Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2)

by Murano, Michael Joseph

  She had looked at him with bright eyes, and her guilt and her deep sense of self-loathing roared like a dragon in its lair. The pain had nearly choked her and she slapped Karadon hard, twice. Dropping to the ground, she had wrapped her arms around her legs and sobbed uncontrollably. He remembered how he stood there, shaken and overcome with grief for her, and for all those who had lost their loved ones by the sword of the Temple. Then, he knelt before her and held her against him. She did not resist but whispered softly, “How could you love me after what I have done? I have sent my brother to his death.”

  He forced her to look into his eyes and said, “It wasn’t you. It was the Temple. You tried to save him, but sometimes we are not strong enough to save those we love. Then we must choose between spending the rest of our lives hating ourselves, or loving those we can love. I love you. What will you do?”

  He did not wait for an answer but got up and left. He knew she needed to know he could walk away. She needed to know he would be strong enough to walk away and continue to live even if she chose not to love him, or worse, if the Temple managed to capture or kill her. She needed to know that his love would not overwhelm him, nor overtake him, but carry him forward and give him the strength to face whatever would come. Torn, wounded, afraid and alone he may be, but he would still be standing, still choosing life over death, love over hate, and strength over the murderous weakness of the Temple.

  Two weeks later, they were married in a simple but beautiful ceremony. Ashod officiated. Her father and mother stood side-by-side and wept for joy. The cheers and applause of their companions pierced his heart, for there was not one man, woman, or child cheering them that had not lost loved ones.

  Secretly, Karadon had hoped Hoda would be with child, but two years into their marriage and still no children were forthcoming. Ashod had advised him to be patient. “She is not yet ready to be a mother, Karadon. She is healing, slowly. Be patient and do not raise the subject. Stand by her side and be there when she needs you and that should be enough for now,” he had said.

  “Karadon? Karadon? You’re daydreaming again.”

  Her husband grunted, then yawned.

  “Oh no, you’re not going for your morning nap before you tell me what our contact has told you.”

  Karadon yawned again. “The inspectors are ready to issue our permit today, but the princess, daughter of the heiress to the throne, fell ill. So we should receive the permits in five days hence.”

  “A little girl falls sick and permits are delayed five days? How do they expect to do business?”

  “Ah, my dear Mrs. Rastoop,” he said, imitating the surly speech of the palace’s intendant, “it is a great honor to do business with you. Please wait a month or two, and we will be with you momentarily.”

  Hoda sighed in frustration. “I don’t understand why Ashod sent us to deliver a package to somebody living in Gordion, of all places. This is not a Black Robe’s mission. We’re not saving anyone, so why are we involved?”

  “Are you asking me, or are you talking to Ashod?” asked Karadon in an innocent tone. “If you’re asking me, I would answer that I don’t know about this mission any more than I did yesterday when you asked me that same question. If you are mistaking me for Ashod, I would be offended. He is bald and my nose is far better good-looking than his.”

  Hoda pursed her lips and scowled. Karadon tried to laugh and yawn at the same time and ended up with a loud groan.

  “Has he told you who we’re supposed to meet in Gordion?”

  “Yes,” replied Karadon, “by the way, why do you insist on stowing the mats away when you know I’ll be taking a nap?”

  “If I leave the mats on the floor, you complain that the tent is not up to Mister Rastoop’s standards,” griped Hoda. “Make up your mind.”

  “That’s true,” he chuckled. “All right then, I won’t complain about untidiness when I come back from my early morning watch.”

  “Promise?” asked Hoda who eyed Karadon suspiciously as he retrieved his mat.

  “Wake me in two hours,” he said as he smoothed his cover over the thick floor bedding. “Two representatives from the Gordion Commerce League and a zakiir will be visiting us this afternoon to begin the necessary negotiations for the permits.”

  “Wait, what negotiations? I thought the permits have been secured.”

  “No, the intent has been secured. Before the royal attendant of Gordion can turn intent into permits, he must first verify our claim. There will be two more visits, one this afternoon, and another in four days. If all goes well, we will receive the permits on the fifth day, when we present ourselves at the gate of the city.”

  “You mean, I have to prepare Mitanian dishes again? They are so greasy, I can’t—”

  “The good news,” Karadon broke in, “is that you won’t have to cook. Master Kwadil promised he will take care of the meals. Seemingly, he knows of an amazing cook who is traveling with us, but he refused to tell me who it is.

  “Fine, I will, but do you promise?”

  “Promise what?”

  “That you won’t complain about untidiness?”

  Karadon stretched and yawned. “Ah yes-ah, my beautiful turnip-ah. I will not complain about untidiness before my nap, only after-ah.”

  Hoda shoved her husband and he fell laughing onto the floor. She pinned him to the ground and he smiled. “You haven’t told me the name of the person we are to meet in Gordion.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said closing his eyes, “The name means nothing to me and I doubt it will mean anything to you.”

  “Karadon, tell me who we’re meeting with or I won’t let you nap.”

  “Fine,” he said sleepily, “I got only his first name. It’s Corintus.”

  “Empyreans are never to be trifled with. Underestimating them is a deadly mistake. Trying to woo them or bribe them could get you killed. Disrespecting them in any way will result in severe reprisal. Sit on a horse, show yourself a worthy leader and a mighty warrior, and they will respect you. You might still end up dead, but at least you will have won their respect.”

  –Diplomatic Notes of Uziguzi, First Adviser to Her Majesty Aylul Meir Pen, Empress of the Empyreans.

  While Karadon made ready for his favorite nap, Aquilina, still in her wet clothes, had stood in Tyrulan, waiting for her enemy. She remembered the day when Vily had come to live with them at the castle. She had felt the orphan’s sadness and vowed never to forget that moment. To this end, she had consigned to memory the very spot where she had experienced her friend’s sorrow, and named it Vilytéréyan. It was there that she witnessed the rise of a beautiful silver willow shedding brilliant white tears. She had instinctively known this willow was linked to Vily. She had closed her eyes, lightly touched the willow, and when she opened them, found herself in an inner court next to a grimy iron pole where Vily had been tied. A dark-green bruise covered her right cheek and a streak of dried blood ran from her nose down her chin and neck. Vily had been slumped against the pole and the thick ropes holding her captive dug into her tumefied arms.

  “Vily,” Aquilina had cried, “Vily!”

  The little girl managed to raise her head and had given the young princess a sad smile. Realizing Aquilina was next to her, Vily became afraid. “Run, Lina,” she whispered, “Run. He will catch you.”

  Aquilina worked on the knot. “Who did this to you, Vily? Who?”

  “You!” yelled a man from behind. “What are you doing here?”

  Aquilina looked behind her. A tall burly man was standing by the door. He was massive and muscular with a neck as thick as a bull’s. “Untie her, now!” she ordered.

  The man laughed; a loud, sickening chortle. “Look at this, the little twit is ordering me.” He stepped into the courtyard, flexing his massive arms. “Tell you what I’ll do, I’ll slap her twice to teach you a lesson, and then I’ll put a nice little collar around your neck and teach you to beg properly. See,” he added as he drew closer, “orphans who don’t beg properly d
on’t eat; they’re punished. Now that’s proper, see?”

  “Untie her! I am Princess Aquilina of Gordion. Release her.”

  The man laughed so hard tears welled in his swollen eyes. “A princess? Here? You impress me young twit; you’ll make a good beggar.” He grabbed her by the arm and twisted. “A good beating is what you’ll get to know, Highness. I’ll—”

  “I suggest you let her go. Slowly.”

  Startled, the man relaxed his grip. Despite the pain, Aquilina looked up and saw her father. Father? Here? How did he find me? Aquilina wrenched her arm free and ran toward the back of the court. The muscular man, a former High Rider, recognized the fighter’s stance Aquilina’s father had adopted.

  “I don’t know what you’re problem is, but it’s not worth losing a tooth over it. Take her and go,” he barked. “If I see her in my street—”

  “I suggest you let the little girl go free as well,” Corintus cut in.

  The man snickered and then pain exploded in his head. A black stone, smooth and swift, punched him between the eyes. Then, two stones pummeled his forehead. He let out a low gurgle as he reeled back and collapsed to the ground, shattering his jaw. Corintus looked up in time to see his daughter charge the unconscious torturer, an Empyrean blade in each hand. She leaped, and screaming her rage, brought her blades down. Corintus’ armed moved in a blur and he grabbed her.

  “Enough.”

  “He would have killed her,” Aquilina yelled, struggling to get free. “I will finish him.”

  Corintus’ arms turned to steel. “Give me the knives, Aquilina. Now.”

  “But, Father …”

  “Now!” Aquilina was startled. Her Father’s voice was hard, unflinching and brooked no complaint. Reluctantly, she complied.

  “We’re going back to the palace,” he said.

  “Not without Vily, we’re not. I want her to come with us.”

  “Fine, we will take Vily with us, but you will do as I say, understood?”

  Her anger and fury dissolved. “I love you, Father.” Wrapping her arms around her father’s neck, she gave him a peck. “I can always count on you.”

  Confused, Corintus wanted to all at once scold his daughter for risking her life, compliment her for her bravery, and thank her for her show of affection. “You are a wonderful monkey, but I should scold you for leaving the palace alone and let your favorite sweets spend the night without dinner.”

  Aquilina burst into laughter. “You are a flying shadow, Father. I never knew you were following me.”

  Corintus smiled and released his daughter. She ran to her friend. Vily’s sad smile constricted his heart. He cut the thick ropes and steadied her, then held the girls by the hand and headed back to the palace. On their way, Aquilina pleaded with the other orphans to run away with them, but they stubbornly refused and yelled at her to go away.

  “Don’t be upset, Lina,” Vily had told her. “They think you’re an orphan too. They don’t trust you.”

  Corintus left Vily in the care of a gentlewoman who nursed the little girl back to health, and being the head seamstress of the palace, put her new protégé in charge of the yarn as a way of earning her keep. Even though Corintus did this out of the goodness of his heart, he had ulterior motives. Now that she had a friend, Aquilina spent most of her days within the castle’s boundaries. Her mood improved and her tantrums diminished. The former Silent grew fond of Vily, for he knew she had given them more than they had given her.

  Finding her playmate tied to a pole, alone and scared, shook Aquilina’s childhood. I will not give up on the orphans. I will go back and free them all.

  The following day, she had requested an audience with her grandfather, the King, and had asked him to banish slavery from Gordion. “People are people and should not be treated like animals,” she had told her grandfather. “Especially the children.”

  King Domin had just laughed and pinched her cheek—which she detested. “My dear child, your desire for justice will serve you well when you bear this heavy crown. Justice, you see, is often not simple. It requires much patience and fortitude.” He had explained how instituting a state-run orphanage would disrupt the social order, for orphans powered a good portion of the Gordian economy. Should he pull them out of the system, he would affect the merchants, artisans, farmers, and other small businesses that affected the local economy. This, in turn, could destabilize the fragile political structure of the entire kingdom. The Temple would be happy to intervene and deepen its control over the royal family. “No, Princess, I do not have that luxury, but the crown does punish those who treat their orphans in an unusually cruel manner.”

  His explanation did not convince her. She became more determined to take matters into her own hands.

  Not long after, Aquilina fell in Tyrulan again. The landscape had not changed. Though natural and elegant to her, it could be bewildering and confusing to anyone else. The flora was denser and richer, with new words sprouting from the ground. They grew slowly at first, timid like an imperceptible sheen of green moss, then stronger and quicker, until a massive, endless jungle of shapes and colors covered Tyrulan. Still silence prevailed, complete and unbroken like an inverted mountain pushing down from the heavens. The quietude resisted the rise of voices and the light that disturbed its unremitting gray monotony. Aquilina felt lost when she saw the new growth; she did not know what to do. She wished she could do here what she had done in Gordion and walk on the rooftops, or the tops of these strange plants.

  “Up,” she said.

  “Up” shot out of the ground; a bright orange leafless oak glittering in the ambient grayness. Carved into the oak, a lighted staircase reached the top and continued far above into the grayness. Without the slightest hesitation, Aquilina began to climb. Her footsteps resonated in her mind like a joyful, comforting song she had never heard before, in a language that seemed familiar, like an old cherished memory she had forgotten. She kept climbing until she reached the canopy of the highest plant-looking object she could see. She looked down and saw the staircase vanish while she remained standing barefoot on the last step. She was no more frightened than a child who says “up” or “down” while standing on the ground. In Tyrulan, “up” and “down” were like words with no real sense of direction. Just as one does not fall by saying “down,” nor go up if he utters “up,” she did not move within Tyrulan. Even so, her perceived movements in that strange world affected her physical location.

  Aquilina stood watching with glee the ever-changing Tyrulian flora. Like spoken words. We hear them only for a short moment, then they are gone.

  Peering over the colorful forest below, Aquilina realized words came in clusters, a few of them grew in an island disconnected from the rest of the strange world by a gray liquid mass. The language of the world, she thought, how beautiful.

  Over the next year, Aquilina lived happily at the castle. She played with Vily and studied with a warrior’s ardor, as if lectures on the history of kingdoms, geopolitical strategies, and etiquette were battles she had to win or summits she needed to conquer. Her favorite subjects were hand-to-hand combat she learned from her father and blade manipulation she learned from her mother. It was her destiny to be a princess, and a princess of Empyrean blood had to be able to defend and protect. She kept her Tyrulian excursions to herself, though she answered her parents whenever they asked her about it. She knew her parents did not understand nor truly believe in Tyrulan, and, for the first time in her life, Aquilina felt truly alone.

  As she continued to wander inside this strange land, she caught sight of a giant tree, ablaze with a raging fire that stormed the height of Tyrulan. Mesmerized, she approached it, wondering if the fire would consume her, but it vanished suddenly.

  She called it Arkélad—a contracted form of arkétis, storm, and ladék, fire. Her Tyrulian treks became a quest to find it, to find Arkélad. Over time, she had become so attuned to its presence that she could spot it immediately. In the process, she had learned t
o move swiftly in Tyrulan and could detect the slightest change—like the apparition of new words—almost instinctively. Then, six month ago, Corintus had surprised his now twelve-year-old daughter while they strolled and ate roasted chestnuts in one of the secluded alcoves of the garden.

  “Aquilina, you know I find it difficult to believe in … you know …” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “your other world.”

  “Yes, Father, I know.” Her Empyrean side was not offended. If her father’s doubt had shamed her, she would have been compelled to challenge him—a duel she knew she could not win. Since her father did not mock her, no harm was done, and no duel would be necessary.

  “You told me,” continued Corintus, “the things you see there are words that take the shapes of trees, is it not so?”

  “Plants, shrubs, and trees, Father.”

  “Ah, yes. Plants, shrubs and trees … how about a little test then?”

  “A challenge?” She perked up. She loved challenges.

  “Yes, a simple, harmless test. Do you think you could go into that other world now?”

  She looked at Corintus quizzically. “I can, but I cannot take you there, Father, if that is what you have in mind.”

  He shook his head. “Something far simpler. Ah, careful, these chestnuts are hot.”

  “I know, Father,” she said giggling. Reaching up, she kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Father.”

  Startled, he smiled. “This is not your Empyrean side, child.”

  “I know,” she said smiling. “I learn much from Vily.”

  “You like her, don’t you?”

  “She’s like a sister to me.”

  “Well, daughter, are you ready for the test?” She had nodded. “Here is what I would like you to do. I will go sit by that fountain over there. I will quietly repeat the same short sentence over and over again. You will go into Tyrulan, hear what I am saying and come back and tell me.”