everyone.

  I told him that I would always love him. Take care of him.

  I told him he had nothing to worry about, that when the time arrived, his own metamorphosis would be perfect. I promised.

  I told him I’d never leave him. That I’d always be there for him when he needed me.