The Third Craft

by James Harris

Centra, in deep meditation, stirred from within the cocoon. “And I see you,” she croaked as she peeled back the lead foil protective blanket. Her voice was weak. “Asunda.” She managed a faint smile.

  Her pale-green aura was so depleted it was barely visible. She struggled to get up. “We had no warning. We managed to make it to this shelter. We’ve had no water or sustenance for days. Father is not well. He was struck by the radiation before his aura could protect him. I feel so guilty that I couldn’t warn him in time.”

  “You waited for me?”

  “I knew you would come.” Their blood bond was eternal.

  “You chose wisely. There is no way you would have survived otherwise.”

  With a brother’s loving instinct, Asunda ballooned his aura so that it encapsulated all three. He shut the lead door for added protection. Gently, he lifted the leaden cover from his father’s torso and then from his face. It took only one look at his gray skin and bloodshot eyes for him to know that his father was finished. He had a raging fever from radiation sickness. Blood was oozing from his nostrils and eyes. He stirred. He’d been blinded by the radiation, but knew the sound of his son’s voice. He reached out his hand. His trembling fingers wrapped around the back of Asunda’s wiry neck. He pulled his son toward him.

  Asunda moved closer to the old man, fighting back tears. “Father, I came as fast as …”

  His father put a finger to his tight dry lips, silencing him. “You came. That is what matters.”

  Asunda nodded. “Father, we must leave here now.”

  A thin smile cracked from his lips. “I am going nowhere. This is the end for me.” He struggled for fresh air; blood foamed and gurgled in his throat. “You take your sister and escape this city. Get back to the palace. They need you. You are their wizard.”

  Asunda looked over at Centra. She was distraught. She was biting hard on her bottom lip. He looked back at his father.

  “I won’t leave you here to die!” Asunda said.

  His father coughed, then mustered the strength to speak again, each word a struggle, “I am already dead.” He moistened his parched lips with his tongue, which was crimson with blood. It coated his lips like some kind of grotesque lipstick. “I ask only to know you are safe,” he whispered. “That my children are safe. That is the final gift that you can give me.”

  “I won’t leave,” Asunda whispered. He was like a small boy again. “Oh Father, the world shrinks to irrelevance if you are gone from it. You are the wizard of wizards. How can I ever be so wise?”

  “Wisdom begins at the end, my son. The more sand that has emptied from the hourglass of life, the more clearly we see through it.”

  His father managed another smile at his son’s obstinacy, but it faded quickly. He narrowed his sightless eyes and spoke sternly. “Wisdom is the art of seeking out and exposing lies. Oh yes, you will, young man.” The effort of raising his voice caused him to cough violently. “There are lies aplenty on this planet.”

  Alarmed and breathless, Asunda cradled his father in his arms. He felt as thin and frail as a bird. Centra squeezed closer to them both. The old man coughed hard again and reached out and grabbed both of their hands. The blood was flowing more freely from his nostrils. Suddenly he became incoherent. He gazed sightlessly beyond his two children into space. He was hallucinating. “What? What is this I see? Oh my! Oh my! OH, IT’S ALL TRUE!”

  He smiled the smile of one at peace. Grasping the hands of his children, still staring upward, he died.

  Down at street level, Kor cautiously navigated the steps of City Control. He tried to ignore the death around him but his bravado was fleeting. The spirits of the recently departed, their Beings, fluttered about him like startled pigeons. He found this unnerving and his first instinct was to flee.

  A royal often faces many disadvantages when cloistered from the real world, but Kor was struggling to rise above his fear. He imagined himself in this moment as a soldier, a commander of the realm who must steel his resolve to move forward and discover Asunda’s secret – a secret so important that Asunda would risk his life to come to this condemned city. Royals have no true friends, it is said. But Kor did, and he planned to make sure his friend made it out of Able City alive.

  “Prince Kor?’

  “I am still on-line.”

  “Sire, your safety envelope has …”

  “And what of Asunda?”

  “His envelope remains strong, Sire. Estimated time is almost one hour before corruption.”

  “And me?”

  “Sire, your time has expired.”

  “Expired!”

  “Forgive this taxi driver, but yes, you risk fatal exposure beyond the safety shield of this cab. Even then I cannot guarantee safe passage from the city.”

  What have I gotten myself into? Kor thought. He returned to the MTV. He had spotted Asunda’s taxi outside City Hall. He would sit and wait for the wizard to return.

  Asunda’s waiting MTV pulsed a strong warning message for him to abandon this place and return. “Return to the vehicle and return to the palace immediately,” the tele-sense urged. “NO DELAY.” It informed him that his chances of radiation injury and corpuscle damage, even with his superhuman aura strength, were now 40 percent.

  He’d be useless to everyone if he was dead, so he acquiesced. He grabbed Centra by the wrist and swept her from the room where their father lay.

  She tugged on his arm, jolting him back. “Wait! The Ancients. We can’t leave them here to die.”

  “Centra, no!” Asunda screamed. “I can’t last much longer. Come with me now!”

  She broke free of his grip and bolted toward an elevator. She slammed her hand against the door in frustration. It was inoperative. She coughed, hunched over with fatigue. “And I can’t last either. Asunda, we are finished unless you trust me. We have only one chance to live.”

  Centra ran toward an exit, sliding awkwardly on the polished marble floor and disappeared through a doorway. Asunda wasn’t far behind. He followed her down a long, winding, poorly lit flight of stairs. At the bottom was an ancient chamber. Centra paused as she waited for the thick chamber door to swing open, then she entered. Asunda stopped at the doorway, breathless.

  He was staring at four neatly arranged statues.

  Centra breathed hoarsely. “We have to save them, Asunda. Help me.”

  “You’re mad! You killed us to save these … these …”

  “Asunda! Trust me.”

  “How will we move them? There’s no elevator! We’re out of time!”

  “There must be a way.”

  “Centra! We must leave this place. My aura is nearly gone. And I can’t see yours. We’ll both perish for sure.”

  “We can’t abandon them. I must do this. They’re alive. Oh, Asunda, they’re so important. These Ancients hold the wisdom and knowledge of thousands of generations … We must save them.”

  “But how? I can’t lift even one of them. And now my aura may be too weak to shield me all the way back to the palace. We haven’t enough time to save ourselves, Centra. I fear we are dead.”

 

  The pair stood, speechless, amazed at the telepathic message.

 

  Stunned, Asunda approached the four figures and held his hand out. In the blink of an eye, an arm shot out and grasped it before he could jerk it back.

 

  Asunda led the group. He held onto the hand of one Ancient, who held the hand of another. Behind them Centra joined hands with the other two Ancients. They looked at each other in disbelief as they were lifted off their feet. The group seemed to float up the stairs without using their limbs at all, like Peter Pan flying low over the rooftops of London with his child friends in tow. To an onlooker, the entourage would have been an odd sight. They looked like kindergarten children strung togethe
r to safely cross the street.

  The group collectively shared the awesome power of the Ancients’ protective shield. Asunda was grateful because his shield was very weak. Still joining hands, the six figures glided across the main floor of the edifice and out the front doors.

 

  They streamed out of the building’s main door and down the stairs to Asunda’s waiting MTV vehicle. It was a tight fit, but all four Ancients managed to get into the transporter. Asunda’s aura flickered as he stooped to help his sister enter the tiny sphere. He paused for an instant and looked back at the edifice that was to be his father’s tomb.

  Asunda hugged his sister and climbed aboard. “Home,” he said to the transporter. “Let’s go home to the palace.”

  As though in response, a wayward bolt of lightning struck nearby and illuminated the ghastly scene of carnage around them. The small MTV eased away from the building and headed back to the terminal.

  Kor, hidden nearby, watched, mesmerized. He now knew Asunda’s secret.

  CHAPTER23

  The Abishot attacks on Able City were just the latest volley in a senseless war that had waged for centuries between the Narok and Abishot.

  In a confrontation years before, the powerful House of Narok had invaded the modest and weakened palaces of the Abishot and looted what sparse resources they had left. The Queen Mother of Abishot had fled into exile, abandoning her dying captive husband and child. Tradition called for the death of the Abishot heir, but legend has it that the Narok king, having a son the same age, couldn’t bring himself to kill the child. He adopted the boy in the hopes the gesture would help put an end to the constant fighting between the Houses.

  Stell and Kor grew up together as brothers until both were fifteen years old. Asunda tutored them both. They were as close as brothers could be; they even looked alike. A royal prince is permitted few friends; Stell and Kor were each other’s best friends – apart from Asunda, that is. The pair both loved the wizard.

  Asunda taught them about weaponry and poetry, history, and music. He took risks with them, seemingly in defiance of the king. He let them laser fight when still too young, he let them drive in the cons from city to city, just the two of them, alone. He trusted and respected both boys.

  Kor and Stell were talented and brilliant students. They were inseparable, insisting on sharing a room so they could talk about the day’s events until sleep claimed them. They played rough, but they played fair. Each seemed lost without the other’s company. They were dependent upon each other, feeding on their mutual trust to bolster their childhood bravado.

  Then tragedy struck. It destroyed their friendship and their trust. It happened like this:

  One evening a female servant – planted by the Queen Mother of Abishot – had secretly stolen into the boys’ room while Kor was away.

  Stell looked up from his work desk. “Who are you and how did you get the access code to this room?”

  While he spoke bravely, Stell was deathly afraid that he was about to be assassinated at any moment. Fifteen years of age was a beginning to a life, not the end of it. His hands shook and he closed his eyes to access the computer to send a message to the guards.

  The servant bowed submissively and stretched out her hands. “Please don’t. Allow me but one moment. I promise no harm will come to you. I have important news for your ears only, my liege.”

  Stell’s ego was stroked immediately. Few, if any, had referred to him as a prince. He cancelled the alert. “Go on. What is so important that you have to sneak in here like a thief? You aren’t a thief are you?”

  “Goodness no, Sire.”

  “Then out with it, girl.”

  “It’s about your father, your father by blood.”

  “The King of Abishot?” The boy whispered the name as if it were a long forgotten Latin verb.

  “The same, Sire. I have been instructed to come and reveal the truth about his death.”

  Stell moved closer to the servant. She backed away in fear. The prince’s mind powers were rumored to be strong.

  “I’m only a humble servant, my Prince. Do not punish me for what I am about to disclose.”

  “I will not harm you.”

  Bolstered by his word, she said, “Your true father was slain by the King of the House of Narok.”

  Stell shook his head. “My blood father died in the heat of battle. After his death, the empire fell.”

  “No, Sire. That is not what happened. It is true that the empire fell, but your father was alive and fought bravely before the collapse of the House of Abishot. He was captured and murdered in cold blood. The queen mother escaped through a secret passage, but she wasn’t able to rescue you in the nursery. You were taken captive by the Narok. The king ordered your kidnapping. And now, today, the House of Narok uses your captivity as a way to keep the Abishot enslaved. The Narok claim that they will slay you if we resist their tyranny.”

  “You’re lying! You will pay dearly for this.” Stell rose against the servant and she backed away with her hand out toward him.

  “I can prove that I speak the truth. Here, watch this history pod of the events of that day. It was given to me by the Queen Mother of Abishot herself, your own mother.”

  Stell snatched the pod and held it in the air. He squeezed his eyes and the Central computer read the encrypted data and relayed it telepathically to Stell.

  Two minutes later it was done.

  Stell, notorious for his short temper, lost control. He felt that the only father he had known had betrayed him. Although he had been told that he was the adopted prince of the House of Abishot, it was evident from the pod that he was not told the whole truth about the circumstances that had led to the so-called adoption.

  As far as he was concerned, he was no longer an adopted son – he was a prisoner. His world dissolved around him. He slumped in his chair and waved his hand limply. “Leave me.”

  “Certainly, Sire. But before I leave I have someone here who wishes to see you.”

  “Who would that possibly be?”

  The door opened suddenly. “Me, Your Highness.” The man dropped to one knee as his hand crossed his chest. “I am Simon, your humble personal guard.”

  A second grinning figure appeared at the door. “And me. I am Thomas. Simon and I were your personal guards, your CPD, the night you were kidnapped. We have come to help you come home.”

  “We have come to tell you that you are no longer a prisoner here,” Simon said. “If you wish, that is.”

  “Is it true that the King of Narok killed my father?” The skinny boy looked wretched.

  “Yes, Sire. It is,” Thomas said.

  “Is it true that I am a prisoner here?” Stell said through tight lips, his fists clenched.

  “It is. You have been cleverly deceived.”

  “Maybe it’s you who are the ones who are doing the deceiving. Maybe I should have your tongues cut out to prevent more lies.”

  “Maybe. You are right not to trust us without proof, but we have given you proof. Besides, we are your blood kin, not these Narok,” Simon said.

  “Why else would we risk our lives to save you? What would we have to gain by trickery?” Thomas added.

  “And they will murder me if the Abishot rebel?”

  “So they claim, and we believe them to be capable of such a heinous deed,” Thomas said.

  “You’ve come to rescue me?”

  “We have,” Simon said.

  “And who shall lead this escape?”

  “You, my lord.”

  Stell looked from one to the other in confusion. And then in comprehension of his new found power, he said, “Well then, we shouldn’t tarry. Kor returns soon.”

  The boys’ CPD lay in a heap and the corridor was empty. Stell temporar
ily disabled the palace tracking system using the Royal code. He turned one last time and stared at the room he shared with Kor. His eyes looked about and memories flooded his mind. He stepped back from the door and it flicked closed. Kor was no longer his brother, no longer his friend but an enemy.

  “I have jammed the Signature Identification System. But only temporarily. The SIS will be back on-line in about ten minutes.”

  “We have a secret way out, Sire,” Simon said.

  Stell frowned. “Then you must have had a secret way in.”

  Simon smiled devilishly. “Follow me.”

  The group stealthily raced down one corridor and then another. Simon halted abruptly in front of an old statue of an ancient warrior. Its armor glistened like liquid silver in the pale light.

  “Over here, Sire. Remove the sword and thrust it firmly into the guts of the statue.”

  Stell did as instructed. Hidden sensors identified his fingerprints and genetic ID as he grasped the handle of the sword. The thrusting into the statue was merely theatre. There was a soft click and the statue spun in a half circle revealing a narrow hidden door crudely cut into the wall behind.

  As if on cue, a general alarm sounded.

  “Hurry. They have reconfigured my instrument jamming. They will be able to trace my Signature.”

  “And ours,” Thomas said.

  “Not to worry. They don’t know who they are chasing … yet.”

  “There is a Signature mask hidden in the passageway. With luck we can make it there before they trace us,” Thomas said.

  The four of them raced down the dark passageway, bumping painfully into the rough walls as they ran. There was a green glow ahead.

  “There. Straight ahead. There are provisions for our escape, including a mask. Hurry,” Simon said.

  He ripped open the sack and threw a heavy cloak at Stell. Stell immediately donned the cloak and lifted the hood to cover his head. The lead-lined cloak blocked his Signature frequency from radiating outward. He was now invisible to the Narok tracking mechanisms.

  The group armed themselves with light weapons. They dashed down the narrow passage. Minutes later, Simon held his hand up and placed a finger to his lips.