by Matt Laney
I crouch down, using the karkadanns as shields, wondering if this is really happening: Singa soldiers attempting to kidnap the Singa-Kahn, the prince, and the Royal Scientist? And now they’re shooting at me?
The first arrow zings harmlessly overhead. The second implants itself in the rump of one karkadann. He screeches and quickens his pace, forcing his partner to keep up.
All the better for me.
We’re speeding up.
The carriage is slowing down.
The reins have been flapping about since the driver took his nosedive into the dirt. I put one rein in each hand and attempt to guide the karkadanns off the road leading to the Mountain Pass and toward the city wall. My arms tremble with the strain of steering these beasts, which are not at all interested in a cross-country adventure.
We barrel several hundred meters into a field where a herd of goats graze under the care of a lone shepherd. The animals scatter at our approach, dodging and leaping and bleating like . . . well, like a bunch of frightened goats.
They part in two waves on either side of the shepherd. He is a tall, sinewy Singa with hunched shoulders.
That’s a good sign. Elders are more likely to be loyal to the Kahn.
The shepherd is surprisingly relaxed in the face of two stampeding karkadanns. He holds out a hand as if willing them to stop, which they do, less than three meters from pounding him into the ground. The old Singa approaches and strokes the neck of one beast, as a mother might caress the cheek of her cub. Though his clothing is humble and his frame is withered with age, the shepherd’s bearing is noble. Noting my royal chest plate, he bows respectfully.
“Greetings, good shepherd,” I say, although I just want to fall on my knees and beg him to take me to the Needle’s Eye and find Kaydan as quickly as possible.
“Good morning, Lord Prince. I am happy to know you have triumphed in your hunt. Yet, this is an unexpected way to make your return to Singara. Where is the Kahn?”
I hop down from between the karkadanns.
“The Kahn sent me ahead. He will be along . . . shortly,” I say, trying to sound unconcerned.
The goats trickle back to their master, still bleating with unease.
“May I be of some assistance to you, Sire?”
I take a deep breath, weighing my next words carefully.
“Needle’s Eye,” I say. “I need to get to the Needle’s Eye and find Kaydan.”
The shepherd tilts his head. “Kaydan?”
I may have said too much.
“Can you take me? Now?”
“I can, though perhaps it would be best to wait until nightfall, when we will be less visible? My dwelling is not far and I can tell you who—”
“There’s no time. Grandfath—the Kahn is in danger. Kaydan will know what to do.”
Without another word, the shepherd grabs the bridle of one karkadann and walks in the direction of the city wall.
“What about your goats?” I ask.
“They know my voice. They will follow.”
The shepherd begins to sing, using words I have never heard before. The goats fall silent and glide through the grass like a cape streaming out behind their master.
When his voice fades away, I ask, “What language was that?”
“It is the Old Language.”
The Old Language is just a rumor and not mentioned in the official record of the Kahn’s History, but I’m not going to argue the point.
“It was a song of praise to Alayah, blessed be the name,” he says, as if he doesn’t know or care it is forbidden to speak that name.
“Alayah is known by many different titles,” he continues. “One of them is the Lord of Lights. A closer translation into our language would be the ‘Light of Lights,’ which is the title of that song. It says the light of Alayah burns within every creature. We come from the light and we return to the light. A beautiful image, don’t you think?”
The Light of Lights.
My mind drifts back to that beach when I died . . . or something.
“How do you know so much about the Maguar’s god?”
“Alayah does not belong to the Maguar, my lord,” the shepherd replies. “All living things belong to Alayah: the earth, the sky, the Singa and the Maguar, me and you.”
The goats resume their bleating, and the shepherd launches into another song. As before, they calm down in a hurry.
The city wall is fast approaching.
Where is the Needle’s Eye?
All I see is the unbroken surface of the wall, built from the same mountain rock as the Great Wall. I’m about to question the judgment of this old Singa, who speaks about Alayah as easily as he talks about his goats, when he makes a quick right turn.
What was not clear as we approached the wall head-on now becomes obvious: There is a long crack stretching from the top of the wall to the bottom, just wide enough for someone to wiggle through and enter the city. I’m so relieved, I could do cartwheels.
“The Needle’s Eye,” the shepherd announces, blocking the way.
“Thank you,” I say, hoping he will move aside.
“One question, Lord, if I may.”
I wave my tail, urging him to get on with it.
“What task is more urgent: to claim the throne or to discover who you are?”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“I know who I am. Please, let me pass.”
The old shepherd bows. “Of course. I will tie up the team of karkadanns and leave them here. May Alayah light your path until we meet again.”
I disappear into the wall.
The crack opens to an empty street. I’m blinking away the dust, getting my bearings, when a muscular arm wraps around my waist and a rough hand closes over my mouth. I am yanked into an alley formed by the city wall and the back of a house. I thrash and try to scream, but it’s pointless. I’ve got nothing on this brute.
From the shadows of the alley, a female soldier advances.
Anjali.
I double up my thrashing and muffled screaming. She tried to get me to take poison, tricking me into believing that the pellet would make me smell like the forest.
She’s the last Singa I ever want to see. Second only to her boss.
“Relax, Leo,” she orders. “Don’t make a sound.”
I keep squirming and scratching and hollering muted cries into the hand around my muzzle.
“Leo, stop struggling,” says the Singa holding me in a grip of steel. “We are here to help you.” The armor on this soldier’s arms is maroon, the color reserved for generals. And the voice sounds an awful lot like—
“It’s me, Leo. Kaydan. Would you kindly remove your teeth from my hand?”
I didn’t realize I was biting him. Sure enough, there’s the taste of blood, as well as flesh and fur, between my teeth. Kaydan puts me down, and I see tiny rivers of red winding around his knuckles and fingers.
“Sorry, Kaydan. I didn’t know.”
His eyes brim with relief. “It’s good to see you, Leo. Alive and well.” This tenderhearted moment is short-lived. “Where is the Kahn?” he demands.
I direct my words to Kaydan only, ignoring the silent traitor at his side, and reveal the facts as quickly as possible. As each detail emerges, Kaydan’s temperature rises, until he’s hissing with rage.
“Stay here with Anjali. Do not leave this place until I return! Do you understand?”
I nod. I’m really not used to being spoken to like that, even by Kaydan. And I don’t know how to explain that Anjali is no better than the traitors he is so worked up about.
“Where is your blade?” Anjali asks.
Kaydan doesn’t wait for my reply. He removes the dagger strapped to his thigh and turns the hilt to me. “Take this.”
Kaydan storms out of the alley and calls for more soldiers from somewhere up the street. I watch them squeeze into the Needle’s Eye, then hear the thumps and snorts of the karkadann team whisking them all away to Grandfather and Galil.
“How are you?” Anjali inquires.
I thrust Kaydan’s dagger toward her face. The tip stops just shy of her nose. “Are you going to take me to Tamir now?”
Anjali appears more disturbed by the pointed question than by the blade. “What?”
“I know you stand with him.”
“Are you out of your royal mind, Leo?”
“That pellet you gave me. You said it was supposed to make me smell like the forest. Remember? That was poison. You tried to kill me!”
“Poison?”
The dagger shakes in my hand. “You found out what I am and then you tried to kill me!”
“First of all, lower your voice and the dagger,” she growls. “Second, I wouldn’t help Tamir do anything but fall on his own blade!”
“Then why did you help him get that bundle of death to me?” I’m still yelling. I don’t care.
“Don’t get your tail in a knot. I got that pellet directly from Galil. Unless you think he’s with Tamir, there must be some other explanation.” Her tone softens. “Think for a minute. Did anything out of the ordinary happen after you left the Kahn’s den yesterday morning?”
“I went back to my own den. Then I went down to the central hall and into the courtyard to Sariah and her quadron. Nothing happened!”
“Did the pellet ever leave your possession, even for a few seconds?”
“No, it was . . .” The dagger, suddenly heavy, sinks to my side.
“What is it, Leo?”
“On my way out of the castle, I was skipping over the crack in the floor of the central hall. There was a soldier . . . I don’t know his name. I bumped into him. The pellet fell on the floor, and he gave it back to me.”
Anjali growls. “I’ll bet my tail and whiskers he knocked into you and picked my pellet out of your pocket while dropping a different pellet, the poison one, onto the floor.”
It makes sense. Unless Anjali is lying to cover her own tracks. I don’t know what to believe.
“If it was poison,” she considers, “why are you still alive?”
I freeze. I hadn’t counted on her asking that.
Anjali’s eyes expand. “Did you get your slaycon to eat the poison?”
I look away. My ears burn. My legs feel like jelly.
“You poisoned Storm with it, didn’t you? Leo, that’s brilliant!”
“No. You don’t understand,” I protest. “It was an accident.”
“There are no accidents in nature, Leo. Some of science’s best discoveries happen because of so-called accidents!”
“I didn’t exactly triumph over Storm like a real warrior.”
“A kill is a kill. Let the evidence speak for itself. You live. Storm is dead.”
“No one believed I would survive. Not even me. I guess that’s why Tamir thought I would eat the poison and clear his path to the throne.”
“Tamir’s plan totally backfired, though, didn’t it? Instead of clearing his way to the throne, he gave you the means to secure your birthright by poisoning your slaycon and—”
“That just makes Tamir more desperate and dangerous than ever,” I say, cutting her off.
“Forget about Tamir. You survived the hunt. That’s all that matters. You are going to the Academy, and you will be the Singa-Kahn one day!”
“What if I don’t want to be the Singa-Kahn?”
I didn’t mean to actually say it, but once the truth is spoken, there’s no reeling it back in. Then, more truth comes spilling out of my eyes, blazing little trails of sorrow down my cheeks and muzzle. All of the pent-up stress of the past twenty-four hours pours out of me in a sloppy rainstorm of tears.
I slump to the ground, back against the wall, head in my arms.
Anjali crouches next to me, drapes an arm over my shoulders, and wraps her tail around my waist. When I pull myself together, she says, “Kaydan won’t be back for a while yet. How about a you-know-what to pass the time?”
I groan. “I told you, it doesn’t work like that. They just come when they want, not when I want . . . which is never.”
“Why don’t you just make one up, then?”
I can think of a thousand reasons not to, starting with the most obvious. “Remember what happened right after the story about the firewing birds? Do you think it was just a coincidence that a firewing appeared on my head and flew away?”
“I got it. I’m not stupid.”
“It’s dangerous, Anjali. I’m dangerous.”
Anjali appears foolishly unafraid.
“Look,” I continue, “suppose I’m forced to tell a story about a slaycon. A slaycon is bound to appear in this alley. With us. Maybe even Storm himself will come back from the dead. Would you like that?”
“Sure. It’s better than sitting here with nothing to do.”
I sigh and tip my head against the wall. “And I thought I was the crazy one.”
We sit a while longer, watching shadows lengthen in the street.
“Why don’t you have a quadron, Anjali?”
It’s a random question, but one I have wondered about. A soldier as skilled as Anjali is clearly captain material.
“Right now my orders are to protect you. I’ll get a quadron later. I have time. I’m in for life.”
All Singas are required to spend six years in the military after two years of training at the Academy. At the age of twenty-one we are free to return to civilian life, mate, raise a family, and pursue whatever trade or craft we wish. A few, like Kaydan and Anjali, give all that up and remain soldiers their whole lives. I want to ask Anjali more, but someone is squeezing through the Needle’s Eye.
Anjali springs up and draws her short blade, signaling for me to stay back. She relaxes as Kaydan ducks into the alley.
“The Kahn is well,” he announces before I can ask. “And Galil. Their captors are defeated and on their way to a locked cage. Galil and the Kahn will enter the city through the main gate disguised as common Singa folk and meet us at the castle.”
Kaydan pushes past us, lifts the top of a barrel, and pulls out three red military cloaks. He tosses one to each of us and keeps the third for himself. How did those get in there?
“Put this on and draw the hood over your brow.”
“Anjali, you will take the forward position, followed by Leo. I will take the rear. We should have little trouble if we stay among other Singas. Tamir is still too concerned about his reputation to strike openly in public. Let’s move.”
Anjali turns to me with eyes that ask, Ready?
I give a quick nod. She whirls around and leads us into the bustling city streets.
Chapter 9
Walling evil out has a tendency to wall it in.
—Sayings of the Ancients
eo,” Kaydan whispers as we turn down the first empty street. “I am curious to know the facts of the past twenty-four hours, including how you killed that devil of a slaycon. For now, tell me how you found the Needle’s Eye. It’s almost impossible to see from the other side of the city wall.”
“An old shepherd guided me.”
“A shepherd?”
“He seemed to know you.”
“Ah,” Kaydan says. “I know only one shepherd.”
“Who?” I can’t imagine Kaydan spends much time with their kind.
“The captain of my quadron during the Great War became a shepherd. He was, and probably still is, one of the greatest warriors in Singara. He would probably be a general alongside me if . . .” Kaydan’s words trail off. I’m not letting him stop there.
“If what?”
“If he hadn’t quit the army right after the Great War. It is something of a mystery. As soon as the Great War ended and the Maguar fled in defeat, he went missing. In the chaos of battle, he was presumed dead. He appeared a day later and requested the Kahn’s permission to be released from duty. The Kahn granted his wish, in gratitude for his service in the war, but with great remorse. Since then he has been a shepherd, dwelling among the Border Caves. All of
this is recorded in the Kahn’s History.”
Referring to the Kahn’s History is the official way to conclude a list of facts to assure listeners that their ears have not been polluted by fiction.
“Shanti?” I wonder aloud. I remember this collection of facts from my own study of the Kahn’s History: a brave warrior named Shanti who quit the Royal Army immediately after the Great War.
“The very same,” Kaydan affirms. “It was a great loss for the army. He was not only an exceptional soldier, but wiser than any Singa I have ever known.”
The fur on my back lifts. Daviyah said I would meet a wise Singa. Could it be?
“I need to rest a minute, Kaydan.”
“We are only a kilometer from the castle, Lord. It would be best to press onward.”
“Please. Just for a moment. I feel dizzy.”
“Actually, General, we’re only eight hundred and seventy-two meters from the castle from this exact point,” Anjali corrects, coming to my aid. “A short break won’t set us back too much.”
Kaydan grunts and leads us across the street to a little eatery where meat and drink can be purchased for a few coins. I have never been in a place like this. There is a polished wooden bar lined with stools near the kitchen, and six tables with chairs in the main dining area. It smells of old wood and fresh, savory meat. The eatery is empty except for an elder sitting at the back corner table and the owner of the place, who is cleaning and stacking dishes behind the bar.
Kaydan surveys the scene and judges it safe enough to enter.
“Greetings, good soldiers!” calls the owner. The elder in the corner stirs as if roused from sleep. “What can I do for you?”
“We only wish to sit and rest like this kindly elder here,” Kaydan says, gesturing to the eatery’s sole patron.
“These chairs are for paying customers only,” the owner responds. “Even for noble military folk such as yourselves. But I can assure you we have the freshest meat, the ripest plant foods, and the best drink in all of Singara.”
“Very well,” Kaydan agrees. “We’ll have a plate of deer livers and three pints of wheat water.” Wheat water is a grainy fortified brew, engineered to give energy and strength in addition to quenching thirst.