by Jon Monson
A knock at the door shook Aydiin from his thoughts, and he hastily drew up his veil. The Markings were inexplicable, and people generally feared what could not be explained. For now, both he and Barrick had agreed that hiding them was the wisest course of action.
Barrick stood, and Aydiin nodded for his friend to open the door. Walking over to the pocket door, Barrick slid the wooden panel open only slightly and poked his face through.
“Sorry to disturb you, my lord,” a servant’s voice sounded from the hallway. “I’ve brought lunch.”
Wordlessly, Barrick pulled his head back into the compartment, his expression asking for Aydiin’s permission to let the man enter.
“No need to apologize,” Aydiin called out. “Please come in, and thank you for thinking of me.”
“It’s my pleasure, sir,” the young man said as Barrick pushed the door open and the white-suited servant entered with a cart nearly sagging under the weight of its contents. “I know you’re in mourning and all, but I thought there wouldn’t be any good in starving too.”
Mourning. Yes, that was the excuse Aydiin had given for covering his face with the grey veil in addition to his white military uniform. He’d lost a good number of men fighting Lord Agha, and while it wouldn’t be expected of him, mourning the loss of those lives would be far from unusual. He just hoped it would buy him enough time to decipher the mystery of what he’d uncovered in the Lonely Spire.
“I’m not sure I deserve all this,” Aydiin said, observing the veritable feast the man had brought. A rack of lamb prepared with mint leaves and parsley with plates filled with dates, oranges, and figs dominated the top rack of the cart. Below sat a rather delectable pudding made with vanilla beans and milk for dessert. He looked to Barrick, who seemed to already be feasting with his eyes.
“The man who brought Lord Agha to justice deserves much more than our humble stores can offer,” the boy stammered. “The cook sends his regards and sincerely hopes you enjoy the meal. It’s such an honor to have the Crown-Prince on board.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Aydiin said. “But you must remember that I’m not the Crown-Prince. That title belongs to my esteemed elder brother. He is a good man, and he will serve Salatia well when he ascends the throne.”
“Oh, right,” the man said, blushing underneath his short red fez. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, sir. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Aydiin said. “But I forgive you anyway. Thank you again for the meal, and please send the chef my compliments – everything looks delicious.”
“It’s a meal fit for a Sultan, it is,” Barrick chimed in as he slid open the compartment door for the servant to leave. The man looked at Aydiin before leaving and bowed with a reverence that made Aydiin feel uncomfortable.
“These people bloody worship yeh,” Barrick said after closing the door and picking up a plate. He began carving into the lamb and dishing up orange slices with barely-contained glee. “It’s like you’re going to save them or something.”
“Well I think using the term ‘worship’ is a little strong,” Aydiin sighed, turning again to stare at his reflection in the window. “Although it’s no secret who their ally is. It will certainly be a bright day for Salatia when Bayram becomes Sultan. Then – maybe – everyone will stop forgetting he exists.”
“It was right decent of yeh to remind that bloke about yer brother,” Barrick said, stuffing a spoonful of the pudding into his mouth. “Too many people forget about him, being sick and all.”
“Well, when he’s Sultan, people won’t be able to ignore him anymore,” Aydiin sighed, not turning from the window. While the food smelled delicious, he still didn’t have an appetite. Barrick didn’t respond, and soon only the soft sounds of him devouring the mid-day meal accompanied the cracks and pops of the train sailing along the rails.
“So, are we ever going to talk about what happened?” Barrick asked, his meal devoured.
Aydiin didn’t respond.
“Now, come on, mate,” Barrick drawled, rising to his feet and taking a seat directly across from the prince. “You know yeh can’t keep this to yerself. I was there after all – I think I’ve got a right ter know what’s goin’ on.”
Aydiin chewed his tongue for a moment before responding. The days since leaving the Soulless Desert hadn’t been enough time to form his thoughts, and a few more seconds would make little difference.
“I don’t really know what to say,” he began slowly. “After touching the Stone – I can’t really say for sure what happened.”
“You were knocked flat for half an hour, and scared me ter death - that’s what happened,” Barrick shot back. “Yer supposed to know all about this sort of thing.”
“Taking a Stone is a different experience for everyone,” Aydiin whispered, almost more to himself than to Barrick.
The words were true enough. For some, the experience was painful. For others, it was the most pleasurable moment of their lives. Some felt hungry or exhausted while others felt full of energy and life.
Yet he’d never heard of anyone going unconscious. Worse, he’d never heard of anyone who had described seeing anything as a Divinity Stone melded into their flesh.
“I saw things, Barrick,” Aydiin whispered, his voice growing weak. “I saw things that I don’t want to talk about, because living through them again would be unbearable.”
“You had a vision?” Barrick whistled. “Like one of those loons living out in the desert?”
“I’m not sure exactly what it was,” Aydiin said, his voice rising just above a whisper. “None of it made any sense.”
“Nobody said it had to make any sense,” Barrick said, his drawl lessening as he leaned forward in his seat. “Come on, you can tell me what you saw.”
“I saw barren landscapes become lush. I saw oceans fill with water and clouds form in the sky. I saw plants and animals spring out of the soil. It’s all nonsense.”
“That can’t be the only thing you saw,” Barrick whispered. “You wouldn’t have held this back from me all these days if you’d only seen a vision like that.”
“Fine,” Aydiin sighed, finally taking his gaze off the window and turning to face Barrick. “I saw creatures made of shadow, creatures with row after row of teeth. I saw them devour women and children, I saw them turn the forests and fields into nothing but smoking ash. Barrick, I saw the Undergods.”
Barrick turned a shade paler than usual. He took off his bowler and began running his fingers through his sandy blonde hair as he sat back into the red-velvet seat with a thud.
“They were terrible, Barrick. Even the thought of them nearly sends me into a cold sweat,” Aydiin said. “I’ve been trying to remember everything I’ve ever read about Divinity Stones – nothing I’ve ever come across even remotely comes close to answering my questions.”
“Markings all over the body and strange visions,” Barrick said eyeing the prince and returning to his Albonan drawl. “Well, it’s a good thing yeh can cover yerself up like that so no one knows what’s happening. As for the visions – well, let’s just keep that between us.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Aydiin replied.
“So, what does the Stone – you know – do?” Barrick asked, nodding again to Aydiin’s Markings.
“I’m not sure,” Aydiin sighed, looking away from his friend back towards the window. “From what I can tell, it doesn’t do anything.”
“That’s impossible,” Barrick responded. “Who ever heard of a Stone that doesn’t have powers? Have yeh tried properly?”
“I’ve tried every technique I’ve ever read,” Aydiin said. “The well of power is there inside me – I can feel it. It just doesn’t seem to do anything. I can only hope there’s something in the Palace Library.”
“Again with the library,” Barrick smiled. “We’ve spent countless hours in that hole. If there were a book there that even mentioned a Stone like this, yeh would have found it by now.
�
��Well, you see –,” Aydiin cut off, unsure of how to answer. “I guess you’re right. So what would you suggest we do next?”
The screech of iron grinding on steel stopped Barrick before he could even open his mouth to respond. The train jolted and Aydiin could feel the car grinding to a halt. Something was wrong.
Barrick raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting towards the window. His face mirrored Aydiin’s own emotions – suspicion and the sinking feeling that this day would not end well. Barrick pulled out a long-barreled revolver from underneath his suit coat, cocked the hammer, and poked his head out the window.
“The blasted engine’s been separated from the rest of the train, it has,” Barrick said, pulling his head back into the car. The words sent a shiver down Aydiin’s spine, and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach only worsened.
“Bandits?” Barrick asked, moving towards the compartment door.
“Something tells me there isn’t enough wealth on this passenger car to make it a target,” Aydiin said, pulling his own revolver from beneath his robes.
“I think yer forgettin’ what’s in that last car,” Barrick said, his face long past serious.
The train only had three passenger cars. The first was luxurious, with private cabins for wealthier passengers – it had departed from Oltu with Aydiin and Barrick as its only occupants. However, its private compartments had slowly filled up at each stop, with Salatian aristocrats heading towards Maradon for one reason or another.
The second was for the less wealthy travelers - full of Aydiin’s men, working class families, and a variety of smells, it was shunned by elites. Row after row of wood benches offered little in comfort or privacy. Of course, it was still preferred to travelling such a distance by horseback.
The last passenger car - followed by dozens more carrying ore to the foundries in Maradon – was what worried Aydiin.
Lord Agha and a dozen of his men rode bound hand and foot in a heavily armored car, which had been brought to Oltu for the sole purpose of transporting the bandit lord back to Maradon. Completely encased in steel, the only opening was a vault door, stronger than those guarding gold reserves in Maradon’s largest banks. Originally designed to guard valuable cargo such as gold or aluminum, it was now guarding the most dangerous criminal in the country.
“You don’t suppose…” Barrick’s words drifted off as Aydiin rose to his feet, pulling back the hammer on his revolver before ripping the sliding door open.
Apparently, Aydiin and Barrick hadn’t been the only ones to notice the sudden stop. The hallway was already choked with curious passengers, all struggling to speak louder than their neighbors.
“Excuse me, pardon me,” Aydiin said, struggling to squeeze through the mass of Salatian robes and dresses mixed with the occasional Albonan or Genodran wool suit. This just caused people to raise their voices, and the general buzz of inquisitive conversation grew louder.
“Move outta the way!” Barrick’s voice yelled from behind before three shots exploded from his revolver.
The buzzing stopped.
“Thank you ladies and gents,” Barrick announced. “Now please, go back in your compartments. I can give you all the assurances in the world that the train will be moving again shortly.”
He got several odd looks, but the hallway quickly emptied as the aristocrats were certainly not about to get in the way of such a reckless Albonan. Hallway now clear, Aydiin sprinted towards the rear of the car, the sound of his footsteps reverberating on the wood floor, sunlight streaming in from the windows to his right.
One of the windows shattered in front of him, and Aydiin stopped to protect his face from the tiny shards of the glass. The sound came again from behind as more windows were destroyed, littering the corridor with broken glass. Aydiin ran to the now open window, looking for any sign of who had stopped the train.
A large iron ball came sailing towards his face, and Aydiin ducked to avoid the shattering of his nose. The ball slammed against the wall and fell to the corridor floor with a thud. Similar smacks and thuds followed, and Aydiin looked up to see four more of the coconut-sized irons spheres.
Aydiin crawled over to the nearest and began to inspect the strange item. Rising to his feet, he picked up the sphere – it was much lighter than he had expected, and a liquid inside swished as he shook it. Several small tubes jutted from the ball like the spikes on a pineapple. He couldn’t decide what it was.
“There’s nobody outside,” Barrick whispered, catching up to Aydiin. He craned his neck to get a better view out the window. “Who’s breaking the windows?”
Before Aydiin could answer, a green gas started coming out the strange tubes, and his head immediately felt fuzzy. Dropping the ball and placing his sleeve over the veil to cover his mouth, he signaled for Barrick to move. The two began running through the corridor, away from the gas.
Aydiin barely stopped to pull open the doorway at the end of the car, nearly breaking the wooden panel as he rushed into the second passenger car. Expecting to see pandemonium and potentially a battle within, he stopped in shock as his eyes took in the scene before him.
A hundred bodies lie strewn around the car, a dozen now-empty iron balls scattered along the floor. A haze hung in the air, obscuring his view of what he hoped were the unconscious passengers. Although he couldn’t see them, he knew that every single soldier he had at his command was incapacitated.
The gas again began to make him feel dizzy, fighting through the adrenaline rushing through his veins as he could hear the beating of his heart in his eardrums begin to slow. He knew he had to get out into the fresh air. The only problem was what awaited him outside the train.
To his left, he spotted the door to the outside. As he felt a bout of dizziness, he decided that whatever was out there had to be better than being knocked unconscious - or worse - by this gas. His hand went for the handle, the smooth steel soothing his hand.
It wouldn’t budge. Dropping the cloth covering his mouth, Aydiin placed both hands on the handle and began wrestling with it. The steel jangled as his muscles strained to break whatever held the door closed, but he knew it was futile.
Bunching up his robes again in front of his mouth and nose, he knew there were only seconds left before the gas would take him. He backed away from the door before charging it with all his force, slamming into the metal barrier.
It shuddered, but didn’t move, bouncing him back. His shoulder yelped in pain where it had made contact with the steel plate. Aydiin backed away again, slamming into the door with noticeably less vigor than he had shown previously. His head began to spin, and his shoulder screamed in agony.
Unable to bring himself to again charge the barrier, he instead started kicking at it. It was futile. His brain began growing increasingly foggy, his shirt doing very little to keep the gas out of his lungs. He dropped to his knees, his head swimming.
Dropping the cloth from his face, he began banging on the door with both hands. The pounding echoed in the still car. It grew weaker and weaker as Aydiin began to slump.
The door slid open.
Sunlight streamed in, bringing with it fresh, life-giving air. Aydiin breathed in deeply before looking up to see a familiar face.
“I climbed out a window,” Barrick panted. “Sorry, I shoulda said something. I didn’t know you were going to try and kick your way out.”
Aydiin was too disoriented to respond, and he grabbed onto Barrick’s arm as he descended from the train onto the dirt outside. He squinted as his eyes struggled to adjust to the bright sun, and he could feel them filling with water in protest.
A horse neighed in the distance, and Aydiin looked to a nearby hill. Atop the grass-covered knoll sat a tall man dressed in a white robe atop a midnight black steed. Even from this distance, Aydiin could tell the man’s mustache was impeccably groomed and a cigar hung lazily from the corner of his mouth.
Lord Agha nodded at the two before nudging his horse in the ribs. His uncle had escaped.
Chapter 6
Sorry mate, I just can’t handle any more time on that train,” Barrick said, stepping off onto the platform.
Aydiin stood at the train’s exit, his eyes scanning the small train station. He didn’t even know the name of this town only a few leagues outside of Maradon. Yet it was sure to have a few taverns where Barrick could drown his feelings in hard liquor.
“It’s probably for the best,” Aydiin sighed as the train began lurching forward. “I can’t say what my father will do when he hears the news.”
“Then don’t go back,” Barrick smiled, walking along as the train began to pick up speed. “Just grab Askari and we’ll head to the nearest tavern.”
“There isn’t any point in putting off the inevitable,” Aydiin yelled over the train’s engine as the cars began moving faster.
“You and yer Salatian honor,” Barrick laughed, stopping at the edge of the platform. The Albonan waved as the train sped away, and Aydiin looked as his friend and the station grew small.
Butterflies swarmed in Aydiin’s stomach as the train sped along the track, bringing him closer to his hour of reckoning. Stepping into the corridor of the passenger car, Aydiin made his way to the private compartment he now had to himself. Settling into his seat, he closed his eyes in an attempt to let the swaying of the train lull him to sleep.
He knew from the start that there would be no nap. For one, he almost never slept in the middle of the day – it just didn’t suit him. It was merely a way to pass the next hour or so until the train pulled into the city.
The anxiety welling up in his chest also prevented him from taking an unusual nap. He knew that he would be severely punished for letting Agha escape, completely undoing whatever goodwill he would have accrued from capturing his uncle in the first place. Even worse, he knew he deserved it.
He opened his eyes as the train turned around a bend, and Maradon came into view outside his window. His eyes widened at the sight of his home, a city that felt simultaneously liberating and oppressive. Until this moment, he never knew he could miss it this much and just as strongly desire to be anywhere else.
