The Keys to Ascension

by Dilland Doe

  The pounding hooves of incoming horses shocked through his mind. He dashed toward his mount. His dad galloped toward the soldiers.

  Parto unknotted his horse’s rope with a flick of his finger, then jumped on. “Heaa! Heaa!”

  He glanced back at his father. The guards surrounded him as he slid off his horse. But the inquisitor…he sped right toward Parto.

  Parto had a good horse, but he couldn’t outrun an inquisitor’s steed. They were the finest; bred for such speed that no infidels could escape The Divinity’s justice.

  “Heaa Heaa!” Parto kicked his horse. He rode the rising and falling of the beast. Having never ridden so fast before, he concentrated on maintaining his balance and position, but had to look back.

  An impression of a long, thin blade pressed through the robes as the weapon bounced at the assassin-priest’s hip.

  The chaser yelled in a deep voice, “Boy! If you’re innocent, stop. I will not charge you for running from an official of The Authority and The Divinity, but only if you halt at once!”

  Parto knew he couldn’t escape. What of his brothers? Parto knew he was innocent. He had no idea his parents committed crimes against the universe. His twin-brothers couldn’t have known. Could they?

  He pulled on his horse’s reins, ready to accept judgement. His faith was strong.

  Ch. 7

  Finio ate the last of his corn as the small single-sailed boat finally approached his new home. A few ships entered and departed the harbor while fishing vessels floated on the sea, their crews casting nets before pulling them in. Through his shirt, he touched the letter to his aunt that was secured in an inside pocket. Walls surrounded the harbor, leaving only a little passageway between two wall-towers. The main city rose above the harbor on hills. A second wall separated the docks from the rest of the city.

  The two boatmen tied their vessel to the dock. The captain smiled. “Well, young man. Here we are: Actus.”

  Finio shook both their hands. Scanning the city, he said, “Where do I find Aunt Herania?”

  “I imagine in that keep.” The first boatman pointed to the small stone castle that rose above the inner-city. He slapped Finio on the shoulder. “Good luck, ma boy. We were only paid to take you here.”

  Finio strapped on his backpack, then stepped onto the dock. He scanned the storage buildings in front of him. Vendors lined the streets up toward the city wall, their wares displayed on long wooden tables. A few gates were open, manned by two guards each.

  As the second boatman tied up the sail, the other stood on the dock next to Finio. “We’ll spend the night here and look for someone who needs passage back to Hyzantria. Either way, we’ll be gone in the morning.” He strode down the dock.

  Oh, The Divinity guide me.

  Finio stepped forward.

  While he walked through the fish markets, men held up their catch, shouting at him in Tonguelin. He studied the language of the west extensively in school, and understood it pretty well. It had many starts and stops, not flowing as well as Hyzantrian.

  The road inclined toward an arched gate. The letter crumpled as he pushed his fingers against it through his shirt. I hope they let me in.

  He approached some kind of animal market that stretched along the right side of the road. Chickens, mice, birds, and exotic creatures he’d never seen before sat or squirmed in little cages.

  Voices from the market shouted at him.

  “Hey! Pick me, boy! I’ll mesmerize a pretty girl for ya!”

  “No! Me! Let’s make fire together. Fire!”

  “There is no greater profession than healing. Let’s talk and see if we can reach a deal.”

  “Let’s manipulate the winds and create a great trading empire!”

  Finio froze at the front of the animal market, snapping his head toward the different voices. The merchant talked to a potential customer. No other people stood at this vendor. While a few of the animals looked at him, most ignored him.

  The voices continued, seemingly coming from the creatures.

  Shaking as he sucked in a long breath, Finio’s eyes grew large as heat and sweat covered his body. “The Divinity, what’s going on?”

  He dashed forward. His feet flew across the cobble road faster than he’d ever sprinted in a sedeux match. His heart beat like it would pound out of his chest. The guards hardly had time to swivel their heads as Finio blasted between them, under the archway and into the city.

  “Stop!” They chased after him.

  Before any sense came to him, a third guard appeared out of nowhere, tackling Finio to the ground.

  He breathed laboriously through the man’s weight.

  “Calm down, boy.” The guard got off him. All three stood over him, wearing chainmail, with swords at their sides.

  One of the gate guards said, “I’ll man the gate.”

  The other gate man nodded, then turned to Finio as the first returned to his post. “What the hell did you steal? Give it back.”

  Finio stood, glancing back and forth between the men. The gate guard scowled, leaning forward. The other stood calmly.

  Finio opened his hands in front of him. He understood Tonguelin well from listening to his teacher, but he hadn’t had a lot of practice speaking it. “I scared.” He pointed toward the gate. “Animal market. Animals talk or something.”

  The gate guard shook his head while crossing his arms. “How the hell do these poor exile beggars get here?” He looked at the other guard, then back at Finio. “Tell me what you stole and return it now, or I’m dragging you to the dungeon.”

  “No. I promise. Voices from animal market. I didn’t mean to run past the gate. I promise.”

  The gate guard smirked, glancing at the other man. “Oh, we have a little mage on our hands. Heh ha ha!”

  “Boy. Don’t lie to us,” the other guard said, “We won’t go easy on you because you pretend to have the link.”

  A spark of anger flashed in his brain. Blasphemy. He glanced through the gate at the market. He could only see some of the wooden tables and a colorful, chirping bird.

  The gate guard leaned to his left. “Uh ooooh, the great wizard is gonna turn us into snails! Ha ha!”

  Finio looked the man in the eyes. “Sir. I nephew of,” he remembered that Citians used last names with titles rather than first names, “Queen Arrassio-Sannacles.” He pulled out the letter.

  The mean guard swiped it from him, shaking his head and muttering, “Hyzantrian witch. Two names…If my wife had asked to have two names, I’d have slapped her silly. This isn’t Hyzantria. Our king should have shown that woman her place.”

  The other guard’s mouth and eyes opened at the man.

  Looking at the paper, the gate guard said, “Well, it looks like Hyzantrian. You read Hyzantrian?”

  The other guard shook his head.

  “Me neither. I better keep this letter. Balios, pat him down and check his backpack for stolen goods.”

  Balios stood up straight, staring at the gate guard. “Uuuuuuh.”

  Screw this butthole! Finio leapt for the letter, swiped it from the man’s hands, then kicked him in the nuts.

  He bent over. “Urrrg.”

  Balios drew his sword.

  Finio flashed the letter toward him. “Take me to aunt. You know truth.”

  Metal rang as the second man unsheathed his weapon.

  Planning his escape, Finio glanced toward different side paths he could take away from these men. They looked like standard guards, not sprinters. Especially considering they held swords and wore chainmail, he could lose them pretty fast.

  Pressure pushed into him from behind, smushing his backpack into him. Hands slid under his arms, then grabbed the back of his head. Finio jerked left and right, but the person held him securely.

  The two guards snapped to attention and saluted.

  “Please, this guard is asshole. I am nephew to the queen.”

  The person released Finio. “The letter.”

  Finio tur
ned to see a late-teenager about his age holding his hand out. Finio handed him the letter.

  The teenager read it, then looked at Finio. In pretty good Hyzantrian, the boy said, “I’ve never met my Hyzantrian cousins before!” A huge smile came over the boy’s face before he wrapped Finio in a bear hug.

  Cousin?

  The boy stepped back from Finio. He was a little thicker and taller; probably a year or two older too. He had Finio’s dad’s and twin-brothers’ black hair. “Let’s show this letter to my mom.” His face went straight. “If you happen to be lying about who you are…there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Ch. 8

  Finio followed his cousin, Kericles, on stone streets between wooden buildings until they approached a large field in the middle of the city. It seemed like a sedeux field, except the people on it played with weapons and armor rather than clubs and balls.

  About a hundred men marched back and forth in formation, charging invisible enemies before halting and changing positions with precision. They wore bulky green armor, but moved with alacrity. The armor wasn’t made of normal metal…but powered by estra—a mineral mostly mined from northeast Hyzantria. Finio had never seen estra-armor before, but knew of its strength. It was banned back home. Faith should be one’s armor, not magic ore…steel was acceptable though.

  A leader boomed out orders to the soldiers in a deep, commanding voice.

  Finio whispered, “Is that the king?”

  Kericles kept walking forward. “Yup. Mom’s over here.”

  They approached a woman sitting in a mobile lawn chair under an umbrella. Two servants and two guards stood around her as she read a book.

  Finio’s eyes went wide at the sight of her. She had his dad’s black hair except… She’s beautiful. This is my dad’s older sister?

  “Hey, mom! If this letter’s true, I may have a new brother.”

  She turned to him with sharp, dark eyes. While her age of about forty showed, it did so with elegance. The harsh angles of her face surrounded by flowing, long black hair made her appear like a hawk-queen; a queen that ruled with decisive wisdom and the aura of her gorgeous exterior.

  Aunt Herania read the letter, then examined Finio like she searched for a tiny mammal scurrying through a field of grass. He forced himself to not shuffle nervously.

  He spoke in Tonguelin, “I sorry to interrupt your show, Aunt Herania.”

  Her full lips curved to a smile. She spoke in Hyzantrian with a graceful voice. “You mean my book? My great warrior husband begs me to watch him train—like I give a damn.” She examined Finio’s face. “The accent checks out. So does the name. No Citian would use an elder’s first name. And you do look like a little Themeno.”

  Her eyes moistened as she stared away with a smile. She looked back at him. Somehow, penetrating hawk eyes had turned into the wide, soft eyes of a begging shepherd. “They will kill my little brother for this. I’m sorry, Finio.”

  She held an arm out for him. He stepped underneath it. Her long, slender fingers squeezed his shoulder.

  The hawk in her face came out again and her voice hardened. “The Divinity’s justice must be fulfilled though. Maybe if our family didn’t need this damn trading alliance I could have guided him away from his wife’s path.” She sighed.

  She stared off in silence for a moment. Finio wanted to ask about his mother, but was a little afraid of the aunt he just met. His dad said Aunt Herania was the smartest of the whole family. And a hero. A hero for sacrificing her free life in Hyzantria to be wed to a sexist Citian.

  Aunt Herania suddenly drilled him with questions about his dad, his dad’s estate, sedeux, and even The Divinity. Finio answered quickly in Hyzantrian; he knew all the answers.

  She opened her arms toward him. Finio stepped between them. She hugged hard, yet soft, as if an angel held him. An angel here to save him, but who also wore a dagger in her belt.

  “I accept you as Finio, son of my brother,” she said, “I will raise you like my own, and so will your uncle.”

  With little flicks of her pointer finger, she motioned a servant toward her.

  He came at once. “Queen Arrassio-Sannacles.”

  She spoke in Tonguelin. “This is my son. Give him quarters like you would any other.”

  He bowed his head. “Yes, my queen.”

  She put a hand on Finio’s shoulder. “Welcome to Actus.” Smiling warmly, the full extent of her beauty was revealed, but despite its warmness, something was missing. It was too perfect; like she was an actress smiling for an audience. Was there true warmth behind the gorgeous exterior?

  Finio bowed. “Thank you.”

  Kericles walked toward a rack of weapons near the edge of the field. He locked eyes with Finio, then nodded his head toward the arms.

  Finio jogged to catch up.

  After a quickly grabbing a spear, Kericles tossed it in the air, then caught it. He spun it with two hands, then instantly stopped with the spear pointing toward Finio. Kericles shrugged his shoulders. “Spar?”

  Shaking his head, Finio said, “Fighting is for soldiers. I play sports.”

  The cousin grabbed another spear. “You are a noble Actian now. You better learn to fight.” He tossed the spear.

  Finio caught it one-handed. He flashed a few practice jabs. I guess it’s like a cross between a paddle-staff and a club, but used a little differently.

  Kericles stepped forward, jabbing the spear until it halted right before Finio’s neck.

  Finio looked down at the sharp, shiny spearhead. “Uuuuuh, shouldn’t we use ones with soft tips?”

  Yanking back the spear, Kericles said, “War is deadly. Practice is deadly. Defend yourself, cousin.”

  The spear flashed toward Finio, like a Sedeux dancer trying to tackle the ball, except the ball was his head! Finio jerked left, dodging the strike. But another one came after him before he could think. Left, right, duck! Finio evaded the spear that seemed to only come toward him.

  Then, Kericles swung the butt of his spear underhanded. It slammed into Finio’s spear, knocking it into the air. Finio reached out to grab it. Kericles’s spear blade swung and halted at Finio’s neck. Finio froze, letting his spear fall to the grass.

  How does he stop it just before killing me?

  The cousin grinned. “You’re slippery, but remember, you have a weapon!”

  Finio listened carefully to his Tonguelin words, trying to compare them to how he would have said them so he could fix his poor grammar and pronunciation.

  The boys sparred a few more times, with similar results. Finio had a lot of practice to do to compete with his cousin.

  A leader’s voice boomed from the training field. “Warriors of Actus, dismissed!”

  The men yelled, “Rrrwhaaaa!”

  The father approached his wife with a gregarious smile. “Honey! I’m so glad you came! The men truly know what they’re training for when they see the uncontainable beauty of their queen.”

  He stood above her for a moment as she read her book. She flipped a page, then put in a bookmark before standing. “Yes, you train well.”

  “All for you my darling.” He opened his armored arms to hug her.

  She put up a hand. “No hugs in plate. I feel like I’ll pop.”

  He gently took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. “Of course, my darling.”

  His face went serious as he turned to where Kericles and Finio watched. “My messengers tell me this boy claims to be your nephew.”

  “I’ve checked him out,” she said, “He is the son of Themeno. His father has gotten in trouble for magic use. He’ll likely be executed. This boy, Finio, is your son now.”

  The king tilted his head. “Hmmmm. My messengers say the boy ran in fear of the communicator market. Both his parents were wizards…he may be just what I’ve been looking for!”

  Herania crossed her arms. “He’s completely untrained and knows nothing of magic. Don’t make him pursue the blasphemous arts.”

  “Heh.
” The king glanced lovingly at his wife. “You look so cute with your Hyzantrian ways. But we are Citian, and we don’t deny utility due to superstition.”

  Her face went cold. Finio was surprised the man didn’t turn into stone from that stare.

  Putting his hands in front of him, the king said, “Sorry honey, sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect.”

  Two servants approached him. The king nodded toward them. They started taking off his armor from behind.

  The king clapped his hands. “Sons, here.” He pointed in front of him.

  Kericles and Finio jogged to the king. A servant pulled on something from the back, and the formerly fitting armor expanded outward. A green glow lit the king’s face.

  Finio watched with wide eyes. Estra-armor…woa.

  The servants started unlatching the armor from itself as the king focused on his nephew. “Greetings! Finio, I’m sorry for your family tragedy. How did your other brothers fare?”

  Finio gulped. “I don’t know. We all ran in different directions.”

  The king nodded. “Good plan. Don’t worry about your future. You’re now my son. Tonight, we’ll have a grand feast in your honor!”

  Kericles smirked. “Sweet.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Finio nodded.

  The servants took off the plated arms. Then, somehow unlatched the center breast plate from the back and legs. Glowing green mist gushed from the separation.

  “So,” the king said, “you heard the voices of high beings at the communicator market?”

  High beings? Demons? No. Could it be true?

  Speaking slowly as he thought through Tonguelin grammar, Finio said, “Sir, I heard something. I’ve never heard that before. I know nothing of magic.”

  A servant pulled the breast plate off the man. A green light pulsed from the center of the armor.

  Estra. Demons. Magic. What would The Divinity think of this?

  The servants took off the rest of the armor, and latched it together somehow. The pieces all hung connected by a wire that itself was connected to a handle on each end. They carried the estra-armor away.