Stavius

by Gregory Cholmondeley

  “That sounds like the nicest compliment I’ve ever received,” said Janus.

  “I agree,” added Stavius. “But we should be going if we hope to make it to Septumcolis before nightfall. Safe travels on your return home.”

  The two stallions snorted, turned, and galloped away.

  After a minute or two watching the unicorn stallions shrink into the distance, Janus turned to Stavius and said, “That was fun. Let’s go find something to eat.”

  Stavius laughed and, without another word, the two boys picked up their packs and began walking. Neither knew where they were but, in unspoken agreement, they headed away from the desert and continued on the same dry, rocky, ancient river bed they had been following since they left Equous.

  Chapter 17

  Clothton

  Their farewell with the stallions had left them in good spirits, but it didn’t take long before memories of Earth settled back in their minds.

  “Why is it that I like you here when you’re such a dick on Earth?” Janus suddenly asked. “I mean, your Mearth host must be one heck of a great guy to counteract your Earth visitor.”

  “Hey!” shouted Stavius. “I’m trying to figure out how a sarcastic host from Mearth can combine with an insensitive jerk from Earth to create someone like you. I mean, I like you most of the time here and that whole conversation back there didn’t sound like either of the individuals who conjoin to make you.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t think of myself as a jerk in either world. But I will admit that we’re better together,” grumbled Janus, as he kicked a small rock out of his way.

  Stavius stopped and grabbed Janus’ arm to bring him to a halt as well. “Then let’s agree to forget about our Earth counterparts and just be friends here,” he said as he extended his hand.

  Janus looked Stavius in the eye and accepted his handshake. “Deal,” he said, “as long as you promise to avoid me on Earth.”

  “No worries about that, Janus. I have no desire to ever hang with you or your Earth friends ever again,” agreed Stavius.

  The two boys continued their walk feeling better than they had felt all day and, after an hour or so, came to a rise, which afforded them a spectacular view. There, in the distance were the massive fields in front of the river, which flowed along the base of the seven steep hills of Septumcolis. On top of each hill, stood the seven castles of the city rulers. And somewhere in that bustling city sat three girls awaiting execution.

  “I just realized that I have no idea what the girls look like and don’t even know their names,” said Stavius, as he stared at the city.

  “You are such a noob,” laughed Janus. “Their names are Elisa, Nariana, and Versera.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Stavius.

  “Because I trained with them while they were waiting for you, noob,” chuckled Janus. “I can’t believe that you just thought to ask that now. It’s a good thing you brought me along. If you hadn’t, you would be turning around right now to go back and ask Urtish.”

  Stavius felt stupid but couldn’t help but joining Janus as he laughed. “Don’t even joke about that, dude. Just thinking about it makes my feet hurt even more!”

  They resumed their walk down the hill and, along the way, decided to change their appearance. Janus’ magic made Stavius appear thinner while causing Janus to look slightly heftier. He also altered their hair and faces just enough to make them look like brothers a half-hour later when they arrived at Clothton, a medium-size town at the edge of the fields. They had also agreed on the story that they were from a small, isolated farm deep in the hills southeast of Clothton, and their parents had sent them to the big city for the first time to see the execution.

  Clothton is home to about five hundred people and three major industries: Agriculture, textiles, and tourism.

  The river periodically floods and leaves rich, fertile soil in the broad valley at its banks. This would be ideal for farming except that the magical energy is so intense near the center of the city that nothing edible can be grown here. All food needs to be farmed at the outskirts of the area where the magical levels are lowest. As a result, cotton is the only crop grown in these fields.

  The people of Lower Clothton plant, tend and harvest the cotton. Magic on Mearth can be used in an extensive variety of ways, but it cannot be used to pick cotton. That means the people of lower Clothton have the menial job of pulling it. These people are on the lowest rung of society, and most citizens of Clothton consider lower Clothton to be a separate town.

  Cotton is spun into thread and woven into a fabric. Again, this requires manual, rather than magical, labor but it also requires skill. All clothing needs to be sewn from fabric to provide warmth and protection and, while that fabric might be enhanced, having a tight, soft weave make the resulting clothes far more comfortable. Clothton fabric is known for its quality.

  Clothton is also home to designers and seamsters who transform this cloth into tunics, trousers, skirts, hats, drapes, and every other fabric-based commodity imaginable. Over the years, this brought in a population of artists and craft people who gave the town an artistic charm that resulted in its fourth industry. It is only a short trip from the city of Septumcolis, but Clothton feels like a different world. Its broad, tree-lined streets with shops, quaint guest houses, and trendy restaurants provide the wealthier citizens of Septumcolis a nearby vacation retreat from the bustling city.

  Janus had never been to Clothton and felt that this was the human equivalent of Equous as they strolled down the cobblestone streets. Stavius didn’t appear to be as enchanted, but he agreed that they should stop for a late lunch before continuing on to the city. They chose a little café with the best scent of freshly baked desserts wafting out of the open windows either of them had ever smelled. It had small tables and chairs outside under a blue and white striped awning, but they decided to sit inside to breathe in more of the bakery aroma.

  It was a cozy yellow room with dark, hardwood floors and incredible paintings by a local artist on the walls. Most artworks on Mearth consisted of nothing more than illusions, and the fashionable style was to have them contain motion or three-dimensional depth. The result was that many looked like endless video clips of waterfalls or holograms of relatives’ heads. These paintings, by comparison, were hand-painted in a somewhat impressionistic style and then enchanted so that the colors sensuously flowed around the page. One was a forest at the edge of a river. Another was a woodland cottage illuminated by dappled sunlight with an occasional bird flitting by. And Stavius’ favorite was of a sunset partially occluded by clouds in which the sun appeared to be dipping below the horizon but never actually moved. The deep red, purple, yellow and orange colors were spectacular.

  The owner came to take their order as they were admiring the paintings. They asked for something quick because they wanted to get to the city before dinner, but he shook his head and said they would never make it before the bridge closed for the evening. Security had been tightened ever since the three terrorists had been caught and word had gone out that there were two more in the gang. Everyone was stopped and questioned at the bridge, and the guards even had a way to strip away all illusions to verify the identities of everyone entering the city from the south.

  “You might make it if you left now and ran,” continued the restaurateur, “except that they’re looking for two teenage boys. They’re going to want to question you and, since the gates close in a couple of hours, you’ll be spending the night in a holding cell. I recommend spending the night here and heading out first thing in the morning.”

  The man was looking at the boys more and more suspiciously as he spoke and the two of them began to get nervous. Also, Stavius had come to Clothton with his family when he was young and remembered his father complaining about how expensive everything was here.

  “They’re looking for kids like us?” Stavius asked and then kicked Janus under the table.

  Janus said, “Maybe we’d better go home, Stavius.
I didn’t want to see those girls get killed anyway.”

  Stavius glared at him and said, “You’re just afraid of those guards when you should really be afraid of Pa if we go home without seeing the execution. You heard how he called this an opportunity of a lifetime to learn a valuable social lesson. Can you imagine how mad he’d be if we only made it halfway there and then came home? Can you imagine what he’d do to us?”

  Janus pretended to shudder. This acting was kind of fun. “But maybe we could just stay here and pretend that we went to the celebration.”

  Stavius shook his head and said, “No. You know he’ll quiz us about the ceremony and the city. He’d know we were lying and that would make him even madder. Besides, it’s too expensive for us to stay here in Clothton. We’ll go camp in the woods tonight and go to the bridge in the morning. Whatever they’re going to do to us will be nothing compared to Pa’s punishment if we don’t go.”

  “Nonsense,” said the café owner. “You can stay with my sister tonight. She has a spare room and won’t overcharge you. We both came here with nothing, so we understand what it’s like to have to scrape to get by, unlike the rich folks who vacation here. By the way, she’s the artist who created the paintings hanging on my walls. You’ll like her and her house.”

  The boys thanked him and proceeded to eat a delicious meal. Janus smiled as he thought about having Staryan visit Clothton. He was already considered a hero by the satyrs, but these recipes would elevate him to god status. They asked for directions to the owner’s sister’s house when they were done and promised to consider his advice to stay there for the night. Neither was sure this was the best idea but it was getting late and the thought of spending the night in jail was not at all appealing.

  The artist lived on the outskirts of town in a dilapidated house surrounded by unusual, half-completed sculptures and other abandoned artistic ventures. She was sitting in a paint-splattered chair staring at a blank canvas when the boys arrived and explained their situation.

  “Sure, you can stay here for the night. My name is Larsa,” replied the artist to their request for lodging. “Stadt is right. You’d never make it past security at this time of day, and even tomorrow you’ll need help.” Stadt was, evidently, the restaurant owner’s name.

  “Um, thanks, but I think we’ll be OK,” said Stavius. “We’re just going into the city for a few days.”

  “Nonsense, you’re the two boys the families have been seeking for the past few months. You’re planning on rescuing your friends to steal the talismans,” explained Larsa, as she munched on a carrot. “You don’t stand a chance with the guards if even I can see that.”

  “We aren’t who you think we are,” said Stavius, with fear rising in his voice. “We’re just a couple of brothers traveling from our farm to see the execution.”

  “Yeah, and I’m not so sure we should be staying,” agreed Janus. “Perhaps we should find somewhere else to stay.”

  “Well, you’re free to do that, but it would be a bad move,” argued Larsa, who was still sitting in her chair but was now staring at them. She didn’t seem to be at all threatening though. “Wherever you go, you should work on a better story. They’re going to press you for details and will lock you up if you stumble or your stories don’t match. In fact, you should probably split up. After all, they’re looking for a thirteen-year-old boy and a seventeen-year-old boy traveling together. You’d have a better chance individually.”

  “Wait. The soldiers know the boys’ ages?” asked Janus. The families should have been looking for a single, thirteen-year-old boy if they were simply following the prophecy. Both he and Stavius instantly realized that this meant there was a spy in the training camp. “Do they know their names?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Larsa. “It wouldn’t matter anyway because they wouldn’t be stupid enough to be traveling under their conjoined names. Anyway, I’d be happy to help.”

  The three sat in silence for a minute or two until Stavius finally said, “Well, we aren’t the ones they’re looking for, but it does sound like we’ll have problems at the checkpoint. Janus does get confused under pressure so they might not believe us. But why do you want to help us?”

  Larsa sighed, stood up, and said, “Look, kids. I know you’re the ones they want, but I get it. You need to go figure out whether or not you can trust me. The reason why I want to help you is simple. It’s time for the prophecy to be fulfilled. Those talismans have been making the rich even more influential for a great many years. They are supposed to be gifts from the gods to everyone, not just the seven families, and I am part of a group of people who believe it is time for their powers to be shared with the people.

  “Now, you go wander off and figure out what you want to do. You’re welcome to stay here for the night, and I’ll go ahead and make some preparations should you decide you want my help. In my humble opinion, you should split up and, while people often travel alone by the time they’re seventeen, Janus is going to need an escort to avoid suspicion. So, it’s up to you, but I think he should travel with me.”

  Larsa then tipped her head towards them and walked into the house while thanking them for inspiring her next painting. Stavius looked at Janus and motioned him to join him for a walk.

  “What do you think we should do? Can we trust her?” whispered Janus as they walked down the lane.

  “I don’t know, but we need to go somewhere quiet to talk, and I know just the place,” answered Stavius.

  Clothton was full of wealthy tourists who were heading out for dinner or returning from shopping. Stavius doubted that most of them would be sympathetic to sharing power with the less fortunate. They would be far more likely to turn the boys over to the authorities.

  Stavius knew where to head to avoid eavesdropping from wealthy tourists. Staven’s family had vacationed in Clothton when he was a child, and his parents brought him to lower Clothton in an attempt to motivate him to develop his magical abilities. They told him that he would be spending his life picking cotton and living in lower Clothton if he didn’t shape up and improve. He swore to himself that he would not end up here, but two years later he was disowned, living on his own, and very much afraid that perhaps his parents were right.

  Stavius shared this story with Janus as they strolled past quaint houses on tree-lined streets and into a rougher part of town. The more respectable end of lower Clothton consisted of bland row houses lining the roads like military barracks. Most of lower Clothton, however, consisted of ramshackle huts and dilapidated houses on muddy lots with trash and broken household objects littering the roads.

  “I thought you were unique in not having magical abilities, Stavius,” said Janus. “I can’t believe all these people can’t even create the illusion of a nice-looking neighborhood.”

  “Oh, all these people have more magical ability than I ever had,” corrected Stavius. “Some don’t have a lot while others never bothered to try to develop theirs. So, they live here and do manual labor.”

  “But, wait, why don’t they at least make their homes look better if they have some magical abilities?” asked Janus.

  “Because they’re either too tired or they just don’t care,” answered Stavius as he kicked a broken jar to the side of the road. “The people who live here have been told they are inferior losers who don’t belong with polite society, and that this is all they can hope for. In fact, many people believe that this is what they deserve.

  “I have more reason to be here than any of them, but I swore to find some other way to survive. I don’t think that anyone should be pushed to the point where they are satisfied to be living like this.”

  Janus stared at his friend with a newfound appreciation. He had never really considered what life on Mearth would be like without magical abilities. He had no idea what he should say and finally just muttered, “Wow, your parents sound like real a-holes.”

  Stavius was staring at his feet and wistfully agreed, “Yes, they are, Janus. Yes, they are
, but that isn’t why I brought you here. We need a safe place to have a conversation about what to do about Larsa.”

  The two boys spent nearly an hour wandering around lower Clothton debating their course of action. They finally decided that there was no way to know whether or not to trust Larsa but that it would be almost impossible for them to cross the bridge without her help. In the end, they decided that Janus would cross first with Larsa and that Stavius would cross as his host, Staven. They would meet up at the other side and figure out how to proceed from there.

  They headed back into Clothton and Janus said he needed to make a few purchases to help alter his appearance since illuding wouldn’t work. Stavius sat on a bench in the town park while Janus went into a store. He soon returned carrying a small package under his arm, and the two boys decided to have dinner at a charming bistro Stavius had noticed while waiting. They sat outside enjoying the view of Septumcolis rising above the cotton fields and river. The sun had dipped below the steep hill behind the restaurant which provided welcome shade and caused the river to shimmer like a vibrant ribbon wrapping around the base of the ravines on the other side of the cotton fields.

  Stavius was deep in thought as he reflected that this could be their last meal if they weren’t able to get past the guards tomorrow when Janus suddenly leaped up and shouted, “Stavius, I know where we are!”

  “Sit down and shut up Janus,” hissed Stavius. “We’re sitting in front of the Lord and Dragon, you knoot.”

  “No, I mean I know where we are on Mearth! We’re in Covington!” Janus excitedly exclaimed.

  “Dude, the name of the town is Clothton, not Covington,” groaned Stavius, checking to see if the apple cider they were drinking was hard. “Covington is on Earth.”

  “I know, I know!” whispered Janus as he suddenly realized that other people could hear him. “Mearth is Earth, or at least an alternate version of it and we’re sitting in Covington, Kentucky looking at Cincinnati!”