The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga)

by Lane Trompeter

  “Where is my husband, my lord?”

  “He is awaiting trial for his crimes, Lady Calladan,” Father answers. I snap out of my distraction, eyes focusing instantly on the woman before the court. “Crimes you accused him of, if I recall correctly.”

  Whispers break out on the edges of the crowd and in the waiting line beyond, the sibilant hiss of rumor already spreading far beyond the room. She’s young, but somehow mature, her face not a classic beauty but definitely striking nonetheless. Her elegant black dress hangs from her shoulders below the black veil of mourning. She appears small and forlorn, alone in the middle of the throne room, but her face scowls in defiance.

  “Transgressions I suspected, but could never confirm. I came to you in confidence, seeking aid. Now my husband is gone, and no one has laid eyes on him since the Tide brought him here. Where is he? Until Markis is proven guilty by trial, he deserves all the rights accorded him as an earl of the kingdom.”

  “He was found in conversation with the Vengeance himself,” the king responds, his voice mild.

  “Since when has a conversation been proof of treason? What man could refuse the power of the Vengeance if he desired conversation, even you, my lord? Are words enough to condemn a man in this kingdom?” she calls, her voice clear and strong. “What proof do we have that Markis ever saw the Vengeance, other than your word?”

  “My own daughter walked in on his conversation,” Father says, raising an open palm towards my throne.

  I shrink back as the woman’s fiery gaze rakes over me, and her lip curls with scorn.

  “Princess or no, she is nothing but a child. How can the word of a youth be enough to ruin a man of Markis’ standing? What world is this that our lives are determined by the stories of children?”

  “I saw the Vengeance,” I shout furiously, half rising from my chair. “He and your husband were meeting together. They were planning sedition even as I listened!”

  “Control yourself, princess,” Lady Calladan says, raising a mocking eyebrow. “You make my argument for me.”

  “I fought him! The Vengeance and Calladan fought together against me.”

  “Now your story stretches belief, princess. My husband is an accomplished swordsman, and the Vengeance… if half the rumors are true about him, he would crush you like an insect.”

  “But—”

  “Enough, Iliana,” Father cuts me off. “Your words achieve nothing but making us appear foolish.”

  I sit down, my mouth snapping shut and blushing furiously. To be publicly chastened…

  “You want to see Markis, Nariah?” Father says, his voice smooth as a windless sea. “Very well.”

  “He is unharmed?” she asks, her voice suddenly trembling.

  After the collected and confident performance she managed prior to that moment, the relief in her voice is palpable. The Sealord leans forward, his eyes intent. A flicker of disbelieving recognition springs to life in my breast. The posture, so familiar, so natural, brings my stomach to clenching. I’ve seen that posture far too often. Those moments when I asked a difficult question, moments even in the recent past, such as when I asked him about the desperation of the people on the Way, such as when I asked him what had happened to the messenger Locke. As then, he doesn’t blink.

  “He is unharmed. We can take you to him now, but only if you end this disrespectful spectacle. You are better than this.”

  She almost sags as a pair of guards in the gleaming armor of the Wave come to escort her out. As the next dispute is led before us, I school my face into a stoic mask. He did not blink as he told Nariah Calladan the most blatant of lies. Just as Calladan claimed. The next hour passes in an instant, the freezing inferno inside my breast overwhelming all else. When the High Court is adjourned, I’m gone before the last supplicant exit. I need to hide the tears in my eyes.

  Poline finds me a few hours later in my room, Yrena stroking my hair as I try to stifle my sobs into a pillow. I don’t look up as the door opens, but I hear Poline’s voice as she orders Yrena out of the room. Yrena huffs, but does as she’s bid. Poline takes her place. She doesn’t touch me, and I can feel the stoniness in her without looking. I hurt her, I know, and I yearn to reach out to her and ask for forgiveness. Creator knows, I need her friendship more than I need her to guard me. Just as I work up the courage to speak, she begins first.

  “I have news, regarding this Locke,” she says, her voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. I sit up suddenly. She doesn’t meet my eyes, but sits stiffly on the end of the bed.

  “Oh, Poline, that can wait. I’m so sorry! I should never have spoken to you like that,” I cry, lurching forward and throwing my arms around her.

  She can’t stiffen any further, but I can feel her surprise as I squeeze her wooden form tightly. After a long moment, she softens, loosening her arms and giving me a quick hug.

  “Alright, alright,” she says awkwardly. “Let me go. I’m not happy about it, but I forgive you.”

  I look up and smile, and she smiles back, more amused than happy. It’ll have to be enough.

  “So what news?” I say, just glad she isn’t mad at me anymore.

  “Well… I tried to track down a member of the Wave named Locke. I called in a favor with one of my old squadmates who has risen up in the ranks and asked him to go through the records for me right when we got back from Firdana. He sent me a message an hour ago. There are two soldiers named Locke who enrolled in the Wave. One is still serving faithfully… as a guard at a dock in Itskalan. His career has been unremarkable, and reports of him bear that out. The second received glowing reviews from the officers in charge of his training, advanced to training as part of the Tide… and then died. In a ‘training accident’ that is remarkably light on detail.”

  “Died?” I ask, skeptical.

  “I wondered the same thing. One of the trainers is stationed at the barracks in the city, and my squadmate went to ask him about this Locke. He doesn’t remember him dying, just disappearing one day. He assumed he washed out.”

  “Definitely strange,” I murmur, musing.

  “At the end of the message, he wrote something… kind of cryptic,” Poline says, frowning. She offers a piece of parchment for me to peruse. The contents of the letter are as she described, but the words ‘even those amongst the tide should shun the deep’ are scribbled at the bottom after the signature. I shrug, having no idea what it means. “Honestly, if this was anyone else… I would think it a joke. But he seems to be warning me about a legend.”

  “What legend?”

  “The Deep.”

  “I’m going to need a bit more than that,” I say, elbowing her gently after she’s silent for a long moment.

  “Rumor, legend, what have you, there have always been whispers about a third division of the army beyond the Wave and the Tide. The Deep: assassins, spies, people with no record and no name. They are a scary story for soldiers to laugh about, a ghost story for people who have little to fear.”

  “And this… friend… is warning you off? From some clandestine organization that probably doesn’t exist?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Well, I can tell you, from being invited to many of Father’s private conferences, their name has never come up even obliquely.”

  “They wouldn’t, though, would they?” Poline asks, looking at me sidelong. She shakes her head. “It’s ridiculous. I’m a soldier of the Tide tasked with guarding the princess of the kingdom. What do I have to be afraid of? Anyway, I asked around, quietly after I got this message. The guards on duty at the dungeons the day we returned claim that a figure matching Locke’s description was hustled into the dungeons, but has not been released.”

  “The dungeons? But we were just there. Locke is most definitely not in the dungeons,” I said with certainty.

  “Then where is he?”

  ***

  It takes me a few weeks to find the opportunity to head back to the dungeons. Poline thinks it’s a fruitless endeavor, but I
figure I will, at worst, waste an hour glancing into the nooks and crannies of the prison. Locke was led down, but never checked out? Is this another ‘training accident’ where the only trace of Locke will exist in the memories of a few guards? I want to ask, well, someone, but who can I talk to? My trust in receiving a straight answer from Father is shaken to say the least, and, by extension, Uncle as well. The guards won’t tell me anything they didn’t offer Poline, and I don’t exactly want it known that the princess is poking around the dungeons.

  I leave Poline ‘guarding’ my door in case anyone comes looking for me. It’s convenient to have a shadow follow you everywhere: people start to become so accustomed to your shadow always being at your side that they forget you can separate. When you can choose a moment to do so… that assumption leads to a remarkable amount of freedom.

  The servant’s dress I’ve stolen fits poorly, but my hair is pulled up into a tight bun, a basket of linens balanced precariously and conveniently in front of my face. I feel a bit ridiculous sneaking around my own palace, and I’m certain someone will find me out before I can get anywhere. I pass quietly to the entrance to the dungeons, though, unremarkable and unremarked. Four soldiers stand in the same position, their armor cerulean in the lamplight. This time, unlike before, they hold up a hand.

  “What is your business here, girl?” a woman’s voice calls.

  I lower the basket to the ground, revealing my face. Her eyes widen, and she steps back, her hand falling down to her side. The other soldiers all shift in their stances, the only sign of their surprise the sound of jingling armor.

  “Wave,” I say, glancing around. “Come here.”

  They aren’t going to refuse a direct order from the princess. They gather close, but not too close. I look them in the eye, taking a moment to gaze at them each directly.

  “I have something to ask of you,” I say quietly. They lean in closer. “I’m not going to command, but rather request. I’m searching for something, down here among these dark cells. I don’t ask your help, but I do ask that you tell no one I’m here. If my secret remains quiet, I’ll have the Tide who guards me reward you handsomely for your trouble. All I ask is for silence.”

  The members of the Wave look at each other briefly, but they don’t speak. After a moment, the woman who addressed me before stares directly into my eyes.

  “Princess, we need no reward. We’ll tell no one. I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds, but can you give us any more to go on? Some of us have been assigned here a long time. We may be able to help.”

  “Right,” I say, considering. I’m already trusting these soldiers with the secret of my presence. What’s the harm in stepping farther into the sea? “A man was brought to the dungeons recently. There are no reports of him being released, nor has anyone seen him leave. Yet when I was here two weeks ago, he was not in a cell. Even the deep cells.”

  This time, the silence is lengthy, as the guards look at one another out of the corners of their eyes. They shift uncomfortably, and tension sparks in the air where none had been before. One of the men on the end, a younger man, probably only a year or two my senior, opens his mouth, but the leader shoots him a stern look. He closes his mouth for a second, but then he scowls.

  “This is the princess,” he says to his captain. “If we can tell anyone, it would be her, right?”

  “Is it worth your life? Or worse?” she asks, the question as solemn as it is pleading.

  “What could be worse than death?” I cut in. The soldiers look at me and fall silent again. “I will hold your secret to my grave.”

  “Even from the Lord General and the King?” the guardswoman says.

  My skin chills. What do they know?

  “What are your names?” I ask instead of answer.

  “This is Terin, Rillow, Wix, and I’m Lorna,” she answers, pointing to each in turn.

  “I am Iliana. A pleasure to meet you all,” I say. They all smile, clearly a little surprised. “I’m not going to tell you some line of nonsense about immunity or protection. If you tell me a secret, especially one of theirs, and are found out, I’ll not be able to save you. But know, in this room here under my earth, they will never hear it from me.”

  “There is a place in the dungeons,” Terin says immediately, his youthful features earnest. “A single cell on the second level. We are ordered not to place anyone in it, save for those the Lord General himself commands. The next time we patrol, that cell is always empty.”

  “Show me.”

  The other three stay and Terin leads me back, his steps loud in the quiet of the first floor. The minor prisoners don’t bother calling out, their eyes remaining down and their shoulders slumped. Some have been beaten, though many of the injuries appear old.

  Terin leads me past the groaning masses, his step quickening and the tension in his shoulders evident even through his armor. I shake my head at his back. He isn’t made for a posting like this one. I send a brief prayer to the Creator to give him another soon. My stomach drops as he brings me to the cell where the old woman had been, endlessly calling for her sons. It’s empty, as silent and empty as a tomb.

  “Open it,” I command. He steps forward hesitantly, turning the key in the door. The bars swing aside. I run my hands along the stone, but nothing seems amiss. Pressing my ear to the wall, I jerk back as if burned.

  “What is the matter, my lady?” Terin asks.

  I don’t answer. Instead, carefully, I place my ear back to the stone. The same sound reverberates through the wall, muffled and yet distinct: screams. Screams of agony, of such total anguish my heart aches to hear them. I shudder against the cold rock, my fingers grasping at nothing. The screams continue, on and on, until abruptly they end with a sharp jerk. I gasp.

  The stone begins to tremble in a regular cadence, vibrating to a rhythm I quickly realize is the fall of heavy footsteps. I dart out of the cage, silently and frantically motioning for Terin to close the door. He swings it closed far too harshly, and the bars rattle against one another in a violent explosion of noise.

  I’m halfway down the hallway when I hear the sound of grinding stone. Terin frantically works the key in the door, but fumbles with the release in his panic. Finally, he jerks it free, and turns to follow after me. Just as he does, his limbs freeze. One moment, he’s living and moving and breathing, and the next he’s flesh made stone. He teeters, unbalanced and tipping towards the floor, but invisible hands steady him before gravity can finish the job. His frozen body lifts a few inches off the ground, and his terrified eyes meet mine. He blinks rapidly, grunting frantic breaths through an immovable jaw.

  It’s all he can do.

  He jerks to the side, flying through the air and slamming into the bars of the cell, his armor screeching in discordant protest. Out of his control, his head turns slowly, deliberately, to face the occupant of the cell. He lets out a whimper as his face moves forward and presses against the bars. I can see his muscles straining to run, to hide, to flee, but nothing happens. Nothing can resist the power of the Master of Beasts.

  “What are you doing here, little man?” Uncle’s rumbling voice echoes down the hall.

  As quietly as I can, I turn and run, closing my ears to the sound of Terin’s pleas.

  Chapter 16

  Bastian

  Some time near the end of Spring

  In the year 5222, Council Reckoning

  It begins in Donir. The streets are bustling, busy, the heaving multitudes of the populace darting here and there, their worries important for a few brief, final moments.

  A carriage drives by, the coachman shouting angrily at passersby to move aside. He will die hating his life.

  The peddler on the corner begs a man for a coin, and the man grants his request. That kindness will be his last.

  The spice merchant set up his wares a few paces down, but spice is a common commodity in Donir regardless of what his brother said, and he’s never made much money. A curse against his family will be his final
words.

  The end, when it comes, is so sudden that few have time to scream. A light, a distant glow, the sudden sound of rushing wind, and then… nothing.

  Nothing but ash.

  The view shifts. I’m flying, chasing the massive wall of flame. The fire spreads shockingly fast, all the more terrifying because it ignores all laws of nature. It plunges underwater, consuming the fish and sharks and whales and plants as easily as it incinerates dried tinder. It climbs mountains, racing up their slopes faster than the melting snow can fall, tongues of flame snapping forth to consume birds just as the edge of the wall passes on. The flame spreads, one long growing ring of destruction, until it meets on the other side of the world and dies as swiftly as it lived. The bright sparks of life, the creatures fighting for their children, clawing just for the right to breathe for one more moment, the humans and their petty hopes, their worries and their fears.

  Nothing but ash.

  I wake with a gasp. The same dream. The same horrifying dream of fire and ash, of… the end. I don’t know where the words came from, but they seem fitting. Sometimes, the dream begins in other places, spreading out from the middle of the wilderness, or from the heart of Coin, or from the Broken Isles. Most often, though, it starts in Donir. Regardless of where or when it begins, the result is always the same.

  As if my life isn’t shit enough, now I’ve started having consistently depressing nightmares, as well. The strange dreams of conversations with disembodied strangers ended abruptly, replaced completely by the repeating end-of-days narrative. It’s so shockingly regular, so strangely repetitive, that I begin to wonder if something unnatural is happening to me. Has the shock unhinged my mind? I liked it better when I had some control over the dreams. At least those people had spoken back.

  Now... I sigh as the first glimmer of sunlight crests the horizon. It’s going to be a bad day. Most of them are.