by Brandon Mull
Meilin’s heart squeezed as she glanced up at her father’s stoic face. She could tell he was shocked, but he hid it well. Those who did not know him intimately might not recognize how deeply he was stunned. He held out a hand for a telescope. Raising it to one eye, he focused on a few areas beyond the city wall, then a few within.
“So many have spirit animals,” he murmured.
General Chin had his own spyglass. “Unprecedented. There hasn’t been an army like this since . . .”
“The Devourer,” her father finished.
Meilin blinked. The Devourer was a legend from the past, a monster in nursery stories. Why would her father mention him at a time like this?
“Where did they all come from?” Sheyu asked. “How could that army have gotten past the Wall of Zhong without a single guard noticing?”
Meilin looked to her father. She had wanted to pose the same question. “They wear no uniforms,” he said. “They didn’t win through by force. They must have trickled in — perhaps over years. Many look Zhongese, but not all. It staggers me to consider the logistics involved. I would have named an attack of this scale impossible, yet here they are! The strength of Zhong is concentrated far from here, along our outer Wall. Many soldiers now travel toward Shar Liwao. But that was evidently a diversion.”
“What must we do?” General Chin asked.
“We will do our duty,” General Teng said. He raised his voice. “Leave us.”
The other soldiers abandoned the observation terrace. Sheyu took Lenori by the arm and turned to go.
“Not you, Greencloaks,” General Teng said, his voice a quiet growl. He kept a hand on Meilin’s shoulder, so she knew he wanted her there as well.
Sheyu and Lenori drew closer.
Meilin watched her father. His expression made her uncomfortable. She tried to suppress the fear gnawing inside.
“Jano Rion will fall,” he said plainly. “We don’t have enough defenders here to resist. Lenori, you claim that Meilin has summoned Jhi herself, the living symbol of Zhong. What does it mean? What do you propose?”
“I wish to bring her to our commander,” Lenori said. “Jhi is not the first of the Four Fallen to return in recent weeks. This war is coming to all of Erdas. We mean to reunite the Four Fallen and fight. It’s our only chance.”
Meilin felt the hand on her shoulder tighten. Her father gave a single nod. “So be it. Lenori, take my daughter. This is no place for her at present. Sheyu, please see that they embark safely from the port at Xin Kao Dai.”
Sheyu placed a fist to his chest and inclined his head. “It would be my honor.”
“Father, I don’t want to go!” Meilin cried. “Please let me stay with you. Please let me defend our home!”
“It is not safe for you —”
“Where would I be safer than with the greatest general in all of Erdas?”
“And,” he continued, holding up a hand to stay her, “you may have vital duties elsewhere.” He crouched to look her straight in the eyes. “Meilin, visit with this Greencloak commander. Hear him out. If he talks sense, and the path feels true, lend the aid that duty requires. If not, seek a better path. In either instance, do not forget who you are, or where you come from.”
“But —”
General Teng shook his head. “This is my will.”
Meilin knew that the conversation was over. Her fate had been decided. Hot tears stung her eyes. She looked out at the army charging toward her home, then down at the ravaging traitors already at work in the parade ground. How could she run away, leaving her father to face this threat, his army divided and already half-defeated?
She glanced over at Jhi. The panda returned her gaze with understanding and perhaps a hint of pity. Was she imagining the empathy in those penetrating eyes? Meilin stared at the ground. She didn’t need understanding. She needed strength. Not only did this panda have little chance of improving her combat skills, it was also the reason the Greencloaks were taking her away.
Away from her home. Away from her father.
A clamor arose from the stairwell. An injured soldier staggered to the top of the stairs. “They’re coming up! There’s too many!”
Meilin’s father gave a nod. “Hold them as long as you can.”
The soldier turned and hobbled back down the stairs. Unseen weapons clashed. An animal screamed. Moving to the top of the stairs, General Chin drew his sword.
Meilin’s father pulled the levers that lowered the lifter, then gestured to a ladder that descended the interior of the shaft. “Climb down to the first access tunnel. It should allow you to slip by the rebels. Get out of the city.”
Meilin couldn’t hold back her worries. “What about —”
Her father sliced his hand through the air and silenced her. “General Chin and I will confirm you reach the tunnel, then we’ll make our escape.” He gave his daughter a strained smile. “I won’t let this rabble take me. Go.”
There was no room for argument. Meilin would not shame him with further pleas or disagreements.
Meilin raised her eyes to his. “As you wish, Father.”
The others were already heading down the ladder. She was mildly astonished to find Jhi capable of descending unaided. As Meilin placed her foot on the first rung, General Chin engaged his first foe. Just before her head passed down into the shaft, she saw General Chin and her father backing up, swords flashing, pressed by numerous opponents.
She kept silent. If the enemies noticed her descent, her father’s efforts would be in vain. Maybe he would still get away. He was a cunning man.
With tears blurring her vision, Meilin joined the others in the cramped tunnel. Taking her hand, Sheyu led the way.
4 ESSIX
ROLLAN LOITERED ON THE CORNER BY THE APOTHECARY, keeping his back to the store. Down the cobbled street, between buildings with thick plaster walls and rounded facades, Smarty and Red were looking his way. Rollan tried to convey with his eyes that they shouldn’t draw attention to him. They got the message and faced elsewhere.
An orphan since age five, Rollan knew that stealing was part of survival. Even so, he avoided it whenever possible. He had no problem with claiming leftovers, since the owners were done with them. People with money abandoned all sorts of things. Rollan had found clever ways to lay claim to unfinished meals and discarded clothing. That was salvaging, not thievery.
But his current problem would not be solved through scrounging. There was no such thing as leftover willow extract. It was too valuable. He and the boys used to have some, thanks to Hands, but it had run out. And now Digger had a terrible fever. They had wasted the precious medicine on less serious sicknesses. Had they known this was coming, they would have saved some, but it was too late.
They wouldn’t be in this mess if Hands hadn’t gotten arrested. The boy had a gift for pilfering, and life had been much more comfortable with him around. But Hands got greedy and started going after real valuables. The militia caught him and locked him up.
Rollan glanced over his shoulder at the apothecary. As with many businesses in town, a banner emblazoned with Essix the Falcon, patron beast of Amaya, hung over the entrance. Digger really needed help. He was burning up, and it kept getting worse. Without medicine, he could die.
Folding his arms, Rollan scowled at the ground. He didn’t like to steal, but it wasn’t out of deep respect for the law. Many of the profiteers in Concorba made their fortunes on the backs of the poor, taking everything they could from people who had almost nothing, and the laws protected that system. Stealing was just too risky. When kids got caught taking even the smallest thing, the penalties were harsh, especially as you got older. Plus he had his honor. His own version of it anyway — never to take from the poor, never from the sick or infirm, and always to try other alternatives first.
The other boys teased Rollan for his reluctance to pi
nch things. They had tried to nickname him Justice, but he had forcefully declined. Actually, he had dodged all of their attempted nicknames, which was why he was the only guy in the group without one.
No matter how he looked at it, stealing from the apothecary would be difficult. The owner had an unfriendly reputation. His employees were vigilant, and they turned troublemakers over to the militia. Rollan had warned the others not to go after the extract. Hands could have managed it, but nobody else had a fraction of his skill.
Rollan wasn’t above asking for help. Begging had been good to him. Certain bakeries and inns didn’t mind handing over stale bread or other unwanted food. But times were hard and getting harder. Amaya was a young continent, much of it still untamed, and even in a big town like Concorba, if a harvest went poorly or if pirates harassed the importers, pretty soon everyone felt the squeeze. Those at the bottom of the pecking order felt it the worst.
There wasn’t time to beg for enough money to buy the extract. Rollan had decided he would swipe it if he could — after all, the life of a friend outweighed some rule. But after casing the store, he didn’t think success was possible. Should he try anyway?
Rollan had asked for help from everywhere that made sense. Except at the apothecary. Unlikely as that option seemed, it might be more fruitful than the alternative. Steeling himself, he went inside.
The owner, Eloy Valdez, stood behind the counter in a white apron. He had bushy gray sideburns and a receding hairline. His eyes locked on Rollan, who always drew attention when he entered a business. Even in his best clothes, he was too young and too scruffy.
Rollan walked directly to the owner. “Good afternoon, Mr. Valdez.” Rollan tried on his brightest smile. He knew beneath the grime he was a handsome kid, with his dark tousled hair and tan skin, but there was a lot of grime.
“Hello, boy,” the man replied, his gaze suspicious. “Can I help you?”
“Not me so much as a friend,” Rollan said. “He has a horrible fever. This is the third day and it keeps getting worse. I’m an orphan, him too. He needs willow extract. I don’t have money, but I can work hard, help tidy up, whatever you need.”
Mr. Valdez made the I-wish-I-could-help-you face Rollan had seen so often. “That’s an expensive remedy. And it’s in short supply these days, making it more costly still.”
“I don’t mind putting in a lot of work,” Rollan offered.
Mr. Valdez sucked air through his teeth. “You know how times are. My two assistants already take care of everything. I have no spare chores, and plenty of qualified men waiting for a vacancy. Sorry.”
Rollan’s cheeks burned with shame, but Digger needed him. “Maybe you could get creative? You know, to help stop a kid from dying?”
“You want charity,” Mr. Valdez said knowingly. “I’m afraid I have a strict no-charity policy. Medicines are pricey. If your friend were the only soul in town who couldn’t pay, I’d surely lend a hand. But endless people have desperate needs and no money. If I give you a free remedy, I should provide for all the others as well. I’d be out of business in a week.”
“I won’t tell anyone where it came from,” Rollan promised. “You might not be able to help everyone, but you can help him. Please, Mr. Valdez. He’s got nobody.”
“Secrets like free willow extract don’t keep,” Mr. Valdez said. “Besides, your tale may be true, but some such stories might not be. How am I supposed to tell the difference? I can’t help you. Good day.”
Rollan had been dismissed. What options were left? If he returned after this, Mr. Valdez would study his every move. Stealing the extract was no longer a possibility. “How would you feel if you were alone in some alley, sick, no place to go, and everyone ignored you?”
“That’s why I don’t live on the streets,” Mr. Valdez said. “That’s why I worked hard to get where I am, and why I intend to stay here. The needs of an urchin are not my obligation.”
“Hard work doesn’t always get you off the streets,” Rollan said, frustration surging through him. “It won’t always keep you off them either. What if your store burned down?”
Mr. Valdez narrowed his eyes. “Is that a threat?”
Rollan raised both hands. “No! I just mean bad luck can strike anywhere.”
“Aldo!” Mr. Valdez called. “This person needs help finding the door.”
The cause was lost. Rollan decided he could stop licking Mr. Valdez’s boots. “You need help finding a heart. I hope you catch something without a remedy. Something besides old age.”
A large man with his sleeves rolled back over thick, hairy arms strode in from the back of the store. He came straight toward Rollan. Behind him, Smarty ducked behind the apothecary counter.
How had Smarty gotten in here? Through the back door? What was he thinking? His nickname was a joke, not a compliment. He was going to get them both busted! Rollan tried not to stare at his friend. Instead he watched Aldo approach.
“You thick?” Aldo barked. “Beat it!”
Rollan sidled toward the door, trying not to move too quickly. He needed to get out of there, but if he ran off, Smarty would get nabbed for sure.
Aldo closed the distance, seized Rollan roughly by the back of his neck, and marched him toward the doorway. “Don’t let us catch you in here again,” the big man warned.
“Aldo!” Mr. Valdez cried.
Looking back, Rollan saw Smarty speeding toward the back of the store.
“He took a packet of willow extract!” Mr. Valdez shouted. “Santos!”
Aldo dragged Rollan toward the rear of the store. “Get back here or your friend gets it!” the big man yelled.
Smarty never glanced back. By the time Aldo reached the back door, Smarty was out of sight.
“Santos!” Mr. Valdez cried, joining them. “Where’s Santos?”
“On that errand, remember?” Aldo said.
Mr. Valdez turned furious eyes on Rollan. “All that talk about working to pay off the debt — you were setting me up while your accomplice snuck in here! Very low, even for scum.”
“He did it on his own,” Rollan insisted.
“Save it, kid,” Aldo said. “You helped steal the goods, you’ll do the time.”
Rollan kicked out at Aldo’s knee, but the big man took it without a flinch. Rollan could feel the strength of the hand on his neck.
“Your next appointment is with the militia,” Mr. Valdez said.
Rollan knew there was no point in arguing. At least Digger would get his remedy.
The city militia kept a line of cells in the basement of their headquarters. Mildew thrived on the damp walls, and ancient straw littered the discolored stone floor. The interior barriers were composed of iron bars, allowing the prisoners to see each other. Rollan sat on a decaying wicker mat. Men occupied three of the other cells. One man was sickly and gaunt, another had slept since Rollan arrived, and the third looked like the sort Rollan had learned to avoid. He was probably in here for something serious.
A guard had informed Rollan that he would go before a judge tomorrow. He was young enough that they might send him back to the orphanage. The thought gave him shivers. There was no worse racket than the orphanage in Concorba. The head guy lived well because he fed the kids the absolute minimum, made them work like slaves, dressed them like beggars, and never wasted resources on things like medicine. Rollan had run off for a reason. He suspected he might actually prefer prison.
A door opened, and boots clomped down the stairs. Were they bringing in a new prisoner? Rollan arose for a better look. No, the jailer was alone. He was portly with a stubbly jaw. Holding a ledger, he came to Rollan’s cell. “How old are you?”
Was this a trick question? Would it benefit him more to seem older or younger? Rollan wasn’t sure, so he answered honestly. “I’m twelve next month.”
The man made a notation. “You’re an orphan.”<
br />
“Actually I’m a lost prince. If you take me back to Eura, my father will reward you.”
“When did you run away from the orphanage?”
Rollan considered the question, and found no reason to fib. “I was nine.”
“Have you had your Nectar?”
The question mildly surprised him. “No.”
“You know what happens if you don’t take the Nectar?”
“A bonding could happen naturally.”
“That’s right. It’s against our town statutes not to drink the Nectar within three months of turning eleven.”
“Good thing I’m already behind bars. Want some advice? You guys should make a law against eleven-year-olds dying because they have no medicine!”
The jailer harrumphed. “This is no game, boy.”
“Does it sound like a game?” Rollan said. “Have you ever played dying-alone-of-a-fever-because-willow-bark-costs-too-much? Look, just add my lack of Nectar to my list of charges. For the record, nobody ever offered me any.”
“The militia gives Nectar to any children of age who haven’t received it.”
“You guys deserve more medals,” Rollan said.
The jailer held up a scolding finger. “If you have the potential to summon a spirit animal, it’ll happen on its own by age twelve or thirteen. But do you know what could happen to you without the Nectar? The bond is a gamble. Drives some people mad, others to illness. Some die on the spot. Others are fine.”
“But with the Nectar it’s always stable,” Rollan said.
“The Great Beasts may not have done much for us lately, but we’ll always owe Ninani for the Nectar. But to benefit, you have to use it.”
Rollan huffed. “What are the chances I’d call an animal? Like a hundred to one? Less?”