by Kevin George
I came here on the hovercraft. . . the old me got a ride. . . the Jonas Heir took the easy way. . . the way to prove my superiority to the others. . .
Prince Oliver turned the other way and jogged toward the line of Third workers heading toward the rear of the city. He heard the huffing and puffing of guards trying to catch up, but he turned to them and shook his head.
“Remain here. . . near the hovercraft,” he called out.
The guards stopped and looked to each other, as if waiting for one another to talk sense into the prince. Some appeared angry or confused to be staying behind; others relieved. Regardless, the guards followed the order and Oliver hurried down the tunnel with only the echo of his footsteps for a companion. A few Thirders glanced back to see him coming, but nobody stopped to wait, nobody acknowledged his presence or spoke to him. Oliver slowed down at the back of the line, where he walked behind them in silence for nearly an hour.
Sweat poured down his face inside the helmet and he had trouble taking deep breaths. On more than one occasion, he wanted to sit down and rest. Oliver had once prided himself on being in incredible shape, having completed hours of physical training on a daily basis, but those days were long past, having been interrupted by weeks spent sedentary and bed-ridden and without the proper training from—
Oliver shook his head, anger pushing him forward. He told himself not to think of Walter Capshaw or the past or his life in One that he hoped to never see again. He kept pushing his way toward The Fifth—toward the future—and finally caught up to the group of Thirders near the back of the line. Though nobody turned to him, their whispered conversations came to an abrupt halt in his presence.
“Is it much farther?” Oliver finally asked, trying not to sound too winded.
A few workers glanced at him and snorted, continuing to trudge forward without responding. Oliver swallowed hard and looked behind him, where there was no sign of the guards, only the orange glow from the pair of lava lines stretching down the tunnel. Instinct told him to chastise the peons foolish enough to ignore him, but Oliver forced himself to take a deep breath and massage the shaking out of his hands.
“Haven’t even reached The Fourth yet,” a Thirder said without looking back. “But almost to the blast door.”
Silence stretched for the next several minutes, during which time a few of the nearest Thirders picked up their pace and pulled farther ahead. The man that answered Oliver remained close, though, and Oliver sidled up closer to him.
“Wish I’d known the walk would take so—”
“Sorry, but we need to save our energy for the days of work ahead of us,” the Thirder said, before quietly adding, “Your Illustriousness.”
The others nodded. “Days of working? In a row?”
Another snort from another Thirder. “We’re lucky to survive each shift.”
“Not all of us have been so lucky,” another added. “Not that anyone seems to care what happens to us.”
Oliver knew better than to claim that he—or that One, or the Lord and Jonas, or King Edmond—cared.
“Once upon a time, I’m sure citizens of The Fifth felt the same way when they were recruited to help with The Third,” Prince Oliver said. “It might be a long time coming, but doesn’t it feel good to know you’re helping repay the debt of your ancestors?”
A Thirder suddenly spun and stomped toward the prince but was cut off by two of his fellow men that held him back. Oliver realized how exposed he was—and could almost hear his father’s admonishment for putting himself in such danger again—but he did not back away or offer an apology.
“I understand the idea of helping other sections; that’s what The Third and our projects have been trying to accomplish for generations,” the Thirder said. “But there are no historical accounts of mass casualties during The Third’s construction. As a matter of fact, most workers from The Fifth were the experts in operating heavy machinery and construction equipment that helped finish our section. We’re using our bare hands to dig now, unprotected from cave-ins and falling rock.”
Oliver’s brow furrowed so deeply that his helmet shifted, distorting his view through the eye slats.
“What. . . what do you mean?” he asked, trying—yet failing—not to sound confused. “I’ve never heard of any equipment that can help with digging.”
“You wouldn’t have,” another Thirder muttered, turning his head in the opposite direction.
“What he means to say is some of our city’s historical accounts didn’t survive the purge of books ordered by your grandfather,” the friendlier Thirder said.
“Then how can you know what The Fifth did or did not do for The Third?” Oliver asked.
“We wouldn’t dare write down those histories, not after what happened to the Peters woman,” the Thirder said.
Oliver’s breath caught in his throat and he ground his teeth together, wondering if he should defend himself for punishing Maxine Peters or if he should apologize for his brutality. He chose to do neither, walking quietly beside the workers.
“Surely the Lord and Jonas can’t punish historians for passing along stories of our past,” the Thirder continued.
“I can’t confirm or deny books or stories I know nothing about,” Oliver said. “Either way, those were different times, a different situation handled by different leaders.”
“Couldn’t this be, too?”
Oliver huffed but didn’t say another word before the Thirder pointed ahead. The monotony of the tunnel wall was broken by a massive blast door with a large number ‘four’ stamped into it. A pair of One guards remained on duty and nearly snapped at Oliver as he approached. When they recognized him, both men bowed deeply, scurrying aside as the prince shooed them out of the way. He pressed his ear against the cold, metallic door but only heard hollow nothingness from the other side.
A few Thirders glanced his way as they passed, but only his walking companion paused long enough to watch him.
“Hear anything?” someone asked the prince.
Oliver closed his eyes and listened intently for a few more seconds before shaking his head.
“I’ve heard tales of Thirders hearing whispers through the wall we share with The Fourth,” the Thirder said.
Others tried to shush the man, but Prince Oliver insisted on hearing the stories. Oliver listened to several ghost tales along the way, not only from the friendly Thirder but from a few others that overheard and wanted to add their own details. Oliver wasn’t sure which ones to believe or not, but he was glad to get his enemies talking to him. The second half of the walk through the Main Tunnel passed quicker than the first. It wasn’t long before the tunnel came to a dead end near The Fifth’s entrance.
He joined the line with the others, told that they needed to wait their turn to sign into a list so the guards could track the times of their shifts.
“We can’t leave for at least forty-eight hours after arrival,” the Thirder explained. “Rest is available to those who are injured or exhausted, but the tents are so cramped and uncomfortable that it’s not worth it. Besides, most are occupied by little kids and we aren’t about to kick them out. By the end of our shifts, we look like the walking dead stumbling back to The Third. Some of our people that died in cave-ins or other accidents. . . I’m not saying they wanted to die, per se. . . but I’m sure they were grateful for the eternal rest after laboring for so many hours.”
Oliver had known how much effort was going into expanding The Fifth, but seeing for himself the effect it had on Thirders—seeing the way Emma had valued each and every life—changed something in the prince. Telling the others to stay put, Oliver circled the line and pushed his way to the front. A One guard began to threaten him until recognizing Oliver’s helmet. The guard’s eyes widened and he bowed deeply.
“My apologies, your Illustriousness,” the guard said. “We weren’t told you’d be visiting.”
“I’m not visiting, I’m staying,” Oliver spat at him. “I’m in charge around
here now.”
“Oh,” the guard said, looking to his partner. “We weren’t told.”
“You’re being told now,” the prince said. He pointed to what the guard was holding. “The list?”
“Yes, of course, Your Illustriousness,” the guard said, handing it over. When he saw Prince Oliver begin to peruse it, the guard hurried to his side and pointed out exactly how to chart the length of time that each worker had—
Oliver ripped the list in half, causing gasps from the guards and the workers in line alike.
“The list is no longer needed,” the prince proclaimed loudly.
“But the king’s orders—”
“Are no longer relevant now that I’m in charge,” Oliver said, speaking as much to the men and women in line as to the entrance guards. “I will be ruling as I see fit, and I don’t see fit to put lives of hardworking men and women at risk for a foolish mandate about the length of shifts.”
The guards frowned but did not argue further, stepping aside when Oliver motioned for them to do so. He waved the Thirders forward, the group moving hesitantly at first, as if part of a confusing test they didn’t understand. But Oliver’s walking companions near the back came forward and the others followed, most of them walking with their heads down, a few brave enough to glare at the guards, who remained off to the side, uncertain what they should be doing now that their job had been taken away.
“You’re dismissed,” the prince told the two men.
“Dismissed?”
“Back to One,” the prince said. “As in your services are no longer required here.”
“But this was our assignment.”
“You’re more than welcome to grab a few sledgehammers and start scratching away at the rocks,” Oliver said, crossing his arms.
One of the guards tapped the other’s arm and nodded toward the Main Tunnel. The two headed off, but not before taking several long glances toward Oliver, who couldn’t tell if they appeared nervous or angry to be leaving. Either way, the guards weren’t happy at their dismissal, not the first group of guards he’d disappointed today. For a moment, instinct told him he’d made another mistake, that making the guards—and not the citizens, certainly not Thirders—happy was most important to maintaining power, a mantra preached by his father and other Jonas kings before him. But the idea of ignoring his father—ignoring everything he stood for in life—erased any doubts Oliver felt.
Oliver walked into The Fifth, the first time he could remember setting foot inside the City Below’s final section. It was bigger than One and nearly as bright, with lava lines criss-crossing the floor and ceiling and along the walls. Sparkles of dust hung in the air and distant clanging echoed, but The Fifth wasn’t nearly as awful as he’d been led to believe. Goosebumps erupted on his arms as he felt the cold, but he suddenly felt more alive. . . he suddenly felt like he could belong somewhere.
He also suddenly felt exhausted. Workers—from The Third and The Fifth alike—scurried about the section, most of them heading to or from the far reaches shrouded in shadows and darkness. Prince Oliver wanted to see where and what they were digging—he wanted to see how dangerous the working conditions were—but he turned in the opposite direction, passing the homes built into the rock. One building was larger than the others, standing off in a shadowy corner, away from the brightest section of lava lines.
The Peters home, Oliver knew without being told, the thought causing his stomach to sink and his paranoia to kick in. The former Peters home.
Oliver had eradicated the entire Peters family, though he knew there was a chance—albeit a small chance—that Artie had survived his mission Above. Part of him felt horrible for condemning his former friend to a probable death—for condemning both of Artie’s parents to fiery lava deaths—but he wasn’t sure it would help anyone if Artie survived and returned. Citizens of The Fifth had always been loyal to their worship of the Lord and Jonas, and he hoped they would forgive him—or even revere him—for sending The Fifth’s former leaders to an existence Beyond the Light.
He marched toward the Peters home, where he found a giant moat cut into the rocky floor around it. Lava lines were still in the early stages of installation within the moat, a process overseen by a pair of massive men standing in front of the large home.
“Robert Peters wanted this built?”
One of the men nodded. “These plans came about the same time as the massive expansion. Robert Peters—may he be eternally blessed Beyond the Light—spoke of the moat being a request from King Edmond, who was told of its importance by the Lord and Jonas.”
The burned area where Oliver’s eyebrows had once been furrowed, his charred skin tightening as he looked at the moat. A large plank of wood stretched from one side of the moat to the other. Oliver carefully crossed it, watching the lava lines the entire time, imagining how intimidating it would look once lava flowed through them, how much better protected the home would be. Oliver turned and looked into the distance, not seeing a single sign of a threat from those in The Fifth, wondering why his father would’ve demanded so much manpower be reallocated to keep the Peters home safe. . .
He crossed the moat and pushed the front door, which slowly creaked open. Inside, the foyer was dimly lit by a single thin lava line, casting just enough light to make shadows dance in the corners. Several paintings adorned the walls, including a large one with the outline of the Lord and Jonas standing in front of a bright white light, an image similar to those adorning the walls in many of the tiny temples built in the back section of One.
He proceeded through the house, which was eerily silent and empty, filled with dark rooms and shadowy nooks. Artie had once spoken about spending countless hours in the home, reading in dark corners, and Oliver could certainly imagine him doing so. Everywhere he looked made him think of his former friend, filling him with conflict and thoughts about the mission Above and Paige and if his life could be different if he returned to One. The Peters home was huge and could be all his, but he didn’t know if he wanted something like this, not anymore. He told himself to leave the house and never come back, but his tired legs led him upstairs, into the bedroom at the end of the hallway.
Darkness made the room feel expansive; it also made Oliver feel claustrophobic for the first time in his life. His chest tightened and he found it hard to breathe within his helmet, which he lifted long enough to realize it wasn’t the problem. He crossed the room to the windows and opened the shutters, allowing light to seep in, not much but bright enough for him to find the switches to open the room’s lava lines. Once the room flooded with a soothing orange glow, a weight lifted from his chest. He sat on the edge of the nearby bed, which didn’t appear to have been used for a long time. Dust plumed off the bed, but that didn’t bother Oliver, who removed his helmet and lay back, trying not to think about how he was responsible for the deaths of the bed’s former occupants. . .
The faint whisper of a whir caused his eyes to snap open. He’d heard—and ignored—the noise his entire life but could no longer do so now that he knew what caused it. He put his helmet back on, not wanting to give his father another second to see him without it. He scanned the walls and ceiling for a few minutes, finally spotting the smallest rocky protrusion in the corner of the ceiling. He stood from the bed and walked toward it, his eyes never leaving it even when the whirring stopped.
“I know you’re watching,” Oliver said. “Yes, I sent away several guards. Yes, I tore up the workers’ list. Yes, I allowed Emma to return to The Third with some of her people. These are decisions I made in preparation to rule The Third and Fifth. Eventually, I want all One guards gone from these sections and I want total control over the decision-making process.”
The microscopic camera whirred momentarily. Oliver imagined his father zooming in on his face, filling the Lord’s room with his holographic image. The prince resisted the urge to sneer or yell or tell his father how much he hated him. Instead, he took a deep breath and continued his list of demands
.
“If I’m going to risk my life seeking peace with these people, I also want Paige sent to me. . . if she’s rescued,” Oliver said.
Speaking Paige’s name caused Emma to pop into his mind, as well as an unexpected feeling of guilt. Hours earlier, Oliver had been ready to risk his life to attempt Paige’s rescue, but now his feelings had completely changed, his goals had completely changed. Still, he knew his father’s feelings toward the young woman and getting her away from the king’s evil clutches remained important to the kind of person he wanted to become.
“I’ll also need my own protector. . . my own guard. . . but not a One guard already assigned here,” he told the camera, his mind desperately searching for the name of a man his father hadn’t already tainted.
A name popped into his mind, a name from his past that could very well prove disastrous, but one that fit with his desire to redeem himself to people he’d wronged in the past. He smiled and told his father the young guard’s name, imagining how the king would react to such a request. Oliver hadn’t checked on the guard-in-training a single time since their encounter in the combat trench—and he had no idea if the young man’s arm healed properly after he’d snapped it—but he was determined to improve life in the City Below, even if he had to help one person at a time. He was also determined to exclude his father as much as possible, starting now.
He dragged a chair toward the corner, standing on it to reach the ceiling, where he chipped away at the tiny protrusion until prying out the tiny camera, which he could hardly distinguish among the bits of debris in his hand. He dropped it to the floor and stomped on it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Carli’s clothes—several sizes too big—flapped in the wind as she soared across the sky, but they still protected her from the worst of the cold. The goggles allowed her to see better, though the day was cloudy and she lost sight of Wyatt flying ahead on several occasions, causing her stomach to drop more suddenly than when she dipped closer to the surface. Each time Wyatt faded from her view, she mashed the jetpack’s power button all the way down and sped up, allowing her to spot him again.