Song of Edmon

by Adam Burch

  Phaestion hoots with joy, and now I can’t help but giggle, too.

  We’re alive. Against all odds, we’re alive.

  “You should’ve seen your face!” He holds his sides. “You should’ve seen your face.”

  We paddle into the harbor soaked to the bone. It’s an easy matter to tie the boat where we found it and make our way through the deserted village. We silently enter through the foyer of the manse, sneak down the hall, slip into my old room, and shut the door behind us. I collapse onto the floor, the whole ordeal having taken little more than a couple of hours.

  Phaestion strips out of his sopping-wet linens and dives under the covers of the bed.

  “No one’s seen a leviathan for over a hundred years!” he whispers excitedly.

  “Yeah.” I feel numb.

  “You just walked right up to it,” he continues. “You, who’s afraid of everything!”

  “Yeah” is all I can think to add.

  “How’d you know it wouldn’t kill you?”

  “I didn’t,” I say quietly as I strip off my wet linens. I grab a sheet from the built-in closet, wrap myself in it, and lie down on the stone floor.

  “We better get some sleep,” he says. “There are only a few hours before training.”

  Sleep comes in fits. I’m plagued by something more than a dream, fainter than reality.

  I’m running. I hear the monster’s laughter behind me, the leviathan.

  “Why run, boy?” His voice vibrates through me.

  Then he’s in front of me. His dragon face spews noxious fumes from his maw. His great green eyes, slitted, bore into me.

  “Why run, boy? You can wait billions of years, but the stars will burn out. Space will go black. Your life, all life, will end.”

  The truth hits me like a cold wave.

  “You will not even be a memory. So why run? Why run from me?”

  I awaken with a gasp, sweating.

  “Edmon?” Phaestion asks groggily. “Are you all right?”

  “A nightmare,” I say.

  “Tell me?”

  I hesitate, but then I tell him everything.

  Phaestion nods. “I had a dream I was an orca once. Only I wasn’t running. I was swimming at the head of a pod, hunting. Nothing mattered but my prey. Not yesterdays or tomorrows. It felt good to know what I was supposed to do.”

  I listen to the steadiness of his breath, like a metronome, so clear, so sure.

  “They say young orcas kill their own fathers,” he adds.

  “Why do they do that?” I ask.

  “To lead the pod, they must take the old leader’s place. The orca is where our ritual of patricide comes from.”

  “Patricide?” I ask.

  “A noble scion becomes a Patriarch when he murders his father and takes his place. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Oh” is all I think to say.

  “What do leviathans do?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  We sit for a moment staring into the darkness.

  “Thank you for saving me,” I add. “Earlier today.”

  He shrugs. “You’re my best friend.”

  CHAPTER 6

  ACCOMPAGNO

  Cycle’s end arrives. Alberich stands in the foyer, but this time he’s not bringing someone with him; he’s taking someone away. Phaestion is next to him dressed in his black uniform and cape, the silver circlet of nobility returned to his brow.

  My mother waits imperiously atop the staircase. “You’ll not take my son,” she commands.

  Of course my mother would try something dramatic.

  I know that she’s been planning with the village elders, sending communiques to Drum, Rock, and Leaf, and whomever else will listen to the whispering of rebellion. But I’ve been training to fight every day. I’m beginning to understand the strength of these Nightsiders. Even if every island rose up to throw off the rule of the Pantheon, I think they would be crushed.

  More than that, I feel different since the arrival of Phaestion. The fosterage has given me a friend and opened a window into a world I’d only glimpsed before. It’s the world of my father and of war and of men. I’m curious to climb through, but my mother’s rash words threaten to close the window forever. She should have warned me!

  Alberich sighs. He expected my mother to protest. “My lady, I’m sorry. This is not something you’re able to choose.”

  “Edmon is my son! I’m his mother. By the laws of Bone, you have no right to take him from me without consent.”

  “Laws of Bone are not recognized by the Synod,” Alberich states. “My lady, there comes a time when a boy must leave the comforts of a mother’s arms. For Edmon, that time has come.”

  “Not yet!” Her voice cracks.

  A cadre of Leontes guards, with blue uniforms, flashing silver gauntlets, and pikes at their sides, burst into the foyer.

  “I’m sorry,” the seneschal says. “If you won’t let him go, I’ll have to take him.”

  “I’m no warrior,” she admits, “but Bone has friends among the other islands—Leaf, Drum, Conch. They have pledged their support. As Bone goes, so do others.”

  At her signal, islanders, men of the village, appear at the top of the steps. They hold spears and fishhooks, nets and oars. They brandish the tools as weapons, outnumbering the Leontes guards at least two to one. It is a standoff. Nadia is there next to her father, her eyes burning with dark intensity.

  She knew about this and didn’t tell me?

  “You see, it is not just my son, Edmon. None of Bone’s sons or daughters will ever be taken by the Pantheon again to feed the thirsty blades of the Combat against their wills.”

  The air crackles with tension.

  “You’re suggesting open rebellion with Meridian?” Alberich looks around the room warily, calculating his next maneuver. “You cannot fathom what you would bring down, nor the bloodshed you’d cause. For what? Because a father wants to educate his son? Think, my lady, before something happens that cannot be undone.”

  “Edmon, come here,” my mother says.

  Alberich is right. If I go to her, I won’t be able to stop the violence, and I’ll be taken anyway. I have to show her I am no longer a child. I have to save her from herself. If she’s killed, if Nadia—

  “Mother,” I say quietly. “I want to go.”

  She looks at me aghast. She glides down the steps toward me. “Is this truly what you want, Edmon?”

  I wish I could stay here with her and Nadia and the island and the music. I wish my father wasn’t my father.

  “It’s only temporary,” I say. “In the meantime, you and the other islands shore up your defenses. Resisting now won’t do either of us any good. Wait until I’m grown, until I’m stronger.”

  She watches me for the lie beneath my words, then brushes a dark lock of hair out of my eyes. She straightens my linen robes as if to make sure that I look proper for my leave. “My brave little warrior. How did you become so clever?”

  “Killing isn’t something to wish for lightly,” I say. “You taught me that.”

  There’s something more I don’t say: I can’t be here forever. There’s more waiting for me out there.

  She embraces me, fighting back tears, then steps back, her gaze landing on Phaestion. “Lord Julii, since the fosterage in your house commences, I expect that you’ll carry my son’s things from here on?”

  The barest hint of a smug smile curves on Phaestion’s otherwise impassive face. Yet he bows his head with deference and lifts my bags to his shoulder. “It is my honor.”

  My mother’s dark eyes drift to Alberich and become steel. “Tell Lord Leontes he’ll regret this coercion.”

  Pity flashes in the seneschal’s eyes, but we walk through the door. We’re met by a cadre of black-clad guards from House Julii outside. They salute Phaestion. It all feels so formal. I’m entering a world of pomp and circumstance I’ve only glimpsed. Phaestion leads the procession down the narrow winding road of the
town.

  The cadre my mother gathered at the mansion follows. They line the streets and watch in silence. For a moment, I think I see Nadia’s face flit through the gathered faces. We haven’t said goodbye. I lose sight of her as we reach the sleek black sondi waiting for us at the docks.

  I step onto the ramp, but a tug in my stomach pulls me back, and I turn. The faces of all the Daysiders of Bone look at me. I raise my hand to them. They raise theirs. For the first time, I sense that these are my people and I am theirs.

  A hand falls on my shoulder. The angular, refined features of Phaestion Julii break into a smile.

  “Come on.” He laughs. “The capital awaits.”

  He turns, his cape swirling behind him. I follow.

  “Alberich,” I say as I strap into my seat. I muster a commanding tone, as if I’m my father giving him an order. “No matter how angry she makes Edric, please see to it my mother is not harmed.”

  The big man grimaces. “I’ll do my best, young lord.”

  The engines whine. The balloon lifts into the sky. I glance out the window at the whiteness of the stone, the high cliffs, and the green-blue sea. I’ve said goodbye before, but only for a day, years ago. Not like this. The vista moves past the viewport.

  Everything is changing.

  The island recedes. I spy through the porthole a tiny ledge jutting out from the cliffside. The spot where I first met Nadia. A young girl stands there, her hair blowing in the wind. She raises an arm. I put my hand against the glass to return the farewell, but I don’t think she can see.

  The sky turns the color of a bruise. The star of Tao dips on the horizon. It hangs like a lidless red eye. We reach Meridian, the capital. The sondi roars through the narrow avenues of glass scrapers in the southern districts where House Julii makes its home. It approaches a tower with the crest of a massive orca emblazoned on its surface.

  “Welcome to your new home,” Phaestion says.

  “It’s gigantic,” I whisper.

  “Dwarfs even the palace of Old Wusong.” He smiles. “The Julii were the first leaders of the High Synod after Empress Boudika was forced to abdicate. Our position allowed us to corner the market on interstellar trade, limited though it was, when the Fracture Point was much farther away. Tao survived because of House Julii, and someday, I’ll be Patriarch and inherit the seat on the Synod.”

  “Provided you win the Combat,” I say bitingly.

  Phaestion winks. For him, the outcome isn’t in doubt.

  One of the giant glass panels of the scraper opens to reveal a hangar. Our sondi glides through the port.

  “How would Tao not have survived without House Julii?” I ask.

  Phaestion gives me a look like I should know this basic history. “I forget, on the island you have no formal schooling. You saw the kelp and algae fields of the Southern Sea upon our approach?”

  I nod.

  “Those fields and our hydroponics buildings are the source of oxygenation for our atmosphere and oceans. Forests of the Twilight Band were all clear-cut, and minerals within half-lighted zones were mined long ago. Tao needed imports. House Julii was the first to build ships that could ferry to and from the distant Fracture Point. When the High Synod formed, the Julii fleet became the national fleet. Old Wusong may hold the imperial name, but Julii is the name that keeps this place alive.”

  I think of the Fracture Point changing the day of my birth and the visitors from off-world I saw at Edgaard’s coronation years ago.

  “With the repositioning of the Fracture Point,” I think out loud, “your giant freighters for long voyages are obsolete. Other houses should have been able to build ships much more cheaply and end Julii dominance by now.”

  Phaestion’s eyes go hard.

  I’ve said something wrong? No, I’ve said something revealing . . .

  Then the tension is gone as if it had never been there.

  “Competition’s good. It makes us stronger.”

  He’s right, but something also tells me that Phaestion and House Julii will do anything to win, even if that means crushing rivals before things get competitive. I wonder if this is why other houses haven’t challenged their fleet yet.

  Giant tapestries of deep purple line the walls of the hangar, blending ancient heraldry with modern tech. The sondi ramp lowers, and Phaestion leads us down. An ancient man with snow-white hair and a beard waits surrounded by guards adorned in black and purple.

  “I’ve returned, Father.” Phaestion bows.

  “My son,” the old man says kindly. “Was your trip successful?”

  Phaestion gestures to me. “May I present Edmon of House Leontes. Eldest born of Combat champion Edric Leontes.”

  I bristle. Edric’s eldest born. That’s all I am to anyone here. I suppose I need to learn to accept it. I bow. It’s hard to believe that this hunched old man, nearly thrice the age of my father, is Phaestion’s sire. Even harder to fathom that one day his son will willingly kill him to take his place.

  “Leontes’s boy.” He grimaces. “Your hair is so dark? I thought you were blond.”

  Phaestion smiles. “You’re thinking of his younger brother, Edgaard, Father. This is Edmon.”

  “Of course,” the old man says indifferently.

  I chew the inside of my cheek at the mention of the brother who has usurped me. Meanwhile, I can’t keep my eyes off the diminutive figure standing next to the old man. He has extremely large eyes of an unnatural shade of blue that peer out from the shadows of his hooded robe. The black pupils narrow like a cat’s as he catches me staring.

  “Are you a spypsy?” I blurt out. “I’ve read about space gypsies in my books.”

  Alberich shifts uncomfortably behind me. Everyone averts their gazes.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to recover from the outburst. “I’ve just read a lot about the six clans of spypsies that wander the Fracture, survivors of the great Miralian Empire.”

  “You seem to know more of such subjects than most on Tao.” The man brushes back his hood to reveal a smooth skull. In fact, he’s completely hairless—no eyebrows, no eyelashes. It’s disconcerting. “I am Talousla Karr. I am a space gypsy, but I am not of the clans.”

  “Oh” is all I can say.

  “Edmon’s mother is a Daysider, your grace,” Phaestion says, cutting in. “That’s why his hair is so dark.”

  Lord Julii furrows his brow as if searching the back of his memory. “Yes, of course.” He smiles at me. “You should be happy here with us, young Leontes. You will be a fine cadet in the academy, in spite of your disadvantage.”

  Disadvantage? My eyes narrow.

  “Come, Phaestion,” the old man says.

  Phaestion escorts his father from the chamber. “I’ll be seeing you around, Cadet Leontes.”

  What does he mean, Cadet?

  The hairless man, Talousla Karr, looks at me with his cat eyes. “I was led to believe your Daysider race was the less intelligent of the two. Perhaps you’ll have more surprises for me in the future.” Then he, too, is gone.

  Alberich looks down at me. “Remember what you’ve learned. We are precarious guests here, but Edric will still be watching.” The seneschal strides off into the building. The rest of my father’s guards return to the sondi as it revs its engines.

  “Cadet,” a tall man in a smart black Julii uniform says. “This way.”

  I follow the man down a marble hall, his polished boots clacking with every step. The hallway widens. One whole wall is a glass panel. I peer through it into a cavernous space. Scores of boys, all Nightsiders, dressed in black body armor form ranks in the room below. They ready shiny shields on their arms. High-powered pistols rest in their other hands. They fit the pistols into a groove at the top of the shields. On command, they march forward in formation.

  Turn, pivot, pivot. Stop.

  It’s almost musical, I think.

  “I am Commandant Vetruk,” the man with the pointed face and graying hair beside me states. “I’m the princi
pal of House Julii’s Academy. Here you will be trained in the way of the pen and the sword.”

  “What are they doing?” I ask, indicating the boys below.

  “Drilling,” he responds. “Exercises are compulsory for all students. Lowborn as well as high.” He emphasizes the word low as he scans my island garb.

  I remember the disdain Nightsiders had for the clothes I wore at the christening all those years ago. I also remember that my father was, himself, a commoner before he rose to claim his titles.

  The man’s tone is clear—I’m not worthy enough to be here.

  A pneumovator takes us several floors up to a barracks. The door slides open, revealing several other boys waiting for me.

  “Attention!” Vetruk shouts.

  Three pale-haired boys dressed in sleek black uniforms stand rigid-backed.

  “This is Edmon of House Leontes. He’s your new roommate. Edmon, this is Sigurd of House Flanders.” Vetruk indicates a large, beefy boy with hair the color of pale straw and a broad face.

  “Perdiccus of House Mughal.” Vetruk indicates a slim athletic youth with hair of spun gold and large buggy eyes.

  “And Hanschen of House Julii.” He is the smallest of the three and pale of skin. He eyes me with a furtive gaze. His lips curve in a twisted smirk.

  “Prepare him. Teacher Michio’s astrophysics lab commences within an hour.”

  “Yes, Commandant!” the boys reply in unison.

  Vetruk turns on a dime and leaves.

  “Edmon of House Leontes,” begins Hanschen.

  Hanschen of House Julii, Vetruk had said. Phaestion’s cousin maybe?

  “Curious they would send us one so lowborn,” the boy says, sneering. “Phaestion must have seen something in you if he wants you as one of The Companions.”

  Companions? I thought I was the only one.

  “You should close your mouth, snail guppy,” the one with the crazy eyes says.

  Perdiccus of House Mughal. Mughal is one of the four High Houses of the Pantheon along with Flanders, Julii, and of course Old Wusong. They’re all represented here. All except House Wusong, which has no male heir. It has only Miranda.