If I Cannot Raise Heaven; Ellyse

[magnus]

we carry these things inside that no one else can see
they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea

The last few days had been an exercise in memory. Demons he had long since thought that he had cast out rose in him like a phoenix, unfurling their wings to  take up space in his chest cavity, digging their teeth into his heart to claim it as their own. Misunderstanding and frustration bled away and left room for pure fury, the emotion white hot as it pierced through his tongue. He did not venture to the field as often as he usually did. He did not spend time mingling amongst the other members of the kingdom.

Instead, he brooded. He raged. He simmered.

He fought against chains he had long ago placed upon himself, reminders to abide by good behavior.

Reminders to do right by Joelle’s kingdom.

Reminders. Chains. Prison.

So it is, perhaps, no surprise that he flinches when he hears Zeik call for Ellyse, the golden mare with whom he had passed the hours. His gold-flecked eyes burn hot as he turns his head toward the source of the noise, gathers himself, and lunges forward. His leggy gait eats up the short distance between him and the duo, and he is glad for the hours and hours of running. It means that he does not miss this exchange.

“ZEIK!” he bellows, his voice violent and harsh. His tail flicks violently against his haunches, the stinging sensation a relief from the emotions that course unchecked through his veins. “So, the Gates is a sanctuary…except for those who differ from your stance. Except for those who oppose.” His eyes flash.

“That is not a sanctuary. That is a dictatorship.”

He takes a challenging step forward, swallowing hard. In this moment, he is not the soft-tongued stallion who had loved Joelle and Minette. He is not the stoic stallion who stood upon the border when the sun rose and fell. He is not the charming stallion who walked amongst the arrivals in the field. In this moment, he is the dark son of Atrox and Twinge. He is the soldier who had bloodied his sword before. He is the man who had risen up against Kings and rallied against dynasties and fought the heavens.

In this moment, he is dangerous.

“I cannot, I will not stand for this.” He does not know if others have gathered and part of him regrets that they may seem him like this, but the words flow hot and fast, tripping off his tongue. “I said I will serve the Gates, but this is not her true nature. She does not exile. She does not claim power.” Another step. “I will not let you build her up in the making of your vision on the strength of my back. I will not let you use my blood, my sweat, my effort to run her into the ground.” He takes a second to gather himself, before he shakes his head. “Exile me too, for I am done. I will not ignore my better judgment and stay silent.”

There is a moment of silence, the wind gently whipping his mane against his neck, his gaze never leaving that of the falcon-stallion’s. Then he snorts, turns on his heel, and leaves Heaven.

magnus

HI MUSE.