Against The World

The fountain continued flowing.

Water poured from the stone crown held by the statue, filling the basin before spilling into narrow channels carved across the courtyard. Dust and dead leaves swirled through the first rush. Then the water cleared until it shone beneath the evening sky.

No one moved.

Uriah stared at the sealed archway beneath the western stairs.

The golden Crown on its central stone had faded, but the voice he had heard remained in his memory.

At last. The Crown has chosen again.

He waited for it to speak a second time.

It did not.

“Did everyone hear that?” he asked.

Mary looked at him. “Hear what?”

“A voice.”

Melody’s hand tightened around her sword. “Where?”

“Under us.”

Several villagers immediately stepped away from the fountain.

Mistress Rowan did not.

She leaned over the basin and dipped two fingers into the water. After examining it, she brought them to her lips.

Thomas hurried toward her. “You should not drink mysterious castle water.”

“I have reached eighty-four years by deciding for myself which water to drink.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“It is clean.”

“How can you know that?”

Mistress Rowan gave him a patient look. “Because I tasted it.”

Uriah crouched beside the basin.

The fountain channels led toward four openings in the courtyard walls. Water flowed through each one, disappearing into stone passages beneath the castle.

“Where does it go?” he asked.

Mary knelt beside him. “If the old plans are accurate, it supplies the kitchens, bathhouse, infirmary, stables, gardens, and several public wells.”

Uriah looked at her.

“Greykeep has a bathhouse?”

“It did.”

“And you waited until now to mention it?”

“It has not had water in my lifetime.”

“That is fair.”

Melody dipped both hands into the fountain and splashed her face.

Mary frowned. “Melody.”

“What?”

“We do not know what awakened it.”

“The king did.”

“I did not do anything,” Uriah said.

Melody pointed toward the water. “You arrived. The Crown awakened. The fountain started. That counts as something.”

Before Uriah could answer, Captain Eliza cleared her throat.

“Whatever this is, we have people who need beds before nightfall.”

The practical statement broke the courtyard’s spell.

The people of Lowfield had brought blankets, food, and cooking equipment, but they had not brought tents. Darkness was less than an hour away. Many of the castle’s rooms were unsafe, and the temperature would drop after sunset.

Uriah stood.

“Eliza is right. We can investigate mysterious voices after everyone has somewhere to sleep.”

Mistress Rowan tapped the fountain with her cane. “Mysterious voices are often more patient than tired children.”

“Exactly.”

Uriah turned toward the villagers.

“Mary, can you identify the safest rooms?”

“I already marked them in the ledger.”

“Of course you did.”

She tried to hide how pleased she was.

“Melody, help families carry their belongings inside.”

Melody saluted with unnecessary enthusiasm.

“Eliza, I need your opinion on the barracks.”

“You need several opinions. Mine will be the loudest.”

“Good.”

Uriah looked toward the dark windows surrounding the courtyard.

“I will start with the living quarters.”

Mary caught his sleeve.

“Carefully.”

“Yes.”

“You nearly collapsed twice today.”

“I remember, but it gets easier each time.”

“No repairing an entire section at once, no matter how easy you think it is.”

“I understand.”

She did not release him.

“Say it.”

Uriah sighed. “I will not repair an entire section at once.”

Mary let go.

Eliza watched the exchange with amusement.

“You have been king for one day,” the captain said, “and your attendants are already giving you orders.”

“I consider that a sign of healthy government.”

The first room belonged to a family of five.

Its stone walls were sound, but one window was broken, two floorboards had rotted, and a long crack crossed the ceiling. The wooden bed frames could be saved. The mattresses could not.

Uriah stood in the middle of the chamber while Mary, Eliza, and the family watched from the doorway.

He placed his hand against the wall.

Earlier, when repairing the armory, he had reached for every damaged object at once. He had poured magic into the room and commanded it to become whole.

That method had worked.

It had also been wasteful.

The castle was not empty material waiting for him to impose a shape upon it. Every stone already possessed a place. Every beam carried the memory of how it had once been cut and joined.

Uriah closed his eyes.

Instead of forcing the room to change, he listened.

The cracked ceiling came first.

He sensed the weight pressing down through the stones. One support beam had shifted after years of water damage, pulling the ceiling away from the western wall. Repairing the crack alone would accomplish nothing. It would open again as soon as the weakened beam moved.

Uriah directed his power toward the beam.

The wood did not need to be replaced completely. Most of it remained strong. Only one end had rotted where rain had reached it.

He drew moisture from the timber in a thin ribbon. The air around his hand became damp. Rotten fibers hardened. The weakened joint straightened, and the beam settled into its original position.

The ceiling crack closed almost by itself.

Uriah opened his eyes.

His headache had not returned.

“That was easier,” he said.

Mary examined the ceiling. “You repaired less.”

“No. I repaired the cause instead of the damage.”

Eliza stepped into the room and pressed her hand against the wall.

“Will it hold?”

Uriah felt along the beam with his magic.

“Yes.”

“You sound certain.”

“I can feel how the weight moves through it.”

“That would be useful to an engineer.”

“I should probably find one.”

“You should find several.”

The broken window required more energy.

Uriah could sense shards of glass scattered beneath weeds outside. Rather than create a new pane from nothing, he drew the fragments through the open frame.

The family ducked as pieces of glass floated into the room.

They joined in midair, each shard sliding into its proper place. Thin seams vanished. When the final piece settled, the completed pane lowered into the frame.

A dull pressure formed behind Uriah’s eyes, but it was much lighter than before.

The floorboards were easier still.

He pulled healthy wood fibers across the damaged areas, reinforced the joists beneath them, and sealed the surface. The entire repair took less than five minutes.

Uriah waited for dizziness.

None came.

“How do you feel?” Mary asked.

“Good.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Eliza pointed toward the next room. “Again.”

The second chamber had similar damage.

Uriah repaired it in four minutes.

The third took three.

By the fifth room, he no longer needed to close his eyes. He could sense stress fractures as faint disruptions in the structure around him. Guiding material into place required less effort with every attempt.

It felt like learning to ride a bicycle.

At first, every movement demanded thought. Balance, steering, speed, and the position of his feet all fought for his attention. Eventually those separate actions became one instinct.

His magic was doing the same.

He was not becoming more powerful.

He was becoming less wasteful.

By the time darkness settled over Greykeep, Uriah had made twelve rooms safe.

He had expected to finish four.

The work left him hungry and tired, but the crushing headache never returned.

Mary checked his eyes anyway.

“I can still see one of you,” he said.

“Good.”

“Would two be terrible?”

“One Melody is already enough for this castle,” Mary replied.

From the hallway, Melody called, “I heard that.”

“You were meant to.”

Uriah smiled.

The Lowfield families settled into their rooms. They spread blankets across repaired bed frames and hung cloth over windows Uriah had not yet restored. Children explored the halls until Eliza ordered them away from unstable staircases.

The village baker took command of Greykeep’s kitchen.

Her name was Beatrice Hall, and she was a wide, cheerful woman who treated the ruined ovens as a personal insult. She inspected the three onions and half sack of oats before opening the supplies from Lowfield.

“You were living on this?” she asked.

“For nearly a whole day,” Uriah said.

“You would not have survived a week.”

“I had considered hunting.”

“Can you hunt?”

“I can kill stuff, but I guess that is not the same as hunting. So no, I cannot hunt.”

“Then you were considering getting lost in the forest.”

“That is possible.”

Beatrice assigned two villagers to clean the working oven. She combined barley, dried vegetables, herbs, and a small amount of salted meat in the largest pot.

The smell filled the great hall.

Uriah’s stomach growled loudly enough for Melody to hear.

She grinned. “The king is hungry.”

“The king has eaten one piece of bread since arriving in this world.”

Melody looked guilty.

“And someone ate one of his onions.”

“I was hungry, it was a good onion.”

“I know.”

Uriah sat at the long dining table with Mary, Melody, Eliza, Thomas, Mistress Rowan, and several representatives from Lowfield.

The table had been built for royal feasts. That evening, it held wooden bowls, mismatched cups, and a pot of barley stew.

It was the best meal Uriah could remember.

Perhaps hunger improved it.

Perhaps company did.

For years, he had eaten alone more often than not. He had become accustomed to the quiet hum of a refrigerator and the sound of videos playing simply to fill empty rooms.

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