Chapter 7 - Of Golden Blades and Silver Sirens

  It was in the final days of February, when winter still held the Northern River City in its grip and the political winds of the Swampy City blew colder than ever, that a tale of two teams unfolded—a tale that would test the republic's understanding of honor, hospitality, and the proper way to celebrate champions.

  Rubius the Brownie had claimed a spot near the great hall's eastern window that morning, where the weak winter sunlight made the Glimmering Slate easier to read. The device was ablaze with images that had set the entire Network of Shimmering Mirrors alight. On one side of his slate, young men in golden uniforms laughed and clapped one another on the back, stacks of cardboard boxes before them, the unmistakable aroma of the golden-arched burgers wafting through the very pixels of the display. On the other side, young women in silver stood in formation on distant ice, their medals gleaming, their expressions unreadable, their absence from the Fortress of Golden Ambition speaking louder than any proclamation.

  The story, as the Guild of Endless Scrolls told it, was this:

  Both the Golden Blades of the Republic—the men's ice hockey team—and the Silver Sirens—the women's team—had achieved the impossible in the same week. On foreign ice, in a land of ancient ruins and fine cuisine called Italy, they had each defeated the eternal rivals from the Dominion of the Maple Leaf in contests so dramatic that even the most jaded chronicler could not help but lean forward. Both victories came in overtime. Both brought gold to the republic. Both should have been celebrated equally.

  But the Age of Confusion, as the reader knows by now, does not deal in equal measure.

  On the Invitation and Its Delivery

  The tale began, as so many tales do, with a speaking-stone call.

  Lord Donaldo the Tremendous, flushed with the excitement of victory, had reached out to the Golden Blades in their moment of triumph. The call was captured by a scribe and circulated through every Glimmering Slate in the republic—the Dragon-King's voice, warm and approving, offering the young men a ride on a military sky-vessel to the Swampy City, a place of honor at the great Proclamation of the Realm, and a celebration at the Fortress of Golden Ambition afterward.

  The players cheered. The Dragon-King beamed, even through the grainy magic of the speaking-stone.

  And then he added something that would echo far longer than he intended.

  "I must tell you," Lord Donaldo said, his voice taking on a playful tone, "we're going to have to bring the women's team, you do know that?"

  A pause. Then laughter from the locker room.

  "I do believe I would probably be impeached," the Dragon-King added, "if I did not."

  More laughter. The call ended. The players celebrated. And somewhere, in a different city, in a different locker room, the Silver Sirens heard what had been said.

  On the Interpretation of the Words

  Now, gentle reader, you must understand that the chronicler was not present for this call, and cannot say with certainty what was meant by the Dragon-King's words or the laughter that followed. Those who defend the Golden Blades insisted that no disrespect was intended.

  "People are so negative out there," Jack of the Northern Skates told the scribes. "Everyone in that locker room knows how much we support them, how proud we are of them."

  His mother, Ellen, added her voice to the chorus of unity. "These players, both the men and women, can bring so much unity to a group and to a country. That's all they care about."

  But others heard something different in that laughter. The Governor of the Coastal Golden State called the Silver Sirens' subsequent decision "another win." His wife was blunter: "Clearly they prefer arenas where women are actually respected."

  The actress Sophia of the Silver Screens posted to her millions of followers that "our hockey boyfriends would NEVER," a reference the young and hip understood and the chronicler pretends to comprehend.

  And so the republic divided, as it always divides, over what had been said and what had been heard.

  On the Response of the Silver Sirens

  The official response from the Silver Sirens came through a spokesperson, delivered with the careful precision of those who have learned that words, once spoken, cannot be unspoken.

  "We are sincerely grateful for the invitation extended to our gold medal-winning team," the statement read, "and deeply appreciate the recognition of their extraordinary achievement. Due to the timing and previously scheduled academic and professional commitments following the Games, the athletes are unable to participate."

  The statement was true, as far as it went. The women had obligations—games in the Professional Women's Hockey League, which resumed within days, and academic commitments for those still attending institutions of higher learning. The men, by contrast, played in the National Hockey League, which had conveniently paused its schedule for the Olympic break. The men had flown home on a private sky-vessel arranged by the Dragon-King himself. The women had flown commercial, arriving back on republic soil significantly later.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  But truth, in the Age of Confusion, is rarely accepted at face value. Those who wished to see the decision as a snub did so. Those who wished to see it as practicality did so. And those who simply wanted to watch hockey and be done with it found themselves caught in a controversy none of them had sought.

  On the Celebration at the Fortress

  Five days after the victories, the Golden Blades arrived at the Fortress of Golden Ambition.

  They came not in ones or twos, but as a company—twenty young men in their prime, medals gleaming on their chests, smiles wide on their faces. Five of their number were absent, citing upcoming games, but the majority came, and they came ready to celebrate.

  What they found was not the formal banquet one might expect for champions of the realm. There were no silver platters heaped with delicacies, no crystal goblets filled with aged wines, no white-gloved servers presenting course after course of culinary artistry.

  There were stacks of cardboard boxes. There were golden arches printed on paper wrappers. There were burgers.

  Lord Donaldo, it must be said, has never hidden his affection for the fare of the Golden Arches Merchants. And so the Golden Blades found themselves in the grand hall of the Fortress, stacks of double cheeseburgers before them, patriotic songs blasting from the speaking-devices, the Dragon-King himself moving among them with the satisfaction of a host who has provided exactly what he wished to provide.

  The images that circulated through the Glimmering Slates showed young men laughing, eating, holding up burgers for the scribes to capture. Matthew of the Southern Suns, who had won two championships with his professional team and thus visited the Fortress before, was seen letting Lord Donaldo wear his gold medal—a gesture of trust that the scribes noted with interest.

  "We are excited to be here," said Quinn of the Northern Skates. "It's not something you get to do every Tuesday."

  On the Response from Afar

  While the Golden Blades dined on burgers and patriotic anthems, the Silver Sirens received offers of their own.

  The Mayor of the Mile High City extended an invitation through the Glimmering Slates for the women to come to his mountain-adjacent metropolis for a celebration worthy of their achievement.

  "Come to Denver," the Mayor wrote. "Let us throw you the Olympic Championship Parade that you deserve. We'll welcome you here at City Hall, and we'll open our city to the nation to celebrate your historic achievement with a ticker-tape parade worthy of a champion."

  He made clear that he understood their decision to decline the Fortress.

  "I understand why you declined the invitation to the White House," he continued. "I can't imagine what it's like to assemble one of the greatest Olympic teams in American history, achieve the impossible, and be celebrated by millions of Americans—only to inspire countless little girls to ask their parents if they can sign up for hockey, and then, before the euphoria has even faded, have your own president suggest that welcoming you to the White House would be a chore."

  The Rapper of the Clock Necklace, a musician known as Flavor Flav, also extended an invitation—this one to the City of Endless Entertainment, where he promised dinners and shows and good times. The women, it was later reported, accepted.

  On the Reaction of the Dragon-King

  Rubius, having absorbed all of this through his ever-present Glimmering Slate, eventually made his way to his master's chambers. He found Lord Donaldo in high spirits, still chuckling over the success of the celebration.

  "Rubius! Did you see? The young men loved the burgers. I told you they would. The Golden Arches are an American treasure. Everyone knows this."

  "Your magnificence," Rubius said carefully, "the response to the women's team has been... mixed."

  "Mixed! There is nothing mixed. They had scheduling conflicts. It happens. I have scheduling conflicts every day. The Deep Realm schedules conflicts for me constantly."

  "Your magnificence, some are interpreting your comments on the speaking-stone as dismissive of their achievement."

  Lord Donaldo's brow furrowed. "My comments? I invited them! I said we would have to bring them. What more do they want?"

  "Your magnificence said you would be impeached if you did not."

  A pause. Smoke curled from the Dragon-King's nostrils.

  "That was a joke, Rubius. A joke. Everyone jokes. The young men laughed. It was a moment of levity."

  "Your magnificence, the young men laughing is part of what some find objectionable."

  Lord Donaldo waved a clawed hand dismissively. "This is absurd. The women are champions. I am proud of them. If they cannot come to the Fortress, they cannot come. It is simple. The Mayor of the Mile High City can have his parade. The Rapper of the Clock Necklace can have his dinners. I have burgers to eat and proclamations to make."

  He turned back to his papers, then paused.

  "Rubius, add something to the next proclamation. Say that the camels have formed a support committee for the Silver Sirens. The people will love it. Camels are very unifying."

  On the Truth That Remains

  That evening, as the light faded over the Churning Sea and the images of two celebrations continued to circulate through every Glimmering Slate in the republic, Rubius sat alone in his alcove and reflected on what he had seen.

  The Golden Blades had their burgers and their patriotic songs and their moment in the Fortress's grand hall. The Silver Sirens had offers of parades and celebrity invitations and the support of those who saw in their absence a statement they may or may not have intended. The republic had another controversy to add to the endless scroll of controversies that defined the age.

  And somewhere, in between, the truth was simple: two teams had won gold. Both deserved celebration. Both received it, in different ways, from different hosts, with different meanings attached.

  Rubius thought about Ellen of the Northern Skates, the mother of champions, who had appeared on the morning devices and pleaded for unity.

  "At the end of the day," she had said, "it's just about the country. The synergy between these two teams—the way the women cheered on the men and the men cheered on the women—that's what it's all about. The other things they cannot control. They care about humanity. They care about unity. They care about the country."

  Rubius hoped she was right. He had learned, over twenty years, that caring about unity and achieving it were two very different things.

  He tucked his slate away and made his way to the kitchens, where the sprites were cleaning up the remains of the burger celebration. They had saved him one, knowing his weakness for the golden-arched fare. He ate it in silence, reflecting on the day.

  The kitchen sprites gathered in the corner and whispered among themselves. They had seen the images. They had heard the controversy. They knew that when champions are treated differently, the ground beneath them sometimes shifts.

  One of them fainted. The others caught her.

  Rubius finished his burger and climbed into his small, comfortable bed.

  "Another storm," he murmured. "They never stop coming."

  But for once, he was not sure whether the storm was brewing over the Golden Blades, the Silver Sirens, or the republic itself.