You Can’t Kill A Myth

Dr. Oberle avoids Queen Malea’s penetrating stare.

“…We’ve done all we can…”

“That’s it? You bandage his ribs, take his temperature, and the next step is last rites? He fell off a horse, not a skyscraper. You’re useless. Holyoake will save him.”

“He’s a magician, not a physician.”

“All the more reason to send for him.”

With a sturdy build honed from years of horseback riding, the thirty-five-year-old Queen of Borganlandt possesses an equally formidable personality. She has known Holyoake all her life. When she was eighteen, she was involved in a car accident that crushed one of her legs. Dr. Oberle suggested amputating the leg. Holyoake laid his hands on her, and within an hour, Malea was walking again. When sepsis sent her into shock four years ago, Holyoake’s touch drained the poison from her body.

Holyoake’s healing powers are matched by his talent for prognostication. Eight years ago, Holyoake warned King James not to travel to Holland for the King’s Day celebration. He ignored the warning and was assassinated. His death hardened Malea, who tied the executioner’s rope around the assassin herself.

Upon meeting the Mayor of Bath, Holyoake predicted a flood would destroy the town. The Mayor listened and evacuated the town. Bath was underwater two days later, but its fifteen thousand inhabitants were saved.

Holyoake’s soothsaying and healing talents stem from his heterochromia – one eye is emerald, and the other is blue.

Holyoake sweeps into Prince Eiger’s chambers with his assistant, Sandro, at his heels.

Holyoake served Malea’s father, Rupert I, and her Grandfather, Cedric the Great, over a span of a hundred years, yet his looks have never changed. He still has the same silky black hair and swarthy good looks that have made him the darling of the court.

Holyoake’s assistant of three months has neither good looks nor charm. Undersized and hunchbacked, twenty-six-year-old Sandro has thick bags under his watery eyes, a paunch, and a receding hairline that make him repugnant to the opposite sex.

The two men follow Malea into Eiger’s bedroom.

Drenched in sweat, Prince Eiger lets out a ragged moan.

Holyoake runs his hands over Eiger’s body.

“He has three fractured ribs,” Malea says. “They’ve punctured his lungs. He’s drowning in his own blood.”

Holyoake places his hand on Eiger’s forehead.

“Open.”

Eiger’s eyes pop open, staring emptily.

“I’m here to help you… Be brave.”

“…Pain…” the prince utters.

“Listen to the sound of my voice... Your pain is going away…”

“…Less,” Eiger whispers.

Holyoake touches Eiger’s ribs. His face contorts, his agony easing as Holyoake says, “No pain.”

A white mist rises from Eiger’s body, seeping into Holyoake’s.

Pulling his hands away from Eiger, Holyoake groans in pain. Breathing raggedly, he breaks into a sweat, his skin turning ghostly white.

Holyoake slowly regains his strength. His skin darkens, and his shallow breathing returns to normal.

“The Prince will live.”

***

Sandro, Count Dario Tanner, and Prime Minister Erstad Mullinex attend the party celebrating Holyoake’s lifesaving act.

The trio suppresses their loathing as Malea awards Holyoake with a Medal of Honor.

“That’s his third medal in my lifetime,” Erstad notes. Short, with bulging eyes, thick lips, and a squat body, Erstad is a political opportunist helping Count Tanner quietly fan the flames of revolt.

“My mind still can’t accept what I know I saw,” Sandro says.

Dario’s feral features pull together in a frown. “Hocus pocus. I still think the Prince could drop dead at any moment.”

“The court physicians who gave Eiger up for dead examined him,” Erstad replies. “There are no broken bones. He’s completely healed. Holyoake has pulled the same trick before. He was with Cedric the Great at the Battle of Wuethrich when he was riddled with bullets. Holyoake laid his hands on him. When he opened his palms, he had four bullets in them. Cedric had them fashioned into a necklace and wore it when the Swiss surrendered.”

“He’s become too powerful, too sure of his powers,” Dario says. “Next thing you know, he’ll be raising the dead.”

“Which would put a real crimp in our plans to overthrow Queen Malea,” Erstad jests.

“Then we’ll have to make sure he dies first, won’t we?”

***

Sandro bows his head.

Gwendolyn, one of the Queen’s handmaidens, is comforted by her older sister Clarissa as they confront Sandro.

“Respectfully, Your Majesty, the girl is lying.”

“How many humpbacked balding trolls are there in the castle?” Clarissa shouts, her wrathful stare matching the color of her raven hair. “It’s you who's lying, sir.”

His head throbbing from an epic hangover, Sandro offers, “She tried to seduce me” as his defense.

“Look at that swine, then look at my sister, then ask yourself if that’s remotely possible.”

Sandro shrinks as Malea drums her fingers against the arm of her throne.

“She still has the outfit she was wearing,” Clarissa pronounces. “You can have it tested. I’m sure his slobber and DNA are all over it.”

“If that’s the case, Sandro, you’re going to be on bread and water with the rest of the miscreants in my dungeon for the next fifteen years.”

“I don’t remember anything after my fourth drink, Your Majesty.”

Gwendolyn’s despair turns to anger. “He assaulted me! If I hadn’t gotten away, he would have done worse.”

“You don’t know that,” Sandro scoffs.

Malea’s retort is sharp and telling. “Apparently, neither do you. This was Holyoake’s party, not yours.”

Holyoake’s soothing voice breaks the tension. “Sandro must’ve blacked out.”

“He’s right, Your Grace. I was blotto.”

Malea gives Sandro a harsh stare. Her gaze softens when she looks into Holyoake’s shimmering eyes.

“You were saying, Mage…”

“I’m sure Sandro deeply regrets assaulting Gwendolyn. He’s willing to compensate her monetarily.”

“I am?”

“Does a hundred thousand gilders sound right?”

Gwendolyn’s backbone stiffens. “Yes. You know what else I want? A letter of apology. And I want it posted throughout the kingdom, so the next girl knows what she’s getting into when she’s trapped in a room with this gnome. And one last thing…”

Gwendolyn’s strides toward Sandro. Sandro tries to cover up, but Gwendolyn’s fist cracks against his jaw. Already unconscious, Sandro never sees the second blow that knocks him off his feet.

***

Sandro, Dario, and Erstad wear similar forced smiles as they watch Malea bless the botanical garden’s flowers.

“She’d bless a grocery store if it’d increase her popularity,” Dario comments.

Sandro glances meekly at Clarissa, whose stare burns a hole through him.

“How was your sabbatical?” Erstad asks.

“Is that what the Queen is calling it?” Sandro replies. “Two months of exile on Rock Island. And for your information, it’s aptly named. It was just me, the seals, and a few balmy lighthouse keepers.”

“Did you pay the servant girl?” Dario asks.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“Don’t look to me for financial help. My wife is spending money like it’s going out of style, and my investments have gone belly up. You’re well paid. I’m surprised you haven’t settled with her.”

“I’ve had some setbacks.”

“You mean the wine, the gambling and the hookers have set you back.”

“Holyoake convinced the Queen to suspend me and send me away instead of sending me to the dungeon, and he paid the lying strumpet.”

“Tsk. Tsk. So now you owe the magician money as well as your career. Anything else keeping you two joined at the hip?”

“He insists I write that wench a letter of apology.”

“Wasn’t that part of the settlement? It’s the most important part if you think about it. Gwendolyn wants her reputation restored. Apologize, and you can put the scandal behind you.”

“Dario is right,” Erstad says. “Make amends with Gwendolyn. You have a much more pressing problem.”

Erstad hands Sandro a thick file. The more Sandro reads its contents, the wider his bloodshot eyes get.

“You’re fortunate I’m Prime Minister. I’ve suppressed this information. The Queen is behind this. She’s having you followed and plans to make this information public.”

“These lies paint me as a pervert. ‘Dozens of women, from prostitutes to high-ranking aristocrats, have been lured to his apartment. Investigators posted at his building have heard loud noises of drunken revelry, partying, and lewd behavior.’ That’s not true. They’re just harmless social gatherings.”

Erstad huffs. “You forget, we’ve been at your ‘social gatherings.’ They make the Marquis de Sade blush.”

“Clean up your act, Sandro,” Dario threatens. “You can’t be the Mage in our new regime if you’re executed beforehand.”

The trio bows their heads as Malea recites a prayer.

“Heavenly Father, let this garden be a place of peace. May all who enter feel your presence and find rest for their souls.”

When Sandro looks up, Clarissa is standing inches away from him with a knife in her hand.

“This is for Gwen and all the other women you’ve humiliated,” she says, thrusting the knife into Sandro’s neck.

Dario and Erstad wither, backing away as blood spurts from Sandro’s neck and he falls to the ground.

Holyoake rushes to Sandro’s side. Pulling out the knife, he clamps his hands over the wound, whispering, “Relax your mind and body… Look into my eyes.”

Sandro’s mind and body go numb. All he can see is Holyoake’s glittering, mismatched eyes.

Sandro feels the pain of the beatings he took at the orphanage. He relives the agony of dozens of surgeries intended to correct his body. His one solace – the feeling of power he feels when he torments an obstinate servant girl – leaves his body.

Holyoake doubles over, choking and wincing in pain.

A white mist rises from Sandro’s body, seeping into Holyoake’s.

Holyoake pulls his hands away. The life-threatening wound in Sandro’s neck has healed.

***

Sandro rubs his neck, mustering a look of innocence. “It took an assassination attempt for people to believe I didn’t assault that girl. You believe me, don’t you, my Mage?”

Holyoake turns his head away, looking at the passing scenery.

For a few moments, the only sound is the rumble of the limousine’s engine.

“You didn’t send Gwendolyn her letter of apology.”

“Because I’m innocent.”

“There are too many rumors and other incidents that say otherwise. I picked you over hundreds of other applicants because you showed a talent for mixing potions. But your personal life…”

“The cold steel of Clarissa’s knife and your healing touch made me see the light. From this moment on…”

“Fine. I’ve seen to it that Clarissa will enjoy a comfortable early retirement with her sister in France. I need you to take Clarissa’s place. She used to help me mix the potions that keep me alive.”

“I know I’ve only been with you a short time, but you’ve never told me your secret to longevity.”

“I have slowed the aging process down to a crawl. I age one day for every five years that everyone else lives.”

“That’s miraculous! Why haven’t you shared your secret with the people of Borgenstadt?”

“It requires too many sacrifices. For starters, a strict vegetarian diet. No alcohol. Monthly blood transfusions. Self-inflicted pain.”

“I’d be willing to make those sacrifices to live for hundreds of years.”

“Your body is too damaged. Besides, the mixture is highly toxic. It’s killed everyone else who's taken it, including my loving wife, Miranda, who helped me create it. And it’s not just the physical risk. Immortality, the ability to heal and see into the future, comes at a high price. I see everything… I look at a tree, and I see it being cut down and fashioned into a coffee table. I see all nine of a cat’s lives. I see a street with beautiful new houses age and turn into a rotting slum. The other day, I passed a beautiful woman on the street and glimpsed her future. I saw her torso lying in a field. When the vision dissipated, I tried to go after her to save her, but I couldn’t find her. Do you know how hard it is to live with the knowledge she’s going to be butchered?”

“Have you seen my future?”

“And your past. I’ve seen the atrocities you’ve committed.”

Sandro is flooded with guilt.

“And I know why you committed them.”

“I was abused and became an abuser,” Sandro blubbers. “You changed me. You siphoned the evil thoughts from me. I want to help people, the same way you do.”

“I’m counting on it.”

***

Dario circles the dinner table, examining the glasses and silverware. Looking at Sandro, his thin eyebrows knit into a frown.

“Did you tell Holyoake we wanted to thank him for saving your life by giving him a special dinner with all his favorite dishes?”

“That’s one of the reasons he accepted the invitation… But I can’t do this, not after all that he’s done for me,” Sandro replies.

“We can’t turn back now. Think about the people.”

“You’re doing this for yourself, not the people. Everyone loves Holyoake.”

Dario looks at his reflection in a knife. “The same can’t be said for Queen Malea. And Holyoake controls the Queen. You can see by the way she looks at him that he’s got her hypnotized. By the way… Stay away from the lemonade.”

“What about his food?” Erstad asks.

“Laced with enough Strychnine to kill six men. My servants will bring the plates out from the kitchen.”

“And if the servants accidentally switch the plates?” Erstad asks.

“They’re not the Three Stooges working a dinner party. They know which plate to give Holyoake.”

Dario reaches into his suit jacket, showing them a revolver.

“Does this help assuage your concerns?”

***

The three conspirators watch as Holyoake finishes his meal and his second glass of lemonade.

Minutes filled with idle chatter pass. Holyoake shows no ill effects from his poisoned meal.

“I’ve always been amazed by your healing powers,” Erstad comments. “But I’m especially intrigued by your ability to see into the future.”

“Not everything I see is crystal clear. Sometimes I only get glimpses, moments frozen in time.”

Erstad sips his Sherry. “Can you predict my future?”

Holyoake’s eyes sparkle. Erstad feels a warm rush course through his body. All he can see is Holyoake’s fluorescent eyes.

He regains his composure when Holyoake looks away.

“Well?”

“I’m afraid you won’t like what I tell you.”

“I can take it.”

“I saw you lying in the street. People were racing past you. They were running for their lives.”

“Was I dead?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting. Now me,” Dario says.

Holyoake recoils from Dario’s stare.

“…Darkness… I see nothing…”

“He can’t help what he sees,” Sandro offers.

Dario challenges Sandro. “What about you? Do you want to know your future?”

Sandro bows his head.

Dario’s anger rises. He whips the gun from his jacket, pointing it at Holyoake.

“Sandro knows exactly what’s going to happen because he helped plan it. This should make it clear. I’m surprised you didn’t see this coming.”

“I did.”

Dario fires twice. Both bullets strike Holyoake in the chest. He sighs, his head drooping.

“Bring your car around, Sandro.”

Sandro bolts from the room.

“He’s gone soft since Holyoake saved his life,” Erstad notes. “Can he be trusted?”

“There’ll be two bodies going into the river. Let’s get the tarp and the ropes.”

Erstad returns moments later, dropping the rope.

“DARIO!”

Dario rushes into the room in time to see Holyoake beat Erstad to the floor.

Holyoake rushes at Dario, batting him aside.

Holyoake staggers outside, running past Sandro, who is anxiously waiting in his car.

Dario helps Erstad to his feet.

The Prime Minister rubs his jaw. “You can kill a man. You can’t kill a myth.”

“I beg to differ.”

The pair run after Holyoake. Dario shoots him twice in the back. Holyoake falls to the ground.

Holyoake tries to crawl away. Dario shoots him in the back of the head.

He turns Holyoake’s body over.

Producing a knife from his jacket, he pries out both of Holyoake’s eyes.

Erstad gags, turning away.

“Why?”

Dario holds Holyoake’s eyes in his hands like lucky dice. “His power came from his eyes. I have the power now.”

Sandro smokes the car’s tires, speeding away.

“Well, that puts a crimp in our plans. We’ll use your car,” Dario declares.

“Sandro’s a coward at heart,” Erstad says. “We won’t be seeing any more of him.”

***

Two days later, Borgenstadt is shattered by the news that Holyoake’s body has washed up on the shore of the Drenthe River.

Despite being poisoned and shot, his cause of death is listed as drowning.

Unnerved by her protector’s death and seeking vengeance, Queen Malea begins a campaign of terror against real and imagined foes. Thousands of suspects are questioned and tortured.

Angered by the Queen’s actions, the people of Borgenstadt revolt.

Having reached the safety of Paris, Sandro sends a letter to Queen Malea detailing the conspirators’ plot to kill Holyoake and seize control of the government.

It arrives the same day that Malea is scheduled to meet with Erstad. Fearing his treachery has been discovered, Erstad jumps from the window of his penthouse suite.

Fleeing the Queen’s army, a group of protesters tramples his body.

***

Dario recovers in his country home far from the capital as dissent rises and the streets burn.

A week after his surgery, with the bandages still covering his eyes, Dario has his chauffeur drive him to the palace, convinced that the people will continue to revolt against a bloodthirsty queen, allowing him to seize power.

“I want to look at my new kingdom,” Dario says.

The chauffeur leads him to the palace’s parapets overlooking the city.

Dario removes his bandages.

Thousands of people run through the city’s streets as protesters wage war against the police and the Queen’s army.

Their lives flash before his eyes. A stream of voices, crimes, murders, and heinous deeds floods Dario’s mind, turning it into a never-ending nightmare.

Screaming, Dario tears his eyes out.