by B. K. Boes
“Not anymore,” Moloch said. “Not since my father decided we must prove ourselves to gain our inheritance. Who will be the next Duke of Eunoya? The position gains a spot on the war council. And the war council is a step toward succeeding my father as the king’s Chief Military Advisor. It’s all my brother thinks about.”
“And you? Is that all you think about?” She slid off her stool to face him.
Moloch let his eyes rest on Junia’s, admiring the deep green there. “No,” he said. “I want more than a title.”
“What might that be?” Junia took a step closer, toe-to-toe with Moloch.
“I’m starting to think everything my father wants for me would be meaningless without someone to share it with.” Moloch’s heart beat wildly inside his chest as he watched Junia study him.
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, quickly, without touching him in any other way. Just the warm press of her lips on his skin, and then it was gone.
“Perhaps one day you’ll have it all,” she said, her cheeks flushed.
Moloch leaned closer, his lips to her ear. “I’d like that,” he said, “if you were part of it.”
Something sparked between them. Moloch resisted the urge to follow her kiss with one of his own, a deeper, longer kiss. With how she was looking at him, he didn’t think she’d mind. But, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lady-in-waiting start at her mistress’s kiss. Bram coughed into his elbow — a not so subtle reminder. They weren’t alone, and anything more would be scandalous.
Moloch backed up, the act of moving away from Junia taking much more effort than it should have. He let himself breathe evenly.
“I should be going,” Junia said, her cheeks still bright. “My cousin has need of me this morning.”
She curtsied and called for her lady-in-waiting to follow as she hurried away. Moloch watched her go, satisfied every time she looked over her shoulder to see him there. Once she was gone, his hand went to the spot her lips had touched. A tingling sensation made Moloch shiver.
Bram eventually came up beside him. “That turned out better than I expected.”
“Me, too.” Moloch turned to Bram. “Our stay will be extended for a while. I want to see where this thing with Lady Junia goes. She’s…” He glanced at her figure, small now, climbing the shallow hill to the palace. “She’s perfect.”
When Moloch got back to the Red Rooms, he called for his herald. He crafted a note to his father. When he was finished, he looked it over one more time. It read:
Father,
I will stay in Patriphos longer than I expected. The prince is well, and I believe our friendship has been strengthened. Beyond that, I am making a connection with the Lady Junia Nondrum, daughter of the Duke of Pytar, cousin to the Princess Naova. I will keep you apprised of my situation. Good tidings to you, Father. May the Sustainer bring you fortune and peace.
M.
It was short, but it would pique his father’s interest. Junia was about as highborn as Moloch would dare to court. His father could want no better match. Such a marriage would tie the Sarrem family even closer to the royal family once Naova and Zuria married. And for once, it wasn’t only about what his father would want or what would garner him the best chance of winning favor. Junia was a breath of fresh air, and Moloch decided he would win her heart. He would have it all.
Chapter Twelve
Anakai
The Kelda Canyons, Adikea
4th Cycle of Chenack
986 Post Schism
Two cycles in the Kelda Canyons wiped away childhood as if it were never meant to exist in the first place. A bloody knee was nothing more than a scratch. A day without rest was a day well spent. The ability to crush the desire for comfort was imperative.
Occasionally, Anakai remembered his mother, how she would have gently bandaged him after a fall or sung him to sleep if a nightmare plagued him. Part of him still longed for those moments. He remembered her with fondness. But he was learning, and he knew that through her own weakness she had bred weakness in him. It wasn’t her fault. No Adikean blood flowed through her veins. But it was something he had to overcome, nonetheless.
“You almost done? We’ve got to go.” Jerg called down into the crevice of their cave.
“Yeah, I’m on the last one.” With a hawk’s feather, Anakai carefully painted poison onto the last spike, imitating the way a group of older slave-sons had poisoned the tips of their arrows before clearing predators from the borders of warrior territory. Whenever he had the chance, Anakai watched and learned from those who had survived the canyons into manhood.
And occasionally, Anakai’s observations paid off.
A span had passed since a pair of boys had tried to take over Anakai and Jerg’s little corner of the canyons. They had fought them off, but it was energy they could have used elsewhere. Anakai was the one who came up with a way to protect their home.
Building the skills of a warrior was more than simply learning to fight and endure. General Vordon gathered the boys daily to teach them something about the world they now lived in, to teach them history, rules, and expectations. The Feeding Trough had been the first of those lessons.
About a span or two into living in the canyons, the general had given them a lesson on the plants and animals common to the canyons. Which were edible. Which were poisonous. Which were reserved for use only by the true-sons. Which attracted animals good for meat, and so should be left alone.
One animal they learned of was a poisonous lizard called a leetosh. The poison lay in the sacs near its throat. It had a unique call, a low, guttural clicking sound that slave-sons imitated when silence was key, but a signal was warranted. When threatened, its clicking would cease before it spat the acid, aiming for the face of its enemy.
After the invasion of their little hole in the rock, Anakai and Jerg had snuck up behind one with a small ax and cut it in half across its middle before it had the chance to spit poison. The bottom half made for a nice piece of roasted meat, for they only had one meal provided by General Vordon each day. They had to hunt or gather to eat more.
Anakai had carefully cut the poison sacs and drained the liquid into a little stone bowl. Next, he had gathered the long spikes of a cactus and a feather. He and Jerg placed the spikes in a small square hidden in shadow at the bottom of the easiest route down the crevice wall. Every few days, Anakai would paint fresh poison on the spikes. The stuff was only dangerous if it was ingested or if it entered the blood, so it was relatively safe to handle.
Anakai and Jerg had to be careful to take the right route down their wall, but it was a known danger and a light one compared to what would happen if their shelter was stolen.
And so Anakai finished with the last spike, secured the dagger and sheath on his leather belt, and climbed up the wall into the daylight. “That should do it,” he said.
“C’mon. We should probably run.” Jerg slapped Anakai’s shoulder and gave him a sideways grin. “Last one there has to find the next leetosh.”
Anakai squinted like he was considering the bet, then dashed forward and yelled over his shoulder, “Good luck with that!”
Jerg wasn’t as fast as Anakai that morning, or most mornings, really, but he had fun with the race as he always did. Anakai pulled up short outside the small cave where the slave-sons were taught. The clearing was small. Opposite the mouth of the cave was a group of a dozen clerics-in-training slowly moving as one into different poses as their leader, a man surprisingly nimble despite his old age, instructed them. Clerics didn’t go to war. They dressed in strange wrap-around tunics. They barely spoke, except sometimes to Pure Borns. Slave-sons weren’t supposed to talk to the clerics unless spoken to, and Anakai was glad. He wasn’t sure what purpose they served. They were odd, and his mother’s warnings about the Order of Being still echoed in his mind.
“Beat me for the second time in a row,” Jerg said, panting a little as he stopped beside Anakai. “I’ll win next time.”
Anakai smiled at his friend’s optimism as he turned away from the clerics. Maybe next time he would throw the race. Jerg was always so proud of himself when he won.
The little cave was cooler than outside and stalactites reached out to them from the ceiling. A barred and gated hall was guarded by warriors at the back. The passage was short enough that Anakai could see the larger cave beyond it, reserved for true-sons. A few of them seemed to be sparring in the distance. Anakai ignored that and found a place on the floor with Jerg. They joined the back row of boys sitting cross-legged on the cavern floor, facing one of the walls. General Vordon stood before them. If they’d been a tad later, they would have probably gotten a lash or two each. But as it was, the general hadn’t begun, and they were safe.
Around them sat boys Anakai was beginning to get to know. Elav and Ru, the boys who had fought and killed that first night, sat a row up to Anakai’s right. Elav had stuck with Ru since the beginning, and Anakai wondered if they’d known each other before the canyons. Nim was in the back row, hugging himself. He always looked like he was going to be sick. Zotti, who was tall and stringy but quick on his feet, chatted quietly with the bulkier Wes.
Will they ever feel like my brothers? Anakai wondered as he observed his fellow slave-sons.
The general began speaking, pacing slowly with his hands clasped behind his back. Everyone snapped to attention at the sound of his voice. “Today I’m going to tell you a story of your ancestor, Remulin. Many of you have probably heard stories of his triumphs. He lived five hundred years ago and commanded many men in battle against the Eikonians. In a time when foreigners dared to try to take Adikea’s place as the Unitor of Nations, Remulin turned the tide with his bravery and intelligence.”
Anakai rested his elbows on his knees. He had heard stories of Remulin many times. His half-brother, Kyrgen, a true-son of the Dakkan Household, used to tell him stories in the courtyard at night. Remulin was the subject of more than a few. Of course, his older half-brother, Lykos, kicked Anakai senseless if they were caught. Eventually Kyrgen had stopped telling Anakai stories. He grew up a little and realized the foolishness of making friends with a slave-son.
A statue of the legendary warrior stood just outside the gate to the Ancestor’s Haven. He used to beg his mother to let him stop and look when they took walks through the Outer Gardens. Chiseled out of gray stone, Remulin’s likeness was one that inspired awe. He could almost hear her laugh when, as a child, he had tried to pose like the warrior. That laugh gave him so much joy he would pose again and again with silly expressions on his face to hear it once more.
Anakai shook his head and pushed the memory down. He looked back up to the general, concentrating on his every word, ignoring the desire to close his eyes and remember the sound of his mother’s voice.
“What you might not know,” General Vordon said with a bit of mystery in his voice, “is that Remulin was born a slave-son.”
That statement ended his struggle to bury memories and brought his mind to the here and now. He listened closely.
What did he say? How could that be true?
The general paused for the gasps and murmuring to die down. He didn’t seem annoyed by them, as he usually did. Instead, he seemed to enjoy it. He continued. “We don’t talk of Remulin’s birth because in the end, it didn’t matter. He became a true-son, so really, he was a true-son all the while. His blood was always thick with Adikean boldness, Adikean strength. It just took training and testing for us to see it.”
Anakai followed the general’s every move. He licked his lips and willed his body to be still. He wanted to jump and beg for more of the story. How was this possible?
“Now, when Adikea was first founded, after The Schism a thousand years ago when Leyumin split into the five nations we have today, our blood was mixed with people of all sorts. Once we realized our blood should be protected, the families that founded Adikea became more… careful with their breeding. But still, some Adikean blood flowed outside the core of us. So, when we began to bring in inferiors to serve us and our army, we would occasionally come across a boy with strong Adikean blood. In the first two hundred years of Adikea’s existence, there was a way for a slave-son to be Elevated if his blood was found to be true, if he displayed qualities only a true-son could possess. It happened more often than you might think, in the beginning. But by Remulin’s time, it had been well over a century since such a thing occurred.”
The room was as quiet as it had ever been. Anakai felt himself reeling with anticipation. Slave-sons made true? Why had he never heard of such a thing?
“Remulin, however, showed such prowess, such intelligence in strategy, such strength in battle, that his blood could only be that of a true-son Adikean. Now, his Elevation was the last of its kind. In the nearly five hundred years since, there have been no slave-sons to Elevate.”
All the excitement Anakai had been holding in deflated completely. Five hundred years seemed a very long time.
“Most likely, Adikean blood is now thin enough among all foreigners that when your mothers conceived you, there was only foreign blood in them. The blood ratio is a little better if your mother is a generational slave-wife, but the half you gained from your father is enough to make you worthy of training in the Kelda Canyons.”
A great sigh of disappointment rose from the boys sitting there.
“However,” General Vordon said. “No one expected Remulin to be what he was.”
Anakai perked up a bit.
The general clasped his hands behind his back. “Here in the canyons, we will see just how much Adikean blood you have in you. This afternoon, after your daily meal, we will meet by the obstacle course you’ve seen the true-sons navigating over the last several weeks.” He waved a hand over them. “You will be tested today with the true-sons. They must have some competition to motivate them further, and you must learn to be ready for anything at any time. The course is complicated. Take time beforehand to clear your minds and stretch your bodies. You must be limber and quick. The last boy to finish the race will have shown his weakness and will be punished.”
Anakai’s hands began to sweat. He looked at Jerg, who had a scowl on his face. Once they were dismissed, Anakai’s friend stormed off back toward their cave.
“Jerg! Wait!” Anakai came up behind him. “What is it? Is it the course? Are you worried?”
“It’s not fair!” Jerg threw up his hands. “Those dumb true-sons—”
Anakai shushed him. “Don’t talk like that,” he whispered harshly.
Jerg lowered his voice. “They’ve been practicing on that course for half a span. We haven’t had one run through. It’s not fair.” He flopped down on the canyon floor. “Why tell us about Remulin when there’s nothing we can do to be like him?”
Anakai sat next to Jerg. “To show us that we can prove how thick our Adikean blood is. We will never have pure blood, but maybe we have enough of it to gain a little honor.”
“What do you mean?” Jerg scratched at his arm.
“The true-sons don’t have anything to prove. Not like us. If we can get through this course and do well, we can prove the strength in our blood. If we had practice, it wouldn’t be the same.”
“Huh.” Jerg sat there thinking about it for a moment. He nodded slowly, and his easygoing nature seemed to return. “That makes sense, right?”
Anakai stood and offered him a hand.
“We’ll show ‘em.” Jerg clasped hands with Anakai and pulled himself to his feet. “We’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”
“Not at all.” Anakai clapped Jerg’s back. “We’re on our way to becoming warriors, Jerg. No course is going to change that.”
A few hours later, standing at the start of the course, Anakai wasn’t entirely certain he’d been right. Ahead was a wall, four times as tall as himself. It had a rough surface for climbing. Beyond that, he couldn’t see anything.
General Vordon conversed with General Yormin off to the side. Finally, Vordon stepped u
p to address the slave-sons. “Beyond that wall, you’ll come across several obstacles. You’ll have to use your heads and your strength to get through. You’ll also need the knowledge I’ve passed on to you during your daily lessons. You may see a true-son require help from a warrior to get him past a dangerous situation. Do not expect the same sort of help. Their lives are more valuable than yours. May your Adikean blood guide you.” The general stepped back.
General Yormin raised a hand. “True-sons at the ready!” All the true-sons lined up. Many of them crouched, ready to spring forward. “Go!” General Yormin let his arm fall, and the true-sons ran toward the wall in front of them.
“Slave-sons at the ready!” General Vordon held up his hand and waited for the last true-son to reach the wall before he let his hand fall. “Go!”
Anakai sprinted forward, reaching the wall as the last true-son was nearing the top. Leaping onto the wall, he quickly found his handholds and footholds. Climbing into and out of his little cave had made his fingers strong and he scaled the wall quickly. As he swung his leg over, he glanced at the others and was glad to see Jerg nearing the top. Anakai climbed halfway down the wall on the other side and jumped off, landing in a crouch.
He ran and passed the last true-son. Feet pounding against the rock underfoot, sweat beading across his forehead, Anakai was in his element. His mind anticipated every step, every jump, and his body moved in exact correlation. Up ahead was a pit with several primitive rope bridges. One rope to walk on, drawn taut, and one rope to hold onto. Anakai started across without thinking.
Halfway across, he made the mistake of looking down into the pit. Snakes. The true-son behind him leapt onto another rope bridge and immediately lost his balance. He fell into the pit, snakes slithering away and then threatening him with hisses and snaps of their fangs. Two warriors Anakai hadn’t noticed before jumped down into the pit, lifting the boy up to where another warrior pulled him to safety. One of the snakes bit at a warrior’s leg. He winced but continued helping the true-son to safety.