The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series)

by Hal Emerson

  It was as if he was searching for something nebulous, just out of reach, like a misplaced memory or a dying dream. There was something to the life Goldwyn had described; there was something to this place … it was like existing on the border between two worlds. If he were still young enough to believe in the old legends of faeries and spirits born of the mists, he would think this place their home.

  That night he left and lay out in the grass to look up at the sky. When he’d been traveling south, he’d seen the stars for the first time – truly seen them, not just seen their impressions through the smog and clouds that covered the sky of Lucien. They were clear to the point of brilliancy – they shone down on the world, bright points of illumination floating above him in the blank, impossibly black tapestry of the sky, their light no more than pinpricks, yet together enough to light up the darkness of a world that slumbered in the absence of the sun.

  He fell in love with the city, sometime in that span where he lived alone in the mountains of Vale. He began to find himself, in solitude, in silence, and in the night sky, and he began to long for something more to his life. Goldwyn had started it – had told him of the why, and in the silence, he became aware that a piece of him was missing. Maybe he had had it once, maybe he never had. But now that the world was quiet enough that he could listen, he could hear a cry from somewhere deep inside him. He needed something. He needed purpose. He wanted to believe in something, something greater than himself, wanted to believe in the dream Goldwyn had spoken of … a world of Exiles. A world of purpose and why.

  And so he returned.

  Goldwyn greeted him as if he’d been gone barely an hour. The Elder poured him a cup of kaf, and their conversation began again, though soon, unsurprisingly, they began to disagree once more.

  “No,” Raven said stubbornly, “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “All I am saying,” said Goldwyn lightly, “is that there is more to your mind than what you are consciously aware of. And because of that, we are not, as logically follows, entirely in control of ourselves. Life is, at its base, unpredictable.”

  “Geofred has often told me,” Raven responded, refusing to give ground, “that there are many futures, and he can pick and choose which one he steers the world toward. That can’t be the case if things are random. Given the world as it is, there are some things that are inevitable. You must agree with that.”

  “Hmmm … I remember you using that word ‘inevitable’ the first time we met,” said Goldwyn, raising his black porcelain cup to his lips and drinking slowly.

  “What would you say it meant?” The Elder asked. He crossed the courtyard from where he had been standing, next to one of the tall pillars, to Raven’s side and simply folded his legs beneath him, sitting perfectly comfortably on his knees and ankles in front of the firepit.

  “You want me to tell you what ‘inevitable’ means?” Raven asked to clarify.

  “Indeed,” Goldwyn said with a nod.

  “Well,” Raven responded slowly, having fallen into enough verbal traps in these conversations to be cautious of a misstep, “it is the negation of the word evitable. Which is a word that means avoidable. So, it would follow that inevitable means unavoidable. In other words it means something is certain.”

  “Fairly said,” Goldwyn replied with an approving nod, his eyes grinning at Raven, all too cognizant of the extra care he was taking with his answers.

  “But something remains unaddressed. Do see it?”

  “No … no I can’t see it.”

  “Let me elaborate,” said Goldwyn, leaning back on his heels and staring up at the misty morning sky.

  “If something is inevitable, then the assumption is that a man, woman or child, even in seeking to avoid said something, can never escape it. Correct?”

  “That would be the assumption, yes.”

  Raven was watching the Elder closely, trying to follow this. The man’s mind was faster than anything he’d ever encountered, and if he didn’t pay full attention he’d be left behind in a matter of seconds.

  “So, let’s assume you want to avoid a bad thing. No matter what you do, you will fail. Would you say this is so?”

  Raven nodded.

  “So this is a closed system, yes?”

  Raven thought for a moment, and then nodded again.

  “I suppose you could say that … there’s no way to escape from it, so yes.”

  “Fair,” said Goldwyn, “but what if you then opened the system?”

  “… introduced a new variable?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in … threw a rock into a pound.”

  “Quiet a good analogy actually,” Goldwyn said, watching him eagerly.

  “Then you would create ripples,” said Raven. “The previously closed system – the pond, just sitting there – would now be open, and in touch with the larger world around it.”

  “Indeed! And what can you conclude from this?”

  “I … I have no clue,” Raven said, again feeling quite dense.

  Goldwyn, unperturbed, just nodded, and changed topics:

  “Iliad holds a prophecy that says the Kindred must die, that in the end we must make way for a new and more glorious Empire.”

  Raven froze and stared at the General.

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Ah,” Goldwyn said, suddenly saddened for the first time since Raven had met him. “I didn’t know about it … but you did, and now so do I. I have often assumed that was the secret that Iliad held. Crane offered to tell me when I became an Elder, but I asked him to hold off. I wanted to discuss it first with you.”

  “Crane says Iliad isn’t a prisoner,” Raven said, watching the older man intently, temporarily ignoring the way he had been tricked in favor of discussing this topic. “But he’s certainly held like one.”

  “Yes … something that I, if I had a say in it, would have strong words about. But alas, I am but one Elder. The others are unanimous on this point, and so I must concede.”

  There was a moment of silence in which Goldwyn and Raven both looked off into the distance, eyes far away.

  “In any case!” Goldwyn cried, breaking the silence irreverently. “There is a prophecy that the Kindred will be destroyed. Let us assume that the Kindred are, like your pond, a closed system. There is no way for them to avoid this inevitability. What then are we to do?”

  “Well … I suppose you would do the metaphorical equivalent of what we did with the pond.”

  “Throw a rock in,” said the General, gray eyes bright. “Indeed. And what would that rock be?”

  “But how do you even know there’s a rock?” Raven asked, bewildered. “It’s not as if the pond could ask someone to throw a rock into it, if it could do that it would defeat the whole purpose. It’s on it’s own, it’s a closed system, no in or out.”

  “Hmm yes … I suppose a pond could not do such things. But, in the world, involving people who do have the ability to reach outside themselves, what could that rock be?”

  “But then it’s not a closed system,” Raven protested, exasperated.

  “Isn’t it?” Goldwyn asked, eyes sparkling. “It may not be the same closed system, but it is a system, a new system, made of rock and pond together.”

  “I don’t understand” Raven said. His head was hurting, a deep throbbing beginning to build behind his temples.

  “Say the Kindred wanted to avoid something,” Goldwyn continued mercilessly. “The Kindred are to be inevitably destroyed says the prophecy. What could stop such a thing? What could be a rock that would break the pond, cause ripples, and change the shape of the thing, and make it no longer a pond? Or, at least, no longer a pond as it once was.”

  “I don’t know Goldwyn,” Raven said, holding his head in his hands. This conversation was becoming ridiculous. He should have stayed away – why had he come back? He was being foolish. Dreams were for children.

  “Consider this then – that which is inevitable for one thing, or one pers
on, cannot be equally inevitable for all things or all people, or else it would be a redundancy. If the same exact future is determined for two things that also have the same exact past, then those things must be the same. So how is it that we have two things – the Empire and the Kindred – that must both be destroyed? How is it that the Eagle, who can see perfectly into the future, foresaw the death of the Kindred, while the original Prophet, the one who came across the sea with Aemon, foresaw the death of the Empire?”

  Raven just stared at him blankly.

  Thank the Empress I’m not with Rikard. He’d be whipping me by now for sheer stupidity. Why can’t I understand this? What is he getting at?

  “Do you see where I’m going?” Goldwyn asked, trying to catch his eye.

  “I think you’re saying something about how the Empire and the Kindred are tied together somehow,” Raven muttered between his fingers. “Somehow they’re connected and …”

  And then it hit him in a flash of understanding. His head jerked up and he looked at Goldwyn, who was watching him with unabashed excitement.

  “And if the Empire and the Kindred are tied, then maybe they can disturb each other, like the rock. Or maybe a person from one of them can change the future of the other. But how could they do it? Is there a way that would be best?”

  “Thank you for this conversation,” Goldwyn said, gray eyes dancing like clouds over a low, retreating tide.

  The abrupt end to the conversation gave him something akin to mental whiplash. He felt as if the Elder had brought him right to the brink of a cliff and tripped him up just short of the edge instead of letting him jump off.

  “That’s it?” He asked.

  Goldwyn nodded.

  “When you’ve figured out the next part,” he said with a smile, “come see me again. Don’t think too hard – do what you feel like doing. The answers to those final questions will come to you when you’re ready.”

  And so Raven stood, not knowing what else to do.

  “Thank you for your time Elder,” he said formally. “I will see you soon.”

  “Thank you for the conversation Raven. I will see you when you wake.”

  Chapter Thirteen: The Exile Girl

  When he left Goldwyn’s manor, he found outside that the morning mist had faded and the sun was shining, though there was a bitter chill in the air that seemed to remind him insistently that the heart of winter was fast approaching; it had yet to snow in earnest, but it rained now nearly every day.

  Don’t think too hard – do what you feel like doing. The answer will come to you when you least expect it.

  “Okay,” he said to himself, “so what do I feel like doing?”

  He looked up the street. Something caught his eye – visible over the nearby buildings was the distant bulk of the Barracks where the soldiers trained. It was referred to as the Bricks; the training arena was open to anyone who wanted to use it, and the mess cooks were liberal with the food if you were a friend of the soldiers. Thinking this was as good an idea as any, he decided to head in that direction and see if he could get a meal. And maybe afterwards he’d take a turn in the sparring arena; it had been a while since –

  “Well look at this!” Roared a voice.

  Raven turned to see Tomaz striding down the broad avenue, a whole cloud of vulture-like children swooping and crying around him, trying to grab his attention. Most of them were absolutely filthy, covered in three if not four layers of mud and so plastered with leaves and twigs that they could very well be mistaken for walking trees. Very small, shrill trees. With sharp, white fangs that could easily bite the fingers off unsuspecting former Princes.

  “I see you’ve finally emerged from your hermitage!” Tomaz said as one of the children grabbed hold of the giant’s belt and hoisted itself onto the man’s back, elbowing Tomaz viciously in the ribs on its way.

  “Yeah, I came to finish my thing with Goldwyn … are you sure it’s a good idea to let the boy do that?”

  The boy in question stopped, looked over his fat, round little shoulder from under the tiny skull cap he wore and gave Raven a look that very clearly told him to go drop dead.

  “What?” Tomaz asked, distracted. “Oh, Peter, yeah don’t worry. He won’t fall. He’ll pull my ears off before he does.”

  And the boy, as if taking this for a suggestion, tugged so hard on Tomaz’s right ear Raven was certain it was about to rip off. But the giant didn’t seem to notice; he simply continued to hold out his enormous tree-trunk arms, upon which the other children were climbing in cacophonous bliss.

  One little girl detached herself from the group and took a few cautious steps toward Raven. She looked up at him with big, dark eyes, her hair pulled back in two muddy, tangled tails.

  “I – I finished the conversation early,” Raven said, taking a step back and eyeing the girl with profound distrust. He’d always been told children were the prime suspects in the spread of all contagion. Seeing the filthy, soiled face of this one, he believed it to be true.

  She’s very cute though … if she wasn’t so dirty, of course.

  “Well! I’m off early too,” Tomaz said, stepping forward and bodily dragging a dozen screaming, laughing children with him. “I’m just bringing the little ones back after their first adventure into the woods –

  “Ad-ven-CHURRR!!” Screamed the children together; Raven jumped nearly a foot in the air and tried to pass it off as shifting his weight in dramatic fashion.

  “ – and as soon as they’re with their parents again we can go spar if you’d like. I was thinking it had been a long time since I’d been to the Bricks and done a proper workout with Malachi. Would you be interested in coming along?”

  “I was just thinking of heading that way myself,” Raven said, as nonchalant as possible. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  “Actually, head down this street and turn left – there’s a shop called the Swinging Sign, Leah’s supposed to meet me there. She’s probably inside buying ink and paper or grinding stones or what have you, but let her know I’m on my way and we can all go together.”

  “Right, sounds good.”

  Tomaz, still covered in the swarming infestation of children, made his way down the street, past Goldwyn’s manor and around the corner.

  Raven followed the giant’s instructions, and soon found himself outside a shop that did, indeed, boast a sign that swung in the wind. After waiting a moment or two in the street, awkwardly watching passersby, he decided to look in through the tall shop window to see if he could spot Leah. He was careful not to press his hands against the glass; he hated leaving fingerprints on things.

  The inside of the shop was just as one would expect an ink and paper shop to look – full of ink and paper. There were few customers, and Raven caught sight of Leah easily; she was in the far back left corner, exchanging a number of Kindred coins for a large sheaf of parchment and a bottle of ink.

  Raven pulled back and began to head for the door, but stopped. He turned back to look through the window again, and saw Leah smiling at the elderly shop owner, who was telling her some kind of story. She was dressed today in tight-fitted black pants, with a long green tunic over the top that came down to the middle of her thighs, discreetly hiding her hips. She had a cloak over her arm, and her black hair was free and flowing, not done up in its usual braid.

  And then the older man finished his story, and she threw back her head and laughed. The motion and sound took him by surprise, and he felt himself smiling for no apparent reason. He could see her white teeth flashing as she said something back to the man, and he laughed as well. Her green eyes positively glowed with a warm contentment, and the man thanked her for her business. She nodded to him and turned to go.

  Raven spun away from the window and pretended to look casually up the street, doing his best impression of a man with nothing better to do than wait.

  Surprisingly, he waited for a long time. He suddenly felt self-conscious, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d trimmed his slow
ly growing beard – all the Kindred men wore them – and washed and combed his hair that morning. His clothes, while common, had been well cut. He was standing in a neutral stance, back straight, chin high, feet apart, arms clasped behind his back. Nothing was out of place. No one passing by seemed to be giving him a second thought.

  Another moment passed as he waited for the girl, and the strangest feeling came over him … as if someone were watching him. His eyes flicked up to the top levels of the shops opposite him, but there were no open windows or prying eyes there. Unnerved, he turned back to the window, wondering what was keeping Leah.

  He found her, just on the other side of the door, and as their eyes met she jumped, startled.