Legacy's Ghost

Episode 38: Throne Room

Instead of going back the way we came, Edmond takes me to a side door near the head of the table that opens to another hallway. The wood here is different than the natural wood in the monastery. This wood appears sanded down and bleached to look pale, nearly white.

The hallway ends at a massive space that spirals downward, and as I look over the railing made from polished and carved roots, I notice how the flooring spirals downward seven times in wide, sweeping arches until it reaches the bottom level well below the surface of the planet.

As we descend, I notice windows along the exterior walls, each shining light into the stairwell. I ask Edmond, "How is there light in the windows when we're underground?"

He points to one of the arched faux leaded windows toward the corner. "Mirrors that rotate to catch the sun's light throughout the day.

Each window has a series of mirrors that allow the light to ricochet until it finds its way down to us."

My moccasins are soundless on the surface of the floor, but as I run my gloved hand along the railing, I sigh, missing the sensory experience of my feet on the carpet and my hands along the walls and rails. But this is the price I must pay to be a Ghost.

At the bottom of the spiral, Edmond's footsteps echo off the walls as we walk to the guarded double doors at the end of the short hallway. No other doors exist down here. Just the ones at the end of the hall.

The guards, dressed in dark, mottled armor that's rigid anywhere that doesn't bend, and covered in puncture-proof material everywhere else, stand sentry at the door.

Edmond waves his hand, and the man on the right presses a button, causing the doors to swing open.

My eyes widen, and a pause at the entrance when I see the Receiving Room.

Edmond pauses when he sees I'm no longer walking with him, and he turns back to me. "Impressive, isn't it? It used to be called the Throne Room, but one of the Trinities thought the label made them sound like a dictatorship, so they changed the official title to Receiving Room." He smirks.

"It's never really stuck though."

He turns and continues walking, I follow slowly, taking in every detail. Under our feet, blue-green colored water meanders along a carved rock path, with hundreds of different species of colorful plants and fish swaying in the current, and around tiny rock formations jutting out from the walls.

Above us, the caves are carved into fifty-foot arches, the ceiling painted with intricate patterned designs, and tinny waterfalls tumbling from the ceiling into holes in the ground for the underground river.

On each side of us, the walls ripple with constant rivulets of water descending the rock, into plants and vines climbing upward toward muted light coming from above.

Around us, I scent the aroma of jasmine, earth, bark, and roses, and water rushes and trickles all around me.

At the end of this massive space, three chairs sit on a raised platform made of pale carved wood. Each chair couldn't be more different from each other.

The chair on the right facing me appears to be growing from the ground, with an intricate network of branches and roots weaving in and out of each other to create a dense base with the center carved out to create the seat and armrests. More branches weave together into a labyrinth of complex designs cemented together with amber and gloss and gold to create a back that easily reaches a dozen feet into the air.

The chair on the left seems equally as tall, but it's made of stone, with pictures of battles, beasts, and death etched and carved all over it.

Then, in the middle, there's a simple chair made of beams. Simple and strong. Now carvings or gilding. Unpretentious, with a cushion for the seat, and another secured to the back.

When we approach the chairs, Edmond gestures to them. "You may sit at whichever one you wish to receive your guests."

"Wouldn't they be sitting in their seats and me addressing them?" I ask.

"Normally the answer would be yes. But these are. . . special circumstances. You're not here to ask a favor of them, and according to the constitutional laws of this planet, they cannot demand this favor of you. Therefore, you are in the position of power, and they will come to you."

A thread of unease circles my lungs and I rub the back of my neck. "I. . . uh. . ."

Edmond waves his hand dismissively. "I assure you, Atan, this room is merely for show. Though Gamma and Magnus live lives befitting rulers of an entire planet, they do not live to this excess."

He leans closer as if to tell a secret. "I happen to know Magnus complains about his chair every time he has to sit in it for any length of time. He will welcome the change."

The thread around my lungs loosens and I nod.

"Which chair would you like to sit in?" Edmond asks.

"The middle, please," I say, eyeing the others with trepidation. Though beautiful to look at, I suspect Gamma's would be lumpy, and Magnus's totally looked like sitting on a flat boulder.

"Very well." Edmond gestures with his hand. "Please take a seat." He gestures to the plate I'm still holding. "Would you like me to hold that for you?"

I shake my head. "I'll put it on whichever seat you're not sitting in."

Edmond arches an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not allowed to sit there. Only the Trinity may do so."

"But I'm not—"

"But you are as close to one as a person can be. You are too powerful to remain a TAG, but a Ghost is already in existence." He twists his lips and furrows his brows. "If we had a monarchy, you would be equivalent to next in line. A prince."

It's a good idea Edmond can't see my face because I probably look like I'm about to wet my pants or throw up or both. "Next in line?" I croak.

"Of course," Edmond says. "I thought you understood that."

I shake my head and scurry toward the thrones, suddenly dizzy and looking for a place to sit.

When I reach the safety of the middle seat, I drop my plant onto Gamma's seat and plant my hands on my knees and take several deep breaths. "I can't do this. I can't do this!" I mutter, noting the stars in my vision.

Edmond rests his hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to, son. Many people go their whole lives without ever making it onto the Trinity. All three of our sitting Trinity are relatively young and healthy. They have decades before they'll even think about stepping down. But that doesn't mean we can ignore you, either. A plan must be in place. An agreement. One that you've agreed to."

He squats then dips his head until he's looking up into the darkness of my hood. "Do you understand?"

I nod, feeling my hamming heart slow. A few more deep breaths, and the stars start to disappear from my vision. Soon, I straighten, and Edmond stands.

He says something to a nearby guard, and then calls to the two manning the interior side of the doors. "We will see Magnus now."

A few seconds later, a leather chair scrapes against the floor as the guard places it next to the stone throne.

Three more guards deposit an oversize tufted purple velvet chair in front of the thrones, centered on the middle chair, close enough for us to converse comfortably, but far enough away that I won't feel crowded. Edmond sits in the leather chair.

The doors at the back of the room swing open and in walks Magnus in what I suspect is his full-dress armor