by Matt Laney
• • •
“That Singa is so mean, he could scare the green off grass,” Stick murmurs when we are back in the central hall, trailing Dagan toward the first leaping platform. We pounce and bound our way up to the royal chambers. Along the way, Anjali bumps my arm. She hands me a slip of paper, the one from Galil. I unfold it and read: Come to me after you see the Kahn’s body. You know the way.
Anjali’s expression begs for an explanation. I know the way Galil is thinking of, but it’s too much to explain now.
We reach the eighth level, where a company of soldiers, Tamir’s finest, meet us. Dagan brushes past them and rounds the corner into the royal chambers. She turns again, and we make our way down the Hall of Kahns, lined with portraits of my ancestors.
My nose tingles and my eyes brim with tears as we draw closer to the tapestry that marks the entry to Grandfather’s private lair. Dagan steps aside and allows me to enter. Anjali attempts to follow, but Dagan blocks her way.
“Only the prince,” she says.
“We are a quadron, General,” I say. “We stay together.”
“My orders are that you may pay your last respects. Your quadron will wait—”
Thunk! Suddenly Dagan moans, sways, and crumples to the floor.
Anjali rubs her hand. “She’s a hardheaded one.”
Stick gasps. “You knocked out a general!”
“Shut it! You think all those soldiers back there are on break? They’re waiting for Dagan’s orders to take us out.”
“Out where?” Stick asks innocently.
“Out as in dead,” Zoya explains.
“Dead or locked away and tortured until Leo pledges support to Tamir,” Anjali says.
“Which will be never,” I add.
“24-2, drag General Dagan through the tapestry into the Kahn’s lair,” Anjali commands.
Zoya doesn’t move.
“That’s an order, 24-2! What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t want to be a number anymore. I have a name. It’s Zoya. And my brother goes by Stick.”
Anjali bristles with frustration. “Fine, just do it!”
Zoya lifts her chin and angles her ears forward.
“Zoya, would you please move the general into the Kahn’s lair? Now!”
Satisfied, Zoya grabs Dagan by the underarms and pulls her through the tapestry.
The Kahn’s lair is lit by a few candles mounted on stands at either side of his bed. Grandfather lies there, dressed in his finest robes. His arms hug my winged chest plate.
I’ve never seen him so peaceful.
Or so still.
That’s a tragedy in itself. Does peace come for a Kahn only at death?
I take Grandfather’s hand in mine. His fur is cold; his bones are stiff.
“Grandfather,” I murmur, stroking the palm of his wrinkled, leathery hand. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Leo, we need to get out of here before Dagan wakes up or those soldiers start to wonder what’s taking so long,” Anjali says. “What did Galil mean by ‘You know the way’?”
I lean over and kiss Grandfather’s forehead. “Goodbye, my Kahn.” We huddle for a moment around the bed, Anjali looking anxious and sad, Stick and Zoya struggling to take it all in, their first time in the castle, their first and last audience with the Kahn.
“Leo . . .” Anjali pleads.
I remove my winged chest plate from Grandfather’s stiffened arms and slide it on.
“Over here.” I lead our quadron to Grandfather’s broad oak desk. I pull the bottom right drawer all the way out, reach inside, and tug a small metal lever. Instantly, the section of floor beneath the desk, where Grandfather would put his feet, drops away.
“This passageway leads to Galil’s secret reading room and laboratory three floors down. There are metal rungs on one side, forming a ladder.”
Anjali seems doubtful. “Who else knows about this?”
“No one except Grandfather, Galil, and me. And now the three of you.”
“Not the generals?”
Dagan, across the room, begins to stir.
I shake my head.
Anjali points into the tunnel, urging me to go first.
I put my mouth to her ear. “Me last. Only I know how to close it.”
Anjali sends Stick down, followed by Zoya. Then she follows. I replace the desk drawer and drop into the hole. From the darkness, Anjali’s eyes glow up at me like gems. With a tiny click, the floor locks into place.
“There are thirty-two rungs,” I whisper to Stick. “At the end you will find a wooden panel opposite the ladder.”
I descended this ladder countless times as a cub, often with Grandfather right behind me, until he became too old to make the journey. Sometimes, at the end of a long day of studying in the Kahn’s lair, reading books on the Science of Nature, the Science of Numbers, the Science of Language, and the Kahn’s History, Grandfather would wink at me and say, “Let’s go down the ladder, eh?”
I lived to hear those words and catch the mischievous glint in his eye, inviting me to open the hidden door under his desk. In the privacy of Galil’s secret reading room, we would explore books of another kind—the forbidden books of ancient times, preserved from the fires of our ancestors, books of sayings and incantations, strange potions, poems, songs, and religious ideas. The oldest books are in a language none of us could decipher except Galil, who worked out the meaning of a word or phrase here and there.
Yet none of these volumes mentions the Maguar. It’s as if they never existed. On the other hand, there isn’t one word about Singas, either. When I brought up the question to Galil, he said the Ancients did not see a need to mention our two races, one being naturally superior to the other.
Grandfather and I never spoke of visiting this room with its collection of forbidden books. That’s one secret I’m very grateful for tonight.
There’s a scuffling sound below.
“I’m at the bottom!” Stick announces.
“Knock on the wood panel like this.” I clap my hands eleven times, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three-four-five. Stick repeats the sequence, and the panel opens, hinging inward and drenching the passageway with light. The shadow of a heavyset Singa appears, and a moment later Galil’s wide, fleshy face greets us. “Come in, all of you. We have much to discuss. And very little time.”
Chapter 20
Like the sun, the truth cannot be hidden for very long.
—Sayings of the Ancients
eather-bound books climb the walls of Galil’s reading room. We sit on chairs or on stacks of books and try to relax. Galil bustles about in his laboratory, preparing a brew that will give us energy and strength. Stick inspects the swinging bookcase that doubles as the door to the passageway up to Grandfather’s lair.
“When I’m done being a soldier, I want to make stuff like this,” he says admiringly.
Zoya looks like she could drop her head and sleep for the rest of the week. I’m not far behind. Anjali, ever the soldier, sits alert, perched on the edge of the chair, her mind churning away like there’s no tomorrow.
At last Galil returns with a tray of steaming mugs.
“There you go,” he says, passing a mug to each of us. “It might not taste like much, but it will do you a world of good.”
Zoya regards her drink suspiciously. I tap mine to hers and take a sip.
Galil settles into a cushiony, creaking chair. He rubs his hands together, preparing to say something and not knowing where to start.
“Leo, I’m so sorry about your grandfather,” he begins. “I will miss him very, very much.”
My nose tingles and I fight back tears. “Did Tamir have anything to do with his death?”
“It is possible, Leo. Tamir is a gifted scientist, and he could have done something to cause or hasten his demise.”
Ever since Dagan announced Grandfather’s death, I’ve been wondering if Tamir managed to sneak a bit of poison into his food. Maybe the same
poison that killed Storm but was meant for me.
“Your grandfather was quite old and unwell for a long time,” Galil continues. “I believe he has been dying of a broken heart for the last thirteen years since your mother . . .” His voice trails off. “You were the only thing keeping him going. You and his love for the Pride.”
“Do our laws say anything about the appointment of a regent in a situation like this?” Anjali inquires.
“Fables and fantasy!” Galil grunts. “The law states that when the Singa-Kahn dies, the Kahn’s heir takes the throne in his place. That’s it! This business about Tamir filling in as ruler until you finish at the Academy is perfect nonsense. But if you can get enough people to agree that the sky is purple, then purple it is!”
“Where is Leo supposed to go?” Stick pleads. “Back to the Academy?”
“For the love of science, no!” Galil exclaims. “None of you are safe anywhere in Singara now, not even here for very long.”
I nearly bound out of my chair. “Then where? What’s our next move?”
Galil draws in a long, rueful breath. “Leo, I have some things to tell you that will be difficult to hear . . . about your mother.”
My mother! Now I’m ready to fall out of my chair.
“Would you prefer that I share them with you in private?”
“You may speak freely in front of my quadron.”
“Very well.” His shoulders sag. “So many lies, so many lies,” he mumbles to himself. “You see, Leo, your grandfather and I have not shared everything with you, only what is recorded in the Kahn’s History, which, as you know by now, is not the complete truth.”
Would he just get to the point? What about my mother?
“When it was clear that your mother was bearing a cub, pregnant with you, and would not say who the father was, your grandfather was furious, because she was putting the future of the throne in jeopardy. He ordered her to confess or to leave Singara forever.”
“And she didn’t confess?”
“She did confess. But your grandfather could not accept her answer. He flew into a blind rage and locked her in her den until she gave birth. He never told anyone who your father is. Not even me.”
Galil takes a drink from Zoya’s mug; she has barely touched it.
“As soon as you were born, he secretly banished her from our realm and told everyone she died giving birth to you. It broke his heart.”
As these facts emerge and arrange themselves in my mind, I don’t know whether to dance for joy or melt into a puddle of tears. If she did not die giving birth to me, if she was banished, could that mean . . . ?
“Your mother is not dead, Leo. She lives.”
“Among the exiles?” Stick asks.
“She was sent over the Great Mountain to the exiles, but that is not where she went. She lives among the Maguar.”
Anjali flinches. “Impossible!”
“How do you know all this?” I blurt out, my voice cracking. “How do I know this isn’t another bunch of lies?”
With an unsteady hand, Galil produces a half sheet of paper from the folds of his robe and passes it to me. “A few moons ago, a shepherd gave me this note.”
I snatch the note and unfold it, tearing it a bit in my haste. In clear, fresh handwriting are these words:
Galil, my teacher and friend,
Before Eliyah turns thirteen, you must send him to me. The shepherd who carries this note will guide him. He lives in the Border Caves. Upon your life, let no one other than Eliyah read this, especially Father.
Alayah be praised,
—Mira
“There is no doubting its authenticity,” Galil insists before I can question the origin of the note. “The handwriting is hers.”
“Who is Eliyah?” Stick asks.
“It’s me,” I say, still staring at my mother’s words.
“Another piece of evidence that it is from her hand. Before you were born, she told the Kahn you were to be called Eliyah. It means something in the Maguar tongue.”
“Naturally, your grandfather did not approve of a Maguar name, so he called you his little leo instead. At first it was just a nickname, but in time, it stuck, as all names do.”
“After he sent her away,” I say, surprised by the icy edge in my words. Yet how could I not be angry to learn I’ve been lied to all this time, and that Grandfather is responsible for separating me from my mother?
“Your grandfather did what he thought was right at the time. That is all we can ask of anyone. Leo, I apologize for not sharing this note with you sooner, as your mother clearly hoped, but out of loyalty to your grandfather I did not. However, I respected her wish and did not share the note with him.”
I flip the note over, half expecting to see a map or some directions. “How will I find her?”
“That is uncertain,” Galil admits. “You must have faith.”
“Faith?”
“Another Maguar word. There is no equivalent in our language. Faith is a special kind of knowing outside of the evidence, sometimes even contrary to the evidence. Your grandfather and I often spoke of it . . . toward the end of his life.”
“Faith,” I say again, rolling this light and feathery word around on my tongue.
“Wait,” Stick cuts in, “you’re not actually suggesting we go over the Great Wall into the Maguar realm? We’ll be ripped to shreds!”
Galil nods. “That is a distinct possibility.”
“The shepherd who gave you this note,” I inquire. “Was his name Shanti?”
“I believe it was. Do you know him?”
“We’ve met.” I refold the note and tuck it into a pocket of my cloak. “How did Shanti get this?”
“He didn’t say, and I didn’t have the chance to ask,” Galil replies. “By the time I read it, he was gone. Vanished, as if he had dissolved into the air.”
“My kind of Singa!” Stick affirms.
“Then we will ask him ourselves,” I declare.
Anjali looks up. “Where are the Border Caves?”
“I know,” Stick says with an impish grin.
“He knows where everything is,” Zoya adds. “And how to steal whatever is there.”
Stick shrugs. “Not much to steal among those caves. Just some poor shepherds and their flocks. They live so simply, even I wouldn’t rob them.”
“Nice to know you have some morals,” Anjali says before suddenly becoming suspicious. “Stick, what have you taken since you entered the castle?”
“Only a few things.” Stick reaches into his cloak and removes a set of keys. “Like these.”
“General Dagan’s keys?” Anjali asks, unable to conceal her astonishment.
Galil claps his hands. “Well done! Those will serve you well on your escape.” He beams at the four of us. “I dare say this quadron might have what it takes to survive an impossible journey.”
“Then we’d better get started,” Anjali says before taking a final swig from her mug.
A furious banging sounds at the main door to Galil’s lair. “Open up immediately, by order of Regent Tamir!”
Chapter 21
Friendship is not made by many years. It is made by showing up and caring.
—Sayings of the Ancients
alil rises as fast as his old bones allow. “It seems we have company.” He opens the bookcase door concealing the ladder to Grandfather’s lair. “You’d better get back in there for the time being.”
We obey without question. The door shuts, and we are submerged in darkness. Galil closes the door separating his laboratory from the secret reading room. We strain to listen to the muffled voices of Galil talking with a soldier while other warriors make a terrible racket searching his lair and laboratory.
For us.
Eventually Galil bids the soldiers farewell, pledging to report any sign of the prince and his companions. The main door closes, and Galil reopens the door to the reading room, and then the bookcase door.
“There are soldiers in
both directions of the hall,” he says as we hop back into the reading room.
Anjali has already come up with a plan, probably one of a dozen she has laid out in her head. “You must have a trash chute somewhere.”
Galil brightens. He directs us to a storeroom at the back of his laboratory. The room is a monument of clutter, with barrels and bins, bottles and jars, drawers and shelves, some labeled, some not. How Galil finds anything in here is more mysterious than what each container holds. The square metal cover of the trash chute on the far wall is a welcome contrast to the chaotic surroundings. The arched handle appears to be smiling at us.
“This chute empties into a bin on the first floor of the castle. It will be a bumpy ride and not an easy landing, but it is the most direct route.”
“Stick,” Anjali says, “if we can get out of the castle using Dagan’s keys, can you get us through the city without being seen?”
“Sure. As long as my clumsy sister can keep up and stay hidden.”
Zoya snarls. “I just might get clumsy with your face.”
Anjali rolls her eyes. “Grow up, you two.”
“He started it,” Zoya grumbles.
“He started it,” Stick repeats mockingly.
Anjali throws Galil a look that says, See what I have to put up with?
Galil winks. “All the best to the four of you. May the Laws of Science be favorable.”
“Let’s hope gravity is one of them,” Stick says.
I embrace Galil. “I’ll come back.”
“You’d better. You are the rightful Singa-Kahn, not that fool-headed cousin of yours. Find your mother before Tamir launches his attack on the Maguar. She will know what to do.”
A thought bursts open in my brain, an idea that could be the answer to all my problems. “Isn’t my mother the rightful heir to Singara’s throne?! Couldn’t she—”
Galil’s whiskers sag. “Mira has been gone a long, long time, Leo. She would have a lot of explaining to do, and I don’t think her answers would be easy to accept.”