The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2)

by Sethlen, Aron

  The room goes silent. Alexa and Eeva stare down Yitch. Ten seconds pass, twenty, thirty, forty.

  “Two hundred gold,” Alexa says.

  “So I see you’ve heard about the quaint town, good, good,” Yitch says. “I hear the town used to be lovely in the spring, a real sight to see. But what I heard was an even nicer place in the spring is Casdania on the west coast of Iinia. I always wanted to visit there. Two hundred gold and a villa in Casdania.”

  “What?” Eeva says.

  “Or—three hundred gold,” Yitch replies.

  Alexa strokes her lips as she contemplates the offer. “Fine, three hundred gold. I will make the arrangements in the morning for payment upon delivery. But I warn you, headmaster, quaint little story or not, if you don’t deliver the boy amicably tomorrow after the trial with little to no scene, there will be consequences. And to clarify, my superior is in far less peril with the council than you imagine.”

  Yitch stands. “I knew we could come to a reasonable agreement.”

  Eeva sneers and snorts.

  Yitch enters the doorway and extends his arm toward Eeva to shake hands. “Nothing personal, my dear, it’s only business.”

  Eeva stares at Yitch’s pale, boney hand and curls her lip in disdain.

  Yitch shrugs and shifts his hand to Alexa, and she takes Yitch’s hand and shakes on the agreement. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  Eeva turns on the spot and faces straight toward the doorway and Pard and Miles.

  Pard’s eyes shoot open, and Miles flinches and closes the door.

  They both hold their breath for a second.

  “Do you think she saw us?” Pard says.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Footsteps approach and they both freeze.

  “The nerve of that guy,” Eeva says, directly on the other side of the wall. “My dear he called me, the pompous, lying ass. I hope he fails to come through, that’ll be worth three hundred gold, the look on his face when I introduce him to my dear.”

  “Settle down, Eve,” Alexa says. “The boy will be in our care tomorrow, and we can leave this place.”

  “Humph. Leave this place? Hardly. I’m sure we’ll be stuck here for longer than you imagine.”

  “You know what I mean—leave this school and your new best friend the headmaster.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Oh, you’re so cute when you’re mad,” Alexa says.

  The voices fade as the women move farther way from Pard and Miles.

  “Not now, I’m not in the mood,” Eeva says.

  “I know, I know, anyway, talk to Star and make the arrangements for tomorrow. Leave nothing to chance—nothing can go wrong.”

  Yitch’s office door clicks open and then shuts.

  “Maximus,” Yitch says with a flutter of elation in his voice. “Our guests have left and you can come out now.”

  Yitch’s footsteps approach Pard and Miles.

  “We did well today, sweet Maximus, three hundred gold for that wretched Wenerly boy that killed our Nero. Soon he’ll be gone and everything will be right again.”

  Maximus pants and makes licking noises.

  “To think our luck, a seeros, I thought the boy’s light would be our undoing and we were cursed. And no doubt it has been a problem, poor Nero as collateral damage, but with Alexa and Eeva here, and three hundred gold, it’s more like a blessed offering from heaven. I think this calls for a celebration before bed. A sip of Elexar Number 5 should do the trick.” Yitch pours himself a half glass of honey-hued liquid and sips. “Ah—only the best my sweet Maximus, only the best, for you and my school and my office and me. And three hundred gold should add nicely to my collection. Well, time for bed.” Yitch twists off the gas lantern and leaves the room.

  Pard and Miles don’t move. They wait for a few minutes to make sure Yitch is away or asleep. Then Miles stands and faces Pard. He holds up three fingers. “We go in three.” Miles nods every time he lowers a finger. Three, two, one.

  Click—

  The door opens, and Miles stoops over and enters Yitch’s office.

  Grrrr—

  Ruff—

  Maximus sits guard right by the crack in the door and within a few feet of Miles.

  Miles freezes. “Shit, rat dog.” He scowls at Maximus.

  Maximus’s thin lips quiver and its eyes water.

  Miles does the faintest of movements forward, and Maximus lunges and leaps up and nips Miles on the tip of the nose. “Shit!” Miles swats the dog away. Miles falls back into the Marlow Corridor and yanks the door shut.

  “What happened, what happened?” Pard says, unsure of what’s going on. He clicks on the light stick.

  Miles covers his bloody nose. “The rat nasty bit my nose.”

  “Move your hand, let me see.”

  Miles lowers his hand and his nose is red with droplets of blood. “It hurts. Is it bad? Am I going to live?”

  Pard shrugs. “Not too bad, but he definitely nipped you.”

  “Maximus—Maximus,” Yitch says, reentering the office. “Where are you?”

  Grrrr—

  Ruff—

  Pard grabs Miles’s wrist and pulls him away from the door. “We’re not getting in the office tonight with Maximus sitting guard. Let’s get out of here.”

  “But your trial?” Miles says.

  Pard shakes his head. “We’re not getting in to the office tonight—there’s nothing we can do—let’s go.”

  THE TRIAL

  The day of Pard’s trial arrives and after sleeping in five hours past normal, he wakes with a pounding headache from his night dancing with the crossbones. After returning to his room from the prior evenings adventure, Pard didn’t even attempt to worry or stay up going over his defense. He quickly concluded he has none, no alibis, no evidence placing him away from the scene, nothing. In fact, Pard would even think he was guilty considering he was in the west wing after hours after detention, and his drawing was found in the hallway by the door, and three ‘legitimate’ Fairstone boys are about to testify he attacked them and killed Nero. But the first thoughts in Pard’s mind this morning, or more like this afternoon, is not of the trial, but of what he overheard between Yitch and Alexa and Eeva last night. He can’t figure out their intentions, and why they and Iinia want him so badly, and they’re willing to pay more gold than the average family earns over four generations.

  I guess I’ll find out soon enough, after my trial. Pard rocks his head side to side while pressing it deeper into his pillow. He sighs. “Shoot, I need a miracle.”

  Knock knock—

  Pard rolls onto his side and stares at the door for a second, not wanting to get up from his warm comfortable bed and let in the inevitable.

  Knock knock—

  “Pard,” Professor Videl says. “Pard, are you awake? Your hearing is in thirty minutes. I’m here to escort you to the cathedral.”

  “Shit,” Pard mutters under his breath. He grips his pillow with both hands and rips it out from underneath his head and shoves his face deep into the center. He screams for a full breath then sits up woozy, sniffs, tosses the pillow behind him, and hops out of bed. “Just a minute, I’m coming.”

  “Don’t want to be late for this, Pard, it’s important.”

  “I’m right here.” Pard opens the door. “Good morning, professor, sorry you had to wait.”

  “Good morning, Pard. So are you ready for the big day?”

  Pard sarcastically chuckles in spurts. “You make it sound like I’m graduating or receiving an award or something. I may be expelled from the school grounds in a few hours.”

  The professor pats Pard on the back. “Oh, I don’t know if it will get that extreme.” The old man glances at the window and to the snow lightly falling. “Well, at least let’s hope not. Positive thoughts, Pard my boy, positive thoughts. Innocence shall win the day and root out the guilty.”

  Pard looks at his disheveled reflection staring back at him in the mirror. But I a
m guilty.

  “Now come here, face me and let’s fix you up. Looks like you had a rough night.”

  You have no idea. Pard turns around, and the professor wipes his hands over Pard’s head to plaster down his unruly hair. He gets most of it to cooperate except for a clump on the right side that no matter how many times the professor presses and wipes, the hair pops back up. After a minute he gives up trying. “I guess that will have to do. Good enough.” The professor steps toward the door. “Remember, Pard, positive thoughts, you’re innocent, speak the truth and it will set you free.”

  Pard lowers his head in defeat and rubs his wary eyes at the thought as he steps through his bedroom door and out into the hallway. “Yes, professor.”

  They make their way through the castle to the first floor, through the grand foyer, and on to the east wing of the castle, the majority of which is the Great Cathedral of Fairstone, which is a room usually reserved for special events, such as: graduation, religious ceremonies, dances, or reception parties for a high level lord or king, or operas or plays or concerts from visiting world renowned troupes, or in this case, Pard’s trial for the murder of Nero Yitch.

  Pard enters the magnificent cathedral which it appears every boy in the school chose to attend the trial even though it’s not mandatory. Every pew and seat is full and some even stand along the walls. Pard’s stride slows as the room’s eyes on him overwhelm him. Pard slightly wobbles, overtaken by the openness of the immense space which slightly slopes from back to front toward a stage. The cathedral’s ceilings rise at least fifty feet high, maybe sixty feet, with arches half as tall as the walls that surround grand windows. The walls and pillars, some portions are natural stone while other parts are colored, painted in pastel floral landscapes or historical scenes from the epics; and still other sections of the walls are gilded in gold and silver leafing.

  The professor pats Pard on the center of the back. “No worries—to the front, my boy.”

  Pard stares straight ahead, his eyes fix on the red carpet extending down the aisle away from him until they find the back center of the stage and rest on a gold sculpture of the Fairstone falcon. Pard’s eyes shift slightly. Focusing in another direction makes the room appear to be moving, but it isn’t. At the front of the cathedral, on the left before the stage, a small section is corded off with rope, leading to a small segregated area with a wooden railing. Almost directly in front, though slightly to the right, on the elevated stage, an ancient oiled walnut table which is worn and scratched and is as old as the school itself. Behind the table, Professor Ames sits on the far left next to an empty chair to his left, Yitch’s throne from his office sits in the middle, and the art history teacher Professor Wexle sits on Yitch’s left, and the writing teacher Professor Lecks sits next to him. Pard slowly steps onto the bright crimson carpet, the color of blood, and makes his way forward to his fate. He passes row upon row of wooden pews filled with boys and teachers and adults he doesn’t recognize, all eyes on him. Pard focuses straight ahead to avert their attention, but his eyes settle on something equally disturbing.

  Alexa and Eeva, both talking to Yitch at the back of the stage, along with Mayor Barrow gesturing toward Pard as he approaches.

  Eeva, still dawned in her black leather duster, leans toward Alexa and whispers in her ear as she watches Pard moving down the aisle.

  Alexa nods, and Eeva straitens her face with a steely focus and descends from the stage and approaches Pard.

  Pard holds his breath.

  Eeva gives Pard an ever-so-slight glance as she raises her hand with the LI ring on the ring finger and slightly gestures from her eye to Pard’s. Then she points to the back of the cathedral toward the entrance.

  Pard turns to look.

  “Star, Penter, eyes up,” Eeva says, nodding to Star standing sentry on the right side of the exit and Penter on the left.

  Pard sighs. “Great.” I guess I should have expected them to be here to haul me away immediately afterward, three hundred gold after all; they aren’t leaving anything to chance.

  “Let’s go, my boy, no need to be afraid,” the professor says, nudging Pard forward.

  Pard takes a shallow breath and continues to follow the red carpet to the front. He gazes up at the ceiling to the numerous domed skylights as he passes underneath.

  The boys’ eyes continue to follow Pard’s every step, and Pard can feel their thoughts and glares on his skin. Ignore them, just ignore them.

  Whispers and chatters and pointing ensue every time he passes a new row of pews. The volume grows louder the closer Pard gets to the front of the cathedral and to his box where he must stand alone and await what follows.

  Bang, bang, bang—

  Yitch pounds a wooden mallet on the thick walnut table. “Order, order! Quiet and take your seats.”

  The boys ignore the headmaster, and Yitch pounds the mallet again, harder, and his robe, the same color as the blood carpet, flaps in a flurry. “I said, silence!”

  The room shudders, and Pard can hear his own heart beating as he reaches his spot in front of the railing.

  Professor Videl gives Pard one last look of hope and then climbs the side stairs and sits in his chair on the presiding panel.

  Yitch rises tall and extends his arms out wide. His robe spreads as if they’re wings. In a jerky fashion he suddenly points his mallet at Pard’s chest. “Let the record note that this preceding on this date of Tuesday the 18th of November is hereby commenced. That the student Pard Wenerly stands before the Fairstone Council,” Yitch’s face contorts into something thoroughly menacing, “on the grounds of murder, and all evidence and witnesses will be heard. If found guilty, the accused Pard Wenerly shall be escorted off the grounds of Fairstone and be banished forever. The hearing shall now begin with the presenting of facts.”

  Yitch raises Pard’s drawing of Yitch flying like a bird over the school, and Pard shooting arrows at the headmaster. Yitch glares at Pard and thrusts the drawing in his direction. “Accused, do you recognize this drawing?”

  “Yes,” Pard says with a slight cough, then he swallows and shifts his feet in place.

  “Is this your drawing?”

  “Yes.”

  Yitch points to a woman scribe, a studious mouse-like creature sitting at a small desk at the far end of the stage. “Let the record note that the accused Pard Wenerly has confirmed that this is his drawing.” The headmaster steps out from behind the table and paces back and forth on stage as if he’s an actor in a play, performing as if talking to himself and only occasionally looking and acknowledging the audience at certain points with inflection in his voice. Yitch raises the drawing and shakes it in the air. “This picture, of a man flying over the school and being shot at with arrows, was found in the west wing next to the murder victim, Nero Yitch, which places the accused at the scene of the crime!”

  The audience gasps, and whispers ensue.

  Yitch spins toward the other side of the stage and points to Sully. “I call the first witness, a boy of uncompromising character and honor, from a great family, son of Lord Callahoo of the Seven Ricks. Sixteenth in line for the throne of Bivmerin, Lord Sully Callahoo.”

  Sully walks out onto the stage and eyes the crowd, he grins and flicks his head toward a few boys sitting in the pews on the right side of the cathedral in the front row.

  Yitch sweeps his hand toward a chair in the center of the stage for everyone in the cathedral to see. “Lord Sully Callahoo, please sit.”

  Sully sits, his toes don’t touch the wooden stage, and he sweeps his gorgeous blond hair off his forehead to the side behind his ears. His face almost looks fake, sculpted from an artist’s mind, proportions perfect, except for the rest of his tiny body.

  “Lord Sully Callahoo, can you please tell the council what you saw on the night of Monday the 10th of November?”

  Sully wiggles in his chair. “Sure. My brother Nox and my friend Blaine and me were heading back to our rooms through the west wing after a study session�
�”

  Pard snorts interrupting him. As if anyone would believe they study.

  Yitch’s eyes snap toward Pard, and he gives Pard a disdaining glare.

  Sully continues on, “And we came across him.” Sully points at Pard.

  Yitch shifts to the scribe. “Let the record reflect that Lord Sully Callahoo places the accused Pard Wenerly at the scene of the crime.” The headmaster turns back to Sully. “Go on, Lord Sully Callahoo.”

  “My friends and me were tired after a long night of hitting the books for our upcoming terms and we were joking around as we were heading back to our rooms, you know, minding our own business. Then he came strolling through the hallway, fire in his eyes and ferocious, twisted face, snarling and spitting, chanting ‘umping or something I couldn’t recognize. He was truly out of his mind, totally crazy, and he looked like he was going to murder someone.”

  “Yes, go on, go on,” Yitch says, leaning forward getting more excited by the second.

  “We veered away from Wenerly letting him pass by us, because he looked totally mental, and dangerous. He was mumbling swear words and ‘umping, then swung his arms in an aggressive manner. Scared the heck out of us.”

  Pard shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

  “So then what?” Yitch says.

  “Then Wenerly shoved me against the wall and spat in my face. Out of nowhere he attacked me, yelling, “umping, ‘umping, ‘umping!’ My brother Nox came to my aid and got between the madman and me. Then Nero the cat meowed and stepped between my brother—”

  Yitch raises his hand to stop Sully from talking. “Please, the deceased is more than a cat. Refer to the victim as Nero, or Nero Yitch. Also state your brothers full name for the record.”

  “Sure, Lord Nox Callahoo stepped between Nero Yitch and Pard Wenerly. Nox asked him what was wrong with him, and Pard snarled like he was going to explode and tear off my brother’s, I mean Lord Nox’s head. Nero meowed again, and this seemed to upset Pard even more. Then Nero, that beautiful creature, looked up at me innocently and it appeared as though he smiled.”

  Yitch nods in understanding. “My sweet boy did that, you have a good soul, Lord Sully, you knew him well, please continue.”