“And he believed you?”
“I don’t think he cared very much.”
Owen had a point. Most Patrol didn’t care about anything other than getting paid.
They had reached a landing that led out to the balcony porch. “Watch yourself,” Jesse warned as Owen scampered over to the low railing at the far end of the porch. Jesse hung back a few steps, ready to lunge forward and grab him if anything started to crack or groan under their weight.
Jesse scanned the intersecting streets. No movement, no light from a fire, no signs of life at all. Just the mist slowly seeping into the ruins from the swamp below.
“Anyone here?” Owen shouted down into the empty street.
With strength he didn’t know he had, Jesse jumped forward and pulled Owen back. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “You’re going to get us both killed.”
“If you’re so worried about danger, let’s just leave,” Owen said, not sounding alarmed by Jesse’s outburst. “Spend the night somewhere else and come back in the morning.”
Jesse felt his heart rate increasing. Panic flooded his body. Where are they? They have to be here. They have to be. “I have to find them, Owen. You don’t understand.”
“Calm down. They’re probably just on the other side of the city.” But even he sounded doubtful.
“I will not calm down!” Dimly, Jesse realized he was shouting, but he didn’t care. “The last time people I loved disappeared, I never saw them again.”
There was a pause for a moment. Then Owen ventured timidly, “Who?”
“My parents.” It hurt even to say it.
“Oh,” Owen shrugged. “Maybe they got stolen by the giants too. Or maybe they just didn’t want to come back.”
For one insane moment, Jesse wanted to strike out at him, push him over the side of the balcony, for talking about his parents like that as if they didn’t matter. But he was frozen with rage, unable to move.
Jesse blinked. His hands were knotted in fists. Slowly, he loosened them, shame washing over him. I could have killed him, Jesse realized, stunned.
Back in Mir, he would sometimes let his temper get the better of him, especially when someone was taunting him because of his crippled leg. Now, though, he was a believer in God, a Christian. He hadn’t expected to still get angry…and never like this. God, forgive me, he prayed.
Deep down inside, he knew why Owen’s comment had made him so angry. There were those old doubts, coming up again like they had in the long nights right after his parents disappeared. What if Owen is right? What if they really didn’t want to take care of me anymore? What if they moved on to a better life…without me?
Owen was still looking out over the city, not even realizing the impact his careless comment was having on Jesse. He’s only eleven, Jesse reminded himself. He doesn’t know any better.
“Well, no one’s there, as far as I can see,” Owen said, turning. “How about we search again in the morning, eh?” He snapped his fingers and started down the stairs. “And I know just the place to spend the night.”
Jesse followed without protest. He suddenly realized how tired he was. Maybe Owen is right. We can’t do anything more until morning.
“Where are we going?” he asked, once they had gotten down to the street.
“Somewhere I found when my squad first got here,” Owen said, never turning around. “Don’t worry, it’s about the safest place we could find.”
That wasn’t very comforting. Everything about the city gave Jesse the sense that nothing within its walls was safe. The distant croaking of frogs in the swamps was the only sound, and their footsteps the only movement. Not even a breeze made its way through the thick forest that surrounded the city. It was as if the city itself, once alive and thriving, was silent in the grave.
“Look,” Jesse said, pointing to a grate in the street. Something wispy seemed to be coming out of it. “Is that…smoke?”
Owen studied it for a second. “It’s just the fog,” he said, “a trick of the light.”
The way he said it so confidently, Jesse almost believed him. But some nagging voice told him that the wisps looked exactly like ghosts coming into the ruins. That’s impossible, he told himself. Ghosts don’t exist.
After a few streets, Jesse lost all sense of direction, but Owen moved confidently, pausing only a few times to glance back at the towering tree in the center of the city. Finally, Owen stopped in front of a thick wall decorated with spikes. “Climb over,” he said.
Jesse stared at the spikes. “No thank you.”
Owen laughed. “Just kidding.” He turned the corner and pointed. The wall, spikes and all, must have been hit with a battering ram the likes of which Jesse had never seen, because boulders were scattered about like they were no more than a child’s set of clay blocks.
Jesse scrambled over the rocks, using his staff to keep his balance. Even though they started at the same time, Owen was waiting impatiently for him at the bottom. He could probably best Rae with his climbing skills.
Thinking about Rae made Jesse worry again, so he pushed the thought aside. In the morning. We’ll find them in the morning.
Inside the wall was a round tower, rather small compared to the size and strength of the gate. “In here,” Owen said, slipping inside the archway. The door had rotted away, or been broken down, long ago.
It took a few seconds for Jesse’s eyes to adjust to the even deeper darkness. The only light came from three windows, complete and unbroken, made of bits of colored glass. They were placed at equal distances from each other, set deep in the thick walls of the circular room.
A dark figure stood in front of each.
Jesse almost gasped before he realized the figures were statues, stiff and unmoving.
A sharp crack split the silence. Jesse jerked his head to see Owen striking flint and lighting a torch. The light cut through the darkness, showing more features of the room: a tiled floor, a huge golden chandelier with partially melted candles and a staircase at the back of the hall.
Owen joined Jesse in the middle of the room, casting strange shadows with the torch. Jesse glanced down at the floor beneath him. In the tiles was a blue circle with three intertwined silver S’s. Strange that a city would have its own coat of arms. But then, this place is like no city I’ve ever seen.
“This must have been a fortress or a citadel of some kind,” Jesse said, more to fill the silence than anything else. “A last line of defense.”
Owen shrugged. “Whatever it was, it has beds upstairs. Nero and Talia said we couldn’t stay and that we needed to accomplish our mission, blah, blah, blah. So we traveled around the swamps and slept on the ground.” He started to head for the staircase.
Jesse stopped him, pointing to the statues. “Who are they?”
“Probably the people who lived here.”
It was obvious from his tone that Owen didn’t care, but he followed Jesse to the first statue. Probably doesn’t want to be left alone in the dark any more than I do.
The first was an imposing figure, a man with straight, even features, every detail on his stone robe etched to perfection. He was very tall, so tall that Jesse thought his height must be exaggerated for effect. A circlet rested on his high, noble forehead.
“Jardos, Sovereign of Lidia,” Owen said.
“How did you know that?” Jesse asked.
“I may only be eleven, but I can read.” Owen pointed to the base of the statue.
Jesse knelt down. Sure enough, there was an inscription in the stone. “Bring the light closer, please.”
Beneath what Owen had read was a poem in perfectly carved letters:
High was my reach,
Strong was my will.
Still do I rule,
Though I lie still.
Forever mine
The noble hill.
<
br /> “He must have been the ruler of Lidia,” Jesse said.
“That would explain the crown,” Owen said, yawning.
For once, Jesse moved faster than the younger Youth Guard member, following the curve of the tower wall to the next statue. Owen trudged over, dutifully holding up the torch so Jesse could see the second figure.
Compared to Jardos, this man seemed insignificant. He had no hair and stooped over, plain clothes sagging around him and a book in his withered hands. Still, there was something important about him, not in his bearing, but in his eyes. Where Jardos’ eyes had seemed proud and noble, this man’s were quiet and wise.
Hyram, Scholar of Lidia, the inscription read. Then, beneath it, another rhyme.
The toast of all
The seers and sages,
I sought to live
Within the pages,
Preserve the past
For future ages.
“Why would they make a statue of a stuffy teacher?” Owen muttered, making a face. “He even looks like the schoolmaster back home: old and boring.”
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Jesse said.
Owen looked at him in disbelief. “He’s dead!”
Jesse sighed. “That’s why you should be respectful.”
“So, I can be disrespectful to living people, but I’m not allowed to say anything bad about dead people?” Owen demanded, incredulous.
Ignoring him, Jesse moved on to the third statue. He liked the fact that the Lidians had honored Hyram, someone who wasn’t strong or powerful, but who had clearly done great things for the city.
Owen flashed the torch’s light on the third statue and started to back away. “Okay, there they are. All three. Now can we get some sleep?” But Jesse was already reading the inscription, “Vincent, Shipbuilder of Lidia.”
Something about the name must have made Owen curious, because the torchlight stopped, then moved closer. Jesse looked up at the statue. A strong man with powerful arms held a scroll of paper in his hands and surveyed the room with piercing eyes. Thorough and calculating, Jesse decided.
The rhyme on the base read:
You bid me here
Across the land.
The walls that would
Push back the sand,
Built up beneath
My guiding hand.
Something about the lines reminded Jesse of the riddles down in the Rebellion Headquarters. “People from District Two must have liked riddles and rhymes,” he muttered to himself, “even back in ancient times.”
“It’s not a riddle. It’s a poem about a dead person,” Owen said, “who I’m not allowed to be disrespectful to.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean the poems aren’t mysterious.” Jesse glanced back up at Vincent. “Who were these people?”
“Who cares?” Owen replied.
“But why honor a shipbuilder?” Jesse pressed. “Why not a general or an advisor or someone important?”
“Shipbuilders are important,” Owen insisted hotly.
Jesse had identified Owen’s accent as District One, Jesse’s home district, but now he was sure he knew exactly where Owen had lived before the Guard. “You’re from the coast of District One, aren’t you?” Jesse asked.
Owen nodded. “My father was a merchant,” he said. “Is,” he quickly added. “At least, I think so. I’ve been gone for so long….”
There was a lonely sound to that trailed-off sentence. Jesse knew every Youth Guard member could make a statement like that. It was sad, not being able to know for sure what your family was doing while you were gone. Or, in my case, not knowing if my family is alive.
“Shipbuilders are important,” Jesse said, breaking the silence, “if you live in District One, on the coast. But there’s no sea near here. No lake, even, unless you count the tar pits or muddy ditches, and I doubt the Lidians did any sailing in those.”
“Maybe he was important because he was rich,” Owen said.
“But why would a shipbuilder come here, of all places, as far away from the sea as possible?” Jesse studied the statue.
“Maybe he wanted to build a miniature fleet for the sovereign’s bathtub.”
“But he didn’t just come,” Jesse continued. “He was ‘bidden.’ Called. Why? And what are the walls that ‘push back the sand’?”
“You just won’t stop, will you?” Owen muttered. He started to walk toward the staircase, and this time he didn’t turn back. “Listen, Jesse, a lot has happened today. You almost died and all that. What say we get some sleep, eh?”
Reluctantly, Jesse turned away. He got the distinct impression that there was something important here. We’ll be back, he thought. The three figures standing in front of the windows didn’t answer, but he was sure they would approve.
Chapter 9
The next morning, with the sun up and streaming through the windows, the old citadel didn’t look nearly as frightening as it had the night before. The rugs were bright, with intricate patterns. The faded tapestries on the walls, the ones that weren’t torn or burnt, showed cheery scenes of nobles, dancing around blossoming trees. The statues still looked stern, but not nearly as ominous.
It was almost hard for Jesse to believe this was the same city where people vanished, except for the fact that Silas, Parvel and Rae weren’t with him anymore.
“I don’t understand it,” Jesse said, pacing around the room. “How could people wander into the city at night and just…disappear?”
“It’s haunted,” Owen said, like that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. If anything, a night of sleep had made him even more energetic. “Cursed, by the vanished Lidians and their missing treasure.” He grinned.
Jesse knew that grin. They were both from District One, where stories were prized and the storyteller with the most exciting tales could be the hero of the village.
“Tell me about the missing treasure,” Jesse prompted. Owen didn’t need any more encouragement. He sat down in the middle of the room on the Lidian crest, and Jesse sat next to him.
“The giants from the mountains in the west attacked Lidia, put it under siege for three months before they finally gave up and broke down the city walls with brute force. Ripped them up with their bare hands.”
“No,” Jesse corrected. “I saw the damage to the wall around the tower. It looked like the work of a battering ram or catapult.”
“They ripped them up with their bare hands,” Owen repeated, crossing his arms. “But when they entered the city, there was no one there.”
“The people vanished?” Jesse asked. “That’s not possible.”
“And guess what else?” Owen added, getting excited now. “Their treasure was gone too. Lidia was the richest city ever known to man. They said the sovereign had an entire room lined with gold wallpaper, stamped with designs and a map of the known world. That’s why the giants attacked Lidia in the first place; only they didn’t find anything in the city but abandoned buildings.”
“What happened to the giants?” Jesse asked.
Owen lowered his voice mysteriously. “No one knows. After the attack on Lidia, they were never heard from again. No ambushes on travelers through the mountains. No sign of migration to the northern forests. Most people think the giants took their families and disappeared into the swamp, never to be seen again.”
Never to be seen again. The phrase repeated in Jesse’s mind. “How do you know all this?” he asked.
“Barnaby told us. We searched the city twice, looking for any signs of the giants or some kind of message about what happened to them after the attack.” Owen shrugged. “Nothing, and no treasure either.” Jesse could tell that was what he had been looking for while the others searched for clues to the Giants’ Staircase.
Jesse remembered what Parvel said, how nothing more was known of Lidian history after t
he attack. “And how did Barnaby know all this?”
“I don’t know. He lives near here. I guess everyone around the swamps knows.”
Jesse stood up, stretching. “Well, I don’t believe in curses or ghosts,” he said, “so we’ll have to find a better explanation for why my squad disappeared.”
“Shouldn’t we check in the city again?” Owen asked. “They could still be here. I could climb that huge tree in the middle of the town square.”
“No,” Jesse said immediately, picturing Owen falling to his death. “The branches are dead. Even if you could reach the lowest one, which you can’t, it could break off under your weight.”
“Could at least try it,” Owen muttered, scuffing his shoe on the tile floor.
“Besides, I know they’re not here,” Jesse said. He couldn’t say exactly how he knew. It was a vague feeling of loss—the same he had the day after his parents disappeared. He gestured to the statues around the room. “These are the only residents of the city who can help us now.”
For a moment, Owen fell silent, looking back and forth between the three stone figures. “They don’t seem to be telling us anything.”
“Yes,” Jesse said, kneeling down beside Hyram’s pedestal. “Yes, they are. I know they are. I just can’t figure out what it is.”
“Fine,” Owen sighed, flopping down on the tile floor and looking at the ceiling. “Tell me when you’re done talking to the stone dead men. I’ll be right here.”
Jesse ran his hands over the lines on Hyram’s pedestal. “He was a scribe, a historian,” he muttered. “I wonder if he had any followers left at the time of the attack.” He raised his voice. “Owen, when you searched the city, did you find a library?”
“Not a single book,” Owen replied. He made a face. “Good thing, too, or Nero would have forced us to read every word, looking for some kind of hint about the giants and their staircase.”
“Probably destroyed,” Jesse muttered, although he couldn’t imagine anyone destroying such a great treasure as a library. To him, it would be worth more than the gold-plated room Owen talked about.
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