North & South

by K T Munson

  “They must choose.” Hadrian heard himself whisper.

  Everyone’s eyes turned on him as the old man asked, “Choose what?”

  “You cannot make them leave; they need to choose to leave.” Hadrian whispered again, his voice firm.

  A small thing with soft curly hair and eyes that reminded him of Javis struggled to her feet. Her stomach was large and she put a hand on it as she stood. Hadrian knew instantly this was the sister he sought.

  “Kal said Javis sent you.” She said, her cute nose turned up to meet his gaze head on.

  “He did,” Hadrian said glancing at her very pregnant middle. “You must choose to leave this place. I cannot promise you safety; only freedom.”

  “Then I choose freedom,” the woman responded her hands running over her stomach.

  “Then hurry.” They did hurry, as though they had been prepared all their lives for this moment.

  They lit a lantern to make it easier for the woman to walk, dressed her warmly and even gathered a sack of food. One woman kept whispering that she had prayed for this moment, over and over again as though it gave her strength. Hadrian could not deny that he was glad of their choice; he was glad he could give them freedom.

  Hadrian went up the stairs first when they were ready, leading them out into the kitchen. Once there he replaced the worms safely at his waist. Kal, the old man, was at the front leading them out into the night with Gradid, one of his men. He stayed at the back and watched them go, until the last two came up with the pregnant girl waddling between them. She was as like to burst as an overripe blueberry, but Hadrian said nothing.

  “Stop!” A man yelled and came running forward with a stick.

  Hadrian swung to the side as the man swung the stick down. The woman screamed and the lantern fell to the ground. Instantly the oil spilled on the floor and fire leapt to life free of its constraint.

  “Go!” Hadrian roared as he unsheathed his sword.

  The two women turned and left; the pregnant woman was breathing heavily as they disappeared into the night. Hadrian held his sword as the man stumbled back; he had not expected a blade. He turned and fled. With a humph Hadrian turned to leave but the fire was spreading. He glanced at the bowl of water next to the pitcher; he knew in that moment he could extinguish most of the fire.

  Instead he hesitated and fire caught on the curtains and took to it like dry grass. He studied the flames before turning and running back through the house. He had made his choice. He rounded the corner and came upon the same man calling wildly for his men as he tried to pull the sword free of its sheath. The Master stopped when he saw Hadrian and one of his elderly slaves.

  The Master held the sheath firmly as the sword fell out of it and clamored on the ground. “You have a decision to make. Run or fight.”

  Hatred glittered in the Master’s eye and he reached down for the sword. Slowly he lifted the hilt as the tip of the sword dragged across the ground. Slowly he lifted it until it was leveled between them. Hadrian was dispassionate about what came next, it was a simple matter of getting around him.

  “Who are you?” The Master spat, spittle thick at the corner of his lips.

  Hadrian glanced over his shoulder at the fire that was licking the doors of the kitchen and into the room they occupied. A large pompous dining room and beyond the man was the main hall. The main hall led to the front of the house and another exit. Hadrian calculated how much time he had. When he looked back, the Master stiffened for a moment before charging.

  Hadrian drew his sword and let them clash together as the Master gave a warrior cry. When they struck the Master’s sword chipped against the honed edge of Hadrian’s sword. The Master pulled back and hacked down again; he was no swordsman. Hadrian sidestepped and easily blocked as the Master crashed by him. Hadrian turned back and held his sword to the Master’s neck.

  The Master quivered at the edge of his sword and then whispered, “Let me live.”

  “I will,” Hadrian said and let his arm drop to his side, “I want you to live with nothing.”

  Hadrian turned and was nearly to the hall when he heard the Master charge, a cry of desperation on his lips. This time Hadrian turned held the blade up and caught the Master’s wrist as he ran into the tip of Hadrian’s sword. His desperate war cry came to an abrupt stop as he stared down at the blade in his abdomen. The Master’s hand went limp as the sword fell to the floor.

  “No second chances,” Hadrian whispered. “Not for you.”

  Hadrian wretched the blade from the Master’s abdomen, hardly giving him a second glance as the man fell into a pool of his own blood. Hadrian went back through the house and out the front door. The night embraced him as he walked away from the burning house and the dying man. Choices; that is all they were made of.

  Chapter 22

  Otto Deckard

  When he awoke in the morning he did not go for his daily walk to view the birds and their aptitude for natural flight. He did not take a persimmon from the persimmon tree or watch as the blood orange blossoms began their second growth. Instead he crept from the bed slowly; it would be a long day and a later night. Tiam’s Sun Fair would fill the streets on this day. It was for the children, to celebrate when the sun dried the great ocean that lay between the north and the south and Tiam was born. Of all the celebrations, this was Evanora’s favorite, so Deckard would take her to the fair where merchants came into the streets and sold their wares, for less.

  He dressed slowly; it was far too early to leave, but not too early to rise. Deckard had stayed in bed much longer than normal and his mind was growing restless. Slowly he put his lighter wrap on, it was unwise to wear a heavier one when today promised to be such a hot day. He became lost in his thoughts, so thrown out of his routine, that he tied it twice and had to undo one of them. He was sad to admit it was not the first time, nor would it be the last he imagined.

  Deckard left his room at a leisurely pace, but with his mind still working in overdrive. He nearly stumbled on nothing when he rounded a corner and it brought him out of his thoughts. He did not go into the kitchen but instead snuck past it and went down into his courtyard. Sitting he watched the water come out of the carved elephant.

  He kept contemplating the current design; it would fly but not far and it needed a high distance to fly from. He had modified the first attempt by adding adjustable wings but still all they did was glide. He had considered adding a power source, one that added lift but the actual design of the lift failed. He had the body of the plane and a way to move it but no idea how.

  Over and over again he had contemplated simply pushing the glider forward and seeing if others could make a better design. Yet he felt so close that he was not prepared to hand over his invention just yet. He felt like he was reaching out and his fingertips were touching what he needed but not enough to grasp hold.

  He must have closed his eyes and dozed to the sound of the water because he nearly jumped out of his skin when a knock came to the door. Deckard rose to his feet and began walking towards the door when Evanora went rushing by. Deckard stopped in his tracks when he saw her rushing towards the door and throw it open. He wondered what could have gotten her so excited; it was not often that he saw Evanora run.

  She reappeared in the doorway shortly with Travell in tow. Relief flooded through him when he saw his old friend. He had been watching his daughter closely as of late and had found she had absolutely no interest in boys. She acknowledged them and treated them like colleagues at school, but nothing beyond that. The other fourteen-year-olds were taking notice and some even were pursuing or marrying.

  Deckard had reasoned there were two reasons for that. One, she really wasn’t interested and it would be years before he would have to worry about losing her. The other was she was already in love and therefore no one else caught her fancy. In that case he was in lots of trouble and to top it off, a girl of fourteen could marry. He really hated that law and until the thought struck him arbitrarily that she would one d
ay marry and leave him, the thought of her turning fourteen had not bothered him.

  “Good morning, my friend,” Travell said with a wave as Evanora all but drug him along.

  “Evanora,” Deckard said with a slight frown, “What is going on?”

  “You have been very distracted lately and I want to make sure I can explore without worrying you might fall down a flight of stairs or get robbed,” Evanora said rather matter-of-factly. “Uncle Travell is going to keep an eye on you.”

  Deckard’s eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth to respond but Travell retorted first, “You brought me here under false pretenses, young lady.”

  “No, not at all,” Evanora said as she stood with her hands on her hips. “I told you my father would need company while I explored.”

  “You very cleverly omitted that he didn’t request the company,” Travell pointed out.

  “You didn’t ask if he needed it because he asked for it,” Evanora shot back.

  Travell opened his mouth and put his finger up as though he was going to point something out. He seemed as if he wanted to say something before pausing and realizing she had trapped him. He appeared befuddled for a moment as he closed his mouth and his head jerked back. Deckard couldn’t help but smile, it was not often Travell was put in his place.

  “I believe my friend you have been outwitted by a fourteen-year-old,” Deckard’s voice betrayed his amusement as he looked at his friend coyly. “It looks as though I have a sitter whose wits are no better than mine.”

  “I must concede,” Travell said with a slight bow. “Shall we go before the market becomes too crowded?”

  “A very smooth transition,” Deckard said as Evanora dashed up the stairs excitedly.

  “What has you so distracted as of late?” Travell asked tipping his head to the side.

  “I have been studying flight,” Deckard responded but under Travell’s pressing stare he added, “and how we might emulate it.”

  “You are considering human flight?” Travell said astonished. “Mechanical flight?”

  “I have succeeded in gliding but not independent flight,” Deckard responded his lips twitched, he did not want to say more.

  Luckily, Evanora returned, running back down the stairs holding a satchel in her hand. She rushed towards them smiling before putting the strap over one shoulder. Travell was stunned but Deckard put his hand out and his lovely daughter clasped it with her own. The warmth of her hand sat comfortably against his own and Deckard moved them towards the gates.

  Travell followed, quickly catching up to them, as Evanora started talking, “I want a windwheel, it is the first thing we should get before going to the market and the shows. I wish to see the dancers this year, I was very unhappy that I missed it last year. My favorite is the raindrops.”

  They went out into the busy street and were swept into the crowds of people moving towards the market like they were caught in a wave. Evanora gave an excited sound and they let themselves be swept along. Travell was nearly lost once but Evanora took his hand in hers. The three of them entered the excitement shortly with lots of colorful fabrics and street performances. Evanora excitedly pointed at things and they moved along until they came to the first windwheel vendor.

  Deckard quickly paid the man as Evanora held hers up and let the wind turn it round. Travell fell in beside him as Evanora lead them towards the dancers. He said nothing until they arrived and Evanora rushed forward to sit with the other children. It would not be long before his daughter was too old to partake as a child in the front.

  Travell stood to his left, and whispered, “Are you truly trying to make a flying machine?”

  “I am,” Deckard retorted.

  “It would revolutionize the world,” Travell responded, “Though there are Eagles in the North and South, Tiam only has The Knife. There is no way to travel across the sands.”

  “I am trying to find a way to make it last from the south to the north,” Deckard said softly, “Eagles cannot make it to our great city from the north and the south, and I wish to find something that flies here.”

  “You are an extraordinary inventor,” Travel responded and patting him on the back. “I am sure you will succeed.”

  Suddenly all of the children lifted their windwheels into the air and he watched as they turned in the wind. Deckard’s world narrowed into that single tunnel as the blades turn round and round. He had not thought of a propeller like on a boat. Suddenly his mind was racing and he could see a single spinning blade lifting the contraption into the air. In his mind he felt his hands grasp the last missing piece, and take hold fervently. He had his answer.

  Chapter 23

  Celia

  The man whose lap she sat on cupped her breast and laughed as he spilled some of his drink on her. Celia tried hard not to slap him. She had walked into the room to give the drinks when the man had pulled her onto his lap. He had called her pretty and immediately groped her breast. Although she should not have been required to be in the main room, a man with a large appetite had taken five women. She had been sent to help in the kitchens.

  The man was talking to another man who also had a girl on his lap, and she was laughing. Celia glanced at her and she quickly averted her gaze. Most of the girls had shunned her because of her freedom. She was so new that they did not believe she deserved it. Many called her the Songbird and snickered behind her back. She did not doubt they could hear her when The Gentleman was with her.

  Her patron had not wanted to tell her his name; he mumbled something about his wife once. It reminded her of what she was, an object. Celia had taken to calling him The Gentleman or The Gentile. He seemed to like that so she used it whenever she worried he was upset with her. Celia didn’t really care what the other girls thought, she was free—or as close as a slave could get.

  “When I take you little dove, I shall call you Princess Ashira, and you shall call me the Water King,” the large man with a missing tooth said to the other girl and Celia watched as his fingers dug into the girl’s buttocks.

  “Who is Princess Ashira?” The girl asked with a giggle.

  “Why she is the most beautiful woman in the entire world; Princess of Roanoak, and the bride to the Water King in Vargos.” The man said and kissed her sloppily.

  Celia tried to rise but the man who had took hold of her tried to kiss her as well. She turned her head and whispered in his ear, “Your drink is low, let me fill it for the Water King.”

  The man chuckled and let her up but slapped her on her backside. Celia all but ran from the room and made her way down to the kitchen. One of the other girls would be up and she could tell them to go. Although they did not like her, they had to listen to her. When she was nearly to the kitchen, she heard someone whispering and stopped to listen at the door.

  “I heard the same,” one said, her voice was pitched low.

  “There are men who are freeing slaves all over Ostapor,” another said.

  “I have heard the same, and the butcher said he plans to come here,” the cook’s voice was gruff and easy to distinguish.

  “I would pleasure any man so long as he frees me from this place,” the first girl said and her voice was airy.

  “What is his name?” The second asked her voice much more nasally.

  “They are calling him Hadrian the Hero,” the cook said, and there was pride in her voice as though she knew the man herself. “He rides with a large army that he calls the Sixty-Six Saviors.”

  She turned her head and heard footsteps round the corner. Celia took a breath and pushed into the door. Immediately all the girls stopped and turned to look at her, in surprise. She let the door swing closed, as she stepped into the room and set the pitcher on the counter. One girl was dressed for entertaining while the other one was clearly hardly dressed under the slip of a robe.

  “There is a man requesting company and you know I cannot give it.” Celia said and the two pleasure slaves exchanged glances.

  “Right away.” The
y said and gave her a little bow with sneers on their lips.

  Rauf came walking in a moment later and the girls suddenly hopped to their task. One filled the pitcher while the other hurried out to change. The cook turned back to her dough and started to knead it. Rauf gave her a curt nod.

  “Your patron is coming tonight,” Rauf said and Celia carefully kept her face still.

  Her patron, as Rauf called him, only came once or twice a week. He was a busy man, with a family and a business, but she could tell his wife did not fulfill her wifely duties, to satisfy his needs. Perhaps she could not sing. Turning back, she went into the hall and Rauf followed.

  “Walk with me,” she said and started towards the room, not waiting for him to respond.

  “Is there something you need?” He asked gently.

  “Your company,” she said and then realized what she had said and quickly added, “I know very little about the world outside of Lorian, and even less about the South. Could you tell me about it?”

  Rauf glanced down the hall and back at her before he said, “Why the sudden interest?”

  “A man just said a Princess married a Water King in Vargus and I had no idea what he was talking about,” Celia said with honest ignorance.

  “Vargos. Yes, Princess Ashira of Roanoak married the Water King of Vargos in order to bring peace,” Rauf clarified. “There has been war in the South for as long as anyone can remember; between the two great kingdoms of Roanoak and Vargos.”

  “Is Ashira as beautiful as everyone says?” Celia asked as they turned a corner.

  “That and more. It is said she has the face of every goddess, eyes that trap both land and sea, and a heart made of gold,” Rauf explained. “They are all just rumors, very few have seen the princess, and when I did, she was but a babe and I a child.”