Flight of the King

by C. R. Grey

  “And all you are is a little pup,” the Jackal replied, “barking at a dog with much sharper teeth than yours.” Bailey struggled in the guard’s grip.

  “Stop! You can’t do this!” he yelled. Neither the guards nor the Jackal answered him.

  “Hal!” Bailey yelled. “Hal!” He didn’t know what else to do.

  Hal didn’t even look at him—his eyes were shut tight behind his glasses. Bailey could hardly breathe. All he could think to do was yell and kick—all he wanted was to protect Hal. Hal had never been anything but loyal and wise—and all Bailey brought him was trouble. If Hal died here, in this filthy bunker, he’d never forgive himself.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Bailey. “What do you want?”

  “A simple yes,” said the Jackal. “Will you do as I ask of you, when the time comes?”

  Hal opened his eyes and shook his head.

  “Don’t,” Hal said. “Don’t say yes!”

  One of the guards grabbed Hal’s glasses off his nose and crushed them in his fist in a single motion. He let them drop to the floor, a broken mess of metal and glass.

  “Make him watch,” said the Jackal to the man gripping Bailey’s arm. The guard, a man with almost no chin and drooping, cold eyes, twisted Bailey’s arms behind his back. As Bailey tried to free his hands, he felt sharp pains in his shoulders.

  “No—no!” Bailey yelled.

  The Jackal walked over to Hal and unsheathed a small dagger from a holster at his hip.

  “I remember being young and foolish just like you,” the Jackal said to Bailey. “I felt indestructible. But we all have our weaknesses. Our friendships, for instance…”

  The Jackal grabbed Hal by the shoulder and held the dagger’s edge to the side of Hal’s neck.

  “Stop!” Bailey cried.

  The Jackal moved the knife in his hand ever so slightly, and Hal flinched, shutting his eyes tightly again.

  “Let him go!” Bailey yelled.

  Bailey heard another sound over his own anguish—a roar, muffled by a stone wall.

  “Oh, very good,” murmured the Jackal. “Now everyone’s joined us.”

  The roar echoed in Bailey’s ears, loud and pulsing. Taleth was in the next room, and as surely as he could feel her terror, she could feel his.

  “Bailey,” said Hal quietly. “Don’t listen to him.”

  The Jackal’s smile faded, and he tightened his grip on Hal.

  “What’s your answer, boy?” the Jackal demanded, his cold eyes set on Bailey’s.

  Bailey was silent. His whole body radiated with fear and panic. Hal met his eyes, and shook his head. No, he mouthed.

  “No? Nothing?” said the Jackal. “Then you leave me no choice.” He made to press the knife’s edge against Hal’s skin.

  “Stop! I’ll do it!” Bailey cried.

  The Jackal released his grip.

  Bailey looked at the Jackal and squared his jaw. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  The Jackal smiled, running a callused finger along his blunt chin.

  “I’m pleased to hear that.” He nodded to one of the guards, and the man grabbed Hal under his arm and dragged him to the door. The two boys’ eyes met as Hal left the room.

  The Jackal paced.

  “I’ve been following this ‘Dominae’ movement of Viviana’s with much curiosity,” he said. “Since you’ve been so kind as to pledge your service to me, I’ll tell you a secret: I’ve never bonded with an animal. But I have other ways of making animals fear and obey me. There’s a word for what I am, which I despise. You’re under orders never to speak it.”

  Bailey glanced at the whimpering jackal in the corner of the room. Its hackles were raised, and it guarded the remnants of the meat that the Jackal had given it like a beggar would a shiny snailback found in the street.

  “An Absence…” Bailey whispered to himself.

  “I must admit, Viviana impresses me,” the Jackal continued. “My spies in the city tell me that she doesn’t only control her kin—already a feat for any normal citizen—but the kin of others as well! Alas, I am not so talented. I cannot control your tiger, which is why I need you.”

  Bailey began to understand what the Jackal wanted him to do, and the idea sickened him.

  “You and your tiger will accompany me to Viviana Melore’s Progress Fair, and there we will use this ‘Dominance’ to our advantage. You will force Taleth to bow down to me, in front of Viviana, and the whole of the kingdom. The people will see that the white tiger is under my control—and Viviana will see the Child of War name me the True King.”

  Bailey recoiled as the Jackal reached out to him. The Jackal grabbed Bailey’s jaw, forcing Bailey to look at him straight on.

  “The Child of War,” said the Jackal softly, searching Bailey’s face. “I imagine you and your lonely kin must have a very strong bond. She is the last, after all. That’s because of me. But I did not kill you, all those years ago, and that’s worth something—isn’t it? Perhaps you can repay me now.” Bailey clenched his jaw, trying not to scoff.

  The Jackal straightened up and adjusted his hold on his metal cane. Grinning, he pointed the end in Bailey’s face, as if to warn him not to step out of line. In the light of the fire, Bailey saw the carved image in the metal tip: the head of a wild laughing dog. A jackal.

  THE NEXT MORNING, BAILEY woke on the cold stone floor of a cell. The Jackal stood just past the bars, leaning forward on his cane. His smirk caused the scar across his nose and cheek to curve into a puckered half-moon.

  Bailey pulled himself up and leaned against the wall. He listened for Hal, in the cell next to him, but all he heard was silence.

  “Have a restful sleep?” asked the Jackal. He still wore his gray uniform, and had slicked back his dark brown hair.

  “I slept fine,” Bailey said, though he hadn’t, not for more than a few minutes at a time. But he took care to keep his tone flat, calm, and agreeable.

  The Jackal’s smirk became a grin.

  “A good night’s sleep and you’re practically a new Bailey!”

  In the next cell, Hal stirred. Bailey released a breath of relief.

  “Yes, sir,” said Bailey. “I’m ready to cooperate.” The words tasted like stinging acid in his mouth, but he knew that his only chance to save himself and Hal was to do as the Jackal wished—for now.

  “But you have to let Hal go,” he said.

  The Jackal stiffened his shoulders.

  “And risk him soliciting help for your rescue? I’m not stupid,” the Jackal began. “But I am not heartless, either. I will let him live.”

  “Thank you,” said Bailey. The Jackal blinked his cold eyes, and beckoned to a guard out of Bailey’s sight.

  “Mr. Walker is now a guest, not a prisoner. Bring him upstairs.”

  “What about Hal?” asked Bailey.

  The Jackal had already turned his shadowy back on the cells.

  “He’s alive,” he said.

  The guard, the same droopy-eyed behemoth who’d held Bailey yesterday, led him upstairs to the Jackal’s meeting room. The remnants of a hearty breakfast—smeared egg yolk and a scrap of wilted greens over a few last bites of ham—sat abandoned on the table. In the corner, two jackals munched on leftover slices of fried hog fat. The smell turned Bailey’s stomach.

  The Jackal took his seat. He jabbed his large fingers in the egg yolk and licked them before pushing the used plate away from him with a satisfied hum.

  The guard herded Bailey forward to stand at the edge of the wooden table.

  “We’ll begin today by seeing how you use your bond with that beast down the hall,” the Jackal said. “And try anything foolish, like escaping, I will find you both. The throats of your kin and your friend will be slit—and you can look forward to a much slower death.”

  Bailey hid his shaking hands behind his back. If he only knew how to control his bond and somehow explain to Taleth how she could help him, perhaps she would do what he asked of her.…But he didn�
��t know whether he would be able to channel his intentions like that—and the thought of forcing her to do something against her will was too terrible. The Jackal might do something extreme once he saw how inexperienced Bailey was. If he and Taleth weren’t useful to the Jackal, what would happen then?

  The Jackal drummed his fingers on the table edge, watching Bailey curiously.

  “Viviana is planning her Progress Fair for the Spring Equinox—that doesn’t give us much time,” the Jackal said. “Though I doubt the prophesied ‘Child of War’ will need much time at all. Otherwise, what are prophecies for?! And Viviana”—he waved dismissively—“she’s nothing but an angry little girl. She’ll be so surprised to see us—not to mention the soldiers I’ve gathered—that she’ll surrender on the spot!”

  “Soldiers?” Bailey asked. He hadn’t seen anyone in the bunker but the Jackal and a handful of guards.

  “I use the term loosely, I grant you. There are many thieves in the Dust Plains who’ll carry a weapon,” said the Jackal. “Let’s just say I’m not without resources.”

  “Very clever, sir,” said Bailey, taking care to keep his voice even. Inside, his mind raced. How could he possibly help Tremelo contend with both the Dominae and an army of Dust Plains mercenaries? If he made it out of the Jackal’s clutches at all, stopping Viviana’s Reckoning would be even more difficult.

  “Indeed,” said the Jackal. He leaned forward, with his fingers laced around the top of his cane. “But a simple surrender is hardly enough. You will lead the charge into war, young Bailey, just as the prophecy says! After your tiger bows before me, she will kill Viviana Melore in my name!”

  Bailey’s instincts were wrangling inside him. He wanted to recoil from this man who demanded he use Dominance. Of course he wanted to stop Viviana…but not if it meant murder, and not to put the Jackal in her place.

  “Don’t look so shaken, Bailey!” said the Jackal, leaning back in his chair. “What did you think being the Child of War would mean, eh?” he asked. “Sounds like you don’t care for the job description.”

  “Just…getting used to the idea, sir,” said Bailey.

  “Let’s get started, then,” said the Jackal, standing up from the table. He led Bailey down the hall to a wide, open room. As they neared the door, Bailey could hear Taleth growling and pulling against the chained collar that bound her to the wall. Bailey feared his heart would burst, it was beating so quickly. At the sight of him entering the room, Taleth strained angrily against the chains and roared. The guards stationed at either side of the door took a cautious step backward.

  “Not very pleased to see you, is she?” the Jackal joked. But Bailey knew she was afraid for both of them. Bailey was too.

  Taleth roared again, this time in the Jackal’s direction. The Jackal took one quick step forward and brandished his metal cane.

  “No!” Bailey shouted, before he could stop himself.

  Taleth slunk away and paced along the stone wall, her bright blue eyes never leaving the Jackal. Her whiskers shuddered, and her tail twitched.

  “Not an impossible creature to train,” said the Jackal. “It’s your turn now, boy.”

  The guard shoved Bailey forward.

  “Okay,” Bailey said. He wasn’t sure where to start. He tried to imagine Taleth bowing to the Jackal—her enormous bulk bending elegantly, her nose just touching the cold floor. The image disgusted him.

  Taleth bared her teeth and let out a small growl. Bailey tried to find the same humming energy in himself that he’d felt back at Fairmount and crossing the Red Hills. Instead, he felt nothing but fear and the cold stare of the Jackal’s eyes on him. Taleth paced back and forth, growling. She didn’t seem to Bailey to be his kin at all—just a trapped, dangerous animal who could strike at any moment. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes.

  As soon as he did, confusion and pain overwhelmed him. He was trapped, and his friends were in danger. He missed the smells of the woods and the feel of soft earth beneath his feet and hands. He would die here—they would all die here—and no one could help them.

  He opened his eyes, reeling. Taleth rubbed her flank against the wall, as if she were trying to burrow her way out of the Jackal’s sight. She met Bailey’s eyes and roared once more.

  “I’m sorry,” Bailey said. If you can just do this, we have a chance, he thought. He’ll kill us if we don’t. Do this and we live. He concentrated on the image of her bowing again, fighting his way through the waves of fury. For a moment, she seemed to become calm, and Bailey was sure she understood him. He didn’t even dare to breathe as Taleth, still as a statue, met his gaze. He wouldn’t have to force her—he wouldn’t have to figure out how.

  Then Taleth lunged forward, straining against the chain. Paws outstretched, she tried to claw at the Jackal. Her eyes grew wide as the chain around her neck pulled her backward.

  Bailey stumbled back, nearly running into the guard.

  “This is more tedious than I’d thought,” said the Jackal. “Where’s your bond? Where’s your strength?”

  He waved his hand in Bailey’s direction.

  “We’ll try again tomorrow,” the Jackal said. “And you’d better have something to show me, or you can say farewell to your near-sighted friend downstairs.”

  With that, the Jackal walked past Bailey to the door.

  The guard led Bailey back down the hall to the dining room and pushed him into one of the metal chairs. An old man hobbled in to place a plate of overcooked greens on the table, which Bailey gulped down. After, the guard hoisted him up and led him to an adjoining room with only one small window.

  “Your new room,” the guard said. “You’ll come out only for meals and when the Jackal wants you.” Then he shut the squeaking metal door.

  Bailey leaned back against the stone wall and sank to the floor. He had never felt so hopeless. He’d put Taleth and Hal in danger. He longed for Tremelo, Phi, Gwen, and Tori. He wished he were back in the Lowlands, setting the table for the Midwinter feast. He wished he’d never left. The lingering sensation of Taleth’s anger was still fresh. She was the last of her kind, and she might die here unless he could somehow make her understand. And if she couldn’t, then Bailey had only one choice to save Hal: to become like the Dominae themselves.

  TREMELO STEPPED OFF THE path from the Applied Sciences building to let pass a line of students on their way to the dorms for evening curfew. By the looks of the fading sunlight, the students had mere minutes to get to their dorms.

  In the wake of Bailey and Hal’s disappearance, the school was on lockdown. Ms. Shonfield had spoken to the boys’ families, doing her best to keep them calm. Dr. Graves had also gone missing, and had not been seen since the night the boys had left to follow Taleth’s kidnappers.

  Tremelo had wanted to track Hal and Bailey immediately; he blamed himself for Bailey’s recklessness. He’d failed the boy by taking off that night, but leaving the school now would only attract more questions. Tremelo was glad for the little bat who’d delivered a note a few nights after the boys’ disappearance: they were safe. If Graves had gone after them, he was doing a poor job of keeping up.

  Unlocking the workshop door, Tremelo grimaced at the familiar sight of the Halcyon. The machine had seen countless iterations since he’d first shown it to Bailey. He and Tori had been working nonstop—as much as the strict lockdown schedule would allow—and Tori’s report about her friend Lyle’s mysterious technology had been invaluable. Tonight, Tremelo hoped, they would finally see results.

  As he lit the gas lamp that hung over the workbench, he heard a light tapping on the workshop’s door. Tori entered, with Fennel behind her.

  “Is it finished?” Tori asked.

  “Just this morning,” he answered, removing the fabric cover from a metal, egg-shaped orb nestled on the workbench next to the Halcyon. “I shaped the silver according to your specifications.”

  Tori stood on her tiptoes to see.

  “It’s almost exactly like Lyle’s!” she sa
id.

  “Almost?”

  “There’s something different about the sheen,” Tori said. “I’m still not sure this is the right metal—but even Lyle doesn’t know what the original orb is made out of. And I didn’t want to pry more than I already have.”

  “Worth a try, anyway,” said Tremelo. “Want to do the honors?”

  He moved aside so that Tori could maneuver the silver orb into a nest of wires in the middle of the Halcyon.

  “There, now just attach that wire, there,” he said, pointing.

  Fennel trotted over to the bench, and with a hop, positioned herself next to the machine. Her white-and-red tail swished on the worn wood. Tremelo placed his hands on the orb.

  “All right,” he said. “Throw the switch.”

  Tori pressed a brass lever on the top of the machine, next to the gramophone horns. Tremelo breathed deeply. He did feel a tingling in his hands—but his connection with Fennel seemed as steady as ever. Nothing remarkable.

  “Should we—” Tori faltered. “Should we try to make Fennel do something?”

  Fennel cocked her head and then, losing interest, began to lick her paw.

  “No, we shouldn’t,” said Tremelo, disheartened. “And we don’t need to. This isn’t right.”

  “What if I tried?” said Tori.

  “We can’t copy this,” Tremelo said, shaking his head. “It was made by a far more clever tinkerer than myself.”

  “We need Lyle’s orb,” said Tori.

  Tremelo sighed. “Yes.”

  “Lyle trusts me,” Tori said. “I could figure out some way.…”

  “No,” said Tremelo. “You’d be easy for Lyle to identify to the Dominae if they suspected foul play. We’ll think of something, but in the meantime, get some sleep.”

  “So soon?” Tori asked.

  “Our experiment is at a standstill,” he said. “Back to your dorm with you. Take Fennel as lookout.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Tori. “And take the woodland path, not the main path, and don’t talk to strangers.…”

  “I shouldn’t be letting you come here, with the curfews,” Tremelo reminded her.