The Fallen Mender

by R. J. Francis

  “I shouldn’t expect it to,” he said aloud.

  “I don’t know how you Celmareans expect to maintain friendships when you know every little thing your friends are thinking,” she told him. “You’d have to have an astronomical capacity for understanding and forgiveness.”

  “Maybe that’s why Kalmise is said to be so difficult,” Jaimin said. “I’m still learning to understand, and to forgive.”

  “I hope you can learn to forgive me,” Nastasha said, earnestly. “All the private thoughts I would normally try to hide from you are now on open view. Even my ugliest thoughts are yours to see, because you own me. All of me. Go ahead: use what you see to judge me, as you are doing. All I can ask for is your forgiveness; all I can wish for is for you to see me as a friend.”

  You will always be my friend, Jaimin said in his mind, and she heard him clearly, which, in itself, caused her heart to pound. “But it’s not only your privacy you’re giving up by being my friend,” Jaimin said, quietly. “It’s his too.” With his eyes he indicated Mascarin, who was returning with a huge mug of steaming black tea.

  “Let me worry about that,” Nastasha said.

  “Is everything okay here?” Mascarin asked, setting out the tea in front of Nastasha.

  “Everything’s fine,” she told him. “Prince Jaimin and I have been best friends since before we could talk. We’re just catching up.” And having a lover’s quarrel, she said in her mind.

  Jaimin heard and smiled.

  Mascarin smiled too, to be polite. “Well, breakfast will be ready soon and the others will be joining us.”

  “I’d like to have a strategy meeting after the meal,” Jaimin said to them. “What’s the progress of our journey?”

  Nastasha replied: “Alessa and Makias are still driving the ship hard. You should take over for them so they can get a few hours of rest. If you can give a third of the effort they have, we’ll reach Celmarea by dawn tomorrow.”

  Jaimin sent for Alessa and Makias, and everyone else except the deckhands, and they discussed the plan once again.

  The two stowaways beneath the pantry floorboards heard everything…

  They heard that time was critical, and that the king’s orders had to be delivered to the Destaurian command immediately upon arrival, so that the tutor and his guards would not have time to ready themselves.

  They heard that Elaina’s body would remain on board the ship until the situation in the palace was safe.

  They also heard that once the tutor was dealt with, the next priority was finding and locating the ancient archway beneath the palace, which might be the only hope of restoring Elaina’s spirit to the world of the living.

  Alessa sensed something, and thought one of the deckhands might be listening in from the pantry, so she investigated, searching the entire pantry, and she finally concluded that nobody was there.

  But she was wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Standing perfectly still, Errol’s warriors were hardly distinguishable from the shadows of Wildcat Ravine. Sixty of them in thin, flexible black armor with subtle purple trim listened carefully to a briefing from their commander. Their mottled tents, set against the cracks and corners of the rock walls, appeared to be merely part of the landscape.

  Fifty meters to the west, at the line where the forest refused to grow any further into the gravel of the ravine, an arc of Arran archers waited for their signal.

  Major Trechet had a slight problem, though. With just 45 seconds in the countdown remaining, he had lost communications. He continued the countdown in his head: 42, 41…

  His captains looked to him for instructions. They, too, were receiving nothing in their earpieces. He chose not to let on that he couldn’t hear anything either, but instead gave them a reassuring “wait” signal, and nodded his head slightly as he counted the seconds: 36, 35, 34…

  Behind the Arran archers, hundreds of Arran soldiers, crouched among the brushy branches, rode high on fear and anticipation. Some worried that their hearts were beating so strongly it would be heard by their keen-eared foes. Each second passed slower than the last as they awaited the signal: 25, 24, 23…

  A victory here could help vanquish the threat for good—releasing the minds of Arra’s men from the terror of the cold war they had all grown up with. Their families had been safely relocated to the castle and the forts. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner everyone could be reunited: 15, 14, 13…

  Major Trechet signaled for the Arran archers to raise their bows and draw. The purple army commander continued on with what sounded like a particularly boring speech. All bows were up and aimed in: 6, 5, 4…

  Suddenly, in the distance, an Arran war horn wailed: Bweeeeeooooo! And then another sounded, from another direction.

  Major Trechet knew instantly that something was wrong. Putting one’s lips to a war horn had never been part of the plan. The companies nearby were trying to warn them.

  His archers stayed aimed in, waiting for the command to fire.

  All at once, scores of purple foes dropped from the trees above them, with one purpose they would die to fulfill: to get their daggers up and under the helmets of the Arran archers before they could fire.

  Arrans were well-trained, and those archers whose necks weren’t slit instantly fought bravely for their lives, taking plenty of blood for the blood that was lost. The soldiers in the Arran back line rushed forward to help, but the sixty purple fighters from the ravine ran in and clashed with them. Some of the more experienced Arrans held blades honed by Jaimin’s mending, and those blades seemed to be the only things the Frakkers cowered from.

  The Frakkers’ strategy was to first eliminate the Arrans who held unmodified weapons, and then to back off and attack those with honed blades from afar with grenades, fire-tipped arrows, and streams of flaming fuel gel.

  And, in the end, their strategy worked.

  Not a single Arran involved in the Battle of Wildcat Ravine survived to tell of its most memorable moment: when a Frakker girl climbed onto a boulder, threw off her helmet, roared, and held up high the severed head of Major Trechet, letting his blood drain into her mouth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  While Makias took a solo shift at the stern, Marco, Alessa, Jaimin, and Nastasha sat on the floor of the mess, holding a vigil for those suffering on the mainland. Each lit a candle to honor the hundreds of Arrans dying on the front lines. Alessa could feel that Arra was taking heavy losses.

  “I could have saved some of them,” Jaimin said.

  “Come on, Jaimin,” said Nastasha, “even if you hadn’t decided to go on this voyage, you could never have reached Arra in time.”

  “And you would have been killed trying to get there,” Alessa added.

  “We’re going to need to work quickly,” Jaimin said. “With the divine spirit’s help, we won’t be on Celmarea long.”

  Jaimin closed his eyes, and the others knew he was again searching for Elaina’s spirit. Everything would be so much easier, he thought, if she were just to return to her body then and there, so they could turn the ship around and deal with the tutor some other time.

  That night, Nastasha slept apart from Mascarin. Another night with her new lover would have helped her unwind, but she didn’t want to add to Jaimin’s stress.

  She spent the hour before falling asleep wondering—and planning—what type of mother she would be, with or without a husband. What would she tell her children about these tumultuous days? What would her life’s story be?

  It was too soon to even think this way, she concluded, with so much of her story as yet unwritten.

  The next morning, the three Celmareans left powering the ship to the wind for a few hours, and had a decent spell of sleep.

  Alessa woke up first. She threw on a cloak, went up on deck, and breathed deeply of the mid-ocean air, which was far warmer, and more humid, than the air near the mainland.

  The sky was bright enough that Alessa could see a good distance i
n all directions. She searched for Celmarea on the horizon, but the island was still not in view.

  She breathed in again, deeper, and pictured the island she remembered. Soon, she would be back on her own soil.

  If peace were to be restored, she thought, how could she ever leave Celmarea again?

  Makias had heard Alessa arise, and he joined her on the deck, embracing her from behind, which made her even more ecstatic and nostalgic. He too felt the same feeling of home. He kissed her head in the back, and then he kissed her ear. She reached back and felt his face, finding it scratchy with overnight growth. He kissed her hand. “It’s going to be hard to go back to the mainland, after seeing Celmarea again,” Makias said.

  “I was just thinking the same thing, my love,” Alessa said. “I know you have the fire in you to make Celmarea what it once was. And I’m beginning to suspect that fire burns just as strongly in me.” Alessa and Makias both knew that where one has a true passion for something, be it a place, a person, or a profession, that thing becomes their destiny and can never be ignored.

  Over the hour that followed, all aboard ate, changed into fresh uniforms, and were ready for anything by the time they sighted Celmarea itself.

  The brisk morning breeze in the Sentinel’s brilliant white sails drove the vessel westward.

  “I can’t believe I’m actually here,” Nastasha told Jaimin, as the forests of southeastern Celmarea came into view. Low clouds hugged the treetops: a fluffy layer of moisture the trees had exhaled, which was sure to burn off quickly. Many of Celmarea’s trees lost their leaves in winter, but there were enough that didn’t, so the island appeared marbled in deep green and brownish-grey. “It’s gorgeous,” Nastasha said, “and the island is much larger than I expected. It’s hard to see where it ends.”

  Nastasha had tucked her incredibly long hair into her shirt. It wasn’t the first time she had disguised herself as a boy, or an officer for that matter. Her face had acquired a rosy tint from the sea, salt and sun.

  “You’re gorgeous in that uniform,” Jaimin teased. “I’ve never seen you in pants this many days in a row.”

  “You have no right to compliment me in that manner,” Nastasha said. “I mean, it’s very sweet, Jaimin, but you’ve never said anything like that to me before, and now is hardly the time to start.”

  “Wow. My apologies, Your Excellency.”

  “Much better.”

  “You’re not planning on fighting the tutor, are you?” he asked. “Did you forget that you’re pregnant?”

  “I shall fall back if things turn sour.”

  “Why don’t you just stay on the ship?” Jaimin asked.

  “And miss everything? That is not going to happen.”

  “So adventurous,” he said. “I love that about you.”

  “Quit flirting with me, Jaimin,” she said.

  “I’m not…trying to…”

  “Well, it feels like you are.”

  She glared at him and tried her best to feel angry with him, but the more she stared the more she felt the opposite. Before she knew it, she was smiling. Here was a young man brutalized by war and loss, and yet everything that made him wonderful was still shining through.

  Jaimin felt the same: here was his best friend whose dream future he had trampled in so many ways, gazing at him as if she couldn’t contain her love for him.

  The Sentinel had to follow a channel of deep blue water northward along the coast to reach the inner bay and the city. Black-hooded terns began to follow the ship, silently, in braided flight. On the shore, mixed flocks of peeping winter shorebirds probed the sand for morsels.

  The Destaurian occupiers had left Celmarea’s forest, stark-white beaches, and clear bays in a pristine state. Makias held Alessa tightly in his arms at the rail as they sailed past place after place from their past. These were the shallow waters in which they had first learned to swim. This was the forest where as children they rode their beloved white horses and collected the fresh flowers, leaves and berries that would spill from the tops of their dressers each night. These natural spaces had been a playground for all the islanders, but especially the youth. And this was where many of them had fallen in love with the land, the sea, themselves, and each other.

  They slowly sailed past an area of tall coastal grasses and secluded clearings where Celmarean couples would sometimes make love in the open air. Alessa and Makias had been too young for this, but it certainly crossed their minds now.

  Alessa squeezed Makias’ hands when she spotted a pair of diminutive white horses grazing in a clearing at the top of a cliff. “They’re still here!” she said with utter joy. “They haven’t killed them, or eaten them or…look how beautiful they are!”

  And then, up ahead on a wide beach, they saw some of the island’s current residents for the first time. It was a group of children in school uniforms. They scurried up off the beach and hid in the forest when they saw the Sentinel.

  “Someone must have told them there’s a war going on,” Makias said.

  “Who are they?” Alessa asked.

  “The children of soldiers?” he proposed.

  It took a while for the ship to reach the city. Alessa crossed over to Jaimin and said, “You should go below. I hadn’t thought of this. If the tutor is in the palace, he may be able to see you from a window, and your face is recognizable. Wait down there until Captain Sam and the local general have their discussion. We’ll come down for you.” She opened the door where a staircase led down into the ship’s belly.

  Jaimin entered the mess and approached Elaina’s crate. He thought he heard something in the pantry, but he figured it was Mascarin cleaning up. He noticed that the corner of the crate’s lid was lifted slightly, with the nails holding it on just visible through the space in the wood. Not thinking much of this, he leaned on the lid to press it closed. He peered inside. Elaina was still there, as peaceful and as perfect as a sleeping child.

  Jaimin thought it might not be the best idea for someone to be able to look into Elaina’s crate and see her straight away, so he decided to conceal her a bit more. He found a delicate white cloth in the kitchen, returned with it to the crate, and pried the crate’s lid off with his fingertips. The lid came off easily. Setting it aside, he bent over the crate and lightly caressed Elaina’s face. Leaning in further, he kissed the top of her head, inhaling the flower scent of her hair rinse, which still smelled new after two days. He draped the cloth over her head. “Just for a little while,” he told her, “and then I’ll show you your gorgeous birthplace.” He replaced the lid and pressed the nails back into their holes.

  Up top, the Celmarean palace was coming into view. The intense morning sun was illuminating the whitewashed city and burning off the last of the tree-fog. Alessa recalled the brutal bombardment that had scarred the palace and left craters in the beach as she was evacuated all those years ago, and she expected her home to be devastated. But, to her surprise, the face of the palace, the paths, and the curving stretch of sand where the islanders’ last stand had taken place had been restored to their pre-war beauty.

  A few Destaurian soldiers were on guard on the beach, and Captain Sam exchanged hand signals with them. Sam knew they would alert their general. The Sentinel’s crew dropped the ship’s two anchors into the soft sand of the bay.

  In less than a minute, the leader of the occupying forces, General Jorge, was striding down the palace’s main steps, which led down to the beach.

  General Jorge was a giant of a man, nearly two heads taller than anyone else in his entourage, and twice as wide. His wavy brown hair grew to his shoulders, and he wore a thin beard. His arms and hands looked strong enough to yank a palm tree from the sand if it were in his way.

  The general crossed the beach to where a dinghy waited to transport him to the Sentinel, and he stepped inside. His men pulled the dinghy out into the clear water, climbed in, and rowed the general out to greet his guests. Three men had to bunch up at the front of the little boat to keep the end
where the general sat from taking on water.

  The Sentinel’s boarding ladder groaned in protest as the hefty General ascended it. When he reached the top and stepped up onto the deck, the visitors saluted him, just like they had practiced.

  The general saluted them back, and then embraced the ship’s captain. “It’s been too long, Sam,” he said. “What brings you out to our paradise? I heard there was trouble on the mainland.”

  Captain Sam led the general over to a bench on the deck, where they sat down. “Plenty of trouble there, for sure,” Sam said. “But we wouldn’t leave you out of the action.” He handed over the sealed scroll case with Radovan’s message. The general picked off the wax seal with the nails of his enormous fingers and slid the rolled message from the case. There was quite a bit written on the scroll. As the general reviewed it, he nodded and said “mmm hmm” occasionally, as if he had anticipated everything it said.

  “I’ll see to this personally,” said General Jorge, standing back up. “And without delay. That man is an utter ass and I’d gladly be rid of him.”

  He crossed past the others and gave Alessa a wink. “Some of you clearly aren’t sailors, but there will be time for introductions later. Who’s the one they call Jay? Apparently, I’m supposed to do whatever he asks.”

  Captain Sam opened the door to the lower decks, and Jaimin was right there. He’d been listening at the door. Sam invited him out.

  “Young man,” General Jorge said to Jaimin, “His Majesty, King Radovan, has given you his trust. What do you command?”

  “We arrest the tutor at once,” Jaimin said.

  “Well, then!” the general said heartily. “Anyone who can fight, join us. Welcome to paradise, my friends.”

  Captain Sam and one of his officers decided to stay on board to guard the Sentinel. The rest of them were shuttled ashore.

  General Jorge fired off orders left and right to his subordinates as he led the newcomers across the beach to the steps of the massive marble palace. His underlings speed-walked until they were out of view of the palace’s windows, and then they ran.