by J C Maynard
“Set down the file first.” said Kyan.
Riccolo hesitated, his stare unnerving. But he smiled and said, “As you wish.” and set the file down.
Vree refused to make eye contact with Kyan. Kyan stepped forward and opened the bundle, revealing the glowing stone, which seemed to absorb and amplify the starlight that surrounded them on the rooftop. Riccolo stood still with wide eyes. He stepped forward and placed his hands on it. “It’s . . .” he gaped but did not have the words to describe it. “I’ll be as rich as a duke.” he said. He took it from Kyan, grabbed the file and threw it at Kyan. “Your reward, Kyan. I keep my promises. But do not test me . . . Do not test me.”
Kyan looked at the file — the answers. Without a word he put it under his coat and ran off the roof, his nimble feet carrying him over the cold rooftops of Aunestauna.
A Black Morning
Chapter Nineteen
~Afternoon, October 8th
Eston couldn’t help but constantly think about the events that would unfold that night. He would, as Kyan, break into the Palace Vault on Riccolo’s orders. Throughout the day, Eston’s apprehensive attitude drew the attention of Sir Whittingale. “Is something worrying you?” he said as they walked across a bridge — the same bridge from which Kyan, later that night, would jump off to a window below. The sun had just begun to disappear over the ocean, and the sky blazed crimson.
“Not particularly . . .” said Eston. He didn’t want to think about his mission to steal from the vault that night, but seeing as Whittingale looked concerned, he thought back to a question that had bothered him. “Actually, Sir, I was wondering if you knew anything about why Prophet Ombern was removed from the last Council meeting.”
Whittingale stopped and leaned on the wall of the archway, looking out into the inlet. “Ombern is a mysterious man and has been here since before your father; he served as an advisor for your grandfather Gallegore. There are many things he knows that I do not. Nevertheless, I have speculated that your father did something that he regrets, and somehow Ombern wants to use it to Ferramoor’s advantage in the war. But beyond that, my knowledge fades along with the many lost documents from the time of the split of the Empire.”
“I’m sorry, lost documents?”
Whittingale closed his eyes as if searching deep inside his memories. “At the time of your grandfather’s death, there were many strange things happening in the Palace, many whispers of darkness threatening Ferramoor. It was the night you were born, about three years after Cerebria seceded from the Empire. I saw your father standing in a chamber deep within the castle in front of an enormous fire of burning paper. The smoke hung heavy and dark in the halls of the Palace the next day. Of all the details from that night, your father’s face was is the clearest in my memory. It looked as if he had lost something, but his gaze was also filled with anger. Those were very strange times indeed . . . To this day, no one knows what happened there. But for your own good, I would urge you not to ask your father.”
“Why would he be so secretive?”
Wittingale looked Eston in the eye. “Is secrecy an uncommon trait for a Wenderdehl?” Eston lowered his head. “Eston, there are things in the world which it may be best not to seek after, whether it be answers to certain questions that may just hurt you, or material things, or even power. You leave a large footstep, Eston, and not just because you’re tall like me.” He looked out into the harbor at the ships leaving on their voyages. “You may not be able to control what your father has done, but you can control yourself, and soon you’ll not have my help.”
“Why?” said Eston.
“You’re eighteen, Eston. I’ve taught you nearly everything your father has asked of me.”
“Except how to be him.”
Whittingale smiled, a rare occurrence. “Don’t be like your father. I hear that he used to be just like you . . . Gallegore didn’t want Tronum to ruin his perfect Empire, but Tronum was ambitious and wanted the power. So when Gallegore died and gave Tronum the Empire instead of Xandria, his pride got in his way. And now we no longer have an Empire.”
“I guess I don’t have as much to ruin.” said Eston, dispirited.
“If you think that, Eston, you fail to appreciate the greatness of this land. Ferramoor may struggle at times, but it is prosperous. I would hate to see it in flames.” His voice got low. “Don’t be your father, Eston . . . you have the power to unite and not destroy. Follow the true leaders’ example.” With that, Whittingale turned and left the bridge, and Eston was left questioning what he meant.
The dinner was late that night and more guests than normal were invited by Eradine to the Grand Hall in the west wing. A musician played in the corner while the royal family and others ate at a large table. Qerru-Mai sat next to Eston. Always slightly intimidated by her, but wanting to become more acquainted with her as his parents requested, Eston had enjoyed a rather lengthy conversation with the girl bouncing around from her interests in politics to her travels with her mother to Duloret City and Landevore.
“Your mother,” said Eston, “is she not here tonight?”
“No,” said Qerru-Mai, “she mentioned that she had business to attend to. She’s not been around much lately with everything going on in Cerebria and Endlebarr.”
Eston thought back nervously to stealing Benja’s keys as he and Qerru-Mai’s mother were arguing. “Sir Tiggins is also not present here I’ve noticed.”
“It’s been odd,” said Miss An’Drui, “I mentioned the position of Palace Overseer the other day, and my mother’s gaze went sour. I think they may have some major disagreements, but over what, I do not know. Changing the subject, I heard the King is planning on making a trip to Ifle-Laarm next month, and there is to be a ball to celebrate it. I was-”
Eston cut her off as she spoke over him “Yes, I was wondering if you’d-”
“-maybe we could go-”
“-want to go together.”
Qerru-Mai laughed. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking.”
“I’d love to.” said Eston. On the other side of the table, Fillian rolled his eyes.
“Yeah,” said Fillian, “and while you two are waltzing, I’ll be content to be anywhere else. Although I may intercept the wine cart as it leaves the ballroom. Why not make studying history in the Library a bit more entertaining, aye?”
Eston twiddled his fork between his fingers. “Oh sure, and after one sip you’ll be stumbling off the north balconies.”
“Who is it, brother, that fell flat on his face in the courtyard the other night? I know it’s quite hard to walk on grass.”
Qerru-Mai chuckled as the brothers went back and forth, and it was a while until Eston and the royal family had retired to bed. Eston almost fell asleep without thinking of who was climbing up the Palace wall that moment, who would soon become the first thief to ever enter the Palace Vault.
Eston’s eyes popped open and he threw himself out of bed when he heard a commotion outside his door. He quickly put on clothes, sheathed a sword on his belt, and burst out the door. A swarm of chattering people moved eastward through the hall. “Thief!” they yelled as people in nightgowns pushed by, trying to figure out if they were in danger. Kyan is in this castle right now, or leaving it — probably at the front entrance . . . What have I done? The image of the stone that glowed with starlight filled his mind, and so did the fear of the Guard pursuing him. Through the commotion, he heard a voice call out for him. Fillian burst forward through the throng and ran across the floor to Eston. “Eston!” he said breathlessly and grabbed Eston’s shoulder. “It’s, it’s Benja, Eston . . . They’ve got Benja. There’s been a robbery in the Vault, but it’s not him.”
Eston stopped. “They think Benja was the thief?”
Fillian took another quick breath and swallowed. “Or an accomplice. The Guard was ordered to get the gallows in the amphitheatre on the east wing.” Eston’s mouth hung open for a moment before he took off, his boots pounding against the marble floor be
low. “Wait, Eston!” yelled Fillian as he ran after him.
While the crowd moved up the stairs to organize themselves on the top of the amphitheatre to see the ordeal, the two princes flew down a flight of stairs and into the hallway in which the entrance to the amphitheatre was located. Guards stood at the large doors which led to the floor of the theatre and raised their weapons when the princes ran to them. “Open the door!” yelled Fillian with a hand on the hilt of his sword.
The Guards hesitated, but cautiously opened the door.
A noose hung in the center of the arena, casting no shadow, for the sun had still not appeared over the horizon, but the clouds above had turned orange. Benja stood in the front of the theatre with his hand bound and two armed guards on his side. His face was blank and bloodstained, his mouth was gagged, and his eyes did not widen when the princes bursted through the door with guards running after them. “Stop!” yelled Eston. “Stop! He didn’t do it.”
The judge stood up from his seat in the amphitheatre. “What in the name of the Great Mother is going on?” he said.
Eston ran to him. “It wasn’t Benja, we’re sure of it.”
“Eston!” boomed a voice. Tronum stood up. “You stop this instant. This is out of your hands, boy.”
Eston threw his sword to the ground. “But father you must know that Benja would never do this. What purpose would he have? What evidence is there against him?”
The judge, who boasted a large wig and a peculiarly high voice read off a paper. “Sir Tiggins has much evidence against him, Your Majesty. Firstly, Sir Tiggins was not at the ambassador's banquet last night like he stated he would be. Additionally, on his drawing board in his study were maps of the tunnels beneath the castle, including the Vault from which gems were stolen. The Guard also recovered Sir Tiggins’ keys to the Vault on the correct floor, and only he had possession of those. Moreover, Your Majesty, Sir Tiggins was found next to a balcony, claiming he ‘saw the thief’ and ‘had him in his hands, but the thief got away and vanished over the balcony.’ Now tell me, Prince Eston, how could a thief vanish into thin air by escaping off a fifty foot balcony?”
The crowd watching the scene from above began to whisper and mutter, while Eston stood silent. The little judge continued. “Also, Your Majesty, why was there also a trail of gold and gems behind Benja, and why was there gold in his pockets?”
Eston remembered using the gold coins to distract the guard, and he remembered it falling out of his coat as he ran. When he collided into Benja, the gold spilled everywhere, including into Benja’s pockets. “I, I don’t know but-”
“But you’re also forgetting another important event.” said the judge. “There is strong evidence that at a dinner feast less than a month ago, the failed assasination attempt of your parents — the King and Queen — as well as other advisors such as Sir Whittingale and Sir Nollard, was the scheming of none other than Sir Benja Tiggins himself. He reportedly showed up late and distraught to the dinner, and when poison was discovered in many of the wine glasses, his remained untouched. Tell me now, Prince Eston, why you think we shouldn’t have this man hung for attempted murder of our King and the stealing of sacred items from our Palace Vault.”
Eston shook his head. “We don’t know that it was him. There could be another thief out there or someone working for Xandria.”
“He is guilty, My Liege.” said the judge. “Also, I think the question is to be asked as to why there were no guards stationed at the Vault. As Palace Overseer, Sir Tiggins is the only one who could have authorized them to leave the Vault unguarded. There have also been reports of Benja wandering in the Palace at night.” Eston thought of the walk that Benja and Senator An’Drui took. “Tell me then, if Sir Tiggins was not the thief, who was?”
The whole amphitheatre stood still; the only sound was of the flapping scarlet banners. Eston couldn’t move or think clearly.
“Well, who is it?” yelled the judge.
A tear slid down Eston’s face as he muttered something.
“What was that, My Liege?” mocked the judge.
“I said I don’t know!” screamed Eston.
His voice echoed off the walls. “Then we will proceed with our vote.” Eston’s heart raced as he looked at Benja, who had his eyes closed. “All with the vote that he is innocent, please indicate!” The jury behind him including the Council and important figures stood still. Slowly, Senator An’Drui raised her hand, which shook in the air. “One.” said the judge. “All in favor that he is guilty of robbery and treason, and shall be sentenced to death, please indicate.” The entire jury slowly raised their hands, including King Tronum, but Queen Eradine stood still. The judge slammed the gavel on his podium. “Guilty. Guards, please escort Sir Tiggins to the gallows.”
The crowd above them broke into chaos; Fillian stood in disbelief, and Eston rushed forward to Benja. The guards surrounding Benja pushed Eston away as he tried to get through.
“Benja! Benja!” he yelled. Eston fought his way into the swarm of guards and grabbed Benja, who looked at him with wide eyes. “Benja, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
The guards pushed Benja forward toward the gallows in the center of the circle. “I know it wasn’t you Benja!”
Benja tried to say something under his gag, and Eston ripped it off, causing a Guard to yell at him. The Guard forced Benja onto the first stair up to where the noose hung, and Benja fought and turned around to speak to Eston. “Eston!” he said. He writhed in the hands of the guards and Eston tried to fight his way onto the staircase to hear him. With the crowd in commotion, Benja managed to turn around toward Eston. “Eston! Eston, Listen! There is a scrap of paper beneath my mattress; read it and then burn it! Things in this Palace are not as they seem. Trust no one, Eston. Trust no one!”
A huge Guard put an arm around Eston and pulled him off the stairs. The guards hung the noose around Benja’s neck as the judge crashed his gavel into the podium to order silence; a hush overtook the crowd. The sky was lit brightly in orange, and the sun was close to rising. “Sir Tiggins will now have a final word!” ordered the judge.
Everyone stood silent and a crow screeched high up in the palace. Benja stood still on the trap door with the rope around his neck. He raised his head, losing his eyes, allowing all of his worries to drain out of his body. And in a loud voice, the innocent man shouted “Long live Ferramoor.” Benja lowered his gaze to Eston on the ground and looked him in the eye. “Long live the king.” The trap door opened and Benja’s body jerked for a minute and then hung still. The sun peeked over the horizon, and Eston opened his eyes to see himself standing next to his shack in ragged street rat clothes holding a file.
◆◆◆
Kyan knelt down, watching the sun rise over the city. For a reason he did not want to admit, he had not yet opened the file from the orphanage. He knelt there in silence, unable to comprehend what he had done. He looked at the file again, for which he stole the stone from the Vault, resulting in his friend’s execution. A tear slid down his face as he whispered out loud, “I killed him.”
He looked at the file and clenched his fists, for he hated himself with all the might he could muster. He hated himself for stealing, he hated himself for hating everything else in the world, he hated what he did. He felt the Olinduex that hung from a chain on his neck and traced his fingers over it. The silver medallion had kept him in Aunestauna, and until now, he did not know why, or maybe he could just not admit it. The false hope that he would find his family bound him to the streets, and it weighed on him now like a mountain.
All the answers lay in the file in front of him, but he didn’t open it. Without reading a word off it, he grabbed the file, the answers, and ripped it in half. He ripped it again, and again, tearing it to shreds, and threw it into a gust of wind. He watched, breathless, as the cloud of white fluttered above the roofs of the city.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, he began to run across the roofs. In his mind, he saw Benja staring at him as the trap door i
n the gallows opened beneath him. Kyan ran faster, harder in the direction of the rising sun, over a plank and across a street. I’m more than a street rat, he thought as he began to climb up the side of the clocktower. And with regret in his heart, but feeling free for the first time in his life, he stood on the top of the clock tower with his hand around the pinnacle, and with the other hand, he took off the chain that held the small silver Olinduex. Kyan looked into the rising sun, and threw the ornament with all his might into the city below.
The Thunder of Endlebarr
Chapter Twenty
~Evening, October 18th
Throughout the days, Tayben grew ever frustrated with his other selves, who had all fallen into supporting Ferramoor. The anxious fire that burned in him somehow failed to capture the attention of his fellow Phantoms. Tayben’s thoughts had been distracted by fleeting images of home, which now seemed farther away with each passing day. When he dreamed, the image of a glowing flower always appeared.
The forest had turned cold, but as always, the lush undergrowth crowded the forest floor, and the plants fought each other for the chance to catch a ray of light in the twilight beneath the canopy. But there was something else in the air, and the Phantoms could feel it. The fog that twisted and wrung the minds of ordinary soldiers tickled the Phantom’s skins like it hadn’t before, and a dark, looming presence seemed to be slowly filling the forest.
Reports that the Ferrs had stopped Cerebrian advancement into West Endlebarr had been sent in the past week ; yet Xandria had not sent a sizable amount of reinforcements to help the exhausted Cerebrians, who came within thirty miles of placing their boots in the less dense forest and rolling hills of Ferramoor. Concerned, Lekshane planned to take matters into his own hands. Because of their scarce success in the last weeks, Lekshane led the Phantoms north to strike a deeper wound into the enemy — an invasion of Camp Stoneheart, which housed seven thousand Ferramish troops.