Origins

by A D Starrling

  She stared at the distant city, puzzled. ‘I thought home was Parsah.’

  ‘It is. And it is not.’

  Mila frowned. ‘Your cryptic words strain my patience, Prince.’

  ‘I have come to expect nothing less, Princess.’

  Buros snorted impatiently beneath her. She studied the man ambling toward the mountains, sighed, and dug her thighs into the stallion’s flanks.

  It was another four leagues before they reached the canyon in the foothills of the peaks. The land rose and the gorge narrowed the farther along it they travelled. Twilight soon filled the spaces around them, the vertiginous walls on either side at times obscuring the heavens. A short time after they passed the dead onager, the passage grew so cramped they had to navigate it in single file. It widened again into a short gully flanked by cliffs on three sides some half a league later. Up ahead, a thin crevasse shrouded in shadows split the rock face.

  Mila reined Buros in and scowled. ‘Like I said, a dead end.’

  Aäron ignored her and guided his steed into the breach in the mountain. It was just wide enough to take them.

  ‘Let me guess, is there a hidden Parsah beyond this?’ Mila said sardonically as his figure faded in the gloom.

  ‘Are you coming or not?’ he called out.

  Mila hesitated as she recalled what Aäron had told her the past night, on the terrace of the guest chamber in the hidden Dur Untash.

  ‘You will help me lead the human army that will defeat the Immortals.’ He had paused then, his eyes darkening with an unfathomable emotion. ‘It is the only way you can avenge the death of Romerus and stop your father.’

  She studied the path behind her and cursed under her breath before steering Buros into the chasm after Aäron.

  The light dwindled the farther they advanced through the tight, rocky corridor. True darkness finally engulfed them after a third of a league.

  Mila looked up. The sky had disappeared. In its stead was a vaulted ceiling of jagged rock. She gazed from the roof of the tunnel to Aäron’s dim shape up ahead, her curiosity growing.

  The air grew cooler the deeper they ventured inside the bones of the mountains, the corridor twisting and branching several times. Aäron headed confidently down what seemed like random passages, his pace never faltering. A while later, the sound of running water reached Mila’s ears. It was followed by a faint luminosity that broke the all-encompassing gloom in front of them. They exited a tunnel and entered a space lit by a thousand stars.

  Mila slowed Buros and stared. Glowworms clung to the glistening walls of the cave around them. On the far right, a stream merged into the underground lake filling the middle of the cavern, the trickle and splash echoing to the domed ceiling. Ripples danced across the dark surface, the water reflecting the eerie radiance from the worms a hundredfold until the lake resembled the very heavens at night.

  ‘We had best hurry up,’ Aäron called out. ‘It will be dusk soon.’

  Mila looked from the glittering worms to where he had paused in the mouth of another tunnel and guided the stallion after him.

  They crossed more passages and caves, some dark and empty, others bearing underground streams and pools and lined with eerie, luminescent moss and glowworms.

  A league after they entered the belly of the mountains, muted daylight finally appeared at the end of a tunnel. With it came the roar of falls. Aäron exited the corridor and disappeared in a faint, white mist. Mila nudged Buros after him, eager to leave the oppressive darkness of the massifs behind. Dazzling brightness assaulted her eyes when she cleared the opening. She blinked and reined the stallion in.

  Her breath caught in her throat when her vision finally adjusted to the light.

  Chapter Twenty

  A valley opened up ahead of them. Over ten times the width of the canyon that held Dur Untash, it spread over a rolling landscape of fields carved by a river and surrounded by sheer cliffs that curved to form a distant, rocky dome nearly a league high. Rising in the middle of the vast gorge, soaring towers bathing in beams of sunlight that arrowed down from an unseen sky, was a city.

  Voices reached her above the din of the falls. ‘My prince, you have returned!’

  Mila tore her gaze from the astonishing sight before her and stared through the fine spray rising from the chutes tumbling down the bluff on either side of them. Three men approached on horseback from the left, soldiers dressed in colors she did not recognize. A guard tower stood on a rocky outcrop beyond a gurgling brook at their backs.

  They slowed as they drew near, curiosity washing across their faces as they studied her. The one in the lead suddenly scowled.

  ‘The Red Queen!’ he hissed, and drew his sword.

  ‘What?’ said one of the other soldiers, alarmed.

  ‘That woman is the Red Queen,’ spat the first man. ‘I recognize her from when I was a slave in Uryl.’

  Mila straightened in her saddle, conscious of the weight of the sword at her waist.

  Aäron maneuvered his steed in front of her. ‘Stop!’

  The soldiers drew their horses to a halt a few feet away, the animals snorting nervously when they detected their riders’ agitation.

  The man with the drawn blade hesitated. ‘Prince Aäron, we have awaited your return for a long time. For you to come back with the enemy unfettered and carefree at your side is quite a shock.’

  ‘It is not my intention to shock or cause distress, Kayan,’ said Aäron steadily. He glanced at Mila. ‘Events took a surprising turn two nights ago and I was forced to leave sooner than I had expected, with the princess as my companion.’ He stared unblinkingly at the hostile soldier. ‘I know of your past and your history with the capital of the Empire. I am aware that you have no love lost for those who reign over it. But you are no longer a slave, Kayan. You are a captain in my army. As such, I expect you to extend a civil welcome to my guest.’

  The man clenched his jaw. For a moment, Mila thought he would ignore his commander’s order. She blinked droplets of water from her eyes and assessed the immediate layout of the land, confirming two possible escape routes. She did not want to face an entire city on her own, not until she got answers to some burning questions.

  The captain finally swallowed the words threatening to spill past his lips and nodded curtly. ‘As you wish, my prince. It would be a privilege to escort you and your…guest to the palace.’ He steered his horse around and looked to the soldiers at his side. ‘Stay here and man the tower.’

  They nodded wordlessly, their hot gazes following Mila as she headed after Aäron and the captain.

  ‘This is going well,’ she drawled.

  Aäron frowned. ‘I fear the worst is yet to come.’

  Kayan glanced at them over his shoulder, a mirthless smile twisting his mouth for a moment.

  Mila stared at the city they were headed for and wondered what other mysteries awaited her within its bounds. A defensive wall almost as tall as the one protecting Uryl ringed the crowded metropolis, its parapets dotted with guard towers that overlooked the river at its base. A bridge spanned the waterway and connected it to a settlement of flat-roofed buildings and tents on the opposite bank.

  It was not until they drew near that Mila realized what she had taken to be a lower town was a vast encampment. A low murmur of activity greeted them as they approached the ragged boundaries. Among the voices of men, Mila was surprised to hear those of women and children.

  ‘The city is packed to the rafters,’ Aäron explained as they entered the main thoroughfare crossing the outpost. ‘With so many joining our ranks, we had no choice but to set them up out here.’

  Mila glanced at him before examining the busy scenes around them. She spotted several armed women bearing soldier’s clothing and glimpsed laughing children darting through the cramped spaces between tents. Banners fluttered atop poles across the camp. They all depicted a red eagle with open wings on a golden field.

  ‘How long has this place been here?’

 
‘The camp? Five years.’ Aäron studied the buildings looming on the other side of the river. ‘As for the city, it has stood on this site for over a hundred years. The village that preceded it was over three times as old.’ He looked up and smiled faintly. ‘It was one of my ancestors who discovered this valley, many moons past. She nearly fell into it when she was but ten years of age, or so the story goes.’

  Mila followed his gaze and saw a crescent of sky high above her, past the birds dancing in the rays of the fading sun.

  ‘It was around the time that the Immortal kings conquered what was then Parsah,’ Aäron continued, his voice growing melancholic. ‘Some of our people fled the city during the battle and took refuge in this valley. There has been a second Parsah in these mountains since then. One that now wishes to rise against the very same kings who vanquished us.’

  Mila looked at him thoughtfully. She was about to ask another question when a commotion to the left distracted her.

  ‘It is her! It is the wife of that snake, the one from Issin!’ a man shouted.

  She saw something coming at her out the corner of her eye, whipped her dagger out, and stabbed it in mid-air. It was a rotten egg.

  Fetid fluid oozed from it and dribbled down her hand. She cast the brown mess aside and felt something splash against her back. A foul stench filled the air.

  ‘Stop!’ said Aäron.

  He turned and circled Mila protectively, a scowl darkening his face. Kayan slowed his steed and returned to their side reluctantly.

  Mila drew her broadsword and studied the angry crowd gathering around them with narrowed eyes.

  ‘I heard they killed their own people and burned down dozens of villages in the Empire! They are monsters, all of them!’ yelled a woman.

  Someone cast a stone. Mila batted it aside with the blunt side of her blade. A second egg found her tunic. She fielded another rock with her forearm just as mud struck her right thigh and Buros’s hide with a wet splat. The stallion snorted and stamped his hooves.

  ‘I order you to stop!’ Aäron roared. He drew his sword and rose on his saddle. ‘By the gods, the next person who dares throw something will taste the sharp end of my blade!’

  A hush came over the assembled mass. It was broken by shocked whispers as people finally registered Aäron’s presence.

  The sound of hooves striking stone reached Mila. She looked past a sullen Kayan to the group of soldiers galloping toward them from the direction of the city, the eagle banner flapping at their head. They crossed the bridge and entered the camp, the crowd parting to make way as they drew near.

  The dark-haired man in the lead slowed and brought his horse to a standstill a few feet from their group. A smile split his face, warming his blue eyes. Riding in front of him was a young boy with a serious expression.

  ‘Brother, you have returned,’ said the man.

  Aäron’s face softened. ‘Megash. It is good to see you.’ He looked down. ‘Gilga, you have grown.’

  The boy acknowledged this with a solemn nod.

  The man studied the hostile horde with a puzzled air. His gaze finally found Mila.

  His smile faded. ‘Son of a dog.’

  The boy grinned.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bastian stared out over the plaza, his hands fisted at his sides. Below, in the shadow of the kings’ statues, the citizens of the capital paid tribute to the pyre upon which Romerus burned. Bar the shuffle of feet and the occasional sob, people were mostly silent, their figures painted crimson by the spitting flames. Out on the plains to the east rose the citadel of the dead father of the kings, walls red in the light of the dying sun, as if they too shed tears of blood at the dreadful scenes they had witnessed two nights past.

  The shock and horror he had felt at Romerus’s murder had slowly transformed into rage in the time since the terrible news reached his ears. Even now, he could barely comprehend his brother’s reluctant admission as to the identity of the person who had taken their father’s life.

  Footsteps sounded behind him, distracting him from his dark thoughts. Baruch, his firstborn, appeared at his side.

  ‘Is it true?’ he said in a low voice.

  Bastian looked at him leadenly. ‘Of what do you speak, my son?’

  ‘Have you and my uncle issued a death sentence for Mila?’

  Fury surged through Bastian. ‘Do not speak the name of that monster! Why, even her own father and mother have disowned her!’

  Baruch stiffened.

  ‘Do you really believe Mila killed Romerus?’ he said after a short silence.

  Unease darted through Bastian. He could not deny that the improbability of Mila being Romerus’s murderer had passed through his mind the day before. Of all their children, she had been the closest to him.

  He had heard of the unpleasant events in Issin that precipitated her sudden visit to Romerus’s citadel late on the night of the murder. Why they would have led to her taking his life in cold blood was something no one could fathom, not even her own father, who had witnessed the end of the ghastly deed. It was Crovir’s obvious distress when he told them what had happened that had convinced Bastian his niece was indeed the culprit behind the dire act.

  There were also the witness accounts of the soldiers who had seen the bloodied knife in Mila’s hand and watched her take the life of Crovir’s latest concubine.

  He met his son’s stare head on. ‘Yes, I do.’

  Baruch’s expression grew shuttered, causing a further burst of disquiet inside Bastian.

  ‘Do you wish me to be part of the man hunt to bring her in?’

  Bastian studied his son’s face closely, searching for something he could not put a name to. ‘No.’ He turned and looked out over Uryl once more. ‘We have dispatched an entire garrison after her and the captain who came to her aid that night. Helena and Sofia do not wish any of you to have to dirty your hands with the execution of your own kin.’ In the lull that followed, he tried to read Baruch’s unspoken thoughts. ‘I am aware that you are close to Mila, as are all your brothers and sisters. But she needs to pay for her sins.’

  A muscle jumped in Baruch’s jawline. ‘The one who murdered Romerus will be punished, on this we are all agreed.’

  Bastian frowned as the meaning behind his son’s words sank in. ‘You do not believe Mila is the culprit?’

  Before Baruch could reply, soft footfall rose from the direction of the citadel. Navia appeared, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. She slowed as she drew near, her gaze swinging from him to her brother.

  She wavered for a moment before focusing on Baruch. ‘Brother, may I have a word?’

  Baruch glanced at Bastian. The latter dipped his chin and watched his first and lastborn head back inside the citadel, his mind a storm of thoughts. Chief among them was the startling realization that Baruch, the second general of their army, was not convinced Crovir had told them the truth.

  Mila examined the ceiling above her and counted ten roaches roaming the uneven rock surface. She locked her hands behind her head, closed her eyes, and did her best to settle on the thin straw pallet.

  Bar the distant drip of water and the odd voice carrying from the lower levels of the palace, eerie silence filled the space around her. As prisons went, this was an oddly peaceful one.

  She waited a while before releasing a sigh. ‘Your mother must surely be looking for you, child.’

  Someone sucked in air in the gloom beyond the metal bars at her back. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  Despite her anger at her current circumstances, Mila allowed a dry smile to curve her lips. ‘I have keen ears.’

  ‘Oh.’ A lull followed. ‘So it is true, then.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘What people are saying about you. That you are a monster with ungodly powers who has come here to destroy us all.’

  Mila opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up.

  She swung her legs over the edge of her prison bed and loo
ked at the dim shape lurking in the shadows beyond her cell. ‘Gilga, is it?’

  ‘It is Gilgamesh, actually,’ said the boy primly. ‘Prince Gilgamesh. Only those close to me are allowed to call me Gilga.’

  Mila acknowledged this with a solemn stare. ‘I see that you are not afraid to speak with monsters then, Prince Gilgamesh. You are a very brave human indeed.’

  The boy shrugged. ‘Father and Uncle Aäron say that monsters only have real power when we allow them to fill us with fear. And grandfather says we should face them head on, with all of our strength and courage.’

  Crovir’s face flashed across Mila’s inner vision. She looked down at her hands, the irony of the boy’s words not lost on her.

  ‘Your grandfather may be the wiser of the two of us,’ she murmured.

  Gilgamesh dipped his chin gravely. ‘He is the king, after all.’

  ‘That he is,’ said Mila with a faint smile.

  A companionable silence fell between them.

  ‘Is it true they call you the Red Queen because your hands are soaked with the blood of more than a thousand men?’ said the boy after a while, his eyes gleaming in the gloom.

  Mila hesitated. Before she could muster an appropriate reply, the glow of flames broke the darkness of the dungeon. Footsteps echoed against the rock walls as someone came down the passage. The shadows retreated.

  Aäron appeared, figure outlined in a golden light and face lit starkly by the torch in his hand. There was a bundle of clothes under his arm.

  He glanced at her before studying the boy. ‘Your mother is looking for you.’

  ‘I know,’ the boy responded levelly. ‘I heard her call my name.’

  ‘In that case, you must have perceived the cries of your sister. Her wailing has deafened half the palace and threatens to bring the very dead back to life. Never have I seen an infant with such powerful lungs. Your mother would be grateful if you could see to her. You are the only one who can appease her when she is in this state, apparently.’

  A chagrined expression washed across the boy’s face. ‘Ah. That is indeed true. Aaliyah can scream with the best of them.’