by Matt Laney
I wonder if and when I will learn the whole truth.
I bid farewell to the healer and bound down the leaping platforms to the central hallway. As I hit the floor, the wisdom-seeking prince from my last story appears again. Startled, I lose my balance and tumble to the polished floor tiles.
“My name is Kensho,” he says. “I am ready to serve you.”
“I don’t need anything from you,” I grumble.
He holds out a faded hand. “May I help you up?”
I wave him off and climb to my feet.
“Speak my name if you ever need advice or guidance.”
“Here is some advice for you,” I say, rubbing my backside. “Don’t scare me like that again!”
He bows and vanishes.
Outside, the air is crisp and cool. There are more soldiers than usual bustling about the castle courtyard. They sharpen blades, engage in fighting drills, and carry supplies to the top of the castle wall, where a good number of archers are stationed. The news of a breach in the Great Wall and fears about a Maguar attack have raised everyone’s anxieties.
Kaydan waits at the north side of the courtyard in full military dress, complete with his familiar weapons, aging battle armor, and cape. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was marching off to war instead of delivering me to the door of the Academy.
I’m just glad he’s on my side.
“Good day, Lord Prince.”
I smile up at him while my eyes dart around the courtyard, taking in all the activity. I was already on edge about leaving Grandfather and the safety of the castle. The ramped-up military presence isn’t doing anything to calm my nerves.
“You have no reason to worry, Leo,” he says. “Getting to the entrance of the Academy is the easy part. Come, we have a decent hike ahead of us through the Mountain Pass. After that, I have two karkadanns and a company of soldiers waiting to escort us the rest of the way.”
Kaydan crosses the courtyard to a metal door where the castle wall meets the mountain rock. He produces a key from his belt and fits it into the lock. After a few turns and clicks, the door opens and slides out of sight. Kaydan steps into the gloomy interior and I follow. He yanks the door back into place with a definitive clack. The darkness is deep, even for Singa night vision. Kaydan is little more than a shadow before me. He removes a torch from his satchel and lights it. The little fire illuminates the passageway and Kaydan in a bright sphere of color. I estimate the tunnel to be two meters wide and three high, seemingly endless beyond the reach of the torch light.
“It’s two kilometers to the end,” Kaydan says. “Shall we begin?”
He turns and heads down the corridor with long, confident strides.
We walk in silence. The only sounds are our footfalls, our breath, and the occasional trickle of water tumbling down the rock walls, gathering in puddles on the floor.
“You must have some questions about last night,” Kaydan says after a time, his voice bouncing around the tunnel.
“All that Grandfather said about his older brother wanting to be the Singa-Kahn—is that true?”
“If your grandfather said it, I accept it as truth.”
“And what Tamir said about winning the war against the Maguar but losing the world?”
“The ravings and ravages of a power-hungry mind,” Kaydan replies with despair. “Tamir thinks the Great War should have ended only with the death of every last Maguar, even their cubs. He still believes we ought to attack and exterminate them before they have the chance to do the same to us. It shows how little he knows about the Maguar . . . and their devilry.”
“You mean it’s impossible to wipe them out?”
“It might be possible, but it is not prudent. We would lose many, many warriors, and for what? We have all we need on our lands. We live peacefully and prosperously.”
“If we are so peaceful and prosperous, why do we need such a strong army?”
“Because, Leo, prosperity depends upon ferocity. We must remain vigilant to protect our way of life against all threats from beyond the Great Wall. And within it.”
“Do you think Tamir made the hole in the wall?”
“That is my hypothesis. How else would he know about it? And don’t you find it striking that the hole was made in Zone Eight, where you and the Kahn rested only two nights ago? That can’t be a coincidence. Thankfully, you were unharmed, but it gave him a reason to press for a new war against the enemy.”
“What did Tamir mean by new weapons?”
Kaydan sighs. “As you know, your elder cousin is not only a fine warrior, but also a brilliant scientist. He was working on new weapons against which the Maguar would have no defense. Or so he said.”
“What kind of weapons?”
“I have seen them only once. A metal tube shoots a metal ball at an opponent—so fast, it is invisible to the eye. He has developed two models: one that fires a ball the size of a cauldron, but more accurately than a catapult, and a smaller one that can be carried by a soldier.”
“How is the ball launched?”
“It requires an exploding powder found in the deepest part of the Great Mountain. It is an unstable substance, and Tamir has not found a way to control it. Besides that challenge, the construction of these weapons will require a lot of metal. Since we have so little metal to work with, Tamir wants to take down the Border Zone Fence and reuse it for his purposes.”
“But without the fence we are less protected and more vulnerable.”
“That is why your grandfather opposed the idea. With Tamir disgraced and imprisoned, that will be the end of it.”
I can tell our little question-and-answer session has ended as well. Kaydan is about as fond of lengthy conversations as I am. I still have one more thing on my mind, and it takes a few minutes to get my mouth to spit out the words.
“Kaydan . . . you knew my mother, didn’t you?”
Kaydan halts and I ram into his back, taking in a mouthful of his cloak. Treelike Kaydan hardly seems to notice.
“I knew her very well. Mira was was as strong and ferocious as any warrior. And she inherited her father’s gift with words. She could cut an opponent down with her tongue as fast as with a blade. But when she smiled, it was, well, the world was made anew. Your grandfather was so proud of her. She would have been an excellent queen. Those . . . are the facts.”
Kaydan’s mind is a long way from this gloomy corridor. He has time traveled across an invisible landscape to a point at least fourteen years earlier. It’s the most anyone has ever said about my mother. I’m hanging on every word.
“I had hopes that we would be . . . that she and I might . . .” Kaydan’s voice falters, and I hardly recognize him. “Alas, it was not to be.”
There goes any chance that Kaydan could be my father.
Actually, I’m relieved. I like the way things are between us. Why complicate it with the stress and power struggles of parents and cubs? Besides, there’s little evidence we share any genetic material.
“Don’t ask me who your father is,” he concludes bitterly. “That secret died with her.”
And that’s it.
I can almost hear Kaydan slam this book of memories shut and return it to an out-of-reach shelf in his heart. He recomposes himself into the tough, calculating Singa I know and love. We resume our trudge into the unyielding darkness of the Mountain Pass.
Unyielding, that is, until it ends at another metal door built into the mountain rock. Kaydan takes a different key from his belt and slides it into the hole at the door’s center. With a loud clack, the door slides away.
Daylight drenches the tunnel, stabbing my eyes. Moist, salty air fills my mouth and nostrils. The ocean can’t be more than a few kilometers south of here. Overriding the seaside fragrances are the scents of soldiers, leather, weapons, dried meat, and karkadanns—the smells of home.
“Greetings, General Kaydan,” says an approaching soldier with purple armor on his arms. “Strength and prosperity to our Kahn.”<
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“And to all who serve him,” Kaydan answers. “Greetings, Company Commander Gunari.”
The two warriors clasp forearms while a dozen or so soldiers look on.
“Allow me to introduce Prince Leo,” Kaydan announces, not only to Commander Gunari but to the entire company. “Grandson of Lord Raja Kahn and our future Singa-Kahn!”
Every soldier in the company, from Commander Gunari to the very last, drops to one knee and bows his or her head.
To me.
Kaydan whispers, “These are truly loyal Singas, are they not, Leo?”
If not, they’re putting on a very convincing show. My pelt tingles from this display of devotion. Even the surrounding sounds of nature seem to hush out of respect for the moment.
Kaydan bends to my ear. “Leo, you must tell them to rise or they will kneel all day.”
“Please,” I say, embarrassed by my small and scratchy voice. “Rise . . . um . . . noble warriors . . . of Singara.”
When everyone is back on two legs, Commander Gunari says, “It is a great honor to meet you, Lord Leo.”
“Were you . . . at the dinner last night?” I’m not just making small talk. I want to know if he witnessed Tamir’s speech and everything that came after, including my crash to the floor.
“No, Lord. Battalion commanders, legionnaires, and generals only at that event. I am just a humble company commander.”
“Nonsense!” Kaydan exclaims. “Commander Gunari is one of the finest commanders in Singara, regardless of his rank and experience. Graduated from the Academy at the top of his class, what, four years ago?”
“Five, General Kaydan.”
“Time grows swifter wings with each passing year!” Kaydan says. “It is so good to see you, Gunari.” Kaydan turns to address the whole company. “I have called you here today because you are among the most trusted warriors in the Royal Army. You are also among the very first to see the prince after his hunt, in which he executed the most brutal slaycon in Singara using only a dagger and a slingshot!”
The soldiers exchange looks of surprise. I cringe and squeeze out a smile.
“This is an important day,” Kaydan continues, “a day that will be recorded in the Kahn’s History. The day Prince Leo begins his training at the Academy!”
“Only three kilometers to the Academy, Lord Leo,” Commander Gunari says. “We have two karkadanns here for General Kaydan and you.”
The commander interlocks his hands as a stepping place and launches me into the saddle. He draws us away from the Mountain Pass and into a plain of tall waving grass, heading to the seacoast at the southernmost part of our realm, home to the Royal Academy of War Science. The soldiers form an oval around me, with Kaydan in the lead. Gunari orders a young soldier to serve as my escort.
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Nolan, Lord,” he says, avoiding my eyes.
I rarely get to talk with someone who is more uncomfortable speaking than I am. I recall a bit of advice Grandfather once gave me on the Science of Conversation: Ask questions about the other, because most folks enjoy talking about themselves and appreciate someone taking an interest in them. As long as they stick to the facts and avoid personal stories.
“What part of Singara are you from, Nolan?”
“The north side, Lord. My parents are blacksmiths.”
“Do they make weapons for the military?”
“The military is our largest customer, but we also make everyday things such as tableware, tools, and the like. Ours is the largest shop of its kind, and we employ many Singas,” he adds with a note of pride.
“And how is business?”
“As you know,” he says, choosing his words carefully, “there is little fresh metal since the construction of the Border Zone Fence. We rarely have the privilege of crafting a new blade from fresh ore. We have to make do with used or discarded material.”
That’s a touchy topic, so I steer the conversation in a different direction. “When did you graduate from the Academy?”
“A year ago.”
“With Anjali?”
“Yes,” he says. “Very skilled, that one. A natural with a blade.”
“So you know her?”
“Her adoptive father works in our business. Like me, Anjali has been handling and testing weapons her whole life.”
“Adoptive father?”
“She was found as a little cub wandering the streets of the city. No one knew where she came from. And she was too young to know anything about herself except her name.”
I’m tempted to inquire about Anjali’s brother, the Spinner, but instead I ask, “Why doesn’t she have a quadron of her own?”
“She did, but then she was called up to serve in the castle as soon as she graduated, which is a high honor. Most Singas stay with the quadron they join at the Academy, but not all. When I was in the Academy, your cousin Amara was in my quadron.”
I wince at the sound of her name. “I imagine Amara will make a fine soldier.”
“In the skills of soldiering, she is almost unrivaled,” Nolan agrees. “But—if I may speak freely with you, Lord—she has too much of her father in her. Like him, Amara believes your grandfather, our good Kahn, should never have ascended the throne. She is well connected and has ways of getting information from outside the Academy. When she learns her father has been disgraced and dismissed from the military, she will focus her anger”—he looks me square in the face—“on the most obvious and available target.”
Chapter 12
A friend is someone who helps carry your burdens.
—Sayings of the Ancients
he grassy plain turns rocky. Sea breezes grow stronger. We climb a slope and pause to take in the ocean sparkling in the sun. I comb the horizon for something that might be a military school. But there are no Singa-made structures; nothing except mountainous, jagged rock cliffs plunging into the ocean.
“Where is it?” I murmur to Kaydan.
“Not far,” he says, urging his karkadann onward.
The ground dips to the sea, making the cliffs seem higher with every step. The uneven terrain is peppered with boulders and difficult to traverse. Ravens fly overhead in wide, lazy circles, mocking our cautious plodding.
I’m starting to wonder if something is terribly wrong. This place is deserted. Where could there be a campus teeming with soldiers in training anywhere near here?
My karkadann rounds one last rock formation ten meters from the ocean. Gunari waits by a tidal pool at the base of the cliffs. He cuts an impressive figure against a vast blue background of sky meeting water. The wind fills his mane. Soldiers gather along the edges and stare thoughtfully at the pool.
Kaydan dismounts, and I slide down from my beast to the stony ground. The tidal pool is about three meters wide. Shallow edges reveal rocks beneath the water, but the center is dark and deep. A flat mirrored surface reflects somber soldiers and lacy white clouds.
I look up at Kaydan with a furrowed brow.
“We’re here,” he declares.
Before I can ask where “here” is, Gunari clears his throat. “Lord Leo, by the hunt, you have proven yourself worthy to train at the Royal Academy of War Science. This pool is the entrance. At the bottom you will find a tunnel that leads to a similar pool on the other side of this cliff.” He gestures to a mass of rock stretching high into the sky. “When you emerge from that second pool you will be just a few paces from the Academy. First you must remove all clothing and anything that adorns your body. At the Academy, everyone is equal.”
Kaydan nudges me and I strip down, clutching my winged chest plate to my hips. I’m shivering as much from embarrassment as from the ocean air. All the soldiers respectfully keep their eyes trained on the pool.
“I can take care of that,” Kaydan offers, removing the chest plate from my quivering fingers. “The Kahn will treasure it beyond all else while you are at the Academy, I assure you.”
“Lord Leo, do you want to become a soldi
er to serve our Kahn and protect our lands?” Gunari asks.
I am a royal, the future Kahn. Serving and protecting are what I was raised for. I straighten my back. “Yes. More than anything.”
“Remember that,” Gunari says sternly, “when you get to the other side.”
I lean in to Kaydan. “Is there anything down there I should know about?”
Kaydan knows I’m stalling. Singas like to keep their fur clean by scrubbing with water, but we despise being submerged in the stuff. Kaydan tips his head toward the pool, advising me to get on with it.
“Strength and prosperity to the Kahn!” I yell, hoping to stir up some courage.
“And to all who serve him!” the soldiers chant in one voice.
I grunt and fling myself into the center of the pool. There’s a crashing sound, followed by a thud as I’m wrapped in frigid, salty water. After a return to the surface for one last breath, I wiggle and kick and pull my way to the sandy bottom.
The shock of cold and the weight of the water dislodge a seed of fiction from the folds of my mind. It thrashes about in my mouth like a caged animal. As usual, I’m nauseous and dizzy and struggling to keep my jaw shut. This time there is the additional threat of drowning if the fiction gets free.
There is a glimmer of light ahead, a flashing beacon poking through a dark blob. That must be the tunnel to the next pool. I worm into the passageway and pull myself through while the ball of fiction expands and threatens to split my head open. The second pool is narrower than the first. I squat down and propel myself to the surface, then gulp air into aching lungs. As soon as my mouth opens, the fiction barrels out. It’s all I can do to tread water as the words conjure up a vision expanding into the space over the pool:
A sage was meditating beside a river when a youngling interrupted her. “Teacher,” he said, “how do I find the light of Alayah?”
“Through wanting.”
“But I want Alayah more than anything in the world. Why hasn’t it worked?”
The sage snarled, grabbed the youngling by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him into the river. After holding the youngling under the water for a minute or so, the sage pulled him out and tossed him onto the riverbank.