Burton saw the horror in his eyes. Someone must have secured the doors so no one could get in or out. There had to have been an intruder or a traitor in the kingdom. The situation didn’t make sense and solidified his theory of the second attack.
“They were trapped in there. And the screams; I will never forget. My wife was among them.” Demitri bowed his head, wrestling with grief.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. She was a great woman. And she is free now. I’m sure she is traveling the heavens with the rest of her late loved ones.” There was nothing else for Burton to say.
Most natural deaths were followed by festivals where friends and family would celebrate their late loved one’s life. But with the magnitude of devastation that the flood had caused, it was impossible to feel cheerful about the horrifying way the victims had been taken from the living.
“She was the only person who really understood me; understood my passion for my work. And because of my work, I wasn’t there to save her.” Demitri looked up to the sun, shining brighter by the second. “What have I done?” He caught his tear with his finger and took a deep breath. “Am I damned for breaking my vows as a husband? Maybe I was an awful husband. But I loved her.” He looked at Burton. “Am I supposed to live the rest of my life—alone, and unloved? Maybe God has other plans for me.” He took a moment and stared into the void of his future. Without his family, all that remained were dying friendships and his work. “Well, back to the maggot.” Regaining focus, Demitri turned back to his operation.
The human in Burton felt a profound anger rising. “Why was no one guarding the king and queen? Was the royal party unattended? How could this have happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know!” Demitri seemed furious at the questions, as if Burton was blaming him for the death of the royals. “If you were here, this wouldn’t have happened!”
The thought frightened Burton. It all seemed as if the flood had been planned to occur while he was distracted, investigating the distant farms.
“So again, where were you?” Demitri asked.
Burton remained silent. It was no secret to the Resistance that he was visiting the farms to question the staff about the spoiled food. Although the minister had turned his back on Burton’s teachings, Burton had kept Demitri in the circle of secret information. There was nothing more to say.
“I stayed up last night and found four of these worms, right here within the castle walls,” Demitri said, pointing his cutter at the mucus-covered worm. “They must have washed in. If some unlucky soul stepped on one of these barefoot, their barbs would inject a poison so toxic he would die in less than three seconds.” His eyes rolled up and over and stared straight through Burton. “Yes, the venom that I had been chastised for studying; the one that can disintegrate an army of men. I’d like to have an antidote. You should never make fun of ‘dirt dwellers’ and ‘flying bloodsuckers,’ as you call them. These creatures have developed astonishing defenses through years of evolution.”
Demitri had always been known for his brilliance, but his obsession with lethal toxins and his war-mongering lectures warned Burton about the dangers to this kind of thinking. Once part of the Resistance, Demitri had been a devoted student of his teachings and excelled, like Montague. Burton could bend reality and manipulate the rules of nature. That was why it had been so important that he choose his students carefully. These abilities could be dangerous if they awoke in sinister minds. Demitri had become obsessed with becoming more powerful than others. Yes, the minister was thinking about military defenses, but too many discoveries were being turned into weaponry instead of advancing technology for the betterment of mankind. Once Burton was banished, Demitri had turned his back on him and developed new theories of science that conflicted with his old sensei’s teachings.
Yet now, after the suspected attack, Demitri’s delicate work might be of great use. “I never made any jokes,” Burton said. “I simply stressed the risk that if deadly compounds fell into the wrong hands, it could be suicide.”
“I am not privileged to have the power that you do, my dear friend; this magic or advanced science, as you call it. I cannot simply create something out of nothing. I cannot gain respect by simply snapping my fingers or reciting your pretty prayers; not to mention, cleaving off the summit of an entire mountain. I need to use my brain to contribute to society. But one day I will impress even you, the great Burton Lang!” Demitri said dramatically. He held out his hands, lifting them high as if presenting an attraction. He still wasn’t looking Burton in the eye.
“I’m sorry to upset you, old friend. It wasn’t my intention to offend you.” Burton wanted to explain that he could not ‘create something out of nothing,’ but Burton remained silent. He knew it would only lead to further argument.
Demitri put down the cutter, straightened up, and lifted himself to his feet. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” His words quivered and he broke down again, falling to his knees.
“It’s fine. I understand. There is no need to apologize,” Burton murmured. He placed his hand on Demitri’s shoulder as an overwhelming sadness took the tired soul’s breath.
Burton kneeled alongside his friend, scooped up two pebbles from the assortment
