Andalon Arises

by T B Phillips

  The Pescari man stumbled and staggered as if he had been drinking dragon water during his watch. He circled the mules, shouting for them to quiet down. When one bit at his arm he reacted, picking up a board. He lifted it high above his head and swung with force. It burned instantly, scorching his hands and falling harmlessly as ash atop the mud.

  Taros left his hiding spot and faced the man, now crying out from the pain and fearing Felicima. “You have failed the goddess.”

  “She didn’t see me strike out, Shappan!”

  “No.” The chieftain agreed, “But I did.” The watchman knelt before the teen, begging for mercy. Taros felt the heat rising and screaming for release, but he contained it within. “Take me to the others,” he ordered, “so that I may cleanse my people of their sins.”

  The entrance was unremarkable, merely an opening in the hillside framed by large support beams. Taros paused before them with claustrophobia coursing through his body. My people were meant to roam above the land, under the full eye of Felicima, he thought, remembering the first time Sarai Horslei had led him into a stone building. Gentle words from Flaya broke him from his worries.

  “We have no other option, My Love.”

  “I know,” he answered with hesitation, “but even this feels wrong. We have been exploited by the leaders of Weston since we arrived. Don’t you find it strange that Cassus Eachann found a ward for us in the city so quickly?”

  She replied, “I never thought about it.”

  “None of us did. He had set the perfect trap, a section entirely walled within the larger city with steel gates to lock us in.” He ran his hand along the fresh timber at the opening of the mine. “There are no gates here, but this also feels like a prison.” To the sobering watchman he asked, “How deep does the mine go?”

  “It is not deep, Shappan. The vein is large but close to the surface.”

  “How large?”

  “Some of the crew have suggested that it runs for miles toward the city.”

  “Where are the workers?”

  “Just up here, Shappan.” Once inside Taros, allowed the watchman to lead him and Flaya down the passage. After a while the tunnel opened into a cavern. Stone walls had been erected in much the same fashion as the city, with apartments for sleeping and living. Inside, miners slept on cots. “The night crew works below and will swap with the day workers in a few hours.” He pointed at another row of doors ahead. “Up there are the kitchens and laundry where the women work.”

  “Wake them and send a runner to gather the workers. Our brothers and sisters in Weston are in dire need of help.”

  The man immediately went to work rousing sleeping miners, each annoyed at the early awakening. They slowly emerged, one by one with dirty faces that seemed to make the whites of their eyes glow in the lamplight. Their irritation quickly evaporated at the sight of Taros and the men and women knelt piously before their chieftain. Soon the others emerged with pickaxes and shovels in hand, joining their comrades in genuflection.

  Taros cleared his throat and began, “Our brothers and sisters in Weston are imprisoned by the city guard and need help.”

  One of the men cried out with a tone of defiance in his voice, “Where have you been, Shappan?”

  Before he could respond another voice called out, “We thought you had abandoned us!” Soon the cavern was filled with shouts of dissention and righteous anger. Taros listened intently as the men aired their troubles, emboldened by months of fending for themselves below ground.

  The question soon grew into angry shouts and Taros raised his hand. Fearing his fiery wrath, the crowd abruptly silenced and cowered before him. His heart broke in that moment. They have only followed me out of fear, he thought. Why else would they follow me from the Steppes of Cinder and across the Forbidden Waste.

  When he spoke, his voice was low and full of honesty, “I did leave you, although I never ventured far. I spent my days praying for Felicima’s guidance. This land and its people have a culture that is strange to us, and many of our brothers and sisters have tried to adopt their ways. But assimilation is not the answer. I realize now that the goddess led us here to work alongside the Andalonians, to teach them humility without setting her aside to embrace their sinful ways.”

  Many of the men shuffled and their faces fell at his words. They surely pondered their own indiscretions. Taros continued, “Cassus Eachann and his other chieftains take advantage of us. They compel us to labor and pay the taxes that increase their wealth while we cling to poverty. He claims that he is our benevolent father, but he is the true chain that imprisons us.”

  His words struck a chord attuned with the feelings of the crowd, and many of the men drummed their chests to a rhythmic war beat. “Yes, the time for war is at hand. Beat the drum of war so that we can free our families from the city and drive out the people of Weston.” The pounding grew louder until all fists beat breast in the dark mine, thunderously echoing down the shaft.

  And then the walls and floor shook violently. Pieces of rubble fell from the ceiling, worked free by the quake. The men leapt to their feet, preparing to run from the mine until cackling laughter froze them in their tracks. Taros strained his eyes toward the entrance and spotted a hooded figure silhouetted against the flickering light from the lanterns above. “Beat your drum of war, abominations!” The laughter was inhuman as it echoed through the cave. “You will not escape this prison and you will all die very soon!”

  Taros noticed a second figure seated on the ground and adorned with animal skins. The woman swayed faster as she muttered strange words, then placed her hands to the ground. Another quake, much more powerful than before, shook the teeth in Taros’ head as the entire tunnel collapsed between him and freedom.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, Samani.” Braen lay atop his bed while his friend pushed a chair next to him for the boy. “Didn’t you say that there’s a chance that I could die?”

  “Only if you transcend to the Ka’ash’mael.” He held up a pouch of black oracle beads pilfered from the Diaph rookery and gave them a shake.

  Sippen sat at on the other side of the bed, facing the wall with slumped shoulders and wearing an expression of deep concern. “I duh… don’t like it, Braen. Suh… Sebastian nearly died, and he knows his way back.” His oversized head shook back and forth. “Besides, it could be a trick of the Falconer like the flying puh… piranhas. How do you know it’s really Eh… Esterling?”

  “I don’t. But we sent Marita there to find him and we need to make contact if he’s finally ready to parlay.” Braen readjusted his massive shoulders on the bed in an attempt to get comfortable. He tried to make the move seem casual so as to hide his intense dread and nervousness. “Are you ready, Sebastian?”

  “I think so, Captain Braston.” The boy hopped into the chair and sat facing his skipper. “I’ve slept a lot today though.”

  Braen liked the boy, especially after his help during the raid on The Cove. Unfortunately, they had many casualties on that day, including the Dreamer Suzette. Sebastian had watched her die on the deck of Ice Prince and carried a melancholy ever since. “Then I’m ready also.” He popped a bead into his mouth and washed it back with water. “Tell me what I need to do.”

  Both the man and the boy closed their eyes and Samani guided them through. “Let the darkness smooth out in your mind. The light from the room will slowly disappear and you will see dots form that resemble stars. Watch for a swirling pattern like a whirlpool.”

  “Okay, I see it.”

  “Push your mind toward it, slowly.”

  Something felt wrong to Braen. His stomach twisted. “Samani, I’m feeling weird, like the bead is burning.”

  “That’s normal. Relish that pain, because it will be in your muscles soon and that pain is worse than any you’ve ever felt.”

  “I don’t think
so. This is strange.” All of a sudden, his stomach retched and spilled its contents on the ground. The bead landed with a splat on the ground and Braen fell backward onto the bed. The onlookers watched his eyes roll back in his head and his mouth foam as if in a seizure. The voices of the other men echoed in Braen’s ears.

  Sippen moved to help, but Samani grabbed him and pulled him backward. “This is part of it, Yurik.”

  “Thuh… then why did he vuh… vomit it up?”

  “Because the essence of the bead contradicted the way his body is wired. It’s like if you were to put one person’s organ inside of another; they would have to match each other perfectly.”

  “Why would suh… someone put…”

  “Your medicine hasn’t progressed far enough for that, Sippen. Just trust me that his body rejected the autumn essence.”

  “Thuh… then how will it work?”

  “The reaction will briefly allow him to share properties from both for a few minutes.”

  Their muffled voices finally tapered off and the bearded captain’s eyesight grew completely dark, falling into the stars that Sebastian had described. A voice in his head called out to him, “Braen, follow the vortex.”

  “The entire thing is a vortex and I can’t stop spinning, Sebastian.”

  “Don’t talk to me with words, use your mind. We’re linked now, but I don’t know for how long. Let go of your husk.”

  The sensation sickened the large man as he slipped into the abyss and he tasted more bile in the back of his throat. “I don’t think that I can, Sebastian.”

  “You must. If you don’t release now you may be lost forever. Follow the vortex and let go from your body. Just like taking a breath and letting it out.”

  Braen could hear the boy’s voice much clearer in his mind the more that he spoke, suddenly understanding what he meant. His muscles were tensed from the oracle bead, and he had been more focused on the physical sensation than the mental connection. Giving in to the swirling pattern, he felt his body slacken and then let go, suddenly releasing the pain that coursed through his extremities.

  He could see Sebastian flying beside him as they tumbled through the velvety darkness. Faces appeared in his mind, orbiting the man and the child as they fell. “Stay focused on the vortex and ignore the images, Captain. They’re a distraction made by your brain.”

  The boy’s words sounded unusual from one so young as they rumbled in Braen’s head, but he stared straight ahead and did as he was told. “Who are they?”

  “Distractions, Braston.”

  One of the images briefly passed directly in front and he recognized Hester. She wore dark clothing and a woolen hood that partially hid her troubled blue eyes. She walked as if in pain and Braen cried out for her as she boarded a longboat. “Captain! Focus!” The sharpness in the boy’s voice drew his attention back to the abyss ahead. “We’re almost there!”

  A light at the center of the vortex glowed brighter as it rushed toward the pair. Soon, Braen could make out a spinning sphere of blue and green with swirling white clouds. He marveled at the awesome sight, unable to look away. I wonder if our world looks the same. All at once a brilliant flash of light erased all images from his mind and he opened his eyes.

  They stood in a green meadow next to a river capped white with rapids splashing against rocks. The blue sky above carried fluffy white clouds floating on a quiet breeze. The same draft tickled the tops of the blades of grass and they waved up at him. But it’s spring, he thought, where are the flowers? He thought about the colorful tulips that grew in Fjorik, popping out of the soil as their bulbs are warmed by spring. He nearly jumped out of fear when hundreds rose out of the ground all around him.

  “Nice! I thought we were missing something.”

  Realization passed over Braston. “This is the world the Dreamers built?”

  “Yes. It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Stunningly so.” And he meant it. Beauty surrounded him on every side.

  “Braen!” The voice of a young girl called out from behind, and he turned to see Marita sitting at a small white table with four chairs. Beside her sat a young man with dark hair and sad eyes. He was skinny, not malnourished, but certainly lacking in brawn as he sipped from a tiny set of cups and dishes. “This is King Esterling! Come join us for tea!” Braen smiled back at her silly grin. She gave him a thumbs up while sipping from her own porcelain mug.

  “The pleasure is mine, Robert.” Braen stretched his massive hand out to the boy who eyed it suspiciously.

  “You don’t address me as ‘king’ or ‘your highness’ when we meet, Braston? Do you imply equality?”

  “Damned right I do, but I imply it with the deepest of respect as a kindred king whose brother also sits upon his throne.” He stood there with hand outstretched until Robert finally stood to return the greeting.

  “Seems we do share a similar seating arrangement with our respective families.”

  “Sit down, boys. Drink your tea.” Marita beamed as she spoke.

  After everyone had taken their seats Robert cleared his throat while Braen frowned at his cup, then changed it into a wine glass filled with his favorite Esterling vintage.

  The boy began to speak with a slight shake to his voice. “I’ll start by setting some ground rules for the meeting.”

  Braen nearly choked on the wine and laughed as he interrupted. “Drop the formal parlay bullshit, Robert. No offense, but we don’t have the time. You need a navy and I have one. You need more ground troops and sophisticated weaponry, and I have them as well.” He gestured at the children sitting beside him. “As you can see, I also have a team of emotants trained to use their powers in both combat and support roles.” Marita shot him a thumbs up and he winked back at her. “You need us to win back your kingdom, and I need you to legitimize my own claim in Fjorik. Do we have a deal or not?”

  Robert sat down his cup and pointed at Braen’s wine glass. “Do you have any more of that you’d like to share? There seems to be a shortage of good wine in the kingdom of late.” With a wave of the bearded man’s hand, the teacup transformed into a golden goblet. The tea inside turned burgundy with striking aromas of toasted oak. The young man took a sip and smiled. “So that’s where all the 754 went.”

  “It’s a pleasing vintage, to be sure.”

  The boy king agreed. “To be quite sure.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re correct. I need your help, but I’ve no reason to believe that you won’t try to steal the empire away from my family after you get your kingdom.”

  Braen nodded. “True. You only have the assurance of my word as a Braston.”

  “As a Braston? We’ll need stronger ore than that if we’re to forge an alliance.”

  “Spit out what you need, Robert. And don’t give me any of that ‘bend the knee’ bullshit. The world has been saturated with enough of that crap to choke a dragon. Just tell me what you want.”

  “Horslei and Pogue filled me in regarding the ‘advanced weaponry’ that you mentioned. I want my entire army outfitted and trained in rifles and pistols.”

  “That’s it?”

  “And I want my blacksmiths to have full access to your weaponsmith facilities. I want them to learn the entire process from start to finish.”

  “Agreed.” Braston reached out his hand.

  Robert narrowed his eyes with distrust. “Just like that? I’d figured that would have been your deal breaker.”

  Braen sighed. “I told you already, we don’t have time to negotiate and we both need each other’s help.”

  “But my army outnumbers yours and would have a considerable advantage after I have control of my own weapon development.”

  “Cinder’s Crack! Don’t you get it, Esterling? The world around us has changed. You and I know that more than most since we’ve awakened.”

  Robert dig
ested his words with a thoughtful expression. “Then we have a deal.”

  “Great. Let’s shake and be done.”

  “We have other pressing matters as well.” He sat up straighter and took a long swig of wine. “Two things. One, my brother’s army is only a couple of days march away.”

  “That’s not a problem, sieges take time to set up, and I can get my fleet there in a matter of days.”

  “That will prove helpful,” the young prince agreed.

  “I assume you want a full evacuation?”

  “Aye. That I do. Can you accommodate three thousand men?”

  “Have them ready,” Braston commanded. “What was the other matter?”

  “This matter regards your emissaries.” The young king looked at Marita whose eyes fell to the tea set. She dropped her smile as well as her gaze.

  “What about my ‘emissaries?’ I trust they have been treated well?”

  “It appears that they had a side mission in Eskera and broke into the personal estate of one of my newly recruited naval officers.”

  Braen let out another chuckle. “You mean Captain Dominique.” Marita turned her head and spit on the ground at the mention of his name. When she noticed both men watching her, she smiled and gave a thumbs up.

  “A simple pilfering of personal logs escalated to the death of his son. The facts are public knowledge, and all three must stand before me in trial.”

  “All three? I don’t understand.” Braen turned his eyes to Marita with realization. “Marita, you…?”

  She bobbed her tiny head. “Yes, I killed him, Captain Braston.”

  “Turn them over to me.”

  “I’m afraid that I can’t.”

  “Then you’ll turn over Dominique and I’ll oversee his trial for the transgressions against Pogue. He’s wanted for kidnapping and engaging in the illegal trading of slaves.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Just get my team out with your men and onto my ship. We can discuss this resolution once you’re onboard.”