Rise of the Forgotten Sun

by Jon Monson

  Grabbing the wood firmly, he lifted the piece of furniture and swung it towards the sound. The chair shattered as it slammed into what looked like thin air. A man appeared, falling to the ground in pain.

  As the man groaned, a large figure dashed out of his bedroom and tackled Aydiin to the ground. His head slammed into the desk, knocking its contents to the ground. Aydiin’s head screamed from the impact, but he remained conscious.

  Wriggling his arm free from his attacker, Aydiin slammed his fist into the man’s nose. Blood spurted as bone gave way to his fist and the man rolled away from Aydiin, howling in pain. Aydiin scrambled away from the now bloodied man.

  He rose again to his feet, but his shoe stepped in what felt like a mango and he slipped slightly. Another figure pounced on him as he recovered and the two fell to the floor. Aydiin began raining blows down on the man’s head.

  “Get him you fools,” a voice hissed from across the room.

  Two sets of strong hands grabbed Aydiin by the shoulder and another firm hand pressed a damp cloth to his mouth. He bit down on the hand, but it did little through the thick cloth. His head began to feel light and he struggled to get the hands off of him.

  He launched a wild kick and felt satisfaction as one of the sets of hands pulled away. Yet his mind continued to grow increasingly sluggish. Then the moonlight began to fade and all went black.

  Chapter 15

  Byanca stared in the oval mirror attached to her vanity as she sat feeling rather defeated in her rooms. Her white nightgown contrasted with her auburn hair, which she brushed lethargically. She knew it was time to sleep, but her mind couldn’t stop wandering.

  A knock sounded on the door, and for a moment she found herself hoping it was her Salatian prince. Yet she knew he wouldn’t be coming to her rooms, especially after his less than gracious exit from their stroll through the gardens.

  “Come in,” she called out, trying to keep the melancholy from her voice. The door opened softly and a set of familiar eyes peered into the room.

  “Hey there, Binky,” Marcino whispered, using his favorite name for his only daughter as he poked the rest of his head through the partially open doorway. “How was your evening?”

  “It was fine,” she said, waving her father to enter. She was glad to have the distraction from her own thoughts.

  “I’ve been married long enough to know what that word means when it’s spoken by a woman,” Marcino smiled before taking a seat across the room from Byanca. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t know what there is to say,” she began. “We had a wonderful evening – well, as wonderful as could be expected with attending a ball.”

  “So something must have happened in the garden,” Marcino said. It wasn’t a question.

  “We were talking and he suddenly turned away from me, saying he was tired from the evening. I haven’t the slightest idea what I did to offend him, but it was quite apparent he was upset.”

  “This is a stressful time for both of you,” Marcino sighed. “It’s probably even more so for him. He’s in a new place that’s about as different from his home as can be imagined. Discomfort is an expected side effect.”

  “Right, but it was just so sudden,” she responded. “We were having a lovely conversation when he unexpectedly excused himself and sped back to his rooms. I don’t know what to think about it.”

  “You know, Binky, this kind of thing is bound to happen if you stay married long enough,” Marcino smiled. “My suggestion is to go to him.”

  “I can’t right now, I’m almost ready for bed. What if he got the wrong idea?”

  “Then you’ll set him straight,” Marcino laughed. “I don’t think that should be your worry. Go to your prince and discuss what’s on your mind.”

  “Thank you, papa,” Byanca arose and gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing a robe to protect herself from the cool night air.

  Marcino also rose to his feet and exited the room with her.

  “Political marriages are tricky,” Marcino said. “I never wanted this for you, but he does seem like an honorable man. Let me know how it goes.”

  He gave her a hug and set off towards his own rooms. Byanca watched him leave until he turned the corner. Her father was truly an amazing man.

  Steeling herself for what could very well be an awkward conversation, Byanca made her way towards Aydiin’s apartments. She still didn’t know exactly what she wanted to say – or what she wanted to hear – but she felt good about doing something. The weight on her chest was just too much.

  She hoped he wasn’t with Barrick – he seemed the type to be more than happy to see a woman in her nightgown. She was unsure why a tender-hearted and genuine man as Aydiin maintained such company. Then she reminded herself that it was likely because of his good nature that he had befriended Barrick.

  As she walked through the hallway, her mind thought back through the evening. The ball had been uncomfortable, just as she’d expected. Yet it had been important to be seen with Aydiin.

  She stopped as she approached the apartments that had been set aside for her prince.

  The door was ajar.

  Pushing slowly on the dark stained wood, the door swung open noiselessly on its well-oiled hinges. The room within was dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming in through the window. She entered, blinking as her eyes tried to adjust to the lack of light.

  Feeling around the wall for the light switch, Byanca’s heart pounded in her ears. She was unable to explain exactly why, but something felt off. Her hand found the switch and her ears were met by a dull click. The room remained in darkness.

  She blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the moonlight streaming in through the window. As the room became discernible, she saw curtains sitting in a pile on the floor, ripped and shredded to pieces. A wooden chair lie shattered, its pieces spread around the living room. Pieces of fruit placed for Aydiin’s enjoyment were scattered throughout the room, some smashed into the carpet.

  She walked through the carnage of the front room and into Aydiin’s bedroom. A rope fashioned from bed sheets was tied to the four-poster bed, leading out the open window and down two stories to the grounds outside.

  She felt her face get hot – her prince had apparently decided to escape, after all. A breeze sauntered in through the open window, and Byanca noticed a note stuck to the bed just above the bedsheet rope. She grabbed the paper and dashed to the window to read its contents by moonlight.

  My dearest Byanca,

  I have realized that our union cannot take place. There are certain circumstances that I don’t feel comfortable disclosing. Suffice it to say that your life will be infinitely happier without me. I will always cherish the moments we’ve had together, and I wish you all the best.

  Sincerely,

  Aydiin

  Byanca read the letter two more times. The words certainly sounded like they could be Aydiin’s, but they felt wrong somehow. She’d only known him for two days, but already she felt as if she knew how he spoke. And these words weren’t his.

  As she looked around the room, the destruction really didn’t seem like something Aydiin would do. The prince she knew was a little disorganized, but he was far from a slob. Unless something was very wrong, he wouldn’t smash chairs and slash curtains.

  Byanca turned out of the room and into the hallway. She began running in the dim light of the electric bulbs. She needed to find her father.

  As the thought came to her, she slowed. No, Father wouldn’t be able to help. He would be sympathetic and potentially send out a search party. But that’s not what she needed at this moment. There was only one way to know if Aydiin had really left of his own free will.

  Her legs began running once again as she headed down a different hallway, away from her father’s section of the palace. She ran past the same paintings and tapestries, not even noticing their presence. At last, she reached a large set of doors and pushed them open.

  Moon
light bathed the front courtyard, allowing her to see where her feet were taking her. She descended a long set of stone steps. The grounds were quiet, deserted at this time of night.

  The smell of hay and horses grew stronger as she approached a low building near the edge of the palace grounds. Unlike the rest of the palace, it had adobe walls and a red tile roof. It was a building from a different time.

  She threw open the rough wood door, and a young stable boy inside fell off his stool.

  “Where’s the kerton?” Byanca panted, out of breath from her run. The boy shakily raised his hand, pointing to the same stall where Askari had been sleeping the day before.

  Byanca ran to the stall to see the creature curled up with his head resting on his massive tail. A quiet rumble emanating from its chest that Byanca realized was a snore. The smell was definitely different than that of the horses.

  Her suspicions were confirmed. Aydiin wouldn’t have left willingly without Askari – he had brought the kerton across an ocean against the laws of his land. If he really were abandoning her, he would most certainly have come for Askari.

  Taking a deep breath, Byanca crouched down next to the sleeping serpent. She placed her hand lightly on his head and began rubbing with as much force as she dared. Her heart began pounding in her chest, and it was not just from her run.

  Askari’s eyes shot open and he raised his head slowly. A look of confusion spread across his face – at least, she thought it was confusion. One jaunt around the riding grounds hadn’t been enough for her to fully understand the mysterious animal.

  “Aydiin’s gone,” Byanca said, hoping he could understand her the way he seemed to comprehend Aydiin. A look of understanding and concern seeped into those eyes. Byanca arose to her feet and grabbed the saddle hanging on the wall.

  “Will you help me find him?” Byanca asked and Askari leapt to his feet. A soft purr escaped his chest and she assumed that meant yes. Byanca breathed a sigh of relief and began placing the saddle on his back.

  Preparing the kerton for a ride was much like preparing a horse. She pulled the saddle tight and placed the reins in Askari’s mouth. All the while she hoped that this powerful creature was actually going to permit her to ride him.

  Taking in a deep breath, she mounted a bare foot into the stirrup and hoisted herself onto Askari’s back. The kerton sat calmly as she adjusted herself into the saddle. It was uncomfortable at best. She realized she was still in her nightgown, which lifted up, exposing her legs.

  Uncaring about modesty, Byanca nudged Askari in the ribs. There would be time to change later, but right now time was of the essence. A delay at this point could prove disastrous.

  She rode through the quiet city streets, Askari’s feet padding along the concrete and asphalt. Cars still sped along the roads, but there wasn’t the general cacophony of life that dominated the city by day. Such was life in the metropolis of Palmas.

  The sun had set, but street lamps lit up the night. Moving along the streets a decade ago would have been more perilous, with only kerosene streetlamps illuminating the path. Yet now, light bulbs shined brilliantly, making the city’s streets safer than ever.

  She led Askari out of the wealthy neighborhoods surrounding the palace and into streets lined with dingy tenements. Clothing hung from lines that stretched from window to window. Large trash cans sat on the curbs, waiting to be collected by the city’s sanitation department.

  At a manhole next to a run-down bakery, Byanca stopped and descended from Askari’s back. She patted the kerton, whispering for him to await her return. He gave her a questioning look but didn’t immediately run off. It would have to be enough.

  Byanca bent down and carefully moved the metal disc covering the entrance to the sewers. It groaned in protest, the metal grinding on the asphalt road. She hoped it didn’t awaken any of the neighbors.

  The cover removed, Byanca stared down into the darkness. A rusted iron ladder served as her way down, and she clung to the rungs with shaking hands as she descended into the abyss. After what felt like far too long, her feet reached a wooden staircase, and she turned around to continue her descent.

  Byanca coughed and nearly gagged at the smell of the putrid hole as she descended the stairs. The air tasted of unwashed bodies, rotten food, and spoiled lamp oil. Mixed with the smell was a moisture emanating from a place she would rather not dwell on.

  The rotten wood of the stairs creaked and moaned with each footstep. The stone walls were covered with a slimy algae, which thrived in the darkness. It seemed to have long ago conquered every surface just as the odor had done to the air.

  Flickering light emanating from an oil lamp illuminated a small room ahead, the only indication that this underground chamber was in use by anything other than sewer rats. Although lantern light usually seemed warm and inviting, it had the opposite effect this night. Carefully watching each step, she cautiously approached the source of the light.

  “I already told yeh to not come back,” a voice sounded from the darkness. “You really should learn to listen.”

  A ragged figure in tattered clothing stepped into the lamp light. He stood nearly a span shorter than Byanca, the top of his head reaching her chest. With red hair and freckles, he could be mistaken for a young child – except his face, which displayed a beard several days old.

  “It’s good to see you too, Joon,” Byanca smiled.

  “Blimey, it’s the Princess,” the small man bellowed, a smile spreading over his filthy face as he turned around to shout into the darkness. “Look, fellas! We’ve got a most special visitor.”

  “Who did you think I was?” Byanca smiled at the funny little man in front of her.

  “Oh, yeh know, some local shop owner who thinks we’re a ‘plague’ or some such nonsense,” Joon replied, still smiling. A handful of others stepped out of the darkness, squinting in the light.

  Joon was the leader of this small group of refugees from Gorteo, the hermit kingdom on the other side of the Pharone Mountains. They were a ragtag group, barely surviving from day to day. Still, he had told Byanca several times that it was still better than life back home.

  In his five years since leaving his homeland, Joon had picked up a wide array of accents and colloquialisms from around the world. He rarely implemented them well, and it was always a challenge deciphering which accent he had adopted for the day. Today, he was trying out Albonan street urchin – at least, that’s what she guessed.

  “Please accept my deepest apologies, Princess,” Joon said. “If I’da known it was you, I would’ve been much kinder.”

  “Now, Joon, there’s no need to apologize,” Byanca chided the man. She normally corrected Joon when he referred to her as a princess – if people heard her taking such a title, the consequences could be severe. Yet tonight, there wasn’t time to correct such improprieties. “And please, I’m in an awful hurry and I need your help.”

  “It would be our pleasure to serve, Princess,” Joon smiled as the rest of the refugees assembled.

  Nearly a dozen men had gathered from various parts of the underground chamber, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Their hair color and skin tones ranged from dark to light, but they all had one thing in common – their height. The tallest came only to Byanca’s shoulder, and she had never considered herself tall by any standard.

  “I’ve lost something - someone, actually,” she said. “I would greatly appreciate your help in finding him.”

  “Anything for Princess Byanca,” Joon shouted, mostly to the other men in the room. Several of them shouted in agreement.

  “Thank you,” Byanca said. “Come with me to the palace, and I’ll make sure to pay you handsomely for your help.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t bear the thought of charging the Princess for this,” Joon exclaimed. “Not after all you have done for us. Your kindness has already incurred such a debt that we will never be able to repay.”

  “Don’t think of it as a fee then,” Byanca replied. “Just think of it as a
contribution to your cause. It’s noble enough that I’d gladly contribute ten times this much - and just as a favor to me, I’d like to borrow a few of your men to help me track a missing person.”

  “Of course,” Joon replied. “And just to show you how important your friendship is to us, I will go myself.”

  “Excellent,” Byanca said. “You should be prepared for a long journey. My quarry has taken a head start, and I don’t know how long it will take to find him.”

  “This, by chance, wouldn’t be your Salatian prince, would it?” Joon asked, smiling.

  “How did you know?” Byanca asked, her eyes growing slightly wider in astonishment.

  “We live in the sewers,” Joon grinned. “Not under a rock. The news is everywhere that the Princess has been seen around town with a certain gentlemen hailing from the Sultanate of Salatia.”

  “I’ll just wait for you outside – please hurry,” Byanca said, unsure how to take that news. She never did like her life being a matter of public gossip – that was the price of being in politics.

  As she climbed up the stairs, she realized another reason to leave while they prepared themselves for the journey - the smell was starting to get to her. Waiting in the open streets in the dead of night made her feel uncomfortable, but her stomach couldn’t handle the cramped confines of the sewers much longer.

  Even thoughts of Aydiin couldn’t make Byanca forget how horrible she felt that these refugees were forced to live in this manner, but it was only through her efforts that they had been allowed to stay at all. If it had been up to the Senate or the average citizen of Palmas, Joon and his friends would have been sent back to their homeland. According to Joon, that would have been a death sentence.

  Gorteo was an isolated kingdom, ruled by a man who claimed Divinity. He ruled his desert nation as a merciless deity, rewarding those who pleased him and punishing those who didn’t. He preached self-sufficiency and national pride. As a result, Gorteo didn’t trade with the outside world. Foreigners were banned without exception, and the Gorteon navy was completely dedicated to patrolling its shoreline in a self-blockade0.