Golden Child

By Beka Gremikova

Halfway up the drive of his sprawling estate, Master Oros encountered the first silver statues. Sunlight slid over them in a soft yellow hue, matching the shimmering, golden tips of his own fingers.

The front gate guards stood motionless, bent over, hands clasped to their knees, as though gasping for breath. As if they’d been running from someone who had caught up to them. Someone who had merely reached out a finger and left them stone-still.

Someone with a gift similar to Oros’s ability to turn things to gold. Things… and people.

His heart thundered. He started running.

Every time I think I have one up on you, Silvis, you counter. As a youth, Oros had asked the gods to give him the Gold-Touch first, forcing Silvis to settle for silver instead. Silvis, in turn, had made friends with the right merchants, and eventually silver’s value soared.

Then Oros discovered his own daughter, his golden child Zlata, had fallen in love with Silvis’s son and heir, Vasil. To think of Zlata marrying that boy-child! Oros hated to consider it.

So, a few hours ago, Oros had infiltrated the Silvis estate, leaving Vasil and his servants as golden statues in his wake. He couldn’t give Zlata up to a Silvis. The Oros family—and Zlata herself—deserved so much better.

But now he faced a line of silver statues, and nothing stirred within his glimmering, golden mansion.

Oros tore through the gardens, past more statues, and burst into the house. Maids gaped at him, now the same sheen as the silverware they once polished. The wallpaper, once bright gold from the brush of his fingers, gleamed silver, mocking him.

“Zlata?”

No answer. He raced to his council chamber, where he’d left his daughter puzzling over what to ask for her generational gods-gift.

You should ask for the Gold-Touch, like I did, he’d said.

She’d shook her head, her soft yellow hair bouncing. That’s your gift, Papa. That’s not what I want.

He’d changed the subject, guessing exactly who she did want.

Oros slammed open the council chamber door.

His golden child sat motionless, a silver statue, unable to rise from her favorite chair. Behind her, glinting on the mantel, sat the Oros coat of arms—a golden dragon setting fire to a hoard of silver coins.

Silvis stood before her, his chin set, his fingertips glazed with silver.

An agonized screech ripped from Oros’s lips. Silvis stiffened, whirled, and crouched. Neither he nor Oros could use their abilities on each other, so he gripped the hilt of the dagger at his waist.

Out of habit, Oros’s fingers slid to his sword. But as he stared at his gleaming child, his strength seeped from him. He braced himself against the back of Zlata’s chair, unable to move.

Suddenly, he understood why Vasil hadn’t fought him earlier that day—why he’d faced his Gold-Death with such conviction…

Oros’s attempt to ambush Vasil hadn’t gone as planned. Now the tall, handsome youth crouched in a defensive stance, making no move to draw the sword at his waist. A tunic of the Oros family’s sacred yellow—Zlata’s color—hung from his shoulders, and Oros’s stomach turned.

Vasil dashed for the door. Oros lunged, his fingers snagging Vasil’s tunic. He yanked the boy towards him, but Vasil threw the weight of his golden clothes sideways, toppling to the floor.

“Why don’t you fight me, boy?” Oros demanded.

Vasil gasped, “You’re her father! I won’t harm someone she loves.” He looked Oros in the eye. “Would you?”

Oros’s hackles rose. “How dare you.” He knelt, grasping Vasil’s pant leg as the boy tried to crawl away. Oros reached toward Vasil’s face.

“Will you mar the Oros family color?” Vasil shouted.

Oros’s finger stopped a breath from Vasil’s forehead.

Vasil continued, his eyes wide, “If you kill me, Zlata will never associate with you again. She’ll never even want to look at gold.” He panted. “This color should be something she can wear proudly.”

“Our family’s honor isn’t something a Silvis could ever understand,” Oros snapped. He jabbed his golden fingertip into Vasil’s forehead.

Vasil sighed deeply, his lips trembling as his limbs slowly stiffened. “Zlata,” he breathed, and then went still—a gleaming, golden statue.

Oros covered his mouth with a quivering hand.

“I did it for Vasil!” Silvis croaked. “I couldn’t lose him to an Oros!” He drew his dagger. “Vasil will thank me one day.”

Oros bowed his head, his throat closing. So their timing was coincidental; Silvis didn’t yet realize… He sucked in a breath.

Crouching forward, Silvis frowned. “Why don’t you fight me?” he snapped.

Oros shook his head. “There’s nothing left to fight for,” he whispered, holding up his gold-tipped fingers, yet to return to their usual dark brown.

“No.” Silvis’s face paled. “Vasil is…”

Oros swallowed. “Gold.”

“My son.” Silvis clutched his chest, his eyes locked on Zalta’s statue. “My son… and… your daughter.” He slid to the floor, burying his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking.

Oros tilted his head to the ceiling, its golden gleam blinding him. Emptiness felt colder than the press of coins against flesh. “We’ve destroyed ourselves.” His gaze drifted to Zlata with her eyes half-closed, her silver lips parted in a long-suffering sigh. She’d warned him against continuing family grievances, had tried to show him a better path…

But he hadn’t wanted to lose her to a Silvis. He’d wanted control, not sacrifice.

And now he had nothing.

Oros reached out, brushing a finger against his child’s cool, unmoving cheek, turning her gold instead of silver.

My golden child. Zlata… His gaze drifted to Silvis.

Zlata had come to love someone she was told to see as an enemy. Perhaps he could follow her example.

He extended his hand to Silvis. “Let us make peace, Master Silvis. We cannot do this any longer.”

Silvis rubbed his eyes, tears trickling down his cheeks. Then he reached out and clasped Oros’s gold-tipped fingers.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Beka Gremikova hails from the Ottawa Valley, Ontario, Canada. She loves wolves, travelling, and exploring new cultures and cuisines. Her obsession with folklore and myth often weaves itself into her stories, multiple of which are published with Havok. Her writing has been included in Bingeworthy, A Kind of Death from Uncommon Universes Press and the Faces to the Sun collection edited by S.J. Blasko. She dreams of attending ComicCon in Princess Zelda cosplay.

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