“Everyone remain calm. We are all safe,” her mother called out.
Guards swarmed in from every direction, including Sonja and Joti.
Chapter 11, Meghan Villa Mason:
When Meghan designed the house to lead the city, she had gone all out. She departed from the old style of buildings, those carved long ago from the rock-faced walls, and the more recent wooden ones, constructed on the spit of land between the two cliffs. Before construction even began, a great quarry was dug where the foundation of the home would sit. Giant blocks of black granite were torn from the pinnacle. This hole created building supplies for her creations, a suitable location for cells to hold her enemies, and a cool, quiet place for her husband Noel to stink up with his brewing experiments. Other smaller pits were created when the surrounding outbuildings, amphitheater, and gardens were installed. She had soil hauled in to create the landscape surrounding her home. She would have been happy to live out her life governing the large city from her home on the peak of this rock. It was not meant to be.
The explosion that rocked her home came from under her house. She was unfamiliar with magic, but she knew how things worked in the world. The blast from the market felt and sounded completely different. She would never forget the experience of her people being slaughtered. This explosion was somehow different: softer yet shook the house more. A growing sense of concern filled the pit of her stomach.
The surrounding room burst into chaos. She glanced over to Zorra and found her trying to calm the others. She knew her daughter was a natural leader, if still young. With age, she would make a great mayor one day. Meghan could see it.
Zorra’s new husband, Ollie, opened the door, allowing the bodyguards into the room. Also not a bad plan, considering the possibility of another direct attack against her house.
With a quick glance to her left, she found her oldest, Jo, sitting calmly beside her. With a bored expression on his face, he fought to project detachment or boredom, Meghan wasn’t sure which. To an outside observer, she noted his nonchalant expression might indicate his complicity. She would speak with him later about his body language and the effect it could have on his followers.
The so-called leaders of the noble families presented a much different tone through their actions. They broke into different self-protective positions, from cowering under the table to searching for weapons.
For a moment she thought, If this is the cream of our city we are doomed. Then in a clear voice, she called out to her followers, “Everyone, calm down! We are still alive; the house still stands. Before you kill each other climbing under the table, let a report arrive to tell us what has happened.” She motioned to one of the guards, and he disappeared in an instant, her order carried out without question.
It had not been long. With no explosions to follow the first, her leaders began to reseat themselves. Meghan, the leader of the free world of Zar, and her allies looked over the old men and women that sat around the table. She considered chiding them as cowards, but she knew it would do no good. Maybe the younger generation held the key. Perhaps they would rise up to save their spineless elders. If not, her city she loved would eventually go down, like the people that came long before her and her contemporaries, those that built the buildings carved from stone.
She didn’t have long to continue the meeting. One of her personal guards came up behind her and whispered in her ear. Years of politics gave her a thick skin and an uncanny ability to hide her emotions, but when she heard the news that an accident happened in her husband’s brewery, she found it difficult to maintain her composure.
With a glance at Jo, her eldest child, she spoke in a calm tone that hid her distress. “I need you to take over the meeting. I need to speak with your father.” She knew there was no sense involving the children, as there was nothing they could do. If her worst fears became a reality, it would not hurt them to have a few more moments of peace. She sensed by Jo’s troubled look he considered asking a question, but instead he turned to the table and returned focus to the topic of discussion.
Meghan snuck Zorra a glance and a smile. She tried to calm her daughter but was unsure how effective the gesture was. Without a further word, she pushed away from the table and followed her personal guards through the halls. Since the two attacks on her city, her master trainer insisted she be protected at all times. She argued only enough to appear fearless before accepting the protection. The attacks grew more sinister each time. She was becoming afraid to walk in her own home.
No matter what happened, she couldn’t let the others see her fear. Her mandate to lead came with some heavy baggage. She was thrust into a wartime leader, even though she had no experience in battle. She must appear strong at all times because she knew the city and her family would be lost with her loss of power.
She feared the worst for Noel. A mason and the designer, she was intimate with the plan of her home and the solidness of the construction. The jar she felt with the last attack felt terrible. The smoke that poured from the entrance of the brewery only confirmed her greatest fears.
Memories flashed through her mind while she quickly walked to the basement. The first time she met Noel, she couldn’t stand the man. His brewing, his passion, she was sure he would have little time for her. They were both still apprentices in their guilds back then. Time needed to be devoted to learning their trades, not playing around with lust or unproductive thoughts of what might be.
It wasn’t until she caught him bribing her superiors with his craft that she found out how useful their union might become. One night she found him sneaking into the mason hall with a keg of ale, and she grew furious. First, because she thought he slinked about like a dog to win her favor. Then she grew even angrier when he blurted out the ale was not for her but for the leader of the masons. To ensure she got to design a new proposed building.
Too many realizations struck her at once. He had stalked her silently since the first time they met. She stormed away, furious.
Her position in the guild had been bought by his brew. Her ego took a hit. She was certain her climb through the ranks was based on her own merit.
That her superiors were bought so cheaply scared her to the core. What other major decisions had been purchased for the price of a keg?
The final hard lesson learned was that power is not a matter of skill or ability but of guile and underhandedness.
Her confidence crushed, she turned down the design position. Livid, she refused to speak to Noel for two months after the discovery. She may have never spoken to the man again if a fluke of fate had not thrust them together.
While he worked hard to increase her standing in the masons through bribery, he created a small empire for himself. His reputation as a brewer of unequal quality grew wider and made him a wealthy man. Meghan continued to work hard to increase her standing in the guild, using the hard lessons she learned to root out corruption. She gained her own following as a fearless leader, willing to buck any perceived unfairness.
They met again at her inauguration as the Master Mason, twenty years ago. They laughed at the mistakes of their youth. He confessed he still loved her. She was at first scared that the man would freely admit such a thing so quickly, but she found he had a giant heart—without the brain to go with it. She recognized great things possible from the merging of two different houses and asked him to marry her. Jo followed barely nine months later.
Their power grew. When the last warlord died, the time came for the city to try a new style of leadership. One guild to rule them all. This new idea of a mayor over brute force came slowly with many hurdles to be overcome, but Meghan had a steady hand and ruled justly, bringing more and more towns and villages into their fold.
Under her leadership, Zar had grown into a mighty city over the last ten years. Meghan knew she would have never been able to do it without Noel bribing so many people when they were both starting out.
Her heart skipped a beat. Arriving at the scene, she spoke to the neares
t guard. The only words she thought of, “Have you found Noel?”
The guard shook his head. It took the man speaking before Meghan realized it was one of Noel’s personal guards. Blisters covered the majority of his face, his eyes were swollen shut from the pus-filled sacks drooping over them, and most of his hair was missing. “Madam, I was there when it happened. Master Brewer stood next to the new boiler. I’m not sure what happened. There was a noise like the gate to the hole opened, and all death rained out of it. My flesh felt as if on fire, yet there was little fire at first. After the blast, I couldn’t see. I searched, but I did not find the Brewer. I would still be down there, but I was carried out. Order them to let me go back and continue my search!”
Meghan forced herself to swallow back the bile that flooded her mouth. She reached to place her hand on the man’s shoulder, but she grew afraid to touch him, unsure where on his body the steam burns covered. “I am sure he is all right. Now it is time for you to be treated for your wounds. You cannot help if you go down there and collapse.”
“But madam, the Brewer is—”
“Dammit man, do as you’re told. You will be no help blind, now go and be treated, or I will have your dead body carted off after I kill you myself.” She fought back her tears as she ordered the man away. Not knowing what damage she did to his ego, she just knew he needed treatment badly. There was no time to waste arguing with such a man. She needed to find the person in charge, a person with vision. “Someone take this man to the healers and find the person leading the rescue efforts!” she shouted from the stairs leading down. The only thing keeping her from racing down the stairs and into the steam-filled room was the thoughts of her children.
The fear in her stomach boiled her insides. Her greatest fears were confirmed as a team of men carried her large husband from the space below. If it had not been for his clothes, she wouldn’t have recognized the man as her husband. He was cooked from the inside, his skin split open like a steamed sausage. Crushed, she fell to the floor.
<=OO=>
Her decision was made before the cause of the accident had been ascertained. In her mind, the only possible explanation that held water was sabotage by the slavers or their confederates, the pirates. The decision had been announced to take the attack to the seas. On the march back to the meeting of the free-homes she came to her next conclusion.
Bursting through the doors, she noted the meeting went on. Jo discussed the details of the planned campaign. She shouted, “We have suffered an attack in my home. The Brewer has been murdered! I want every available ship. In seven days, we will head into the cracks to root out every slaver we can find. Any town or village assisting the scourge will be burned to the ground. Anyone suspected of slavery will be hung. Any town or village still allowing slavery will free their slaves or be put to the torch. Now is the time to make a stand, before our city is wiped from the face of the shards.
“You have three days. Failure to provide the ships and crews will label you as a sympathizer of slavery. Your freehold will be forfeit and divided among those loyal to the city.” With the last, she glared directly at Miller, making sure he understood where he landed in the matter. She would have killed him there if he made a peep. Luckily for him, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
<=OO=>
Three days later, Meghan stood on the prow of the Endeavor, her flagship. It was the largest and newest ship in her fleet, armed with one hundred crew, triple masts, twin catapults, and ballista. The vessel would be a match for any four known craft that sailed the cracks.
Construction began on it shortly after the invasion of Shakopee. Many talked about scrapping it prior to the wedding day attack. Things were moving fast. No matter what she tried to do to keep her family safe, the pall of death stalked them.
Zorra argued at length concerning the plan of her leading the assault against the slavers, but Meghan would not listen. This was her crusade. The death of Noel Brewer and her two sons fueled her fire for revenge.
The plan remained simple enough. The ships had been divided into four flotillas. They would fan out in the four directions, scouring the coastlines for any unaligned ships. Each and every cove around the island of Zar would be searched, and any settlement still allowing slavery would have their slaves freed, by force if necessary. Any village fighting the change would lose its weapons, and a small detachment would be left behind to ensure slavery was not reinstated and to protect the armory where all weapons would be held. Once Zar declared itself free of slavery the four groups of ships would fan out, searching for any unflagged vessels. Meghan decreed any ship sailing in the waters of Zar would be open for search and seizure. Any ships discovered carrying slaves would have their captain and crew put to the sword.
The Endeavor sailed with fifty-five ships. Nearly one thousand sailors in her group. If the force had returned from Shakopee, she would have taken them along as well. She hated splitting her forces, but she fought slavers and pirates. The largest force she anticipated was three or four scows, the smallest and most poorly equipped ships that sailed the cracks. Hers was a modern fleet, manned by battle-tested sailors recently returned from the war with Perdition.
Zorra spent too much time begging her to reconsider, that with Father’s death she would be needed in the city more than ever. Her job should be directing the investigation into the attacks and the blast in the brewery. Meghan couldn’t sit back and watch as her family was picked off, one by one. She needed to take the fight to those she felt most likely responsible. Even if the slavers had not attacked her family, this was a just cause, a noble calling. No human should be owned by another, and Meghan planned to be the leader to see the world free of bondage.
Chapter 12, Saunders Coleson:
It didn’t take long for Saunders to discover several things inside the caves. He found his first bodies three hundred and forty-five paces in the dark. At first, he thought they were fresh victims of a deranged killer who stalked the tunnels looking for new prey. He nearly ran screaming for the door when he first discovered them stuffed in the tiny alcoves. Once he found the courage to touch one, he found the skin dry and brittle, like parchment.
In the land of constant darkness, time held no meaning. His sleep/wake cycle became off after the first few hours. What little time he kept was marked by the burning of his candles. He never considered keeping track of the hours in such a way, but the light they provided remained his lifeline to the world he left behind—the land of the sun and the twin moons. He missed them after the first candle burnt to nothing.
A corollary to missing the sun was missing the sun’s warmth. Abaraka remained always warm. He’d seen the snow on the mountaintops inland but never ventured out of the city to even entertain the idea of how cold snow must be. He once tasted flavored snow, so he knew how cold that could be. He found it painful to his mouth, but to have your body surrounded by cold constantly was a new and miserable experience. The deeper he went into the caverns, the colder it became. His linen ropes did not keep him warm, and the dark sucked the heat from his body faster than he thought possible. His first break for sleep, he resorted to burning the dead to keep warm. The next morning, he added their ancient clothing to his own thin robes.
The dust was, at times, overpowering. He thought the dust in the library brutal on his nose, but the cool, dry air coupled with the dead bodies played havoc on his breathing. Every step threatened a sneezing fit that would kick up more dust that would cause more sneezing. He found it a vicious never-ending cycle.
The stone floor was hard. He had slept on stone his whole life. However, the cold stone of the passageways lacked the soft, comfortable feeling of a straw mattress stuffed inside the alcove. His billet in the temple lay close to an outer wall. The sun would heat the stone, and you could feel that warmth radiating into the room all night long.
The bodies grew older the deeper he traveled. Marking the path as he went, he kept a straight heading deeper into the cliffside. He passed stairs leading
up and down and passageways off left and right, but the fear of becoming hopelessly lost in the catacombs kept him to a true straight and narrow path.
After his third candle and sleep cycle, he took to burning rags from the dead. With a femur from one of the more skeletal corpses, he fashioned a torch. Wrapping it with rags that were once clothes, he figured it would extend his limited light supply indefinitely, as long as he continued to find willing donors.
The end of his fifth sleep cycle, he decided there was no way to estimate the depth he traveled. The constant stopping and starting, added with the time to take notes, left him with no estimation how deep the network might traverse. Even though he had never left the temple, he guessed he’d traveled far enough to reach the mountains by now. A man on horseback could make the curtain wall in an easy day’s ride. What if he found a way to bypass the barrier? The entire city might be in danger. He squashed that fear quickly. These tunnels had to be years old, if not decades. If no one used them to attack the city before now, the chances where pretty good the attack was not coming soon.
Irrational fears crept in from all sides. He spent a day sure the bodies moved when just outside his field of vision. After a day inspecting bodies, he found a nest of rats had taken up living inside the hollow chest cavities, causing the bodies to look like they breathed. The notes he took helped to bury few of his fears. He found the strangest symbols: a six-pointed star, what looked like a ship’s wheel, and two crossed lines were marked all along the walls he searched. Among the dead, he found names carved into the black sandstone.
He should have focused on rational fears, such as gravity. In the middle of his third day of the escape, he found the floor he treaded upon was not solid when it collapsed under his footing, sending him plummeting down a crevice into the chasm below.
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