Thousands of bodies lay strewn, battered, charred, and twisted, like a field 
of human brambles, drenched in poisonous red and black. Birds perched on 
misshapen limbs, pecked at warm intestines. Cloth flapped in the wind, rapid 
and short-lived, the final frantic beats of a heart. The screaming had 
stopped. The moans, whimpers, and prayers would continue till morning.

It was a sight no being wished to see. Yumina had seen it, in one form or 
another, many times. Too many times. It was her sunset. It was as inevitable 
as night.

Beliel smiled as he scourged the Silver Lady. She was tied to the trunk of a 
dead tree. Her back was a mass of blood and shreds of skin. Beliel counted 
cheerfully. “Nine.” The Silver Lady did not scream. Fates did not scream.

The world was quiet except for the murmurs of the dying.

Yumina turned away from Beliel and the Silver Lady. She had no words either. 
She ignored the pain in her muscles, in her bones, which urged her to rest, 
to give in.

They were all there, of course, somewhere in that great expanse of death, 
all those who had not died in the palace. She walked stiffly. Her body was 
black. Her side still ached.

“I have another chance,” she said as she sighed. She wished she didn’t have 
that chance. Similar destinies had been realized so often that they were 
wearing ruts in the tapestry. “One more chance.” She had no proof, except 
the sickness. Beliel had said that she had been born with Sankria and that 
she would die with Sankria. She would soon be dead.

Yumina had heard a human say once-she couldn’t remember who; what were the 
use of individuals to her, back then?-that sometimes laughter was all that 
kept humanity from crying.

Yumina wished she could laugh, because she had no tears to shed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An Improfanfic begun by Lady Brick

Chapter 13-- “A Time to Weep and A Time to Laugh”

By Stuart Lem
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

King Daric sat on his father’s throne, surrounded by those who wished to 
advise him. He needed no advice.

“We mustn’t ally ourselves with the Lord of the Frozen Wastes,” Phair said 
politely. He bowed slightly, uselessly. His scholarly form impressed no one, 
but his voice was firm. He was a whisper heard clearly among chaos.

“I agree,” Kindar said calmly. His hands were folded before him; he stood 
relaxed, but his eyes flared as he spoke. He was a burning bush. “There is 
no doubt that we need to respond to Corneria’s attack upon the very core of 
our nation, but necessity must not make us fools.”

“War makes for strange bedfellows,” King Daric said, shrugging his 
shoulders. He looked from one to the other meaningfully.

“So does death, but we don’t rush into that,” Phair said wryly.

There was a brief silence, then Kindar began to speak. King Daric 
interrupted. He would say nothing new, nothing he wanted to hear. King Daric 
didn’t care if Sankrian blood filled the rivers, as long as Corneria’s 
flowed with it.

Somewhere, he knew he shouldn’t think such things, but death seemed to mean 
so much and so little to him now. His brother and father-these deaths made 
him tremble whenever he considered them-but his own and others? He felt he 
was acquainted with death. He had met it before, sometime.

“Why do men fear the darkness?” Daric asked.

“Because, your Majesty, there is uncertainty in darkness,” Phair said. “One 
cannot see where he is going, or why. There is no security, only doubt. 
Light reveals many things.”

“Darkness is cold and barren, King,” Kindar said. “There is no life, only 
the ashes of existence, only tortured thoughts without substance.”

King Daric nodded. “Exactly. That is what I want Corneria to feel.”

“That is most unwise,” the two High Priests said together. They grimaced, 
but did not look at each other.

“Why?”

Kindar and Phair looked at one another. Phair nodded, motioning Kindar to 
speak. “Once the Lord of the Frozen Wastes is done with Corneria, he will 
turn toward you,” Kindar said firmly.

Daric laughed abruptly, a knife of humor through an armor of seriousness. 
“So what? I’m already lost and alone. He can’t touch me.”

*		*		*		*		*

Yumina remembered that day. She had tried to influence Daric, had tried to 
sway the branches of his World-Tree. The once straight, thick trunk-it was 
still thick-leaned darkly as if bowing. A disease, like dark moss, spread 
slowly along the trunk, along branches and leaves. The disease had begun the 
night his father and brother died. The tilt of the Tree itself, the 
bent…Yumina feared she had caused that. Daric had been through enough 
because she failed. She always failed.

The whip snapped again and slashed through the Silver Lady’s skin.

“Stop,” Yumina said suddenly.

“Why?” Beliel asked. Yumina’s back was to him, but she knew he was smiling. 
How could he smile? Wasn’t he the evil one here? “Do you want to try your 
hand at it?”

“No.”

Beliel laughed then. “Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful, Yumina? 
Martyrdom becomes you.”

Then again, the snap of the whip. “Seventeen,” sang Beliel.

		*		*		*		*		*

What ever happened to happily ever after?

Joy chuckled sadly into her mug. It wasn’t funny, really, but it was a joke. 
No, she didn’t believe that thought, but she felt as if she could right 
then.

She was afraid to go home after what had happened at the ball, afraid to ask 
to see King Daric, afraid she had started a war no one would survive, afraid 
her body would shatter if she thought too much about the whole situation, 
and afraid the two men at the nearby table were eyeing her.

At least she wasn’t afraid of getting drunk.

She sat in a bar, drinking water. She hated bars. She hated them more than 
any other single establishment, because it reminded her of the worst parts 
of her father. But where else would she go when confronted with the worst 
parts of herself?

She sat alone in the corner. She faced the window and watched the lethargic 
foot traffic pass by. It was afternoon, and thick rays of sunlight pierced 
the dusk of the bar. Dust shone in the air like magic powder. Joy wished she 
could leave her body and follow the rays. She was thin, but not that thin.

She nursed her mug of water like hard ale and wiped her eyes whenever tears 
leaked out. Her side was pressed against the wall, her body compressed into 
a sliver of flesh. Her gray eyes watched two soldiers outside for the 
distraction it brought. They entered each building as they walked down the 
street as if looking for something.

Happy endings don’t exist, she thought. Then, They do, they just don’t come 
easy. Or fast. Or how we expect them.

She clung to that because it was hope-she didn’t know if her frame could 
survive under the weight of a world without hope.

The two soldiers entered the bar. One stopped and began walking around the 
room slowly, his head turning from side to side. The other walked to the 
counter, tapped, and waited for the owner to turn.

“Yes?”

“We are looking for a girl named Joy,” the soldier said.

Joy further compressed herself in the corner and leaned back to hide herself 
from the sun’s revealing eye. Her breathing came in short, panicked pants. 
She closed her eyes and imagined everyone was gone and she was alone.

“I don’t keep track of everybody’s name,” the bartender said carelessly.

“Joy’s a fairly unforgettable name.”

“I get a lot of unforgettable people in here.”

“So, you haven’t seen her?”

“Don’t know.” The bartender leaned his elbows on the bar. “I’m tryin’ to 
tell you that not everyone just comes in and tells me their name. It’s not 
like they come in and say, ‘Hey, give me a drink,’ and I say, ‘Not till you 
give me your name. And add your place of residence, favorite color, and 
occupation while you’re at it.’”

“I didn’t mean that at all,” the soldier said, bewildered.

“Hey, think we have someone sick over here,” the second soldier called.

“What?” the bartender and first soldier said. They rushed over to the corner 
and all stood staring at Joy. She gulped for air like a snagged fish. Her 
arms were wrapped around her narrow chest. There was silence for a moment. 
As one, the three men leaned closer.

Joy opened one eye to look around, saw the three curious faces, then 
screamed and fainted.

The three men looked at one another.

“I’ll have what see was having,” said the second soldier.

“Water it is, then,” the bartender said, stunned. He did not move.

The first soldier turned to the second. “I think that’s her.”

“Who?”

“Joy.”

“What? How can you tell?”

The first soldier took a sheet of parchment from somewhere and slapped it 
against the other’s armor. “The description, remember?”

“You didn’t give me a description,” the bartender said peevishly. “I could 
have helped you then.”

The soldiers ignored him. “Read off the list,” the first soldier said.

“Thin as a twig,” read the second soldier.

The first soldier studied Joy. “Check.”

“Gray eyes.”

The first soldier opened one of her eyes with a finger. “Check.”

“Shy.”

“Sure. Why not? Check.”

“Pleasant personality.”

The two soldiers looked at one another. The first one shrugged. They turned 
to the bartender, who jumped in surprise at the their attention. “Well, she 
seemed pleasant enough, I guess.” The soldiers waited. The bartender opened 
his mouth, hoping to find what they wanted. The soldiers leaned forward. 
“Check,” he said.

The soldiers nodded and turned back to the list.

“Is that it?”

“Guess so.”

“It must be her then.”

“Must be.”

The second soldier threw Joy over his shoulder.

“Thank you for all your help,” said the first soldier, and they left.

		*		*		*		*		*

“Why are you just standing there?” Beliel asked. He turned from the Silver 
Lady and lowered his whip. “Aren’t you going to try to stop me?”

“I’ve been trying,” Yumina said emotionlessly. She kept her back to him and 
stared into the setting sun. Even her anger, that burned like that orange 
sun when Beliel came near, even that seemed dead now. She was a shell, 
hollowed out by mistakes and failures and innocent blood.

“Come, you want to take revenge on her for destroying your plans at the 
ball, don’t you?” She felt him before he touched her shoulder. She did not 
flinch, not outwardly. “It’s only natural.”

“Natural?” Yumina asked coldly. “Your nature, not mine.”

“A nation resembles its master,” Beliel said. “Yours seemed intent on 
destruction, but you’ve won, haven’t you? Daric’s dead, and Phair and 
Kindar.”

“And Joy.”

“Whatever,” Beliel said. He ran his fingers through Yumina’s hair. She stood 
rigidly, her arms crossed, and ignored it. He enjoyed her anger more than 
the feel of her hair. “But a remnant of Sankria still lives. My forces can 
take control, stamp out any disorder. You can salvage this.”

“The Lord of the Frozen Waste brings peace and prosperity to Sankria!” 
Yumina said. “The criers will pronounce it in every street. They’ll set 
aside a day to worship you!”

“I would hope so.”

“I was being sarcastic,” Yumina said, hints of that old anger in her voice.

“I wasn’t,” Beliel said seriously. “I’d bring order, Yumina. It is difficult 
to have servants and slaves in an anarchy.”

“Go away, Beliel.”

“Think about it,” he whispered in her ear. He kissed her neck. She ignored 
the pleasure of another’s touch. It reminded her that she was alone-she had 
never felt so alone as she did then.

She heard Beliel walk away. Thick shadows devoured the land as the sun fell 
from the sky. It was so huge, Yumina thought it might be too heavy to ever 
come up again. The murmurs of the dying became indistinguishable from the 
wind. Yumina stood alone on a field she could not help but see as her own 
soul exposed for what it really was-futile, bloody, guilty, and dying.

The whip cracked. “Twenty-five,” Beliel said.

		*		*		*		*		*

Joy woke to find herself in a bed. It was warm beneath the covers, too warm, 
but she didn’t know if she should move. She didn’t recognize the ceiling. 
She turned her head, looking.

She jerked to a sitting position when she found Prince-no, King, now, 
professed from her own mouth-Daric sitting in the chair beside the bed. “Y, 
your Majesty.” She stared at the bed sheets. Her hands clutched the sheets, 
shaking.

“Hello, Joy.” His voice was odd, as if he couldn’t decide if he was happy or 
not. “I’ve been trying to find you.”

A lance of joy pierced her heart. Did he love her? He had remembered her 
through all…all that.

“Were you involved in the plot on the Royal House of Sankria?”

She shook her head. She wanted to scream, “No!” with all the force of her 
soul, until everything within her gushed out in one complete, satisfied, 
unmistakable whole. It remained inside and ached.

“Why were you not present when the poison was passed around?”

“I had to leave,” was all she could say. “I had to leave because I was 
afraid you would hurt me,” she wanted to say. “Because you were too noble 
for me, too nice. Too much.”

He paused. Joy remained staring at the covers.

“Do you love me?” he asked solemnly.

Joy’s head jerked up. He was looking at her intently, mechanically. She 
dropped her head. A tear ran down her face and she trembled. “Y, yes,” she 
whispered as if it were something holy. Or something unmentionably vile. She 
looked up slightly.

Daric smiled sadly, like a man at the executioner’s block noticing a 
beautiful sunset. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Then he stood and left.

		*		*		*		*		*

“Why do you play with her?” the Silver Lady asked between blows. She 
breathed hard. One couldn’t bear that much pain and breathe easily. “You 
could have it all now.”

“I want her.”

“Why?”

“Don’t think talking will save you from the scourging. Twenty-seven.” The 
streaks of fire blazed across her back. Canyons of fire flared across her 
body. “But why? Because she hates it. Because she’s the one thing I can’t 
have.”

The Silver Lady laughed despite everything. She hated being a victim, hated 
the whip and Beliel’s careless attitude, hated Yumina who had caused it 
all-but the simplicity of his answer was absurd in the situation. “You’re a 
like a child, Beliel.”

“I’ve heard humans say children are innocent,” he said. The whip cracked 
again and the flames exploded. “Twenty-eight.” He walked up close and 
studied his work. He ran a finger along the lines as if tracing a road on a 
map. “Children aren’t innocent. They’re demons in disguise until someone 
teaches them otherwise. Up for a few more?”

The Silver Lady didn’t answer. Whatever she said would be heard as “Yes.”

		*		*		*		*		*

“Are the troops and initiates assembled?” King Daric asked. He sat stiffly 
in his father’s-no, his-throne. He stared down the crimson carpet that 
stretched across the huge audience chamber. Swords of light pierced the 
darkness, and the room was a patchwork of light and shadow. Life was like 
that, Daric thought, a maze of joy and sorrow. Until night came, that is.

Until night came.

“They are waiting, your Majesty,” Ailuros said. He stood at King Daric’s 
right hand, robed in black.

“We will win, Ailuros,” he said uncertainly.

“Is that a question, your Majesty? Do you doubt the power of my master?”

“I doubt everything now.” King Daric sighed, and he seemed to will himself 
to stay upright, not to slouch and slide off the throne onto the floor, into 
the rug, where it was warm and sometimes light. “Ailuros, what of Joy?”

“She has been kept prisoner, just as you commanded.”

“I gave that command?” King Daric said wearily. He had, most likely. She was 
inconsequential in the workings of nations, and the nations of Sankria and 
Corneria consumed King Daric’s thoughts. Joy was inconsequential and 
dangerous.

“You did, your Majesty. I carried it out personally.”

“Put her on the front lines, then, Ailuros.” King Daric turned to look up at 
Ailuros. “The front lines. She’ll cry and say she was never meant for war, 
that her only purpose is love….” King Daric ran his hand over his face. “If 
she lives, Ailuros, if she lives, I’ll marry her.”

“Most interesting, your Majesty. A trial by fire to prove her innocence.”

“By fire, death, and light,” King Daric said softly. “Can anything survive 
that?”

“Something always survives, your Majesty. What is strong, what is powerful.”

“And Joy?” King Daric asked desperately. He didn’t know why he cared, now. 
He had danced once upon a time. He had danced, but the old things had passed 
away. They had passed away. “Go.”

“As you wish, your Majesty.” Ailuros bowed and left silently.

King Daric sat alone, staring at the room, at no particular part, but the 
whole of it, the darkness seared by the light. No, he thought, it was 
tattered patches of light eaten by darkness. He had a devil on his right 
shoulder, but where was the angel? Gone. It had left. It had left.

Daric chuckled.

		*		*		*		*		*

The sun was setting too slowly. At least when night came, the stars came. 
Yumina remembered how the stars used to calm her, steady her thoughts. Now, 
though, now…they were sad also, twinkling, weeping. Joy loved the stars. 
Yumina thought maybe if she had been human…maybe she would have loved Joy.

Thirty-one.

Yumina remembered Sankria’s army march from the capital, soldiers and 
initiates and priests in red and white and black. They had marched 
dutifully, driven, but there were no drums or trumpets. Only silence and 
feet moving in time to their destination.

Thirty-two.

The two armies occupied two hills and between stood a plain of green and 
gold, rich farmland. It was flat, with few obstacles. It was perfect for a 
massacre. Each army slept lightly, alert, and in the morning, they descended 
onto the plain.

Yumina had never been able to make sense of battle. It was disjointed and 
chaotic, like mixed-up flashes of memory, theme and variations of the same 
situation. It was like looking at the entire tapestry through jumbled 
close-ups.

Thirty-three.

A ball of fire crashed against a Cornerian soldier like a wave of water. The 
soldier, blackened, burned within his superheated armor. His glowing sword 
struck a Sankrian initiate, searing his innards. Both must have died. Yumina 
did not watch long enough to see.

A thick fog, like black smoke seeping from the ground, covered the 
battlefield. The armies stumbled ahead blindly, and swords drank the blood 
of friends as often as the blood of enemies. Joy stood, shaking, already 
wounded. An arrow stuck in her leg. She refused to look down.

Beliel darted about the field, eagerly watching intense melees, men and 
women struck unexpectantly, swarms of shadow darts, streams of silver 
moonlight burning tunnels through the smoke. Beliel watched the deaths and 
the struggles, but his eyes were always darting, looking for something new, 
something special.

Thirty-four.

Yumina appeared to Joy in the smoke. She preferred more subtle 
manipulations, influences on the conscience, the mind, the heart, but 
certain situations required a more direct approach. And... and if anyone 
deserved a vision of Yumina, Joy did. Joy was once a commoner, unconcerned 
with the fate of princes and nations. Yumina had involved her.

"Run, Joy!" Yumina said. Her voice was calm, calm and terrible in the chaos 
about them. To the side, just out of sight, light flashed, like lightning, 
and something crashed to the ground without a scream. "Turn and run. Find 
Daric if you can and run!"

"I can't," Joy whimpered. She shook her head and continued wiping tears from 
her eyes. They would not stop. "I can't." She looked up, desperate, 
vulnerable, an innocent sentenced to death. Yumina had not seen that look 
since...since Joy had plunged a knife into Daric.

"I'm scared, scared, so scared. Help me, please." Joy ran, limping, toward 
Yumina.

Thirty-five.

The Silver Lady appeared upon a hilltop. She watched the battle below 
silently, a shifting collection of red and black and gray and white. She 
allowed herself a small smile, a slight movement of the lips. She preferred 
staying hidden, but for this-for her revenge on Yumina-she had made an 
exception. Beliel was interfering, but Yumina would lose in any case. Beliel 
could be dealt with later.

"Hello, my Lady."

The Silver Lady tried to flit away, to travel through space somewhere else, 
but Beliel's hand was on her wrist and his firm, cold grip refused to let 
her go.

"Yumina has more power than I do, so she can escape me whenever she wishes, 
but you? Oh, my dear Lady, my hand is strong. You'll soon find that out."

Thirty-six.

Joy grasped Yumina, wrapped her arms around Yumina's body, and trembled like 
a frightened child. Yumina was not truly there, not in the same way humans 
were to other humans. She was solid, but there was no warmth to her body, 
none of that undefinable, yet unquestionably real sense of comfort that the 
touch of another human can give.

Joy looked up, her gray eyes as empty as ghosts. "Who are you?"

Yumina could not answer for a moment. She did not know how. "A specter of 
the past. A fading memory."

Joy nodded, as if it made sense. Maybe in this world of screams and fire and 
smoke, it did make sense. "I thought...." She gulped breaths as she tried to 
speak. "I thought maybe you were my star."

A column of searing light rushed though the cloud. It passed through Yumina, 
through Joy, and traveled onward. It did not touch Yumina; it could not. It 
passed through Joy as fire over a leaf. Insubstantial, like dust, like ash, 
Joy collapsed to the ground. She was dead.

Thirty-seven.

Night had nearly fallen. No, the night did not fall, Yumina thought, the sun 
did. The moans of the dying still muttered incoherently in her ears. Beliel 
continued whipping the Silver Lady. And she, Yumina, the greatest Fate on 
the planet, still dwelled on the past.

She had given up the battle when Joy died. Daric had given himself to 
Beliel. Kindar and Phair had no power. There was no one who could pull 
Sankria from the ashes. Joy might have, somehow. She could have changed 
Daric, as Yumina could not.

When she saw Joy lying there on the ground, in her memory she saw Ilysa as 
well, as she used to see Ilysa, when this all began. When the fields of 
death still brought her human-like pain.

Thirty-eight.

Ilysa was important somehow. Yumina had thought that once, and it must still 
be true. Her World-Tree, the essence of her being, held those colors and 
aspects no other did.

But what to do? It had all been done. Meaningless, every plot and plan was 
meaningless.

Yumina laughed suddenly. Beliel looked over at her, but said nothing. There 
was one thing she had never tried, that, as far as she knew, no one had ever 
tried. She wasn't even sure it could be done but...she had nothing else 
left. The sun was nearly gone.

She had one last chance before death took her.

Thirty-nine.

She disappeared and tried again.

TO BE CONTINUED....