by W. J. May
His curiosity had been piqued even more. Eyes narrowed, lips pursed, he studied her, tried to read her.
"Jin?" He asked slowly.
"Yes?" She responded, pretending ignorance.
"I think you know."
"I'm not feeling well," she said, and looked back out over the rail, leaning her hands against the wood for the strength to hold herself upright. A quake rumbled her insides.
"Really?"
She nodded, actually feeling her face turn green. Something in their touch had affected her, had rolled her stomach into knots, had made her body turn against itself.
"Will you still not tell me about the fight?" He asked, leaning in, lowering his voice. "I know you did something, Jin, I told you before. Whatever it is, you can trust me."
Jinji just shook her head, feeling bile rise in her throat.
"I cannot help you unless you tell me the truth. You might be surprised at how I react. At the," he paused, sighing and running a hand through his hair, "at the assistance I can provide."
Jinji opened her mouth to reply, but instead of words, vomit spewed from her lips. She recoiled, dropping her head over the side of the ship, coughing as the shakes wracked her body. Her stomach rolled, forcing everything out, until only vile air remained, and still she dry heaved, sapping the energy from her now aching limbs.
He put a hand on her back, trying to soothe her until it was done.
But her vision had gone blurry. When she looked at Rhen for help, all she saw were flames, rising from his body, smoking into the wind, flaring in her eyes.
Jinji dropped to the ground.
"Captain!" She heard Rhen shout, but already her vision was going spotty.
"The sea has finally claimed its victim," a voice said. Blue splashed in her vision as an old, gray faced leaned over her. "It was only a matter of time, Whylrhen, until the sickness came on. No one survives his first trip without being tested at least once, not on the open ocean."
"So it's just sea sickness?"
"A bad case, but yes."
"What can we do?"
"He'll be fine by the time we reach port. And you and I must talk before then. Geoff! Take the lad below decks."
The voices deepened, words catching each other, stringing together until one was no different from the other, and it all blurred into the sound of her own moaning.
Someone picked her up, but she did not feel it.
No, she was floating, apart, drifting through time.
Pictures began to dance in her vision.
Strange images, shadows flying, dancing. Spirits chasing after them.
The caress of a hand across her stomach, up her arm, down the back of her spine. Chills. Pressure on her lips. Pleasure.
And then pain, a knife stabbing her back, crying out. Dropping to the ground, helpless, knowing death was near, knowing she could not stop it.
A room. Large white columns, arching into a vaulted ceiling, rock. Other people. No faces, no names. Children, men, women. All looking at her. All falling before her. Red spilling out onto the floor.
Holding a hand, squeezing it, praying, knowing her other half was slipping away, was leaving her, was gone.
And then flying, soaring over land and sea. Wind whipping her scaled body, large yet graceful, different yet familiar. Wings fanned out on either side catching the breeze, drifting higher, sinking lower, floating over rock and river. Free.
Jinji rolled in her sleep. Her eyes flicked back and forth beneath closed lids as she moaned and thrashed. She pushed sheets onto the floor only to reach down and wrap them around her body once more.
A fight had risen within her; some foreign body had awoken and was trying to take over. All she could do was resist.
Resist and hope it would end soon.
––––––––
10
Rhen
Da'astiku
––––––––
They had arrived.
Da'astiku. The capital city of the Kingdom of Ourthuro. Home to the king's palace.
"Raise the royal flag," Rhen told Captain Pygott. They had been waiting for the perfect time to call out his princely presence, and this was it.
Looking ahead, the ship was just close enough for Rhen to make out the great pulleys of Da'astiku, the Mountain City. Unlike the cities of Whylkin—flat on the plains, settled beside a bay, or nestled in a river bend—Ourthuro cities were built on the top of island mountains, none more so than this one.
Rising above, gleaming like the sun itself, was the golden palace, visible from all parts of the city as it sat on the highest mountain peak in the center of everything. From that level, metal bridges connected mountaintop to mountaintop, cascading down the side of the cliffs from plateau to plateau. The homes shrunk in size and fine materials the lower you went. The Ourthuri were a people of metals—gold for the king, silver roofs for the highest classes, and nothing but dull iron for those in the lowest. Everything about their society denoted class—the lower on the mountain, the cruder the metal, the simpler the tattoo.
All the way at the base of the city were the docks, holding ships of every shape and size. And rising from the floating docks were the giant pulleys. Huge platforms that hung from metal chains, lifting to bring supplies from the ships to the different layers of the cityscape. They were operated from large wheels beside the palace manned by the unmarked, who strained themselves almost to death, pulling and pulling all day long in an endless cycle—their punishment.
It was no wonder, Rhen sighed, that no king in the history of Whylkin had been able to win a battle against this city. Even Whyl the Conqueror had been stopped, his last attempt at expanding his empire.
"Still a sight to behold," Captain Pygott said beside him. Rhen just nodded. He had been here before, but still his throat was trapped in awe. "Poor Jin, too sick to see it. The boy is missing the best part of the journey."
Poor Jin was right. Rhen had returned to his cabin late last night, too dark to make out the boy's features, but the sound of painful gasps had made him wince. Still this morning, when Rhen had briefly glanced over before getting dressed, the boy was curled in the hammock—hands covering his face, knees balled right up to his chin. So small Rhen could barely make him out in the dull morning light. But the groans had stopped. Perhaps that was something.
"Surely he'll wake today," Rhen said, "at least in time to catch a quick sight before we leave for Rayfort."
"Ay, I hope so." The captain paused, rubbing gloved hands together. "Have you thought on what I advised last night?"
Rhen nodded. "I know what you're saying, but I must go alone. Nothing can be perceived as a threat, not so close to their home territory. If what I suspect is true, even arriving unannounced will make King Razzaq wary. I am going on behalf of my father to return the four men we found on an abandoned ship floating in the middle of the sea, nothing more."
"Will he kill them?"
"The prisoners?" The captain nodded. "King Razzaq is a notoriously harsh man." Rhen looked to the side where the four Ourthuri sat, hands chained behind their backs and ankles locked to one another to keep them from running once the boat docked. Their faces were stoic, unreadable and hard like their mountain homes. Storm clouds brewed in all eight eyes. "But I hope we have not brought them to their deathbeds."
"And you will not stay the night?"
"No." Rhen shook his head once. "I will use the news of my nephew's birth as an escape if I must. I will engage in conversation, stay for the meal he will offer, and try to uncover as much as I can from the sights around me. But too much foul play happens under the cover of darkness, I won't risk it."
"That is something at least." Pygott sighed, worry weighing his bones down into a slouch that wasn't normally there.
Rhen slapped his back.
"Getting soft old man?" A teasing glint lit his eyes. A grin picked up the left corner of his lip.
Captain Pygott raised his brows, blue irises going crystal clear. "Sti
ll young enough to whip you into shape."
"A futile effort I'm sure."
"That's what they tell me." He shrugged, lips fighting to keep from laughing. "In serious though, the queen will kill me if you leave an Ourthuri bastard behind. Bad enough I'm assisting another reckless adventure. Try to keep on the mission, for my head?"
Rhen cracked, breaking his calm composure. A second later, the captain did too.
A horn sounded across the water, announcing their arrival at the port. Both Rhen and Captain Pygott turned. Somehow, the city had snuck up while they weren't looking, towering over their heads, sparkling to an almost blinding degree.
"Better change your clothes, Whylrhen, it's time to become a prince once more. There are royal silks in my chamber left over from our last journey."
Rhen looked down at his chest, bare, as he liked to be on a ship, so the sun sank right into his skin, searing him like fire. It was the only way he felt connected to the flames, the only way that wasn't in the least magical or noticeable.
Sighing, he nodded and made his way below decks. Steering clear of his room, trying to give Jin the peace he needed, Rhen walked to the captain's rooms, pulling open the closet until he saw the bright red silks of Whylkin. Throwing a white undershirt over his head, he shrugged into the royal jacket, embroidered with diamonds and secured with pearl buttons. He found a pair of thick black leather breeches, dyed from the best hides in the kingdom. Next came his boots, tall to his knees and lined with secret pockets for the few small daggers he would bring as a precaution. Belting his scabbard around his waist, Rhen secured his golden sword. This palace was the only place in the world where it would be unimpressive, but still, Rhen felt more secure with his weapon at his hip, especially without Ember by his side.
Taking a deep breath, Rhen prepared himself.
He had never been alone with King Razzaq. And it was still not the safest plan to venture into the Mountain City without guards at his side, but the sailors on this ship were not guards. It would be more suspicious to bring them, more alarming, more aggressive.
Rhen thought of Awenine, his brother Whyltarin, and their newborn baby boy. The future of his kingdom. Was the baby's hair shocking red like his father's? Or brown like his uncle's? Amber eyes like his grandfather or emerald like the queen's?
Would he act like Whyllysle did as a newborn? Chubby and full of laughter? Never silent and commanding the attention of an entire room? Would he grow to a toddler who ran around the castle playing with wooden swords and talking of legendary battles?
No matter what, Rhen's nephew would not share the same fate as his younger brother. Rhen had come so far to keep that child safe, to keep his family safe, and though the path was uncertain, he could not stop now. Not when answers might be within reach.
Besides, attacking a Son of Whyl would be seen as an act of outright war. Surely, King Razzaq would not take it to that point, not after being so careful to keep his tracks hidden thus far.
The ship shuddered, wood screeching in protest.
The anchor dropped.
The ship was docked.
Rhen cracked his knuckles, balling his hands into fists, squeezing tightly, getting all of the anxiety out of his muscles, before relaxing and straightening his spine.
It was time.
He emerged to the craze of the docks—men shouting, ropes whipping, carts rolling, goods shifting from platform to platform. Almost like Roninhythe, but this dock was made of metal, not wood. And its people spoke a guttural language mostly foreign to Rhen's ears.
As he expected, farther down the metal walkway a servant in the bright gold robes of Ourthuro was sprinting toward the ship, jingling as his metal jewels clanked together. Rhen moved beside Captain Pygott, waiting for the man to scurry within hearing distance as the crew lowered a bridge to the dock.
"Son of Whyl," the man bowed as he reached the edge of their bridge. His clothes were long and free flowing, a slight band of gold secured around his waist, suggesting armor but more decorative. His wrists bore three straight black tattoos surrounded by delicate swirling patterns that wove a few inches above his wrist, denoting his membership to the palace house. Silver and gold dripped from his ears, circled his neck, and even jingled around his ankles. Definitely a messenger—a show of the king's power. "Our king bids you welcome to his city."
"On behalf of the Kingdom of Whylkin, I, Prince Whylrhen, Son of Whylfrick, thank your king for his kindness." Rhen put his hand over his heart, nodding his head in greeting. "I hope our unexpected arrival has not caused any trouble, for King Razzaq is nothing but a friend to my house and my people."
Beside him, Captain Pygott released a light breath, holding in laughter for only Rhen to hear.
"Dear Prince Whylrhen, quite the opposite. My king bade me bring our finest carriage to carry you to the palace. He is most glad to see you and wishes to hear of your father, King Whylfrick." He spread his arm wide, indicating an enclosed gilded box near the end of the dock.
"I send my thanks to your king for his overwhelming kindness and will gladly visit with him. I must also request that my four guests gain passage with me." Rhen turned behind him, motioning for the four Ourthuri on the ship to step forward. Clinking from the chains, they moved to the rail. The servant gasped, eyes widening, before recovering his stoic pose.
"Of course. A guest of Whylkin is a guest of Ourthuro." He licked his lips, fingers twitching, before adding, "Please, follow me."
Rhen turned, picking up the end of the chain to lead the prisoners with him. Before stepping onto the bridge, he looked at the captain, whose blue eyes were dark with worry.
"If I have not returned by nightfall, you will know my plan has gone awry. If that happens, you must notify the king immediately—of everything we have found." He reached with his free hand, gripping the older man's shoulder. "Can you do this for me?"
"Of course, my prince." The captain nodded, clasping Rhen's arm quickly. "Of course."
Rhen nodded, squeezed his fingers in farewell, and stepped onto the ridged incline, bringing both him and the prisoners securely onto Ourthuri territory.
A few more steps and he was in the carriage. The prisoners were chained to the back, to be pulled like cattle behind him. Rhen didn’t like it, but he was in no place to demand a change. This was not his kingdom—these were no longer his rules.
The servant sat beside the driver, leaving Rhen alone. The carriage rocked back and forth as the horses began the long journey up the steep incline of the Mountain City, and even the plush cushion beneath his bum was not enough to provide comfort.
Rhen pushed the curtain to the side, opening the view by a few inches—just enough to gaze out at a city still as foreign to him as its people.
The commoners stopped as he rolled by, careful not to move, not to breathe, and especially not to dare look into the window. Their clothes were loose, without shape, aside from the occasional metal belt around the waist. Homes were rectangular—small boxes piled atop one another. The bridges were firm. Even as Rhen looked below at the far fall down steep cliffs, he was not worried—the Ourthuri were known for their craftsmanship, for their unbelievable skill, which unfortunately put the blacksmiths of Whylkin to shame.
No, the more Rhen watched, the more he marveled at the sight.
As they continued to climb, houses gained more shape. Copper window frames, dome-like silver roofs. But no glass, he realized. All of the houses were open, welcoming in the wind, blocking it only with thin gauzy curtains that seemed more for privacy than anything else.
Jewelry clanked around people's ankles, their necks, draped from their earlobes—both sexes alike. As they entered the silver district, headdresses of woven metal dripped down women's foreheads, covering their faces like veils. The one consistency, whether rich or poor, was the open sleeves. Every person was bare from shoulder to fingertip, his or her tattoo the only decoration of need. And the higher Rhen climbed, the more intricate, deluxe, and lengthy those tattoos became.
Suddenly, gold surged into Rhen's view, tickling his irises from the brightness. After a moment, he realized they had crossed a golden bridge, carrying them higher into the topmost platform of the city—the palace.
As they rolled through a towering golden archway, the spindles of the great pulleys took up Rhen's entire view. Giant golden wheels stretching at least one hundred feet across were circling slowly. The steps of a thousand men stomping in unison thundered in Rhen's ears, deafening in their roar as the unmarked moved to bring the platforms higher and higher up, pushing golden spires in circles all day and night.
This was King Razzaq's show of power. His mode of intimidation.
And damn it if Rhen couldn’t hold back a gulp, his throat suddenly dry and his palms increasingly sweaty.
At a time like this, it was hard to believe that his people outnumbered the Ourthuri ten to one. That his army was greater, his ships stronger, his land heartier.
The carriage stopped.
The servant scurried down from beside the driver to open the door, and Rhen emerged into the bright sun of the palace courtyard, fighting the urge to put a hand over his eyes.
The scene did not disappoint. Brilliant golden spires, domes, and pillars sunk in and out of the earth to create the palace. It was not as tall as the castle at Rayfort, built from gleaming white stone slabs, but it was just as grand. Stretching wider and longer, far more open in its corridors, as though the king had nothing to fear, was not worried about protection.
There were no walls. No slits for arrows. No fortified enclosures.
This was a king secure in his power.
And Rhen wished for nothing more than to run through the front corridor and plunge his golden sword right through King Razzaq's chest—just to prove him wrong—but he held steady, muscles hard as the rock beneath his feet.
Wordlessly, Rhen followed the servant, regaining his hold on the prisoners as they walked across the courtyard, through several rows of thick columns and into a grand atrium.
Not one door, Rhen shook his head, amazed at the hubris on display here.
Halfway through the giant room, the servant fell to his knees, arms plastered flat against the floor. Behind him, Rhen felt his prisoners struggle to do the same.