The Sun Child (The Sun Child Saga Book 1)

by Mihalitsianos, Monique

  “Daniel…” She says again.

  “I don’t want to hear it.” I interrupt through gritted teeth. “Not now.”

  “Let’s go to breakfast.” Kismet finally says, forcing herself to keep her tone light. “We don’t need to talk about this now.”

  We dress in silence and then hike over to the Dining Hall, which is lined with rows upon rows of tables and chairs. People sit next to each other, chatting and eating. There’s a long line leading toward the buffet table, where another group of people dressed in white uniforms and caps are handing out breakfast.

  “Oatmeal again?” I say to the girl who is pouring exactly two spoonfuls of the gooey substance onto my plate. “What am I, fucking Oliver Twist?”

  “Come on, man, you know we don’t control the meal plan,” she says.

  I walk away, but I can’t help but overhear what she says to the guy next to her; “I can’t wait for these assholes to replace next month.”

  I smile because I know exactly how she feels. Next month, Kismet and Henrick and I—plus everyone else who has been on Captures, Missions or Recruitments—will be delegated to cooking, cleaning, washing, keeping guard, and cleaning toilets for an entire month, and then it’s these peeps’ turn to have fun, or at least our idea of fun. Then, the next month, the shifts switch again and half the tribe goes back to being stuck in Agartha for a month, which, of course, is nobody’s idea of fun.

  Henrick is waiting for us at one of the tables. I don’t really want to break bread with him after yesterday, but I’m also not in the mood for any kind of fight with him. So I just sit.

  “Oatmeal again?” Henrick says.

  “My sentiments exactly.” I murmur.

  “You’d think they would at least make an effort.” Kismet says.

  I bang my fist down in the table. Kismet and Henrick jump.“Kismet, our superiors are in charge not only of getting enough money to buy our food—and God knows how they do that, considering none of actually have any jobs out there in the real world—but also of the logistics associated with hauling all of it back to Agartha. I think that’s enough of an effort, don’t you?” I say, even though she was just agreeing with me.

  Kismet narrows her eyes at me. “I know that,” she says. “So settle down.”

  I stare at her for a second before looking away.

  After a moment, she takes a bite of her oatmeal. “This is actually better than the oatmeal they’ve given us other days. I think they even put strawberries in it.”

  I take a few deep breaths to simmer down and then take a bite. And even though it’s too sweet and sticky for my taste, I have to admit that it’s not bad. Right now, this fact strikes me as oddly comforting.

  We eat in peace until Henrick speaks again. He never was one to understand the virtue of silence.

  “So, are you guys ready for the festival tonight?” Henrick asks between bites.

  “That’s tonight?” Kismet says. “I’d totally forgotten about it.”

  “When are the other Sun-Children coming?” I ask.

  “Should be here any moment now.” Henrick says, “I hear the folks from England are on their way as we speak.” His eyes light up. “Remember last year’s festival? How that woman from Ireland barfed all over the place?”

  “Funny the things you remember about our tribe’s yearly sacred event.” I say.

  “I remember it too,” Kismet says, laughing.

  “Nobody asked you anything.” I say to her.

  Kismet recoils as if hit. “Daniel,” she whispers under her breath, “Chill. The Fuck. Out.”

  I take a deep breath. Kismet never swears, so it’s pretty much a certain guess that she’s reaching her limit of patience with me. Plus, she’s right. I do need to cool it a bit. I finish my plate and then get up from the table. “I’m leaving.”

  “Where are you going?” Henrick asks.

  “Are you sad we can’t hang out or something?”

  “Of course not.” He snaps.

  Kismet stares at me, seething. “I would ask you to stay and greet our visitors, but I know you don’t like crowds.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, let’s go with that, Kis.”

  Kismet leans back and crosses her arms, her cold eyes boring into mine, her spine impossibly straight. “What are you waiting for, then?” She says. “Just go.”

  I turn around. “I’ll be at the library,” I say before walking away.

  I stop after the doors of the common hall close behind me and take a deep breath. Kismet and I get into fights all the time, but we never cross the limit. I know I’m angry at her over the whole Benedict business. That’s what’s really making me crazy.

  So I my way to the safe haven that is the library, the place I go to whenever I need to be alone and lose myself in my thoughts.

  Solitary

  I walk through the dim tunnels and stairways alone. There is nobody around but me. I am the only one who isn’t at the Dining Hall eagerly waiting for our brothers and sisters from around the world to arrive.

  Fuck them all.

  The thought of Benedict in solitary keeps gnawing at me from the inside, burning me raw. Finally, I reach the library door. It’s a copper, arched doorway with the words “Know Thyself And You Will Know The Secrets Of The Universe” engraved into it—the same words that were engraved above the Oracle of Delphi in Ancient Greece.

  Every time I read it, I feel uncomfortable. It makes me feel like I don’t know myself or some shit. I sure as hell don’t know any secrets of the universe.

  I grab the wooden handles with both hands and pull the heavy doors open. The first sight that greets me are shelves stacked to the top with books and old manuscripts. I enter the dusty, shadowy library and close the doors behind me.

  This is the only place in Agartha that doesn’t have kerosene lamps hanging from the walls. Instead, it has actual torches, enchanted to never go out until the bookkeeper commands them to. I honestly don’t see the need to go all medieval. It’s the 21st century, after all. We could at least have some decent halogen light bulbs. I don’t call the shots on the décor, but all that doesn’t really matter.

  Dickens, Tolkien, Tolstoy, Wolf… all the greats are gathered here, and they have been the sole source of my education.

  The old man in gray robes sitting at the desk to my left is the bookkeeper. His hooked nose is buried in a large, leather-bound book. I approach the desk, and he peers up at me from his half-moon spectacles.

  “Hello, Daniel.” He says. “Looking for something in particular?”

  “Hello, bookkeeper..” I say, suddenly realizing that for all the times I’ve been in the library, this is the first time I speak to this guy. “Um…do you have anything humorous?”

  “Crowded with dark thoughts, are we?” He says, and puts down his book. His cataract-covered eyes stare unblinkingly into mine.

  “What? No.”

  “Your face,” He says. “It’s shrouded in anguish. You shouldn’t worry so much, or you’ll end up old and wrinkled before your time. Like me.” He cackles in a high-pitched voice that resembles the moaning cats I sometimes hear in the Seattle alleyways at night.

  I take a step back, slightly disturbed. “Is something the matter?” He asks, smiling, and I notice he’s missing a few teeth.

  I shake my head. I don’t know him that well, but from what I’ve seen, pretty much the last person I want to share my thoughts with… is him. “No—” I was going to say ‘bookkeeper,’ but he interrupts me.

  “Eric,” He says. “My name is Eric.”

  “I appreciate it, Eric.” I say. “But I’m not in the mood to talk right now. Kind of why I came to the library in the first place…”

  He runs his fingers through his long, white beard. “As you wish.” He says, opening his book to the page where he had left off. “I’m afraid we have nothing humorous for the time being, but feel free to take a look around.”

  I drum my fingers on his desk. “Thanks, Eric.” I say before walking to
ward the right wing of the library, where the philosophy books are at.

  They aren’t humor, but what the hell..

  “Oh, and son?” Eric says, not looking up from his book.

  “Yes?”

  “Treat the books gently. They’re alive, you know.”

  I look at him for a moment, vaguely wondering whether he’s on something.

  Then I turn around and pick out a few books from the nearest shelf, my eyes grazing over the titles. But really, I’m thinking about Benedict. Again.

  I wonder why Beatrice lied to us, and what really happened the night Benedict supposedly killed an innocent. Too bad he’s in solitary and I can’t ask him anything.

  Suddenly, an idea crosses my mind…an idea that could get me in more trouble than I care for.

  I could visit Benedict.

  Henrick was punished with solitary once for skipping internal duty for a week. Kismet discovered the dungeon’s location by secretly following the guards that escorted Henrick deeper underground. Then she made me go back there every day with her to bring him some food and water until his punishment was over. It was hell, but at least now I know where the cell is at.

  I feel a strange nervousness in the pit of my stomach. If somebody sees me, I’d get thrown in the cell right next to him. And I really don’t feel like getting tortured right now.

  I hesitate for a moment before finally deciding what to do.

  I take a deep sigh. Fuck it. I have to find out what’s really going on.

  I put the books back where I found them and rush out of the library.

  “Goodbye, Daniel!” Eric yells after me. I turn around and salute him before the large doors close with a boom. I flinch at the sound and look around nervously, but there is no one in the hallways.

  I run towards the dormitories, take a torch out from one of the walls, and enter my room. I set the torch on our wall, rummage around in my suitcase for the pack where I keep my weed, and quickly roll a joint. After I’m done, I put the joint in my jacket pocket, place the torch back where I found it, and run back towards the library.

  I take a deep breath and force myself to be calm. Then I start walking to my right, trying to remember the way down to solitary, secretly thanking my lucky stars that the day I decide to do this is the day everyone is packed into the Dining Hall waiting for our international visitors to arrive.

  Slowly, the memory of the path comes back to me. I take another right, into a tunnel with fewer kerosene lamps than the main pathways and slightly damp walls, then a left into a dark hallway. I walk for a few minutes, getting farther and farther away from the lights, stepping as softly as I can so my sneakers won’t make that squishy sound on the wet floor.

  Every few steps, I feel drops of water land on my head, my arms, or my shirt. I try not to think about rats. Usually, there aren’t any in the tunnels or halls, but that’s because most tunnels and halls are clean. Who knows when was the last time someone cleaned this particular path.

  My foot gives way underneath me, landing on a very narrow step, and I lose my balance and nearly fall forward. I reach out and put a hand on the mushy, cold clay wall and squint my eyes, finally making out the shape of the spiral stairway leading down into the pitch-black pit.

  Bingo.

  I debate going back and prying one of the kerosene lamps off the wall so I can have some light, but decide against it. I’ve already come this far without a light, and I can’t risk going back and having someone see me. I take a step down, and then another, using the wall around me for support until I gain confidence and start going faster, my heartbeat accelerating as the excitement builds up inside me in the middle of the darkness.

  After minutes of going down and down into a pit of ever-increasing blackness, my foot suddenly snags on the ground, and I almost fall forward again, letting out a curse. I take a few tentative steps, realizing that there are no more stairs, which can only mean…

  “Who’s there?” A soft voice says from behind me. The sound echoes around the chamber, bouncing off the walls, making it sound like there are three or four people down here instead of just one.

  I turn around. “Benedict?” I whisper. “Is that you?” It’s so dark in here that I can barely see a few steps ahead of me. I put my hands in front of me and walk slowly toward the voice.

  “Daniel?” He says, his tone suddenly lighter. “What are you…doing here?” Benedict’s voice grows weaker toward the end of the sentence, like he ran out of breath. My hands bump into something cold and metallic, and as I wrap my fingers around it, I realize they’re chains. I follow them down with my hands until I reach the clasp tied around Benedict’s neck.

  I kneel in front of him, and his face comes into dim view. There’s blood coming out of his nose and mouth, his face and body are covered in grime, and his eyes are half-closed, as if in a daze. He’s wearing only pants, even thought it’s freezing down here. A cold, metallic fury seizes hold of me when I see him like this.

  “You’re fucking insane for coming down here.” He says, the corners of his chapped and broken lips curling up at one side. “Daniel, my man.”

  “Hey, dude.” I say, and my throat catches.

  “Please tell me you brought me some pot.” He says in his next breath.

  I actually laugh out loud. “I figured that would be one of the first things you said.” I take the joint out of my pocket. “I rolled this especially for you.”

  “You’re an angel.” He says.

  I put the joint in his mouth and light it for him. He takes a deep inhale, chuckles, and then starts coughing violently. He keeps smoking after he recovers. “I’m good on that.” He says after smoking half the joint. I put it out on the chain and then put both joint and lighter in his pocket before taking a seat beside him.

  My back leans against the stone wall… the cold piercing through the layers of clothes until it reaches my skin. I take off my jacket and throw it around Benedict. He snuggles into it then brings his knees to his chest, curling up in a ball with his back against the wall.

  “Thanks, man,” he says, his voice hoarse from smoking. “For everything.”

  “No problem.”

  We sit next to each other in silence for a few minutes. Now that I’m here and I’ve seen what they’ve done to him, I find it harder to ask what really happened, even though it’s why I came down here in the first place.

  “So…word is you’re down here because you killed an innocent person.” I finally say. He takes a deep breath, but says nothing. “Right after we handed you a criminal?” I continue. Still, he says nothing. “Becasue you were too weak from a Mission the day before, so you let the criminal escape?” I can see him squaring his jaw, which is what he always does when he gets pissed.

  “Come on, Benedict.” I say, dropping the nice act. “I know you, and you wouldn’t let that happen. You’re strong, man. You’re even stronger than me.”

  He shakes his head, laughing.

  “That’s some bullshit story fabricated by our superiors to hide the truth.” I continue. “You know it, and I know it.” I crawl around to face his bruised eyes and bloody face. “Benedict, I’m your friend.” I say, staring unblinkingly into his face. “Please, tell me the truth.”

  He stares at me stonily, but then smiles. “Shit, man. Who can look into those brown doe eyes of yours and say no?” He straightens up a little bit and brings his knees to his chin. “I’ll tell you the truth, but not all of it.” I open my mouth to complain, but he shushes me. “This is for my own protection.” His eyes are hard. I don’t really know what he means by that, but I know better than to push it.

  “Okay.”

  He takes a deep breath. “I can’t take it anymore, Daniel.” He says. “I won’t kill.”

  I stare at him, unbelieving. “What do you mean?”

  He sighs and reclines against the wall. “Most of us act like we savor taking the life from an evil criminal more than anything else in the world. And while there is a rush of pleasure
you get every time you kill, that’s all it is. An ephemeral, transient moment of delight.”

  “Benedict, you can’t be serious.” I say. “Killing is the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Hell, it’s even better than sex.”

  His eyes narrow for a second before he gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is it, though? I remember when it used to feel so good. It won’t always be that way. You’ll get tired of it as you grow older. We all do, only we’re too afraid to say it out loud.”

  “What do you mean?” I say, confused. “You’re only twenty-six.”

  “Yeah, and it grew old.” He says. “And when it did, all I was left with was guilt.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” I ask him softly, feeling heavier all of a sudden.

  “Because you’re Daniel.” He says, scoffing. “Of the Daniel and Kismet superduo. You guys love all this shit.”

  He has a point. “But I still don’t understand, Ben.” I say. “Did you kill someone last night, or didn’t you?”

  He sighs in frustration and brings his hands to his face. “What happened last night was a mistake.” He says. “I wasn’t planning on ever killing again.”

  I contain the urge to tell him our superiors would never allow that, and decide to continue the argument in his own line of thought. “Then why did you go on a Mission?” I say very slowly. “You need to regain life-force by killing someone, after you use your powers to heal.”

  “Stop talking to me like that, Daniel.” He snaps. “I haven’t gone mad, I still know how it works.”

  “Then what the fuck, man?” I say, losing patience. “Did you or didn’t you kill an innocent?”

  “I said I’d tell you part of the truth.” He says, raising his voice. “And I did. Make of it what you will.” He leans back on the wall and closes his eyes.

  I hold my tongue and wait for him to speak.

  “How many people have you killed, Daniel?” He says after a while, his eyes still closed.

  “That’s sort of a personal question.” I murmur. I light the joint again and start smoking what’s left of it. He doesn’ protest. After a while, I answer, “Twenty-four.” Yes, I’ve counted all of them. It’s impossible not to.