Rise of the Forgotten Sun

by Jon Monson

  “Well, I’ll let you go then,” Ophelia said, eyeing him with an eyebrow raised. “He’s taken to spending his evenings in his study – I suspect he finds the temperature too warm outside.”

  “The man was built for the Albonan sun,” Barrick smiled.

  “So the man was built for no sun at all then,” Ophelia finished the thought for him.

  Albonan summers were generally accompanied by rain more days than not along with overcast skies. While Barrick had transitioned well to the Salatian heat, Arathorm never seemed to do so. He always walked with a well-used handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  “I’ll be back for that sweet bread,” Barrick said, giving the woman a hug before making his way out of the dining room and into the hallway.

  He was upset to have been discovered. It made him feel much less competent than wanted to believe. However, he knew it had been foolish to think he could sneak through the kitchens without Ophelia noticing. That woman could tell when a fly entered through that open door.

  As Barrick made his way through the hallway towards his father’s study, he realized for the first time just how opulent the man was. Expensive oil paintings adorned the walls, decorating a section of the home seen by no one. Maintaining his feet on the hand-woven carpet that ran through the hallways, Barrick avoided the noise of his shoes on the hardwood.

  Approaching the door to his father’s study, Barrick placed his hand on the doorknob. It sat there for a moment before he realized it was trembling. He had no desire to see the man on the other side of this door. He remembered all the reasons he’d stayed away from this place for so long.

  You can’t back out now, mate, he thought to himself. He considered lurching into the room, but that was needlessly dangerous. When entering a room, it was generally wise to use the door to avoid appearing in the middle of a piece of furniture.

  He placed his shaking hand on the doorknob again and turned. Pushing the door in, he entered his father’s study.

  Decorated with even more opulence than the rest of the house, Arathorm’s study contained all the trappings of a wealthy merchant. A massive fireplace – largely unused in the heat – took up a large section of the far wall. Two leather armchairs were positioned around the empty hearth, facing what could potentially be a pleasant fire.

  The walls were lined with bookshelves laden with various tomes. Barrick knew his father rarely had time to read, and he wondered how many had ever been opened. Yet they did make wonderful decoration, leading visitors to assume Arathorm was well-read and urbane.

  “Just leave the tea,” a too-familiar voice droned from one of the armchairs facing the fireplace. Barrick jumped slightly. He hadn’t realized the armchair had been occupied. Of course, his father didn’t know who had entered his study.

  “I was actually hopin’ for something a bit stronger, old man,” Barrick drawled.

  “I see you still insist on that ridiculous street dialect,” the voice replied. “Although, it does make people tend to dismiss you as a simpleton, so I understand the tactic.”

  The leather chair creaked as Arathorm Fortescue, one of the most powerful men in Maradon, rose to his feet. His hair was a shocking white, although it still grew in thick on top of his head. His short goatee lagged behind, with portions still clinging to the dark brown of his youth.

  Behind the goatee, a smile displayed the man’s well-maintained teeth. The smile, however, didn’t extend to his eyes, those dark orbs that seemed to never display any sense of joy. Barrick suppressed a shudder at the sight.

  “I didn’t come here to discuss my accent,” Barrick replied, moving towards the empty armchair.

  “Now, Barrick, it’s been so long,” Arathorm chided as Barrick planted himself on the chair. “Doesn’t your father deserve a warm embrace?”

  “I’m not here to re-establish whatever sort of relationship we once had,” Barrick said, pulling an object from his pocket. “I’m here for answers.”

  Between his fingers, he held the golden coin found on the floor of Aydiin’s rooms depicting three ravens encircling the sun. He held it up for his father to see. The old man merely raised an eyebrow in response.

  “I don’t know what answers you could expect from me,” Arathorm laughed. “I’m no collector of rare or exotic coinage.”

  “Father, I know,” Barrick said, cocking an eyebrow.

  “I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken,” Arathorm replied, rising to grab a drink from the bar.

  “I saw the message Sanborn brought from Palmas,” Barrick said, also rising to his feet and joining his father in pouring a drink. “I followed the beggar to this house. I know you’re involved with…them.”

  “Well, I didn’t think you would ever figure that one out,” Arathorm smiled, one that again didn’t extend to his eyes. “You’ve been searching for us for so long that I began to lose hope you would connect the dots.”

  “Yer a secretive lot,” Barrick said. “I’d be downright disappointed if finding yeh would have been easy.”

  “Assuming you’re found worthy,” Arathorm said, his smile extending to his eyes this time. “I think it’s time you officially entered into the service of the Great Lord.”

  Chapter 25

  Gamila scrunched her nose at the noxious smell of the strange, spiked fruit she had picked up off the merchant’s table.

  “That’s a very interesting smell,” she said to the harried fruit merchant. The man specialized in selling exotic fruits. Some were delightful. Others were less so.

  “Oh yes, it’s from the southern jungle,” the man replied, his fat jowls bouncing as he spoke. “It’s been quite difficult procuring the fruit in great quantities as of late. However, it’s never been as popular here as I would have thought.”

  Gamila wasn’t surprised. The fruit had a brown exterior, completely covered in spikes. Although the husk had yet to be cracked open, the smell emanating from the interior was already overpowering. She had no desire to unleash the odor within.

  “If the King of Fruit doesn’t interest my princess, I did receive an order of star fruit this morning,” the merchant said, obviously intent on her walking out the door with something.

  The merchant’s robes of fine, blue silk were embroidered with gold braid. The man made a good living from his trade, and he liked to show it. Unlike common peddlers, the man didn’t sell his fruit in the open air of the Grand Bazaar. Rather, he owned a handsome shop on the market’s edge, attracting those who wished to relieve themselves of the intense sun.

  “It has been much too long since I’ve had a star fruit,” Gamila said, and the man’s face brightened considerably. The fruit was a rarity and quite expensive. Gamila reached into her purse and pulled out a few coins and exchanged them with the man for the fruit.

  Taking a bite of the delicious fruit, Gamila pushed the door open and found herself back on the dusty street. A carriage had just sped by, and a slight haze hung in the air. She found herself wishing – only for a moment – that she had taken a carriage herself this afternoon. She liked walking the city streets, but she was growing weary, and the sun was beating down with what seemed to be malignant force.

  An entire squadron of the Sultan’s Guards stood at attention outside the fruit shop. After the incident at the Festival, Gamila wasn’t allowed anywhere without proper protection. Her father had insisted on it, and at first Gamila hadn’t minded.

  Now, however, the shock of the attack was beginning to wear off, and Gamila found herself longing for the freedom she had enjoyed only a few weeks ago. She missed strolling through the Grand Bazaar by herself. Solitude within the confines of the palace was difficult to find outside of her rooms, not with her father’s sycophants running around. And of course there was Jabari.

  Her youngest brother had been insufferable since Aydiin had left. With the rumors of Aydiin’s disappearance from Palmas, Jabari had grown incredibly smug, acting as if he already were the Sultan. He seemed to forget that Father was relatively y
oung and that Bayram still held the title of Crown-Prince and would inherit the throne.

  He was the main reason she found herself in the Bazaar this afternoon, battling the mid-day sun instead of enjoying the cool of the gardens. Jabari knew her favorite spots and generally tried to make his presence known as much as possible. It was growing more and more difficult to sit and think without his smirk becoming visible.

  Movement on the other side of the Bazaar caught Gamila’s attention, pulling her from the inner monologue of all the things she would love to say to her youngest brother. A man stood browsing through the wares of a silver merchant. His white robes stood out among the various creams and browns of the consumers milling through the tables. The smooth skin on his head glistened with beads of sweat.

  It was the trainer from the Festival - the one who helped her mount the majestic animal who nearly killed her. He had pulled her from disaster, and she felt confident he was the one who had killed the mustachioed maniac who had seemed intent on putting a knife through her heart.

  Her mind had spent plenty of time and energy thinking about that day. The rumors of rebellion were on the lips of many whispered conversations. It was no secret, although her father did his best to downplay the rumors to nothing more than fabrications by his political enemies. Yet everyone knew it was serious.

  She still couldn’t decide why she had become a target. Had the elephant trainers planned it from the beginning? Or had it just been convenient? She had made her way to the front of the crowd. No one had made her do it. It all felt so strange and muddled.

  Yet only a few spans from her stood a man who may have answers. He seemed to know the man who had tried twice to take her life. She’d inquired after the young trainer, but no one had been able to give her any answers.

  More than the event itself, her mind had dwelled on the man. She didn’t know his name. She didn’t know anything about him. All she knew was that he had likely saved her life. Of course, those weren’t the only reasons she’d thought about him.

  She stepped forward, intent on speaking to him. The mystery man had moved onto a nearby stand selling flat bread and fruits. As she began moving, the white-robed figure handed a few coins to the merchant and began walking away from the Bazaar with bread and pomegranates in hand. He turned down a side street and was gone.

  Cursing herself quietly, Gamila picked up her pace. She could hear the guards following her. Stopping herself from running was difficult, and it felt like an eternity before she reached the small street her mystery man had used.

  A brief glimpse of white robes turning a corner was her reward, and a smile spread across her lips as she began moving down the small street.

  “Princess, that’s not the way back to the palace,” an authoritative voice growled from behind her. The officer in charge of her protection was not a man to be trifled with, and he did not like arguments.

  “I know, Captain Sayeed,” Gamila said, turning around and trying not to let the panic show on her face. The man in the white robes was escaping, and what she wanted more than anything was to speak with. “I just saw an old friend walk down this street whom I haven’t spoken with in ages.”

  “Just send him a message,” Sayeed replied. “When we get back to the palace, write a letter and I’ll send one of my men to deliver it.”

  “Well, I’m not sure exactly where this old friend lives,” Gamila said. “So it’s imperative that I talk to him immediately.”

  “I’m sorry, Princess,” Sayeed said. “But I can’t allow that. It’s just not prudent to risk my men in times like these chasing down an old acquaintance.”

  “I understand,” Gamila said, the panic rising in her voice. She knew what had to be done. “You’re only doing what’s best.”

  “Thank you for seeing reason,” Sayeed sighed. “Now, let’s get you back. I feel exposed out here.”

  “Yes, of course,” Gamila said as she shifted her eyes to the Bazaar behind her guards. She lifted her arm and pointed, screaming. “Oh, no, what’s that over there?”

  The guards turned to see what had evoked such a reaction. Gamila called on the well of power within her chest, and she could feel the Markings on her arms begin to glow a deep red. Summoning fire, she jumped back and created a wall of blue flame, separating her from the men who had sworn to protect her.

  “Princess, what are you doing?” Sayeed called out.

  “I’m sorry,” Gamila said, turning to run after her mystery man. She turned slightly, calling out over her shoulder. “I’ll make sure you aren’t punished for this.”

  Then she ran. Her feet pounded on the hard cobblestone of the narrow street. The white adobe buildings cast shadows cool shadows, making the heat slightly more tolerable. Even in the shade, sweat began to beat on her forehead as her legs carried her down the street.

  She could feel the Markings fade as she ran. Using her powers like that was unacceptable and she fully understood that her actions would result in a stern lecture from Father. He always told her that being a Fire-dancer was an honor and a privilege. He would certain disapprove of using her mother’s Stone in such a way.

  The thought that she inherited her mother’s Stone still seemed ludicrous to her. Yet, it had been stated in the will, very clearly, that Gamila was the rightful heiress. She’d used her powers little outside of training, and it somehow felt good to finally flex those powers a little.

  As she turned a corner, she caught another glimpse of white robes, and she continued running. As she neared the next street, she could hear the man’s footsteps switch from walking to running. He apparently heard her coming and wasn’t keen on being caught.

  She turned another corner with no sign of the white robes. The man’s footsteps had faded and she had no idea where he’d gone. Her heart sank as she slowed her gait, and the realization sank in that she had no idea where she was.

  “Well, what’s a Princess doing in a place like this?” a strange, foreign voice said, and she spun around on her heel, heart pounding.

  Barrick Fortescue - the most miserable lout she could have imagined - leaned against a wall, a toothpick protruding from between his lips. How could she have missed him? She was positive he hadn’t been there earlier.

  “I thought I saw someone,” she panted, trying to recover from both her run and the shock of seeing Barrick. “And besides, what are you doing here? You told me you were going to follow Aydiin to Genodra.”

  “I tried,” Barrick drawled, pushing himself off the wall as he slowly walked closer. “I even snuck onto the ship and everything, but he didn’t want me. The moment we landed in Palmas, he sent me back.”

  “Well I’m very sorry to hear that,” Gamila said. Something about his response didn’t make sense. “That’s actually quite surprising. It doesn’t sound like Aydiin at all.”

  “It’s downright shocking, ain’t it?” Barrick said. “And here, I thought we were best friends.”

  “So you wouldn’t know anything about the rumors that he disappeared, would you?” Gamila said, her eyebrows raised.

  “I’ve heard the same rumors you probably have,” Barrick said. “I have a suspicion they’re true. Aydiin really didn’t have any desire to get hitched. So I’m assuming he ran away. Domestic bliss never did seem to suit the man.”

  “I can’t believe he actually ran away,” Gamila said before her suspicions returned. “So what brings you to such a small back street of Maradon? It seems quite an odd place for the son of a wealthy merchant.”

  “Fair enough,” Barrick drawled as a smile spread across his face. “It’s actually the same answer you gave me. I saw a friend running through here.”

  “Was it a man in white robes?” Gamila gasped, hoping he too had seen the man.

  “No, you git,” Barrick replied. “It was you. Here I was minding my own business when I see Princess Gamila running like she’s about to be murdered. Of course I had to investigate.”

  “Well, I guess that’s rather kind of you,” Gamila sa
id. “So you didn’t see a man come through here. He has a shaved head and white robes.”

  “A real handsome fellow, right?” Barrick smiled and winked.

  “I didn’t get a great look at his face,” Gamila huffed. “Although if you make me think about it, then yes, he’s not exactly hideous.”

  “I could live for a millennium, and I’ll never really understand women,” Barrick sighed. “Here you’ve got a perfect specimen of masculinity right in front of your face, and you go chasing a man who you describe as ‘not exactly hideous’. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Are you insinuating I should be chasing you through the streets?” Gamila’s eyes bulged slightly at the thought.

  “Of course not,” Barrick chuckled. “You’re my best mate’s sister. Even I know that would be wrong. So I need to thank you for controlling yourself around me.”

  “As if I needed to control myself,” Gamila huffed. The nerve of this man. “You’ve always had far too high an opinion of yourself.”

  “So you wouldn’t be happy to see me if I turned up at the palace one of these days?” Barrick asked.

  “Not in that way,” Gamila said. “If those are your intentions, I’ll have to ask that you please stay away from me.”

  “I already said you’re off limits,” Barrick said. “But what if I told you I did see this man of yours?”

  “Where?” Gamila gasped, her eyes widening and heart racing.

  “In fact, I know where he and his mates are staying,” Barrick said. “I’d be happy to show you.”

  “Oh, please Barrick, I’d be most grateful.”

  “Just promise me that next time I show up to the palace, you’ll let me in,” Barrick said. “I’ve been dying for some of your cook’s baklava. No one else makes it like she does.”

  “Fine, you can come up to the palace for a dinner with Bayram and me,” Gamila sighed. “Just please, tell me where to find this man.”