As with each school day of his life, this day began with a reading from the only official textbook he had ever been given. Their lesson was the same history lesson he’d heard a thousand times or more. Unlike his brain-dead classmates, Dillon never accepted the stories as gospel. As far as he was concerned, the book was full of lies and shit.
“Read ‘The Dam’,” the superior ordered, referring to the opening chapter of the Lowland bible.
Dillon, like his classmates, knew how to read, but unlike his classmates, he could read words not contained in their bible. With all other stories forbidden by punishment of death, Dillon’s mother had secretly taught him the art of reading with smuggled books. She never told him how she came into possession of the books, how she was able to read them herself, or how she had gained such insight, and he never asked. His mother called him special, but he’d already become aware of that years ago by how the other children treated him.
He opened his worn-out, hide-bound text to the first page. He read faster than the other children but was wary not to finish a page before the masses. The story read in large, bold letters:
“Recitar! The greatest land of all known lands. Seven hundred years ago, our ancestors, the knowers, told of rising water in the Northern Sea. They warned Epertasian nobles that Recitar set the lowest of all the countries of the land of Epertase, including the corrupt Lithia to the west. The knowers predicted devastating floods if drastic action wasn’t taken and offered to speak to the Epertasian leaders, King Daniel and Queen Lillian. The Recitarians were ordered to flee their city and settle to higher ground with no efforts made to fortify the lower lands. The knowers begged King Daniel for a different solution but he denied their requests for ‘their own good.’
“The knowers returned with the news. The Recitarian people mourned the prospect of losing their homes. In response, they tried to wage a rebellion. However, the plans were thwarted as there was no strong leader to guide them. The revolution was about to disintegrate.
“And then a young hero emerged. His name was Lord Fice and he was of the mythical tribe of Gildonese. He was fearless and all-knowing. The Great Lord Fice took command of the rebellion and organized an election to name a king. Impossibly, the vote was unanimous; Lord Fice was now King Fice of Recitar. When the villainous King Daniel and Queen Lillian refused to recognize his rule, he threatened to secede from Epertase at once.
“At first the dictator King Daniel threatened invasion, but the great people of Recitar rose up and stood defiant. Daniel raised their taxes and sent soldiers to end their rebellion, but King Fice would not waver. He lopped off the heads of the invading soldiers and mounted them on pikes along the main streets of Grand Villa.”
Dillon had an urge, like he always had, to shout his mother’s version of the story, but he knew it would do no good. His classmates’ minds were little more than mush and doing so would only lead him to join Clay, wherever he may be. Dillon waited for the other children to turn their pages and when they did, he did as well. The lesson continued:
“The wise and mighty King Fice ordered a wall built along the Northern Sea. After seven years, that wall, known as the Great Dam, was finished. The elitist Liths and Epertasians laughed from their higher lands while mocking the people of Recitar. They said the dam would never hold and the Recitarians were fools to stay. To further disparage the people of Recitar, they called them Lowlanders and beasts. King Fice embraced their taunts.
“Since the building of the Great Dam, the waters have indeed risen with each generation but with its rise the Recitarians have built the Great Dam higher and stronger.
“Epertasians and Liths alike were banned from this land, this ‘lowland,’ with extreme prejudice. The god-like King Fice created an army in defiance of the oppressors, keeping them at bay. He and his Gildonese pack rebuked all offers of peace until Epertase grew weary of their demands and out of fear, no doubt, granted Recitar its freedom.”
Dillon doubted that Epertase had ever feared anyone, but those doubts were what his mother had told him would cause him trouble. As he waited to turn the next page, he felt the superior hover over him from behind. A drop of sweat, or maybe it was drool, dripped into his hair but he continued, unfazed. He wanted to look up, but that would reveal his gift. All of the students turned their pages and he continued reading.
“At first, the evil Epertasians told the Recitarians the dam would not hold and the people would die. But, as evidence of King Fice’s unsurpassed wisdom, King Daniel’s men were wrong; the dam held.
“King Daniel ordered soldiers to slaughter the women and children of the Lowlands, but the just King Fice stood strong. As Epertasian soldiers bashed the skulls of babies with the butts of their swords, King Fice conceded no ground.”
As Dillon’s mother had taught him when the superior’s propaganda was spewed, Dillon remembered her bedtime stories. He repeated to himself the truth of Epertase’s legendary kindness. His mother encouraged him to not believe the venomous tales spoken by their, as she called them, captors. She told him of Daniel’s kindness and Lillian’s compassion. She rebuked the massacres that were taught in his school and said, if anything, it was Fice’s men who committed such atrocities on his people. Dillon often dreamed of escaping with her to Epertase and living how he knew in his mind and heart people should live. His classmates’ turning pages woke him from his daze. He flipped to the next page, which began a new chapter. This was where he had to be strong, where he had to ignore the words on the page. The new chapter was titled The State of Your Lives and he hated it.
“As Lowlanders you are nothing. You are worthless. You follow the great King Fice without hesitation. You will never leave these lands, nor speak with foreigners as they will kill you on sight. Your life is to obey the dictates of our government without question or face certain death as a traitor.”
“As Lowlanders you are nothing. You are worthless …”
Dillon stifled a yawn. This entire chapter consisted of the same paragraph, over and over again, like a hypnotic chant. He read on.
“As Lowlanders you are nothing. You are worthless …”
His reading was violently interrupted by the door to the classroom swinging open and banging against the wall. Dillon’s mother stood in the doorway, quite out of breath. The other kids continued to read without so much as a glance toward the disturbance.
“Dillon, come quickly,” she said, ignoring the superior’s stare.
The superior grunted, marched past Dillon, and grabbed his mother’s throat. “You never interrupt my class,” he said with a deep, menacing voice.
Dillon’s mother clawed at his fingers as the color drained from her face. Dillon looked to the other kids for help, but they continued reading, unfazed by the commotion.
Dillon rose from his rug.
“Back on the floor, now,” the superior yelled while squeezing her throat tighter. Dillon saw his mother weakening. Soon it was the superior, not her own strength, that held her up.
He ran toward his superior, catching the man off guard. The older man dropped his mother to her knees. “We knew you were different, Dillon,” he said. “You cannot fool us. You and your mother are enemies to the Lowlands.”
Dillon made a fist, his first fist ever. He glanced at his mother as she rubbed her neck and coughed on the floor. The superior approached. Dillon swung with all of his might. Flesh smacked against flesh and the superior collapsed, unconscious, to the floor.
The other children continued to read.
“What are you doing, Mother?”
“They are coming for us. They are coming for all like us.”
“Why me? Why am I special?”
“You are not under his influence. You see how these children behave. They do not question like you and I do. They are brainwashed and under his spell.”
“Whose spell?”
“Fice. He sent men for us and others like us. We must run.”
His mother’s tension was tangible. He grabbed h
er hand and led her back through the door and hallway from which she had come. There was no other way out of the small, rundown schoolhouse but the front door, so he had to take the risk. He cracked the door and peeked out.
“They’re here, Mother.”
She gasped.
One of the soldiers shouted from the dirt road at the edge of the walkway, “We know you are in there.”
“They’re everywhere, Mother. A hundred of them at least.”
“We can’t go out there,” she said. It was the first time Dillon had ever seen terror in his mother’s strong face.
“We will be alright. I will protect you.”
Something glass shattered against the outside wall. Then another crash exploded outside of the opposite wall. Within moments, a wisp of smoke trickled through where the walls met the ceiling. Dillon grabbed his mother’s hand and led her back to his classroom. All of the students were staring at their open books, oblivious to the light smoke stinging their nostrils. Some of them twitched their noses but made no effort to prevent it.
Dillon shook the kid closest to him and screamed, “Get up! We have to get out of here. They’re setting us on fire.” The student stared at his book. Dillon went to the next, and the next, but none of them moved.
The smoke grew thicker, banking down from the ceiling. Dillon coughed and ducked lower to the floor.
“Dillon, there is nothing we can do for them,” his mother shouted. “We have to leave.”
The superior groaned as he rolled to his back. He batted his eyelids and shook his head. Dillon’s mother ignored the superior, grabbed her son’s hand again and tugged. “Let’s go,” she shouted, pulling him toward the window.
The superior struggled to his hands and knees. Dillon yanked his hand from his mother’s. “Wait,” he said and then ran back to the superior. He drew his foot back. With a merciless heave, he sent the superior into unconsciousness again.
He could no longer see his mother through the smoke so he called out to her. When she choked her answer, he followed her voice. His windpipe clogged, his lungs smothered in the smoke. He reached blindly until he felt her outstretched hand.
“I don’t want to go out there,” she said, choking on the smoke along with her words. “I’d rather die here with you than there with them.”
Dillon collapsed to his knees. She hugged him with all of her strength.
“We can’t give up,” he said, his voice barely strong enough to get out. “We have to fight and make them kill us.”
She nodded.
He pulled away. She held onto his shirt as he led her to the window. The room filled with coughing and gagging from his classmates, yet they did not follow. He shoved the warped window outward, ripping its locked hinge from the decayed wooden frame.
Dillon climbed out first and then helped her through. He turned to a group of armed Lowland soldiers.
“Do not fight us, kid. It would not be wise for you and your pretty mother.”
Dillon bowed his head and extended his hands with their palms up. A soldier came forward. The soldier held his wrists while another tied them together. Then they did the same to his mother before marching them to a line of prisoners that stretched as far as he could see.
He glimpsed over his shoulder at the schoolhouse as the flames tickled the sky. No one else was escaping from the inferno and he shook with silent rage at the callousness of his captors.
CHAPTER 33
LITHIA’S WAR
The Tek army amassed along Lithia’s western border south of the Danduke River. King Logan overlooked the future battlefield from atop his castle perch. The threat was more massive than he ever imagined and though he knew his army would fight with honor, he feared he had made a grave mistake.
In the face of such odds, he made a decision long overdue and ordered Lithia’s evacuation. All women and children who were able were commanded to travel to Epertase at once. His stomach turned with the knowledge that he may have waited too long.
The evacuations began. It could take weeks for so many Liths to arrive in Epertase, and their only hope of not being run down from behind was a long, spirited battle by his men.
Logan spent most of three days isolated in his room, watching the enemy prepare for its imminent offensive. When? When will you attack? he wondered. Just give my people a few more days.
His wife, Queen Lona, entered and stood by his side. She appeared weary, with puffy eyes and gaunt skin. Her long white hair rested on her shoulders, appearing rattier than he had ever seen it before.
“Please, go,” he said. “Join our children and flee with our people.”
“I saw our children off this morning, but I am staying.”
“There is nothing more you can do here.”
“I can support my husband.” She cradled his hand in hers. He looked into her blue eyes. “Do you think our children will actually leave?” she asked. “I worry about Galvin’s bullheadedness.”
“I don’t know,” he answered, unable to hide his solemn tone. “I spoke to him yesterday and stressed the importance of leaving.”
Her eyes brightened. “Do you think he listened?”
He looked away and lowered his head. He couldn’t bear telling her what he really believed and instead whispered, “Yes.” He paused and turned back to her. “I’m sure he did.”
Perhaps for the last time before the coming war began, he saw the faint start of her dimples and then quickly they faded away.
On the fifth day of the standoff, Logan made contact with the enemy by way of a squad of soldiers sent to the center of the battlefield. They carried with them a trunk of gold coins along with words of peace.
He and Lona watched from his elevated window, her body nestled in his arms. The small band of negotiators was met by a group of black-armored Teks.
The lead Lithian negotiator rode to the fore and outstretched his hand in peace. The lead Tek accepted with a bow.
“Thank the gods,” Logan whispered. Lona hugged his arm.
The Lith negotiator turned to the other negotiators with a wide grin. He raised his arms above his head.
“What does that mean?” Lona asked.
“It means they want to negotiate.”
Logan’s negotiator waved toward the castle. The Tek’s horse awkwardly pranced closer. Logan lowered his brow. Another Tek crowded the negotiator from the opposite side. Logan wanted to scream “turn around,” but knowing that he wouldn’t be heard, mumbled instead.
Unable to see the subtle aggression displayed by the enemy, Lona asked, “What is wrong?”
Logan didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to do.
The Tek reached out. The suns glistened from something in his hand. Logan knew in his heart what that something was. He froze, helpless. “No,” he whispered.
The other Lith negotiators sat up straight, realizing they’d been led to slaughter. The Tek swiped his hand past the lead negotiator’s throat, drenching his own armor with spurting blood.
The other Lith horses excitedly rose onto their rear legs. The Teks swarmed them, dragging the men to the ground. The horses were unable to escape as well and they thrashed and kicked as they too were slaughtered by the ruthless men.
Lona gasped and covered her eyes. Logan squeezed his wife to him and she buried her face in his chest.
The Lithian army stared in horror.
The Tek murderers ransacked the negotiators’ clothing and saddlebags like savages. They opened the chest of gold coins and dumped them into the grass.
Once they finished searching for whatever they sought, they turned toward the castle, glowered at Logan, and then returned to their own front lines, leaving the blood-stained gold in the grass.
What do they want? Logan wondered.
Lona made her way to her bed where she continued sobbing until she had no more tears to give. Logan followed to give her comfort but he had no words. After much time, she finally drifted to sleep.
He watched her, overwhelmed with me
mories of the first time they had met. He remembered back when he was a young prince and she was a privileged daughter of the wealthiest man in Lithia. He loved her at first sight. Thirty-four years later, none of that love had diminished. Why couldn’t she have left with the others?
Logan covered her with a thin sheet and a heavier quilt. He went to his desk, buried his face into his sweaty palms, and cried. I’ve killed them all.
Late afternoon arrived.
A knock at Logan’s door startled him awake. His eyes immediately darted to Lona’s still-sleeping body. He rubbed away the kink of his old stiff neck. His hips were sore as he stood up from his desk chair. He rushed to the door in an attempt to prevent further knocking.
His personal bodyguard, a fierce warrior with a bright red mohawk named Carver, stood outside his door with a familiar visitor at his side.
Logan’s eyes lit up. “Aidric, old friend. Welcome. Come in.”
“Good to see you, King.”
“Why are you here? You shouldn’t have come.”
“My battalion has been sent to help you. We are at your service.”
“Elijah has always been good to us.” He paused. “Do you know if our children have reached Thasula yet?”
Aidric wrinkled his forehead. “I haven’t heard, though I have been traveling much lately. I’m sure they are fine.”
Logan knew his son, Galvin’s, loyalty to Lithia was unmatched and that knowledge hurt his heart.
Lona’s sleepy voice interrupted their conversation. “Aidric?” she asked as she sat at the edge of her bed. “Is that you?”
“Your highness, I did not see you there.” Aidric rushed to her, knelt, and kissed her hand. “I did not mean to disturb you.”
Lona rubbed the top of his head. “You didn’t disturb me. It was time I awakened.”
Logan asked Aidric if he’d had a chance to see the enemy for himself; he hadn’t. Logan led him to the window.
Aidric’s jaw dropped at his first sight of the army. “My gods, they’ve advanced faster than we ever imagined.”
Light of Epertase 01: Legends Reborn Page 14
