by Jon Monson
White walls stood silhouetted in the light of the rising sun, casting a long shadow on the surrounding plain. Beyond, the spires of his father’s palace jutted into the air like giant mushrooms. Of course, no other building in the city stretched over the walls. That could never be allowed.
His thoughts drifted to memories of riding Askari through the city streets and into the surrounding hills. In fact, he’d seen the city from this exact vantage point dozens of times, yet he felt like he was seeing it with new eyes. He longed for those simpler times, times that he knew could never return.
The train continued to roar, heedless of Aydiin’s worries. No matter his thoughts, the coal continued to burn in the engine’s furnace and the wheels kept turning. The train cared for nothing but the coal consumed in its unending hunger.
Aydiin knew the butterflies weren’t just from anticipating the punishment from Father. The Sultan wouldn’t yell or scream at him – no, that wasn’t his way. He would think of something terrible, some punishment that would completely ruin Aydiin’s life while appearing completely benign to anyone outside the family.
Perhaps he would require his presence at every court function for the next year. There was also a chance he would give him governorship of some remote city or province. He could even send him as an “ambassador” to some warlord in the war-torn lands of Pilsa.
None of those could compare to the guilt already weighing heavily on his mind. The entire venture had been for nothing – Lord Agha still roamed free, and all Aydiin had to show for it were Marks of Power covering his entire body he felt compelled to keep hidden. Worst of all, he now knew that everything his father had been saying about him for years was true.
The city drew nearer. Its white walls loomed taller. And Aydiin’s heart beat faster.
A knock sounded at the door, and Aydiin checked his reflection to be sure that no sign of his Markings were visible before pulling himself from the window. He opened the door only slightly, the previous assault on the train weighing heavily on his mind. A young man stood in the pale blue coat marking him as an officer in the Jandarm.
“I just wanted to let My Prince know we’ll be reaching Maradon in under an hour,” the man said softly, tipping his red hat and offering a small bow in respect.
“Thank you, officer,” Aydiin said, unsure as to why the man had felt it necessary to tell him something that was easily visible from the window. After Agha’s escape, an extra contingent of police had joined the train ostensibly to prevent another such attack. Aydiin felt confident it was to prevent his own escape.
“Will you be requiring an escort to the palace?” the man asked, his words coming out slowly.
“No, thank you,” Aydiin replied, beginning to close the door. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”
“As you wish, My Liege,” the officer replied as Aydiin shut the door. The man’s foot slipped in, and the door bounced off the hard leather of his shoe.
“I must beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty,” the man said, pushing the door open and entering the room. “But I have a few questions for you.”
“I’m sure my answers would only disappoint you,” Aydiin responded, taking a few steps back, unsure how to take this obvious intrusion into his personal space. “Please, I only want to be alone.”
“Ah yes, I see you are alone,” the man said, walking into the compartment. “Where is your friend, the Albonan merchant’s son?”
“He’s around here somewhere,” Aydiin lied.
“I think we both know that’s not true,” the officer said, pulling out his revolver and cocking the hammer. Aydiin’s heart began racing as he saw the barrel of the gun pointed at his chest.
“Don’t bother shouting for help,” the officer said, his voice shaking. “No one will come for you.”
Aydiin stared into the man in the eyes. His mind whirled, bouncing between what was happening, why, and how he could possibly escape. The adrenaline began pumping in, making it difficult to sit still.
“May I ask what your plan is, friend?” Aydiin finally said, hoping to buy himself a few moments as he lifted his hands into the air.
“You can’t be allowed to rule,” the officer stammered, his hand shaking. “A traitor can’t be allowed to inherit the throne.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been told,” Aydiin said, his hands still raised in the air. “But I didn’t let Agha escape. I may be a lot of things, but a traitor is not one of them.”
“Stop your lies,” the man hissed, sweat trickling down his forehead. “I was warned of your silver tongue. I wasn’t even supposed to speak with you. I just needed to say that I’m glad you won’t live to destroy my country.”
Aydiin felt for the well of power within him. It was there, enough force to do…something. Yet it remained elusive, unavailable.
Instead, Aydiin dived at the man, grabbing the hand securing the revolver and twisting it away from him. The officer’s finger pulled the trigger as he did so, sending a bullet into the window. The glass shattered, and a ferocious wind tore into the room as the train continued at full speed.
The officer struggled to point the gun back towards Aydiin’s chest, but Aydiin sent his knee into the man’s crotch. The officer doubled over in pain, the revolver forgotten. His elbow connected with the man’s face, sending the blue clad jandarm to the floor with Aydiin holding the revolver.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Aydiin lunged for the door. His hands found the simple lock and turned it. It wouldn’t stop a determined assailant for long, however, and Aydiin looked around the room for a solution.
The door shuddered as someone in the hallway launched a ferocious kick against the wood panel. The wind caught Aydiin’s veil, knocking it from his face. The howling in the room made it difficult to think.
Then it hit him – the window. He ran over to the now open window, glass crunching underfoot as he crossed the compartment. Maradon was quickly approaching, but whoever was trying to knock down his door would be joining him long before the train stopped.
It was difficult to tell how many there were. The train held about twenty Jandarm – was it possible they were all involved in this plot? Or was this the act of a few traitors? Either way, he didn’t feel safe staying on the train.
He looked up at the train’s roof. It would be too difficult of a jump with nothing to hold onto. He would prefer to get to one of the cars near the end of the train that held Askari, but it just wouldn’t work. His eyes turned to the ground below as another kick almost broke down the door.
The train was passing in between freshly plowed fields of wheat. The dirt looked relatively soft and there wasn’t any sign of stones or trees. It looked almost inviting – almost.
I can’t believe I’m about to do this, Aydiin thought to himself. The door shuttered again and the sound of wood splintering and cracking joined the howl of the wind. One more and there would be nothing stopping the assailants.
Aydiin jumped onto the window, hands bracing the frame to keep himself balanced in the crouched position. He would need the spring from his jump to get clear of the tracks. Another kick, and the door burst open.
Shouts and gunshots filled the compartment as Aydiin sprang with all his might out of the train window and onto the field below. He hit the loosened soil and rolled to avoid injuring himself. Heart pounding, covered in dirt, and relieved, he turned onto his back to watch the train rattle by.
His stomach fell as he again realized Askari was on one of those last cars. His friend would be fine – kerton were seen as almost sacred, and one belonging to the Royal Family would be taken to the stables upon arrival in Maradon.
Even if they tried to hurt him, Askari could handle himself, Aydiin thought. Askari had shown dozens of times his ability to outfight any number of men. No, his worry should not be for his friend, but for himself.
“I may just be a simple farmer,” a voice called out behind him, “but I don’t think that jumping from a train is the best
way to end your journey.”
Aydiin jumped at the voice and turned to see an ancient, wizened farmer standing only a few spans from him. The man smiled, exposing gums with a smattering of brown teeth. Aydiin knew immediately this man had seen a hard life filled with back-breaking labor.
As the train disappeared, Aydiin picked himself up off the ground. His formerly white uniform was completely covered in dirt, and he could tell his body would be sore in the morning. Pulling up his veil and dusting himself off – which only helped slightly – he began to take stock of his surroundings.
He was in the middle of a large field with the old man and a few other workers in the distance trying to complete their tasks before the day’s heat drove them back inside. To the south lie Maradon, its white walls coming into better view as the sun rose higher in the sky.
“I suppose you’re right about that,” Aydiin chuckled. “Next time I’ll consider taking a horse.”
“I’m not one to meddle in the doings of my betters, but it seems to me that you’ll be needing to be leaving sooner rather than later.”
“That’s exactly right,” Aydiin replied as the other laborers began moving over to see what had happened. They were used to the train passing by, but obviously not to the sight of a man jumping from a window. “Does this farm have a horse I could purchase from you?”
A large group was assembling around Aydiin and the old man. The farm work was important, but not enough that such an unusual event could be ignored. There were half a dozen men, and twice as many women and children, all sprinkled with dirt and smelling of hard work.
“Oh, we wouldn’t dare charge you for one of our lowly beasts,” the man said, his eyes glancing towards Aydiin’s filthy uniform. Even covered in dirt, it marked him as an important man. He hoped none of them knew he was second in line to the throne.
“No, please, I wouldn’t dream of taking anything from you without paying,” Aydiin said, pulling a few bank notes from his pocket. The old man motioned to a young boy who ran off towards a nearby corral and barn.
“Why did you jump off a moving train?” a young boy with dirt-covered cheeks squeaked.
“Don’t ask questions like that,” a woman – presumably his mother - responded, smacking the boy on the back of the head. “It’s not polite.”
“No, it’s fine,” Aydiin replied, hoping the woman would refrain from hitting the boy further. “I’ve recently failed at a very important task. There are those who think it would be better for everyone if I were to just disappear.”
“But you’re a general,” a slightly older boy missing his front teeth piped up. “Who would hurt you?”
“Well, it’s complicated,” Aydiin responded. “Things always are.”
“Did you really let Agha escape?” the same boy asked, and Aydiin tried to not let his shock be known. His face was covered, and they’d only been speaking for a moment. It didn’t seem possible that these simple folk would know who he was.
“Word has spread like wildfire, My Prince,” the old man smiled apologetically. “And a man jumping out of a train wearing a uniform like that – well, it doesn’t take a scholar to make the connection.”
“No, it’s quite alright,” Aydiin said, blushing. “I was just surprised you knew it was me, that’s all. And no, I didn’t let Agha escape. We were attacked – ambushed really. If it were up to me, we’d be hanging him this very day in Maradon.”
A horse neighed and Aydiin looked up to see the young boy returning with his mount. It really was a tired looking creature that should have been put out to pasture years ago. Yet at this point, it was all he could hope for. He needed to get back to Maradon.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” Aydiin said, handing several of the notes to the old farmer.
“But if those men who tried to kill you are going to Maradon, where will you go?” the old man asked, concern in his eyes.
“Sometimes you have to run from danger, and sometimes you run towards it,” Aydiin said, looking the man in the eyes. “A few minutes ago, I chose the former. Now, I choose the latter.”
“Surion and the Divines be with you,” the man shot him a salute, and Aydiin mounted the aging horse. The saddle was rough, but it would do. He was only a few hours from the city walls if he kept up a decent pace. After Oltu and the Soulless Desert, he could deal with a less than perfect saddle for that long.
Kicking the animal in the ribs, Aydiin returned the old man’s salute as the horse took off with more speed than he had expected. A plume of dust kicked up in his wake, and Aydiin forced himself to look forwards, towards Maradon and danger.
Chapter 7
Aydiin burst through the gate to the Palace Courtyard, covered in dirt and grime. His clothing was drenched in sweat, both his own and from the horse he’d almost killed on such a blistering day. The animal was now being watered and cared for in the stables.
During the ride to Maradon and the palace, Aydiin had taken plenty of time to contemplate on the assassination attempt. The words spoken to him by the young police officer were much too familiar. They were words spoken often by his father.
His heart pounded in his ears at the thought of the coming encounter with the man he called Father. He’d thought of all the words he would use to skewer the Sultan, a man who would order the assassination of his own son. His blood boiled at the thought.
The courtyard was filled with lush vegetation and pathways that wound among fountains. In the middle was a sight that nearly made him forget his anger – two of his favorite people in the entire world.
His younger sister Gamila looked up, obviously startled by his entrance. Her round olive toned face, framed by thick dark curls, quickly broadened with an angelic smile. Just coming into her womanhood, she was a near copy of their mother – kind, gracious, and intelligent.
At her side, their oldest brother Bayram smiled weakly, his face lighting up more than Aydiin knew was possible. With the help of his sister, he also rose to his feet to greet his brother. Resting on Gamila’s arm, he looked happy as he hobbled over to give Aydiin a hug.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you,” Bayram said, stopping just short of embracing his brother as he realized how dirty and sweat-soaked he was. “By Surion, what happened to you?”
“It’s a long story,” Aydiin smiled before leaping on his older brother, intent on sharing the smell of his journey. “I’d be thrilled to tell you all about it.”
After a moment of shock, his brother’s arms patted Aydiin’s back. Aydiin pulled away from his brotherly hug and tried not to frown as he took his first good look at his brother. Bayram had always been sickly, and with bags under his eyes, a slight stoop to his posture, and a pallid tone to his skin, he looked completely spent. With all of that, he asked after Aydiin without the slightest complaint about his own health. Not for the first time, Aydiin wished that Bayram would live to be the next sultan.
“Forget what he looks like,” Gamila piped up, her eyes as bright as her smile. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Aydiin responded, genuinely curious to know what rumors had spread before his arrival.
“That you defeated Uncle Agha?” Gamila responded, her eyes full of wonder. She was wearing a white dress with intricate bead work at the top, creating a golden lattice around her shoulders. The dress was exactly what a princess should wear. His sister was exactly what a princess should be.
“I did,” he conceded, “but I can’t really take much of the credit. Askari really deserves all the credit – I was mostly just used as bait.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest,” Gamila said. “The idea was all yours, and everybody knows it.”
“I’m sure Barrick might do his bit to take some of the credit,” Aydiin laughed.
“Oh, Barrick,” Gamila said, waving her hand dismissively, “that fool of a man went with you? I’m surprised he didn’t spend the entire time in bed for one reason or another.”
“Hey, Barrick’s an alright enough fellow,” B
ayram chimed in. “He’s always quite kind to me. Say, what’s with the veil? Trying to sneak in past father?”
“Oh, right,” Aydiin said bashfully, blushing under his veil. “Well, in my fight with Uncle, I lost some men. I’m in mourning until I – um – have paid them the proper respects.”
Both siblings could hear the hesitation in his voice, and Bayram opened his mouth to push further.
“Bayram, Gamila, you should go,” a voice called on the other side of the courtyard. “Father would be upset if he were to discover you spoke to Aydiin before he could.”
Jabari strode in with his usual confident swagger, his signature red cape fluttering behind him. It wasn’t often the youngest brother struck fear into the hearts of his older siblings, but it had been years since Aydiin had felt comfortable around him.
The sixteen year old was as much a copy of their father as Gamila was of their mother. The young man was brash and arrogant – worst of all, he was proud of those attributes. Even though Aydiin stood half a hand taller than the boy, Jabari always seemed to be looking down at him.
“Oh, Jabari, stop being so bossy,” Gamila said, trying to brush him off.
“I command only when it is necessary,” Jabari responded, lifting his head slightly higher at the words. “Aydiin, you really should report directly to Father.”
“It’s quite alright,” Aydiin said, cutting off Gamila before she could fire back a retort at Jabari. “I’ve got some words to speak with the Sultan. I shouldn’t be long, though. Gamila, I’ll come later to your rooms.”
“Oh, alright,” Gamila said, sucking on her bottom lip, her usual signal that she didn’t like what was happening. “But you promise to tell me everything, right?”
“Of course,” Aydiin said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
The two turned without any more argument, Bayram holding on to Gamila’s arm for support. Aydiin watched the two leave and couldn’t help but smile as Gamila turned to shoot a quick scowl in Jabari’s direction.
