by David Estes
And so now I wonder what other secrets he has kept from me.
When we left the train, we followed Ram and the others through a stone archway and into a tunnel lit by staggered torches on either side. I wanted information, to ask the zillions of questions I’d been thinking about on the train, but they took me directly to a stone box room with a dozen beds, leaving Roc and Elsey and me to get some rest. I didn’t want to sleep, didn’t think I could sleep, but as soon as they turned the lights out and closed the door, my head sank into the pillow and I drifted away. I guess I was more tired than I thought.
I hear movement to my left. Roc, shifting in his sleep, or perhaps—
“Roc, you awake?”
A grunt. “Barely.”
“Oh.”
“Are you awake?” Roc asks.
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“I’ve heard you talk in your sleep before,” Roc says. I can feel the grin in his voice.
“Shut up, I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want. It’s true. Especially recently. You keep saying some name in between snores. What name was it again? Oh yeah—Adele.”
“You’re full of it,” I scoff.
“Something about how you want to kiss her and hug her and marry her.”
“Dork.”
“Butt monkey.”
I can’t stop myself from laughing. “Butt monkey? Really, Roc?”
“I never said I was mature.”
“Good point.”
“What are we doing here, Tristan?” Roc asks, his tone turning serious in an instant.
“I wish I knew.”
“That Ram guy didn’t seem to like you too much.”
“You think? I was thinking he might be my new best friend,” I say.
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
“Do you miss her?” Roc asks cryptically.
“Who?”
“Adele?”
“I don’t know,” I say slowly.
“So yes then.”
“Yes,” I say.
“We’ll see her again, don’t worry.” Easy to say; hard to do. I want to believe she’ll be fine, but any one of a million different terrible and tragic things could befall her in the Star Realm. I try not to think about it.
“I can’t sleep anymore,” I say.
“It’s okay. You go. I’ll stay with Elsey. I’m not really into all that political stuff anyway.”
I don’t need any more encouragement than that. Throwing off the thin sheet I’m under, I roll off the bed and stumble blindly to the door. Locating the iron handle, I pull hard. Nothing happens. I try pushing and am met with the same result. The door won’t budge.
We’re locked in. Like prisoners. We are sun dwellers in the Moon Realm, after all. Not welcome.
“It’s locked,” I say.
“Great,” Roc says, “and I’m starving.” Just like that, my hunger from the train comes raging back.
“Me, too.”
“What’s going on?” a small voice asks.
“Everything’s fine, El,” Roc says.
We hear her yawn. “I’m famished,” she says.
“Join the club,” Roc grumbles.
I pound on the stone door. Thud, thud, thud! The sound is dull and likely doesn’t carry more than a few feet into the hall. I turn to feel my way back to my bed when I hear a metallic click and a grinding sound as the door moves away from me, letting a growing triangle of light into the room. I flinch back when I see who’s standing in the doorway.
Ram.
His gigantic, dark frame takes up the entire gap between the door and the frame. His lips are turned up in the center, nearly touching his nose, as if he’s just caught a whiff of dirty socks. “Your presence has been requested,” he says robotically.
“We’re hungry,” I say.
“Food will be provided,” he says.
“And my friends?”
“They’ll go somewhere else for food.”
“Roc, Elsey—c’mon,” I say.
I step into the tunnel hall, slipping past Ram as if he isn’t there. Giving me a look, he starts down the hall without looking back to see if we’re following. He’s better than a bunch of random girls asking you to marry them, I think to myself. Which is true—but being hated still kinda sucks.
Roc steps through the doorway, his black hair full of sleepy disarray. “Nice do,” I say.
“Your blond curls could use a good brushing too, my friend.”
Elsey’s right behind him, her eyes tired but alert, her long, straight black hair falling perfectly down her back, like she’s just combed it. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she says brightly.
“Your chariot awaits,” I say with a smile, extending a hand. She takes it and links her other hand with Roc’s, walking between us. Ram is well out in front of us, waiting for us to catch up with his back to us, but we take our time, as if we’re just out for a leisurely stroll. Making him wait gives me childish satisfaction.
When we are a few steps away, Ram moves forward, leading us away from our sleeping quarters. He’s wearing heavy black boots with dark brown camouflage pants tucked into them. He’s got a few inches and more than a few pounds on me, but I still think I could take him. Not that he’s the enemy, although it’s starting to feel that way.
The tunnel is plain, roughly cut through the rock, just high enough so Ram doesn’t have to stoop and just wide enough so the three of us can walk in a row. The ground is hard-packed dirt and smells earthy. Water trickles from cracks in the roof, staining the walls black.
A few minutes later, we exit the tunnel into a tall cylindrical space, full of long, gray, stone tables and people. The Resistance. Eating breakfast. Men and women, laughing and talking, eating and drinking. If I didn’t know better, I would say the scene looked rather normal.
The aroma of fried rice and potatoes sends my stomach into a frenzy.
Squeezing my stomach muscles to quell my demanding gut, I gaze upwards and see that the room rises six or seven stories high, ending in a craggy roof full of stalactites. Magnificent. The circular walls contain dozens of cave mouths at every level up to the ceiling, like an open air theater with layer upon layer of balconies. It reminds me of something I once saw as a kid. My father took me and Killen to the bee plantations, where they make honey. The bees swarmed around their hives, hard at work. I guess that’s where the expression busy as a bee, comes from. My mom liked to use that one. Anyway, the head beekeeper cracked open one of the hives for us and the inside looked like a miniature replica of what I’m seeing now. A honeycomb, he called it.
My attention is pulled away from the honeycomb walls as a familiar face stands up from one of the tables and approaches us. “Mornin’, sleep well?” Jinny says.
“Oh, yes, Aunty, the bed was surprisingly soft, and I had the most wonderful dream about Mother. Father was there, too, and Adele, and you. We were all together again.”
I watch Jinny’s eyes as Elsey talks about her dream. Her amber eyes cloud over, and although her face wears a smile, I can tell the tale troubles her, like she knows it’s just a dream, one that will likely never come to pass. The hard lines of her face tell me that this is a woman who has been through violent times, and come through them hardened and pessimistic. Maybe she still believes that her cause can be achieved, but it is a clinging hope, just a thread of faith left holding her together. I am just guessing, but my thoughts feel right.
“Come, El,” she says, taking Elsey’s hand. “You can tell me all about it at breakfast.” She leads her away to the table.
“Follow me,” Ram says.
I start to follow, with Roc next to me, but Ram bars his path with an arm. “Not you,” he says.
“Roc’s coming,” I say firmly.
“No—he wasn’t invited.”
“I won’t go without him,” I say. Roc and I might argue a lot, but he’s still my friend and advisor. I want him there with me.
As Ram leads us through the honeycomb room, Roc whispers, “Thanks.” It’s not necessary.
We pass Elsey, who is sitting next to her aunt, laughing at something she said. She looks happy. This, I remind myself, is what we’re fighting for.
Under another stone archway, through a short tunnel that curves gently to the right, up a set of jagged stairs: We approach a heavy, metal door. It’s the first thing I’ve seen that isn’t stone. Whatever room it is guarding is more important than the others. To the right of the door is an open space and I can see that we’re up a level, overlooking the common area where the people are eating. They can see us, and we can see them. We’re in the honeycomb.
With a sharp tap on the metal, Ram announces our arrival, and the door swings open with a creak. Four faces are framed by the doorway, all staring at us as we enter the long, rectangular room. Ignoring the faces, I scan the area. On one wall is a large map, dotted with orange, yellow, and blue pins. On another wall hangs a giant mural, woven from black thread, etched with symbols in white: a hammer; a chisel; a sword; a harp. In the center of the tapestry is a large symbol I have never seen before, made up of three smaller symbols that I know well. The sun dweller symbol: a red and orange sun with curling heat lines churning from the edges; the moon dweller insignia: a bright yellow crescent moon crossed by a black sword; the star dweller emblem: a blue star outlined in dark black. The marks of each of the Tri-Realms. Each is encircled by gold thread, overlapping and meeting in the middle. Beneath them, the words Forever United.
A cough. My gaze has lingered too long and everyone’s waiting for me. It was Roc who coughed to get my attention. He’s already sitting on one side of the table. I take a seat next to him.
“Welcome, Tristan—Roc.” It’s Ben who speaks from the head of the table. His green eyes are sparkling from the candlelight and I can only think of Adele, her pale skin and vibrant lips, her fearless eyes, her slim figure and great legs—
“Tristan?” It’s Ben again and I think I’ve missed something.
“Uh, yeah?” I say, sounding exactly how I feel: stupid.
“Would you please introduce yourself and Roc to the group?”
“Yes, sir—I mean Mr. Rose—I mean Ben,” I say, glancing at Roc, who’s grinning at me like I’ve got sauce all over my face.
I clear my throat. Clear it again. Finally, take a moment to look at the other faces in the room. First, a woman, probably in her twenties, sitting across from me, smiling at me with soft pale blue eyes. She’s pretty, in a sisterly sort of way. A friend, I hope. Next to her is a guy who looks about her age, with a buzz cut that is the same length as his well-trimmed beard. He looks athletic, like me. I make a silent bet with myself that he’s a good swordfighter. His expression is unreadable. Friend or foe? The jury’s out. At the other head is another woman, with deep blue eyes that remind me of my own. Her hair is short and red and spiky. I’d know her anywhere.
“Vice President Morgan,” I say with a nod.
“Tristan Nailin—fancy meeting you here,” she says with a slight wink. I’ve always liked her. She’s one of the few moon dweller VPs who have tried to stand up to my father’s obscene politics. Now that I know the Resistance is still in operation, it doesn’t surprise me that she would be one of them, or at least in communication with them. She nods for me to speak.
“I am Tristan Nailin, reluctant son of President Nailin, ruler of the Tri-Realms.” My voice is surprisingly firm and I gain confidence from it. “This is my friend, Roc, and we’ve come to help the Resistance in any way that we can.”
Standing in the corner, Ram snorts. “You expect us to believe that?”
All heads turn toward him. “I don’t expect you to believe anything,” I say, my voice rising. “But I hope that you will let me prove it to you.”
“And allow you to sabotage all of our careful planning?”—Ram snorts again—“We would be better served to simply turn ourselves in.”
“He wouldn’t do that!” Roc shouts. I look at him. His nose is slightly turned up and his fists are clenched together on the table. A hint of the protectiveness I saw from him in subchapter 26 has once more manifested itself. He is my brother to the end.
“It’s okay, Roc,” I say, putting an arm on his shoulder. “Let it play out.” He shrugs and his fingers relax.
I look around the table, meeting each person’s eyes for a moment before moving on. I end with Ben. “Is that what you all think? Because, if so, I’m clearly wasting my time.”
Ben is silent and I wonder if I’ve misjudged him. He had seemed so supportive of me being a part of this—had seemed to want it—and now, silent. His face is a puzzle that can’t be solved, emotionless.
The young brunette across from me says, “I’m Maia.”
I don’t know what to say, so I allow the good manners taught by my mother to kick in. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you. I for one think we should hear Tristan out. I mean, what do we have to lose?”
Ram is out of the corner and circling the table, heat in his narrowed eyes and clenched fists. “Only the last chance we might have to overthrow this boy’s father!” he spits out with a roar. “I cannot support this.”
“And you are not a member of this council,” a firm voice says. The voice commands attention, clear and authoritative. It’s a voice I’ve heard before, but not like this. Ben’s voice. I turn back to him, and his previously expressionless face wears a slight grin. He is calm, but beneath the grin lies a fierce determination betrayed only by the steel in his gaze. When he looks at me, I get the message: I was right about him; he will support me in this cause to the bitter end.
When I turn back to Ram, his lips are tight and his face is red, but not from embarrassment. It’s anger, coursing through him like an electromagnetic pulse, seeking an outlet. He takes two deep breaths from his nose, collecting himself. When he speaks, his voice is remarkably level. “Then why do you drag me along to these sessions?”
“Because we value your opinion—always have.”
“Not so much as of late, it appears.” Surprisingly, he sounds sad, and for the first time I feel bad for him. I try to put myself in his shoes. Would I trust someone from the Sun Realm, particularly someone like me, who’s been embedded from birth in the very government the Resistance seeks to overthrow? I cannot say for sure. Only that I would have to trust my gut, which is perhaps exactly what both Ram and Ben are doing. Their guts are just saying different things.
“I trust him,” Ben says. “He helped me break out of prison.”
Silence.
Even Ram seems surprised by the revelation, although he tries to hide it by turning his back and moving to the corner once more. Thirty seconds pass, and then Vice President Morgan says, “Is this true?”
I nod once. “I didn’t do it because he’s a member of the Resistance,” I admit. “I happened to be following his daughter, and she was trying to rescue him, so I…I just helped.”
“You did more than just help, Tristan,” Ben says.
“Look, I left the Sun Realm because I hate my father’s politics—I hate him.” It comes out as a growl. My hands are aching and I realize they are gripping the table, my knuckles bare and white. My eyes flit to Morgan, and I see she’s staring at my hands. Slowly, I release them, letting the throb of hot blood to return to my fingers. I tuck my hands together under the table. Take a breath. “I won’t betray you,” I say, mustering as much fervency as I can. They have to believe me.
“I believe you,” Vice President Morgan says. “It’s a risk we have to take, anyway.”
“I do, too,” Maia says, flashing a quick smile.
The young guy next to her says, “I’ll go along with it, but if you try anything, I’ll personally see to it that you’re taken down.” Fair enough, I think—but I don’t speak, just nod.
“You’re all making a big mistake,” Ram says, breaking his sil
ence.
“Only time will tell,” Ben says. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re wrong.” He’s looking at me when he says it, almost like a challenge. I meet his gaze and, although it’s slightly uncomfortable, I hold it, for fear that looking away will be a sign of weakness, of deceit. Ben breaks the stare first, his eyes wandering to Morgan’s. “Do you want to start the proceedings?” he asks.
Morgan’s expression is filled with warmth. “Ben, I’ve been keeping things moving in the right direction while you’ve been gone, but I’m not the Resistance leader—you are. After everything, it’s still you.”
Ben nods, his jaw tight. “Jonas—please administer the oath,” he says.
Jonas; the guy has a name. “To both of them?” he asks.
Ben says to Roc, “It is your choice—one we cannot force upon you.”
“I’ll do it,” Roc says, his voice determined. This is a side to Roc I have rarely seen. He is coming into his own. I am proud of him.
“Stand, please,” Jonas says. We obey, pushing our chairs back. “Place your right hands out, palm skywards.” A strange choice of words, skywards. It almost makes me wonder…
“Repeat after me. I, say your name, vow to support the Resistance, to do whatever it takes to unite the Tri-Realms—the Sun, Moon, and Star Realms—as one.” Roc and I repeat the oath in unison, and Roc even manages to say his name, rather than repeating ‘say your name,’ like I know he wants to. He really has changed.
When we finish and sit back down, Ben says, “Excellent. Now to business. Vice President Morgan, how soon do you think you can gather the subchapter leaders?”
“Give me three days to get them all to subchapter 1.”
“Done. Tristan, may I have a word with you in private?”
I feel an ache in my belly. Ram had told us food would be served, but that was apparently a lie. “Can it wait until after breakfast?” I ask. Roc nods vigorously.