by J C Maynard
Around Xandria’s giant fortress rose stone mansions with great oak doors — the homes of the aristocrats, or ‘Crats’ as the commoners would say. They paraded around their gardens and courtyards filled with flowers, statues, and fountains, talking to government officials, trying to change the laws according to their will. Controlling the rule of law and taxes of Cerebria only made them more powerful.
Twenty blocks down from these white mansions stood a house on the corner of a little square — 138 Winterdove Lane. Tall, narrow houses lined Winterdove Lane, joined together with no space to travel between them. Each household had potted flowers in window boxes that hung over the stone street. Men and women greeted each other from windows while they hit dust out of floor mats or hung clothes to dry. In the house on the corner, Mrs. Bernoil sat knitting by the kitchen window, catching the last of the day’s light as the sky took on its full sunset red tint.
Having to exit the Evertauri’s underground Network a different way than they entered, the Bernoil children emerged above ground through a tree behind a set of houses in a nearby neighborhood — one of Seirnkov’s entrances to the Network. Similar to the mirrors which they used to enter the Network for days prior, Calleneck had held his Taurimous’s flame to the trunk, and the bark revealed itself to be an illusion of matter — a floating image — which they could then step through. To ensure security, a guard and a gate blocked the alley in which the tree grew, and more guards awaited at the bottom of the ladder inside the hollow tree trunk.
The three never tired of feeling the golden light of the sunset on their faces after they exited from the dark and cold underground. It made them feel like they were children again; but the strictness and darkness of the Evertauri stole their innocence. They were rebels, traitors, and liars; and as much as they loved their parents, the Bernoils, they were sworn to secrecy. We are coming back from our aunt and uncle’s, they all thought to themselves as they walked to put on a convincing act; the Bernoils had shown little suspicion concerning their children’s absences.
Mrs. Bernoil smiled and stood when she saw the children walking up the sunlit lane. Aunika opened the door and they walked into 138; Mrs. Bernoil crossed the room and placed two pots into the fireplace to cook. “I was beginning to think you weren't coming back today.”
“Sorry, we always try to be here on time.” said Aunika.
For some reason, Calleneck felt as if he had been gone from the Bernoils’ for much longer than just a few days, but he couldn’t figure out why. “Where’s father?” asked Calleneck.
Mrs. Bernoil brushed dust off of a counter. She had salt and pepper hair, and her daily stern face lightened up periodically while talking to people and knitting. “He stopped by a client on the way home from the market, but he should be back before dark. Put your bags upstairs and then help prepare supper. Oh, Calleneck, get two buckets of water from the well, will you?”
Calleneck grabbed two buckets off the wall, and headed out the door into the square. He stopped for a royal carriage and its horses, carrying an aristocrat up into the heights of the city. Their hooves clip-clopped along the street and many others passed by, returning to their homes for the evening. In the middle of the small square next to their house stood a well from which the surrounding residents drew their water. In the summer, the water supply was abundant, but it was often either dry or frozen in the winter. Calleneck hooked a bucket onto the rope, and lowered it down. A girl came from behind and walked around him; she set down a bucket and leaned on the well. “Nice to see you back, Cal.” she said.
“Oh, hello Gilsha, how are you?”
“I’m well. And you?” Calleneck nodded. She smiled at him with very white teeth. Her hair loosely curled in waves; it was a mixture of blonde and light brown hair. Just slightly younger than Calleneck at seventeen, Gilsha had been his friend as long as he could remember, and had gone to the same school until they graduated at the age of sixteen. Gilsha pushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’m guessing you were at your aunt and uncle’s again.”
Calleneck lifted the bucket out of the water. “They’re doing well too.” He unhooked the bucket and put the second on the well at the same time Gilsha lifted hers onto the well.
Gilsha pulled her bucket off. “Oh, sorry, you go . . .”
“No by all means . . .” Calleneck chuckled and she smiled back. She tilted her head to the side — a habit of hers — and lowered her bucket in the well. He looked at her as she looked down into the well; her face glowed in the light of the setting sun, and a white blouse that hung on her shoulders moved slightly with the breeze, as did her hair. She looked up at Calleneck, and he looked away and watched another wagon and its horses roll by. When she finished, he drew his last bucket of water and asked how her family was doing.
“Oh, just the same. Mum and I are handfulled with the little ones like always.”
“Has Gline still not learned to tie his shoes?”
Gilsha laughed. “No, not yet. But his brothers are picking on him for it, so he keeps trying.”
“And your father?”
Her smile faded a bit but her blue eyes quickly lit up again. “Well, he’s the same too I guess.”
They heard Mrs. Bernoil say from inside the house “Where is that boy?” She stepped outside and called out. “Calleneck, how long does it take to fetch me water?”
He chuckled and started walking back to the house with Gilsha.
“You two are just chattering away while the supper burns. Oh, Miss Gilsha, I did accidentally make extra and would appreciate your company.”
Carrying a bucket of water, Gilsha looked at Calleneck and then to Mrs. Bernoil. “Maybe, but I’d have to take this back and ask mum.”
Mrs. Bernoil crossed her arms and smiled at her. “You wouldn’t turn down my stew, now would you?”
Gilsha laughed, “I guess I just have to join then don’t I?” She turned to Calleneck. “See you soon then.”
Mrs. Bernoil called after Gilsha. “Chop, chop, sweetie, time is of the essence!”
Calleneck carried in the buckets in and poured them into a large tin tub in the corner. Aunika walked down the stairs. “Calleneck, help me with father’s things.”
“What?” Calleneck shook his head — he was looking out the corner window, lost in thought watching the horses pulling wagons trot along the cobblestone street.
“He just walked in with supplies for his shoes.”
“Sorry . . . just —”
“Thinking, yes.”
Mr. Bernoil walked into the room. He stood tall and had white hair. His gaze looked solemn, and the brightness had left his eyes from years of constant work as a cobbler. Removing a gray flat cap from his head and placing it on a wall hook, he asked them to move some boxes into his workshop in the backroom. Mr. Bernoil’s voice was calm but commanding, and when he was angry, he whispered rather than yelled. The children respected him, for he always knew what to say, and when to say it.
Dalah and Mrs. Bernoil pulled out the pots of stew just as Gilsha knocked on the door. Mr. Bernoil opened it and stepped aside. “Well if it isn’t the famous Miss Gilsha Gold.”
“Nice to see you Mr. Bernoil.”
Dalah and Aunika greeted her as they sat down at the table; the Golds had been friends with the Bernoils for quite some time, and Dalah often helped Gilsha and her mother with the three younger boys.
“Gilsha darling,” said Mrs. Bernoil, “We haven’t had your company in a while!”
Mr. Bernoil scooted his chair in. “But I’m sure your father is busy.”
Gilsha glanced up at Mr. Bernoil. “Yes . . . And your work sir?”
“Oh, quite fine. Same as thirty years ago, and twenty, and ten. Everybody needs a pair of shoes. If he’s any smarter than a horse, a cobbler can’t lose business . . .”
After dinner was cleaned and Gilsha left, Calleneck went to get more water from the well with Aunika. It was dark enough to see a few stars, and the auroras from the north cast a green glow
over the city. Aunika hooked a bucket onto the rope and began to lower it.
“Have you thought about what you’re getting Dalah for her birthday?” asked Calleneck.
Aunika shook her head. “I hadn’t thought of it.”
“I saw a scarf over on Pinewood Street. It’s red; I’d think she’d like it. Could you lend me two argentums to help pay for it? I’ll cover the rest do you don’t have to.”
“Why?” asked Aunika.
“. . . well it’s not like you’ve been here every year to give her something. I’m used to paying.”
“Calleneck —”
“Would two argentums hurt you?”
“Calleneck,” she sighed, “Two argentums is fine, but you’re starting a conversation I would really prefer not to talk about now; we’ve had a nice evening, and a nice dinner, and I want to get some good sleep for once.”
“Well when is the right time to talk about it?” Calleneck placed his bucket on the edge of the well. “I don’t need two argentums, but I think it would be fair if you showed a little care.”
Aunika dropped the rope and her bucket splashed into the well. She rubbed her forehead. “I told you I’m sorry. But I think it’s unfair of you to say that I don’t care, alright? I left for a couple years, yes-”
“Just because you were fighting every day with mum and father didn’t give you an excuse to leave!” said Calleneck.
“Don’t shout at me. I saw that my relationship with mum and father was hurting you and Dalah, so I left; and in some ways, I think that was the more caring thing to do.” Aunika pulled the bucket of water from the well. “But now that we gave ourselves space, it’s much better. When was the last time you heard me argue with them? Not for months. And you have issues with them too; that’s why they let you stay with ‘our Aunt and Uncle.’ After that it was simple to say that Dalah needed to come with us to be with her big brother and sister.”
“But ever since we’ve been in the Evert —” Calleneck watched some people passing by them, “you know what I’m talking about.”
“That wasn’t my fault that you had to join. Just because I left didn’t give you an excuse to lose control of your emotions and destroy a street corner —”
Calleneck stepped close to her and whispered. “I didn’t know that I could wield sorcery; how could I? Nobody does unless another sorcerer senses it, or if they let their emotions boil like I did. I was angry that you left and I let my emotions get the better of me, like most brothers would.”
“You blew up half a building, Calleneck!”
“And you dragged me underground when I was unconscious, and they branded me!” he whispered. He unbuttoned his shirt and tore it open, revealing the crimson scar on his chest. “They had no right —”
“They had every right,” she whispered, “and they made sure that an outburst like that wouldn’t ever happen again. When you have the ability to cause that much harm, you have a moral obligation to control yourself.”
“You think that you controlled yourself? Controlling yourself doesn’t look like running away from your problems. And now you want to act like the hero and be there for Dalah. You’re forgetting that you took away her childhood.”
A man in the distance hammered a nail into his house as Aunika spoke. “She followed us; it wasn’t my fault.”
“She could’ve had somewhat of a normal life if you hadn’t left mum and father for a cause. You shouldn’t have picked revolution over family, Aunika. No matter what, you never give up on family!”
The two turned when they heard Dalah’s voice, “Just stop it, you two!” They were too angry to have noticed their younger sister approaching them. Her freckled cheeks were twitching, trying to hold back tears, and she walked away.
Aunika turned to Calleneck and shoved two argentums into his hand. “I never gave up.”
Aunika ran after Dalah, and Calleneck sat down next to the well. He folded his arms on his knees and put down his head. Control . . . breathing . . . quiet. An image of crimson flames and sparks circling his body and shattering windows. Calm . . . quiet . . . breathe. He heard the screams from that street corner in his mind and pushed them out.
Mr. Bernoil was sitting in the kitchen reading a book when Calleneck walked in. Mr. Bernoil set it down and rubbed his chin stubble, and Calleneck could see that his eyes were red. After pouring the buckets of water into the tin tub, Calleneck sat down across from his father. Calleneck ran his fingers through his light brown hair. “Father, are you alright?” The girls were outside talking and a small burning log crackled in the fireplace.
“Cal,” said Mr. Bernoil in a calm, soothing voice. “Have I ever told you that my mother was an artist?”
“No, sir.”
The man flipped through his book and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. “Your grandmother mother drew this over forty five years ago, Cal.” He slid it across the table. Calleneck unfolded the wrinkled parchment carefully; on it was a charcoal drawing of two little boys in sitting on a porch playing some game with a wooden cube.
Mr. Bernoil sighed. “You probably don’t know who this is . . . he was a very close friend of mine named Rushki. I found out today that he was killed by some Cerebrian guards.” Mr. Bernoil sniffed. “He got tangled up with some bad Crats or something.” Mr. Bernoil smiled and looked again at the picture for some time. “‘Day after this was drawn, I broke a woman’s window when we were throwing rocks around. While I ran away to avoid being caught, he knocked on the woman’s door. He was a good man . . . and to be killed for getting on the Crats’ bad side.” Mr. Bernoil stared out the window. “Overall, yes, the Queen has done good for the country, but sometimes I just don’t know if I should be scared to live here.”
Calleneck shuffled his feet. “Well, I think there are people who’ll try to make it right. I’m sorry about your friend.” Calleneck was reminded that the Evertauri was not just trying to take down Xandria, but every scheming Crat and corrupt government official that backed her. “Father, what was the Empire like?”
Mr. Bernoil sat up in his chair. “Gallegore’s Empire?” Calleneck nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering.”
Mr. Bernoil sighed and searched back into his memory. “It was peaceful, I remember. I was older than you, but I remember a long time ago when Xandria was appointed by her father to govern the Cerebrian Territories of the Empire. Everyone was happy to see a smart, daring young woman take control. That was a bit over thirty years ago. The Cerebrian Territories of the Empire were all the best, the schooling here was the best, our technological innovations were the best, our pride as a people was the best; and it was thanks to her.”
“What about Tronum?” asked Calleneck.
“What about him?”
“Well why did Gallegore choose Tronum as heir to his Empire rather than Xandria?”
Mr. Bernoil crossed his arms. “That, I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know if it was a good choice, or a bad choice. At the same time Xandria governed the Cerebrian Territories, Tronum governed the northern Parusean and Ferramish territories; if Gallegore had chosen Xandria, who’s to say that Tronum wouldn’t have seceded with his land. That’s the danger of twins in a royal family, there could’ve been war either way . . .” Mr. Bernoil’s voice trailed off and he stared blankly at the table.
“Father, are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” he said, snapping out of his trance. “Anyway, probably a bit over twenty years ago, the announcement was made that we were our own country. They paraded down the streets, hoisting up banners and blaring horns. The following years were . . . quiet.”
“Quiet?” said Calleneck.
“It was like the silence in the air before a storm. The peace on our continent rested on the tip of a blade. For years, everything went on as normal . . .
“Then what?” asked Calleneck.
“Then the storm hit.” said Mr. Bernoil. “The first crack of thunder — they called it the Day of the Underground
Fire; Queen Xandria had been silently gathering her forces, and in one day, the entire race of goblins that lived underneath us was slaughtered.”
“Did you ever see one?” asked Calleneck. “A goblin?”
“I may have when I was little, but I don’t remember it clearly. But after that day, our army started to build camps in Endlebarr. A month later, we were at war . . . It’s been long and bloody, Calleneck; I wish you grew up in a more peaceful time.”
Calleneck looked at his hands. “So do I.” He sat for a while thinking about the war when a thought crossed his mind. “Father, we were never taught in school why Tronum only declared war on Cerebria and not any of the other new nations that seceded from the Empire.”
Mr. Bernoil nodded. “I think the reason King Tronum only chose to fight Cerebria was partially because Queen Xandria was the start of it all — he thought she was the most to blame because her territories seceded first. The vast majority of the Imperial Navy came from Cerebria with our tall pine forests, and so we clung on to all of those warships and vessels when we seceded.”
Calleneck connected the dots. “So without a large naval force and an inability to create one, Tronum had no way of attacking the Island of Guavaan when it broke off, and it would have been impractical to take on Eilland or the Northlands without ships — he would have to go through Endlebarr and Cerebria first to get to either of them.”
Mr. Brenoil nodded. “Exactly. He also didn’t attack Parusemare because Queen Eradine, his wife, grew up Parusean. The Crandles south of Cerebria posed no threat to him and were peaceful and isolatory. As for the desert Southlands, their military and population far exceeded Ferramoor’s when they declared independence and still does — Tronum had no chance of winning against them until he had secured the East.”
Calleneck went on asking his father about times before the war for a long while, until they reached a lull in the conversation. Calleneck looked across the table at a letter from one of Mr. Bernoil’s clients. It seemed as if in a strange memory, he saw a letter addressed to Seirnkov. Suddenly, a sense of curiosity overtook him. I feel like I forgot to get a letter from the mail tower. But what letter? When did I see it? Calleneck shook his head and then asked his father, “May I go on a walk?”