by Kevin George
A chill rushed through him. At first, he was worried the scientists might’ve come for retaliation for his unrequested trip to their home. But after a moment, relief flooded him. Their presence could only mean he was wrong about potential danger. As he about to rush toward the door, the knocking started anew and his stomach swirled again. He realized the knocking had come from the other side of the room, from the door connecting to the Lord’s room.
Edmond sighed and his hands shook with rage. The holographic images loaded, flickering for several seconds before settling into place, surrounding him with floating views of large sections of the City Below, though he noticed several more empty spots within The Third and The Fifth, both sections pockmarked with black spaces where micro-cameras had been destroyed. He wondered how Oliver was finding them so quickly; he also wondered how much the boy could’ve accomplished if he put his effort into important undertakings.
He instinctively turned to the bright images from the Quarantined Zone, coverage still intact for the entire section, a fact that calmed Edmond and let him feel like he hadn’t lost total control. Still, he forced himself to turn away as suddenly as he’d looked at the QZ. Once upon a time, he’d spent hours watching images from that small part of the city, watching images of one particular person he’d wanted to make his own. Now, that opportunity was gone, at least for the time being. Edmond tried convincing himself that he was glad to have one fewer distraction in life, but he didn’t believe his lie. His eyes wandered to the palace hallways next, to one room on the bottom level where his special guest was being—
More knocking. King Edmond spoke the words to close the Lord’s images, but the platform flashed red and a computerized voice announced that his command could not be understood. He had to repeat himself three more times before the images finally turned off; the system was becoming less responsive every time he used it. Once the third round of knocking erupted, Edmond stomped across the room and threw open the door.
“I’ve explained that I’m not to be disturbed when—”
“My apologies, Your Illustriousness,” Ryo said, though the growl in his voice seemed to indicate a lack of remorse. Edmond glared at his other dark-skinned royal guardsmen, all of whom were wise enough to stare forward. “But I have urgent news from the QZ leader.”
The king’s heartbeat immediately quickened, though he told himself not to think about ‘her.’ He stepped out of the Lord’s room, slamming the door behind him, the sound echoing in the cavernous throne room, yet somehow not as loudly as he once remembered. He looked toward the ceiling—the top of which was shrouded by several feet of steam—and wondered if steam somehow absorbed sound. The familiar QZ guard stood ten feet back, sneering at the royal guardsmen until meeting Edmond’s gaze.
The king hurried toward him, but Ryo moved even quicker, making sure to stay between the two men.
“Are we under attack by Above?” King Edmond asked.
“I don’t know, Your Illustriousness,” Ryo said. “He wouldn’t tell me. He swears that Blake told him to—”
“No attack, Your Illustriousness,” the guard interrupted. “But something important enough that Blake thinks you’ll want to see for yourself.”
“And who are you to tell the king what—”
Edmond held up a hand and Ryo quieted. The king nodded to the QZ guard and motioned for the man to lead the way. He began to follow, as did Ryo and the rest of the guardsmen. Edmond shook his head and ordered them to stay at their current post.
“News from the QZ is for my ears only,” the king told them.
The rest of the guardsmen stayed put, but Ryo followed in the king’s footsteps.
“Your Illustriousness knows that he can trust us with any news from Above,” Ryo pleaded. “We were the ones that rescued Paige and captured the Sky—”
“Silence!” King Edmond snapped, spinning so quickly that he nearly lost his balance. Ryo’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t get out a single word before the king continued. “Yes, you and your men did the City Below a great service, and for that you were rewarded with this prestigious duty, not to mention your homes on the upper half of steppes. But let me remind you that as much as I reward loyalty, I punish disloyalty—I punish those that question the Lord and Jonas—just as severely.”
Ryo’s nostrils flared and his massive chest swelled. Edmond wondered if the rest of the guardsmen would protect him—or if they’d side with Ryo—if their lead guard decided to attack him. Edmond knew he should tread lightly around the massive man—especially since the king never felt like he could trust him fully—but so many other problems had popped up that Ryo’s anger was the least of his problems. Ryo eventually nodded and backed away, lowering his head.
“I meant no disrespect.”
“I understand, and I appreciate your concern for my well-being, which is your primary duty,” the king said. He turned and followed the QZ guard, but didn’t make it out of the throne room before turning back to his guardsmen. “I’m sure this won’t take long. When I return, I intend to visit The Fifth. While I’m gone, have a contingent of guards travel ahead to inform Prince Oliver of my arrival.”
“Should those guards going ahead be armed?” Ryo asked.
Edmond frowned. He should’ve anticipated the question; that had been his own first thought when he’d made this decision. As much as he wanted to prove his strength to The Third and The Fifth—and especially to their leaders, not to mention his own royal guardsmen—he ultimately shook his head.
“Now is not the time for in-fighting,” King Edmond said. He started out of the throne room but stopped a final time. “Also, retrieve my wife. Let her know she’ll be escorting me to see my son.”
Ryo stepped forward. “Do you think that’s such a good—” The king’s glare cut him off and Ryo nodded. “Of course, Your Illustriousness.”
Ryo kept his head lowered, listening to the sound of his own grinding teeth, as well as the king’s footsteps echoing into the distance. When he glanced up and saw Edmond disappear between the throne room’s massive columned entrance, he turned to the nearest royal guardsmen.
“You heard what he said,” Ryo snapped. “Get the queen.”
The guard took a step but paused, frowning as he looked toward the floor. “Meaning no disrespect, but won’t the king be upset if I go to her since he ordered you to do it?”
Ryo snickered. “The king doesn’t know how to punish anyone anymore.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Oliver Jonas drifted out of the darkness of sleep, emerging to nagging pain in his back and neck and head. It didn’t help that the world around him was a cacophony of noises, some of them close—like rushing footsteps and tiny laughter—while others were more distant—like clanging metal and the pounding of rocks. He opened his eyes and sat up, stretching his achy muscles. He sat in the tight confines of a ratty old tent, one that belonged to nobody permanently, used by anyone needing a break from digging or a few hours of sleep.
As Oliver rolled his neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks, he thought about the soft bed in his palace bedroom, about the beds in the Peters’ mansion, even about the hard mattress he’d spent weeks on in his room in the Quarantined Zone. His body longed for a night’s sleep on any of them—even a few hours would be glorious—but his mind didn’t miss a single part of his old life. Shadows of movement passed on the other side of the tent’s thin cloth, but he knew none of those shadows belonged to the one person he wanted to see most. He suddenly felt alone and wondered if that’s how his life would always be.
Not that I can blame her for staying away, he thought with a sigh. Just have to keep proving to her that I’m worthy of her trust.
Having only slept a few hours, Oliver could’ve laid back on the hard floor and fallen asleep for days. Nobody else in his section rested that much, though, and he didn’t intend to, either. He struggled to his feet, hunched over in the tent’s tight confines, and untied the two flaps that had given him a modicum
of privacy. He started on his way out when he felt the slightest cool breeze—not nearly as cold as The Fifth had been a few months earlier—blowing against his face.
Oliver snorted and glanced toward the corner of the tent, immediately spotting the only object inside. He stared at his dirt-encrusted, dented helmet for nearly a minute, wanting to leave it behind forever. But he eventually grabbed it with a sigh, lowering it over his head. He stepped out of the tent and was nearly knocked over by a group of kids, most of them orphans. A few scurried away, their eyes going wide at the sight of Oliver’s helmet. But three of them stopped a few tents away, pointing and laughing at Oliver, sticking out their tongues at him.
“Your Illustriousness!” they chanted in unison.
Oliver chuckled and shook his head. “I told all of you to call me Olly.”
The children laughed and continued their chant, scampering away after Oliver took a giant, dramatic step toward them. He heard a final set of tiny footsteps approaching from behind. Assuming it was one of the kids sneaking up on him, Oliver leapt and spun, summoning a playful growl. The little girl behind him recoiled, her eyes widening as she tripped over a tent and dropped a basket of produce. Oliver apologized profusely, helping her to stand and then gather the fruits and vegetables.
“This food is for you. We just got a shipment from The Third,” the little girl said, her voice tiny and intimidated.
Oliver smiled. “I’ll never get used to hearing about food coming from there.”
Once everything was back in the basket, she handed it to Oliver. He stared down at the fruits and vegetables, which weren’t as large as those grown in The Second, but still looked good enough for Oliver’s stomach to grumble. He hadn’t eaten since. . . he couldn’t remember exactly, but it had been long enough so he wanted to eat everything inside. When he glanced up, he saw the crowd of kids had returned. They no longer ran around playfully, no longer made faces at him or called him names. Many now appeared shy and distant, their eyes widened.
Oliver reached into the basket and took the smallest piece of fruit he could find, shoving it in his pocket. He knelt and placed the basket on the ground.
“The rest is for you,” Oliver told them.
The little girl who’d brought him the basket dropped to her knees, her eyes filling with tears. Oliver offered her the food first.
“Take as much as you want,” he said.
The little girl took only two. “One is for my friend,” she whispered.
Before Oliver could insist she take more, the little girl hurried off through Tent City. The the rest of the kids rushed forward. Oliver’s own hunger faded at the sight of their excitement, but he held up a hand as the first kids reached him. The orphans stopped, their collective eyes flitting from Oliver to the basket.
“There’s no need for pushing and shoving,” he called out as more children showed up. “And there’s no rush because. . .?”
The kids answered in unison. “Because everyone has to share.”
Oliver smiled and lowered his hand, stepping back to oversee what happened next. The children formed an orderly line, calmly divvying up the fruits and vegetables until the basket was empty and everyone had something to eat. Pleased at the sight of so many smiling faces heading back toward their tents, Oliver headed out of Tent City, but not before hearing plenty of cries of ‘Bye, Olly!”
He walked toward the back of The Fifth, his path alight in the orange glow from so many lava lines along the walls. The sounds of clanging metal and crunching rock filled the air as he approached the main digging area, which proceeded deeper into the rocky rear area than when Prince Oliver had first stepped inside The Fifth. Several lines of workers waited their turn to work, nobody appearing overly fatigued or dirtied or bloodied.
“Switch!” a loud voice suddenly called out.
The line of workers at the front shuffled forward in an orderly manner, taking hold of the digging tools handed to them by those who’d been working in front of them. The previous workers shuffled to the back of the line, where they had a chance to rest. Oliver approached a worker joining the back. He used to be able to tell the difference between Thirders and Fifthers, but that had slowly changed the last few months.
“Any accidents today?” Oliver asked.
The worker wiped sweat and dirt from his brow before smiling and shaking his head.
“How long’s it been?”
“108 days,” he said, the same answer—spoken with the same level of pride—given by others in line around him.
Oliver proceeded to the front lines of digging when a middle-aged woman stepped out of line and took him by the arm. There’d been a time when the prince would’ve snapped at her to back away, or when he might’ve attacked her for daring to lay a finger on him. But the warmth in her smile made him smile in turn.
“Your Illustriousness, I’m so glad I ran into you,” she said.
Oliver lowered his head, his brow furrowing within his helmet. “You, too? What did I say you should call me?”
The woman chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I can’t get used to calling you Oliver.”
“Well, you just did,” Oliver chuckled. He rubbed his hands together, fighting off the unexpected quiver in them.
“I’ve been permanently reassigned back home, and I have a feeling you played a part in that,” the woman said.
Oliver replied with a sheepish shrug. “With The Third’s gardens growing bigger by the day, more workers are needed there to feed The Third and Fifth. You’ve put in many hours of back-breaking work here without complaint, so I thought it was time you stay closer to home.”
The woman’s smile was joined by a well of tears. “I. . . truly appreciate that.” She looked at her surroundings, the corners of her eyes creasing. “Though I have to admit it’s not as bad working here as it once was. I’ll truly miss your leadership.”
“Thank you,” Oliver said, bowing deeply. “But it’s not like this will be goodbye. I’m sure I’ll see you again in The Third.”
The woman chuckled at first until realizing Oliver hadn’t been joking. Her face reddened and she stammered trying to find the right words.
“I’m sorry,” she finally settled on. “I thought only your wife lives in The Third.”
Oliver’s smile vanished and his teeth clenched together. He shook his head. “The princess splits her time between the two sections to help as many people as she can. Helping people is all she’s ever wanted.”
“Of course,” the woman said, lowering her head. “I didn’t mean to. . . what I meant is that the princess has been a true gift from the Lord and Jonas.”
Oliver snorted, fighting the urge to snap at the woman. “Yes, the Lord and Jonas.”
With a final wish of ‘good luck,’ Oliver patted the woman’s shoulder and kept going until he reached the back wall of rock. Workers slammed pick-axes and shovels in one section, chipping away the rock in tiny pieces, while handheld digging equipment was used in another area to break apart larger chunks. Several scaffolds had been set up, where workers carefully installed more lava lines into the walls.
Countless workers greeted Oliver, and he responded with pats on the shoulders and quick ‘hellos.’. He spotted workers near the far wall, none of them working, the group surrounding one person in particular. Worried that someone had been injured, Oliver rushed over to them. When he got closer, he recognized the voice of one of the oldest Fifth workers, his words strong and clear. Oliver saw that the others encircling him weren’t concerned but enraptured.
Oliver headed for a rare area of shadow, staying in the darkness while sneaking up closer to the group. The old man was a known story-teller, though rare was the case that Oliver overheard his tales. But as he crept closer, he heard the old man talk about Above, about the Great Blue Above, about the White Nothingness and the tunnels leading to it. Oliver remembered Artie sharing the same stories, but he’d assumed only Maxine Peters knew so much about the world beyond the City Below. To hear others s
peak of those things made him feel worse about the sentence he’d passed for Artie’s mother. . .
The old Fifther suddenly stopped talking, his eyes going wide as he found Oliver within the shadows. He looked away quickly, shaking his head.
“But of course none of those stories are true,” the worker said. “They’re blasphemous in the eyes of the Lord and Jonas.”
When the other workers spotted Oliver, the group began to break up, the men and women grabbing their tools and heading in different directions. Nobody made it more than two steps before Oliver asked for them to stop. The workers did so, their eyes turning back onto the old story-teller.
“Please, Your Illustriousness, I meant no harm,” the old man said. “They’re only stories my father once told me, and his father told him. They’ve been passed along for generations, but everyone knows they aren’t true. None of these people should be blamed for—”
“Nobody is being blamed,” Oliver said calmly. “As a matter of fact, those stories—at least those that I overheard—are true.” More than one gasp spread among the group, a reaction that brought a smile to Oliver’s face. He started to reach for his helmet but couldn’t bring himself to remove it, no matter how badly he wanted to. Instead, he touched the side of the helmet underneath which were his burns. “I traveled the tunnels myself and nearly reached Above before suffering my injuries.”
One of the workers stepped forward, shaking his head, his eyes creased with confusion. He was from The Fifth, of that Oliver had no doubt.
“I’ve heard these stories my entire life, but I never believed a word of them. The Lord and Jonas tell us there’s nothing beyond our walls. . . beyond these walls,” the man said breathlessly, placing his hand against the nearby rock. “The City Below is the only hope for us, our only safe haven, and I refuse to believe otherwise.”
Oliver nodded and placed a hand on the worker’s shoulder.
“I’m certain my father would appreciate your loyalty,” Oliver said. He hadn’t intended it as a compliment, but the worker smiled nonetheless. “But the Lord and Jonas can be. . . complicated. You’re right about one thing: the city is the only safe place for all of us.”