by Katie Macey
"Though they wore them in the forest...I don't know, they're eyes are different to ours, so maybe they don't feel things like we do?"
Niamh remembered their sparkling eyes and shivered. "That was probably the creepiest, beautiful thing I've ever seen."
They shared a laugh and trundled on, happy, and chattering back and forth. The hours passed and the day dragged on.
"I wonder how far we've come," said Niamh, calling ahead to Aarin. She and Caeednce brought up the rear, behind Veayre, then Jomen and Iilen had been discussing something very passionately for about half an hour, and Aarin led from the front. Aarin slowed down, then stopped on a rise.
The path cut through two moss-covered boulders, and Niamh let her hand drag across its rough surface. Even though the landscape matched what lay behind them, something felt different. The breeze puffed with warmth, and the sun felt closer, leaving you feeling like you'd stood too close to a fire. She took a deep breath. A new smell caught her attention...was it smoke? Memories of smoking pipes and puffed circles flashed to mind. Curious. They were the only ones out here...unless. Could they be making the same mistake twice? Footsteps behind her. Niamh whirled around, but only saw Caeednce, who looked up and smiled.
"Time for more sparkly snacks?" said Caeednce, with a skip in her step. Aarin nodded. He looked tired.
"You holding up okay, Aarin?"
Niamh's shoulder still ached from her own stint the day before. He winced but still nodded.
"Totally fine. We did heaps of training with weights and long-distance running..."
"That was months ago, Aarin,” said Iilen.
He sat down in the middle of the path. "I'm starving."
So they ate.
“Hey,” said Niamh as she ripped off a piece and threw it into her mouth. “As we were coming over that rise did any of you notice anything odd?"
"There’s evidence of tracking groups and possibly seasonal movements,” said Aarin, “but I haven't noticed anything to worry about."
"Yeah, I just thought I smelt smoke before,” said Niamh. But she quickly asked, “Iilen, what happened to your hands?"
Iilen lifted his hands, palms facing them.
"Touched a shrub yesterday, apparently,” he said shrugging, “my hands didn't like it very much..."
Niamh reached out her hand,
"May I? Oh, there’s even a pattern.” She winced. “That’s a pretty bad rash, Iilen."
"I get these all the time.” Iilen yanked back his hand and scratched it hard.
"You’ll hurt yourself being that rough!" said Caeednce.
"Show me,” said Veayre as she grabbed his hand. She lifted it closer to her face and inspected the rash closely. "That’s amazing, it's so similar." She threw his hand back. "But I can't imagine you actually being royal, that's ridiculous."
Niamh took a closer look. Aaron's eyes narrowed.
"Yeah,” said Iilen, scratching at it again, “funny if you all have to pledge your allegiance to me just because I touched a plant I react to."
A blast of cold air funnelled past Niamh’s ear.
"What was-?"
Instinctively snapping into a defensive stance, she raised her palms as she looked around startled. She waited for someone, probably Iilen, to mock her nervousness, but nobody did. They all stood as ready as she did. Jomen crashed to the ground. Niamh spun, confused at how he clutched his calf, and how his face contorted. She searched for attackers but saw none. A wide vortex of dust blew through their little camp, and she held her draping sleeve across her face to shield against it's scratching slashes. She couldn’t see her friends anymore. Someone screamed. A blow to the knees threw her to the ground. She felt the same soft grass under her fingertips and scrunched her eyes shut against the blowing sand. A hard kick in her ribs winded her, and she sprawled, falling onto her back.
Then as quickly as it had come up, the wind died away.
Niamh spat sand out of her mouth and tried to sit up. The grass was littered with pale sand, and she knew she was covered in the same way.
Jomen’s hair stood straight up. Aarin was shaking his head, and sprinkling the falling sand onto his lap. Veayre touched her lip. A droplet of blood came away on her fingers. Niamh rushed to stand, but doubled over, the kick having been delivered expertly. She hobbled to Veayre. The coals were buried in new sand. Caeednce stood but was tentatively testing her weight on her ankle.
"Are you alright?" said Niamh inspecting Veayre’s lip.
Veayre turned away, tears in her eyes, saying,
"If my father knew what he asked of me....he would never..." She leant one hand on Niamh's shoulder, then stepped away. Niamh turned to Aarin who rubbed the side of his face.
"I'd tell you to put ice on it-" said Niamh, before realizing how ridiculous her statement was. Aarin winced.
"Where’s Iilen?" said Caeednce, her voice taught and short. Aarin stumbled around the camp, then ran directly north.
"Wait!" he screamed. Aarin’s voice echoed across the rolling hills, but he crumpled to his knees. Niamh desperately wanted to know what he had seen, but couldn't make her feet move a single step.
Angry at the pain in her stomach and angry that she felt so scared, Niamh grimaced and clutched her stomach tight. Crunching sand gave away Caeednce's steps, and she let the smaller girl wrap her arms around her. Aarin staggered back to camp. Staring at the ground, he said, "They took him. They-" He stumbled to one knee, and slowly sat down. Jomen offered Veayre one of the flasks, but she shook her head.
"Who were they?" Veayre directed her question at Aarin.
"They wore the uniforms o-" Aarin coughed into his elbow. "They're from Asturg."
"But why should they take Iilen away? If we offended them somehow..." said Niamh. Her voice came out softer than she meant it to.
"Maybe this is their camp?" said Caeednce as she rubbed Niamh's arm gently. Niamh brushed her arm away.
"What if it's worse than that?" said Niamh, her mind racing. She paced back and forth, the kick to the stomach momentarily forgotten. "What if," she spun and walked the other way, "what if they heard the rumours too?"
"The stars are up there for us all to see,” said Veayre. “There's no reason why they should be unaware of the possibility of an-" Veayre stopped. Aarin held his forehead in his hands and spoke down into his lap. "Everyone knew about the possibility of a secret heir since the queen produced the stillborn prince. Why should the stars matter?"
"I agree with you Aarin," said Veayre.
"Grief drives people to do all sorts of things they wouldn’t normally do,” said Caeednce.
Niamh paused, then continued, "I don't think that the heir exists at all, I think the poor little thing died years ago. But plenty of others still hope. What if people in Asturg think that way?"
"But why would they take Iilen?” said Caeednce. “We're all around the same age, and he wasn't the only boy child."
Aarin murmured something.
"What?" said Veayre, facing Aarin with her hands on her hips.
"His rash."
He said the words slowly but punched each of the syllables out hard. Niamh's eyes widened. She touched her fingers to her lips.
"They think he's the heir..." Niamh stumbled backward.
Veayre dumped herself down beside Aarin. Niamh stared at her. Veayre was the one who had said his rash looked like the pattern in the stars. Her face flickered with an emotion Niamh couldn’t guess at, but Veayre swallowed and said, "We'll just have to go after him."
Niamh's eyebrows gave away her shock.
"What?"
"We have to,” said Veayre as she rested a hand on Aarin's arm. “You'll know why Aarin, but the rest of you are so ill-educated..."
"What?” said Jomen. His neck pulled tight as he spoke. “What do you know?"
Veayre looked straight at him. "They can test your blood. The royal line and all that. Fail, and you get an execution instead of a coronation."
Aarin leapt up, and coughed before sp
luttering, "They headed north."
"You said we'd lost them," Caeednce spoke the inconsistency Niamh had wondered herself.
"I thought he was lost. They travelled so quickly - all the swirling sand and stuff. In the moment I couldn't think straight,” said Aarin. “No one told us they used the old arts in combat. Would’ve been useful knowledge if I'd been a guard…and I wasn't sure if you'd all help me."
Aarin looked straight at Niamh. Taken aback, she opened her mouth, reaching for a denial.
"It's okay Niamh, you're on your way to Oplijah,” said Caeednce touching Niamh’s silver bangle. "You've got family that need you. We understand."
"I'm not- I..."
"Well, say something, Niamh," Veayre rushed her. Niamh glanced at Jomen, who looked less accusing than the others. Only slightly comforted, Niamh said,
"We've been travelling together long enough for me to know, that I would never abandon any one of us."
"We should leave now,” said Aarin. “They'll be long gone..."
"They'll probably take him to the fortress," said Veayre.
Niamh squinted at her. She seemed to know an awful lot about things sometimes. Just what kind of education did she have?
"The ceremony takes place at dawn,” said Veayre, “we have time."
"Whatever happens,” said Niamh, “I'm with you, all of you." Niamh made sure she met each set of eyes. Aarin and Jomen took a step closer. Caeednce wrapped her arms around Niamh's waist and squeezed.
"Together!" said Jomen, his voice heavy with emotion.
"I guess it doesn't matter if we are discovered now. We've already been found and declared unfit to be kidnapped," said Veayre, grumbling. They climbed the small rise and looked to the north. A tiny mark on the horizon wobbled in the desert haze.
"I would have preferred to be spirited across the burning sand than slowly following afterward,” said Veayre.
"Don't be silly, Veayre. Even Iilen would wish to have remained. He'll be feeling awful about lengthening our journey."
"You're right, Caeednce," said Aarin. "He's a joker, but he doesn't like to inconvenience anyone."
"I wish I had known you all better, back in Muspary,” said Jomen. He ignored the view toward their destination as he spoke. Hanging his head, he rubbed the back of his neck. Aarin looked him up and down, and said,
"I had you pegged for a traitor, but I judged you too quickly. Sorry, Jomen. I'll do better."
Jomen hesitated, then shook Aarin’s outstretched hand.
✽✽✽
Night fell and Niamh's legs began to cramp, but she didn't dare move from her crouched position. Her eyes crept over the ledge, while the others crawled around distributing the last of their supplies, and swigging back water. The fortress of Asturg lay just beyond the ruin. It might have been a boundary wall once, but years of sand storms had reduced it to this.
Back on the ship, Niamh had wondered what it would be like to travel somewhere new and see new places. But she never dreamed she'd come as far as Asturg. All she knew was Aarin’s description as they'd crawled this last stretch. Vast lands, a stone fortress, known to rile the king from time to time...but she’d never seen an illustration of the fortress. Aarin spoke with respect each time he referred to it. And now she could see why.
In the darkness it stood, blanketing stars from view. Guards could be seen standing in lit windows. A wind kicked up between them and the fortress. Aarin crept beside her and looked out across the last open space between them and Iilen.
"A patrol," whispered Aarin.
Ducking down, they both lifted fingers to their lips, signalling to the others. They became noiseless, pressing themselves into the ground. Soft padding footsteps, but by the hundreds, pounded past them. Clouds of dust wafted over the ruins. When they couldn't hear them anymore, Niamh leaned up on her elbows.
"They weren't on horseback..."
Aarin looked confused too.
"There may be more secrets in Asturg than we expect…"
Niamh squinted after the scouting party, but in the faint light of the crescent moon, she couldn't make much out, except for a glint of metal, and a dull growl.
CHAPTER 11
Niamh pressed herself hard against a bookcase. Darkness hid her entry, but her throat stayed tight. She couldn't believe they'd done it. They were actually inside Asturg's stone fortress. Multiple doors led away from the book-filled hall, and it branched into a T further in. A curve of light leaked around the corner, but neither she nor Jomen could tell which way was the safest to go.
Jomen's finger's brushed hers, and he glanced at her before drawing them away.
"We need to find, Iilen,” said Jomen, whispering.
"We've gotten this far,” said Niamh, “and we didn't even have to break anything..." She didn’t move her hand away, and a smile tugged at her lips.
"Aarin always wants to break something,” said Jomen. Niamh heard the smile in his voice but didn't dare look away from the lit end of the hall.
"I think we're just going to have to risk-"
Footsteps nearby.
Heavy, clanking footsteps.
"This one's unlocked,” said Jomen as he passed her, twisting a brass door handle she’d overlooked. Niamh winced at the creaking groan of the door but there was nothing for it. Footsteps grew louder. She darted inside behind Jomen who twisted a filigree key in the lock.
Letting out a held breath, Niamh backed away from the door. She ran a hand along the shiny top of a mahogany desk. Jomen lit a candle. Quill and ink lay scattered, as though left mid-use.
"That looks bad," said Jomen, frowning at her shoulder. The wound wasn’t deep but it still stung.
"It's probably just the light." Niamh brushed his concern aside. "Is there anything here to help us?"
"There doesn’t seem to be any map of this place,” said Jomen, as he lifted a piece of loose parchment closer to the candle. "But read this."
Niamh took the offered parchment. Swirling lettering covered the top half of it before it finished in a messy scrawl. The script wasn't one she recognized. Suddenly uncomfortable, Niamh saw there was no hiding it.
"I can't read this. I wasn’t taught formal Gutheacian."
Jomen bit his lip and hesitated, then took it back. Reading it aloud, he translated,
"It is yet unknown if the rumours are true. We hold that the reports of the Ithuree are true, that the true heir is no more. Perchance we are wrong, we have custody of a possible interloper. Tattoos of the royal star-formation wrap his left hand. On the appointed evening, if no transformative wonder occurs, we will dispose of him and return to our original plan. As for the other matter, urgent and disturbing, I wonder..."
"That's where it ends?" Niamh snatched it off him. But she still couldn’t read it, so she had to take him at his word.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Protected by only the locked door, Niamh sucked in a breath. Fingers laced through the candle holder, Jomen shielded the light with his other hand. Would they be discovered so easily?
The footsteps paused at the door. Something pulled at Niamh, as though she'd be safer standing closer to Jomen. But moving her feet risked more noise, and she couldn't risk giving them away. A voice echoed, sounding young and bored. Niamh couldn’t make out what they were saying...
"...moonlight ceremony...then they'll...."
Jomen's face looked softer somehow, in the gentle glow of the short candle. His eyes shone, and Niamh caught herself staring just in time. He’d almost noticed. Niamh's heart raced.
"We need to get to Iilen," she whispered just as Jomen stepped closer to her, face intent with a message. His worried expression cracked for a moment with a quick smile, as they almost spoke at the same moment, then he said,
"Cloaks. We might escape notice this way."
Niamh followed his gaze to a cloak that lay draped over the back of the wooden chair pushed close to the desk.
"But there's only one..." said Niamh. She pictured the both
of them awkwardly moving through the fortress with arms wrapped around each other’s waists…but Jomen lifted the candle and nodded at something behind her.
"That should work."
Spinning to hide her reddening face, Niamh stepped aside. Jomen lifted the candle higher again.
"Is it even a cloak?" said Niamh as she touched the velvet, warm and soft, under her fingertips. She pushed away the top layer and revealed the most gorgeous dress she had ever seen. She drew her hand back as though burned. Jomen lifted the plain black cloak over his shoulders. It did a fine job of hiding the grey, silk clothes. Unsure, Niamh carefully slid the blood-red cloak off the spectacular gown.
"I'll just borrow it, it surely won't matter, and in the dark halls, it won't even look red..."
"If this fortress is like others I've read about,” said Jomen, “then Iilen will be kept in a dungeon somewhere, so we'll have to find a way down to lower levels."
Niamh tied the ribbon edged cloak around her and lifted the hood over her hair, explaining, “We don't know what these people are like. You never know how people will react to my hair."
Jomen paused with his hand resting on the filigree key, and said, "Your hair isn't that crazy you know. Plenty of people have flower-hair."
"My aunt says it's 'sunset' hair," said Niamh, correcting him. Jomen carefully turned the key in the lock and shook his hair out of his face. Niamh noticed that it was a habit of his.
"Caeednce has hair the colour of forget-me-knots,” said Jomen, “and nobody treats her any differently for it.”
Niamh frowned, but with the door open and them slinking back out into the hallway, she didn't want to risk her voice being heard.
The only upside to wearing so much slippery silk was that their footsteps were noiseless. And the reason they had been quickly alerted to the presence of others was the polished hardwood floors. Without carpets, the hall was an echo chamber. Jomen ran his hand along the spines of the books as he passed.
"What are you doing?" said Niamh. She hunched her shoulders and leaned close.
"I don't know what the city is like, but this hallway alone exceeds the Muspary Library. Asturg may be far more worldly than us."