by J C Maynard
Eston staggered forward without replying. Drunken people around him laughed and hollered, consuming trays of food. A blinding light flashed in his eyes again, and he took a step forward in the tunnels of the Nexus, followed by another flash. Eston lay back on the floor, falling for the brief moment of time when his consciousness transferred to Calleneck. The quartet’s song played beautifully through the hall. Another flash of light, and he gazed down at a battalion of Ferramish troops. Another flash, and he lay breathless on the floor of the ballroom. Picking himself up, he grabbed Qerru-Mai’s hand, who helped him up.
“Eston,” she said, “are you alright?”
Eston shook his head. “I- I just feel off.” Trying to look around, he felt sick looking at the feasting and the laughing of the party members. How are they so blind?
Next to Eston, a Senator chuckled to a few other government officials. “I even heard that our teenage soldiers turn loopy in Endlebarr.” He laughed and took a sip of wine. “For the Great Mother’s sake, how hard is it for soldiers to sit on their asses and eat the meals provided for them?” The other men laughed.
Eston’s fists clenched. He felt his blood boiling. Finally, he marched up to them and yelled, “STOP!”
Qerru-Mai grabbed his shoulder. “Eston, what are you do-”
“You, sir-” said Eston as he pointed to the Senator. “You are sickening.”
The other men stepped back in shock with wide eyes as Eston stood in front of the Senator.
Eston’s hand shook as he pointed at the Senator’s face. “You have no idea what it’s like for those men out there.” Eston looked at Qerru-Mai and slowly dropped his finger.
The Senator turned red and began to speak when Eston cut him off.
Eston tightened his jaw. “You are a coward compared to those boys! They fight and kill to save you!”
Qerru-Mai put a hand on Eston’s arm and spoke softly. “Eston . . .”
Eston turned to see dozens of people looking at him. The string quartet’s music fizzled out to a silence and the whole ballroom looked at the prince.
Eston turned to all of them with a tear in his eye and spoke. “All of you. You are blind to the suffering. You feast daily and wear gowns as expensive as a poor person’s house. You sit and look at paintings and sculptures instead of at your own people. Our soldiers are starving and dying! The Gypsies are suffering from persecution and violence each and every day. Our citizens are struggling just to keep their head above water because you’ve taken all the damn boats for yourselves!” His voice, and only his voice, echoed in the ballroom. “You are diplomats, yet you have done nothing! Standing on marble floors does not innately make you good!”
The Senator swirled his wine glass and shook his head. “What right does a child have to lecture-”
“I AM YOUR PRINCE!” Eston slapped the Senator’s wineglass out of his hand, staining his clothes with scarlet drops of wine; the crowd stood still. His voice fell hushed but raged with anger. “And I will no longer stand for the lack of action being taken in this Palace . . . You act like Xandria is just a thought and not a threat. But I will tell you right now that nothing is stopping her and her army from marching right up to the front gates and burning our nation to the ground — nothing except for our soldiers who are giving up their lives to defend their families.” Eston looked around at the crowd. “You should be ashamed!” he yelled and then fell to a soft voice. “Because I sure as hell am. . . . The party is over; I’m calling a Council meeting for all Council members and those in high office in fifteen minutes. And I swear to the Great Mother, if someone doesn’t show up, they will be out of Aunestauna by morning.” Eston stormed out of the ballroom, trailed by Qerru-Mai. Shocked by the prince’s outburst, the crowd stood silent and then members slowly began to file out of the ballroom.
“Eston, wait!” Qerru-Mai took off her heels and ran behind him. “Eston.” she caught her breath. “What you did back there was insane. What were you thinking? Your mother will be back before nightfall.”
“I am thinking of Ferramoor; and if taking initiative to get the job done is what I need to do, I’ll do it without a care for what my parents think. Thousands of our countrymen are dying — I must do something.”
She paused. “Well, you have my support; your integrity and your ideas are strong and you are right in the sense that this Palace is failing in its duties. We’ll block the gates to prevent the word from getting to your father so he doesn’t try to come back. But your mother will come back soon and-”
“I have a strong sense that my mother will agree with me that some of these things have to be done.”
Qerru-Mai nodded. “Let’s hear your ideas then.”
The two headed for the Council chambers. Eston’s mind rattled back and forth, still wondering how his mind had switched bodies before sunrise and quickly four times. And why was I, as Kyan, with Fillian in the Great Cathedral? Why was Fillian gone from the Palace?
“The first change starting tonight,” said Eston from Tronum’s chair in the Council chamber, which was packed to the brim, “is that the Palace will no longer be taking in unnecessary supplies. That means we will have no more feasts or parties; everyone will receive only what he or she needs to perform his or her job well. The excess food and wine that would normally be shipped here will be given out for free to the farms of struggling people throughout southern Ferramoor between here and Nottenberry.” Murmuring echoed throughout the chamber. “This means no more parties, balls, plays, festivals, banquets, or unnecessary events. Every available performer, artist, and otherwise unoccupied person will be put to work helping various shipping caravans that deliver supplies to our cities.”
Prophet Ombern stood up in fury. “And tell us why it’s a good idea that we would be fracturing our capital city and giving our resources away to villages that can’t fend for themselves.”
Eston looked Ombern in the eye, making sure everyone would hear him. “Does it not say in your Holy Book in Chapter 89 Section 5, ‘And when the time shall come that your fellow man has need of sword or timber or lamb, I, the Great Mother say: give unto them.’?”
The whole room murmured and waited for Prophet Ombern’s response. The Prophet turned bright red and stormed out of the Chamber, slamming the great oak doors behind him.
Eston looked at Qerru-Mai, who smiled back at him with a little nod, go on. Eston turned back to the Council and spoke. “Winter is on it’s way, and the rest of Ferramoor does not have adequate supplies for the cold. The stacks of firewood that we don’t need for cooking will be given out to the slums of Aunestauna. Madam Elim, I am putting you in charge of this project. Second item . . .”
◆◆◆
Prophet Ombern slammed his door to his private wing in the Great Cathedral. He muttered, “. . . damned child will kill us all.” He threw down his briefcase and his coat. He sat down at his desk and opened the Matrislibereux to Chapter 89 Section 1 and began to read. After a half hour had passed, Ombern figured it would be best to sleep and save his worries until tomorrow. He blew out the candle and stepped out on his balcony overlooking the moonlit first and second districts.
Breathing in the cool air, the old man felt the Great Mother’s spirit coursing through him, inspiring him. A voice in his head told him he was right to be doing it; it is not treason if it helps Ferramoor.
He looked up and spoke to the stars, sighing, “How this world has fallen from its days of glory. Great Mother, bring us back to that time when your law was the king’s law and when your voice was the king’s voice. Save this fallen world.”
Stepping back into his room, he pulled out the hidden drawer in his desk just to make sure its contents were still safe. Just then, the bells of the Great Cathedral began to ring, drowning out his scream of pure anger.
Beneath Aunestauna
Chapter Twenty Three
~Morning, November 3rd
“A half argentum?” said Kyan. “You’re kidding, right?”
The baker
raised his hairy hands. “Been here t’irty years and t’at’s all we’ve ever charged for the bread sir. Is it too much?”
Kyan smiled. “It’s too little. I have been your customer for five years now, and you just haven’t met me. Here, take ten.”
The baker laughed. “Surely you must be a jokin’.”
Kyan was silent.
“Well, my dear boy, ‘dis quite a gift indeed.”
“It’s the least I can do, Mr. Tumno.” Kyan left a bag of argentums on the counter and walked out with two croissants. He ate them as he walked through the beautiful slums of the third district. The kids at the school were out kicking a ball in the square and when the leather ball rolled by Kyan, he kicked it back into their circle. He laughed and joined them.
◆◆◆
Vree Srine watched Kyan from a high attic window and pressed her hand against it. Leave the city, you idiot.
“How cute.” said Bay behind her, Riccolo’s second. “Little Vree’s found herself a boyfriend.”
She gave him a dirty look.
“We won’t hurt him.” he said, stepping right behind her and whispering in her ear. “He’s safe not knowing. But it’s too bad you can’t see him anymore.” He moved her hair off her neck. “You have feelings for him?” he slid his hand across her waist.
“Get off me, you rat.” She slapped his hand away.
“Now, now,” said Riccolo, standing up from a box, “We don’t want any tension here, do we?” A high pitched laugh broke out from another nightsnake girl. “As Bay said, your boyfriend will not-”
“He’s not-” snarled Vree.
“-will not get hurt, Miss Srine.”
Vree’s tanned face turned red. “Oh like hell!” She grabbed Riccolo by his trench coat and pushed him against the attic wall and whispered, “Like Grane, and Brethom and all the others that you said the same thing about!”
Riccolo grabbed her throat with his good hand, squeezed, and threw her down. “You don’t speak to me that way. I’ve given you a home.” He knelt down and punched her in the stomach.
She coughed and struggled on the ground. “You- you killed her, you-.”
He kicked her temple, smashing her head on the floor. He whispered in her ear and laughed. “You killed your sister, Vree; that was your fault. I only expedited the inevitable.” Holding Vree down, Riccolo lowered his knuckle adorned with a black spike and drew it across her arm, causing a gut wrenching scream to reverberate in the attic. He clicked his tongue and began pacing around the bleeding girl. Shaking the dozens of silver bracelets on his arm. “You don’t trust me. After all I’ve done for you . . . You would have been a frozen corpse on these streets if it wasn’t for me.” He kicked her side. “Respect . . . that’s all I ask.” he kicked again. “And for some reason,” he drove his foot into her side, “you are incapable,” another kick, “of giving it to me!”
Vree coughed and wheezed on the floor. “I- I hate you.”
“What was that you little slut?” said Riccolo.
“I h- hate- h-” The few Nightsnakes in the room laughed at Vree unable to speak, and Bay smoked from his pipe in a reclined position.
Riccolo bent down, kissed her head, and whispered. “I hate you too.” He drew cards out of his pocket and shuffled them as he paced. “Let the bitches bite.” he sighed. “Bay, tell me again how much money on top of the reward we got for Kyan’s little adventure.”
“Ten thousand.”
Riccolo laughed psychotically and threw a cloud of cards at him. “We bet on the right kid!”
◆◆◆
~Night, November 3rd
Kyan creaked open the door of the Great Cathedral. Last night, no, tonight, when Eston fainted, he saw himself there, and Fillian too. What was he doing here? . . . It’s ten o’clock, five minutes before — or until — the switch will occur. The nave of the cathedral was dark and vacant. “Hello?” his voice echoed. I was in a room with him. Kyan found a staircase leading to another wing of the cathedral. “Hello?” he whispered. He grabbed a single torch that lit the staircase. Opening into a hall, he listened closely and could hear shuffling feet. He approached the room where the sound came from. Ombern is at the ball right now, no one should be here. He twisted the doorknob and Fillian jumped out of his socks and dove behind a bed. “Prince Fillian?”
Fillian peeked his head out. “Who are you?”
Kyan practiced the lie with himself that could bridge the gap between Fillian and himself — something to make Fillian trust him. Confidently, Kyan spoke. “I work as an agent for your brother, Prince Eston. The last time he went out into the city in early September, he knew he’d probably be caught and taken back, so he hired me to work for him and operate in the city where he can’t. He’s been noticing you’re up to something, and he wanted me to find out what you’re doing and help you.”
But Kyan could tell that even this thought-out lie wasn’t convincing Fillian. I need to tell him something only Eston knows. Kyan thought for a moment. That’s it! “Eston also told me that he borrowed your shoes with the little black scuff on the bottom of the sole for the ball tonight. He wanted to match Qerru-Mai.”
Fillian’s eyebrows showed his nervousness about being found alone in the city, but the fact that Kyan knew about the scuff on his dress shoes made Fillian begin to trust the story. Cautiously, Fillian began to stand up. Disregarding the comment about the shoes, Fillian muttered, “-didn’t want to take risks himself . . .” he said, looking around the room. “He’s been practically locked in his room for a month, of course he doesn’t want to get involved in other things.” Fillian stared at Kyan. “What kind of agent are you?”
Kyan hesitated. “Well . . . I just update him on things in the city. Sometimes I try to help him crack down on gangs and such. But after the robbery that ended with Benja Tiggins’ execution, he wanted me to help uncover whatever mystery Benja was involved with. He gave me what information he knew and asked me to aid you in whatever you’re trying to do. If you don’t believe me, ask Prince Eston. My name is Kyan.”
Prince Fillian cautiously shook Kyan’s hand. “I wish Eston would have told me . . . I’ll talk to him when I get back to the Palace.” he said, deciding to trust Kyan’s story for now.
Kyan looked at what seemed to be Ombern’s bedroom. “What are you doing here?”
Fillian hesitated. “I’m here because I think Prophet Ombern is hiding something. Well, not just him, our father too, and a few others, like Senator-”
“An’Drui.” said Kyan in a hushed voice.
“. . . how did-”
“Eston told me.” said Kyan.
“I think that something happened before my brother and I were born. Something that my father wants to forget and keep secret. But Ombern and An’Drui want to know whatever my father knows. I’ve trailed them for the past few weeks, and they keep going down, very far down, to this dark hallway in the Palace. There’s a door that they have a key to, and it opens into a room where there’s this clicking sound. It sounds like wheels, and I think it’s an automatic lock; it resets itself.”
Kyan paused. Suddenly, a flash of light hit his eyes. His arms suddenly slid off a column in a brightly lit ballroom and he fell to the floor. Another flash of light returned his mind into the body of Kyan, who rested on the floor.
“Are you alright? You just fell like a rock.” said Fillian.
“Yes, um . . . fainting spells.” Kyan lied. His mind had just briefly switched to Eston’s. “. . . So, this lock, what do you think it will open?”
“I don’t know, something big.”
“I think Benja knew. I was walking with Prince Eston once and I saw Benja talking to An’Drui, and he seemed upset, like she wanted to do something he thought was bad. He said that’s not what his position was for. And Qerru-Mai said at the ball that Senator An’Drui had mentioned the fire before.”
“The fire?” asked Fillian
“Prince Eston told me that Whittingale spoke with him about the night he
was born.” said Kyan. “Whittingale saw King Tronum in a Palace chamber late at night in front of a huge pile of burning parchment. Apparently Whittingale said he didn’t know what it was, only that it was significant. Prince Eston asked Tronum what it was and Tronum told him that he has no right to know. I have a strong feeling that An’Drui knows what was on the parchment that burned; so does Ombern.”
“But Whittingale doesn’t?” asked Fillian.
“I don’t know. But Prince Eston thinks that whatever was burned that night was destroyed because someone didn’t want anyone to know what’s behind that lock.”
Fillian stood up and fumbled through more of Ombern’s papers. “I’ve been trying to find anything that hints how to open it. It automatically spins and sounds like it resets after twenty six sets of clicks, so I think it’s letters that open the lock. Ombern and An’Drui have been in that room trying to figure out the letters, but with a Jejjarn lock I’m guessing that it’s designed to jam if the wrong code is put in. It clicks eleven times in a set, meaning the lock would take hundreds of years to open if you were guessing. So they must have some way of calculating what the code is that can only get them one letter at a time. But unlike them, we would have no way in.”
Kyan’s eyes widened. “Wait, what did you just say?”
“We have no way in, we would need a key.” said Fillian.
“No, how many times does it click in a set?”
“Eleven.”
Kyan counted the letters in his head and thought to himself, Silverbrook. He jumped up and started feeling Ombern’s desk.
“What are you doing?” said Fillian.