The Orphan's Secret

by R. J. Francis

  Elaina stood up and surveyed each fresco one by one. She noticed there was a fifth one in the back of the room, over the entrance door, captioned “Mysteries.” Its panel was all black except for a miniscule white sun in the center. “What’s this one about?” she asked.

  “That’s our academy’s philosophy,” Nastasha explained. “What we can sense and describe is a minute fraction of reality. The tiny star represents all the disciplines combined. The blackness all around it is what we still don’t know. We still have much to learn.”

  “I sure have a lot to learn,” said Elaina. “What are Celmareans like? What do we believe?”

  Nastasha massaged her left knuckles nervously with her right thumb. “Goodness, where should I start? Do you know anything about them?”

  “Nothing. Except that they were wiped out.”

  “Oh, yes. That they were. Well, not completely, thankfully.” Nastasha motioned for Elaina to follow her to the head table. “Let’s sit down. There’s a lot to tell.” They sank into the red leather upholstery of two ancient wooden chairs.

  Some of what Nastasha knew about Elaina’s people wasn’t pretty, but she chose to begin her lesson on a positive note: “Celmareans are all about joy. Their goal is for everyone in their community to be as happy as they can possibly be. They are keen learners, but they don’t let the search for knowledge dominate their thoughts and actions as we sometimes do. They’re guided by something they call Areu.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, it’s both a concept and an extra sense that they have. In our language, it might be translated as ‘clarity’, or perhaps even ‘purity’ or ‘cleanness’. Celmareans rely more on intuition than on logic when making decisions. Areu helps them detect things that corrupt the flow of intuition, and gives them the resolve to eliminate the corrupting factor. It surfaces whenever they need to fight off a cold, solve an argument…”

  “Or kill someone.”

  Nastasha shuddered. “I suppose that’s another example.” In truth, Nastasha had always admired the Celmareans’ resolve, and hoped if she were ever in a position where she had to take someone’s life, she wouldn’t hesitate.

  “Your people sought pleasure," she continued, “believing that pleasure enhances the connection with the spiritual. But they never associated money and power with pleasure: they focused on family, fun, and sharing. Not only were they happier and more relaxed than other cultures, they had plenty of wealth to go around.”

  “I bet others rejected us because our values were so different,” Elaina said.

  “Areu led your people to do their share of rejecting as well. They refused to establish ties with the mainlanders—even with Arra. They welcomed friendly visitors to their island, but they never let them stay for long. As you can imagine, they found plenty of impure influences in their guests.”

  She continued: “Anyway, the Celmareans were experts in all of the aesthetic arts. Their palace, their temples and their shrines were rumored to be artistic and architectural wonders. They wrote exquisite poems about love, nature, the sea… They composed incredible melodies—I know a few, and I can play them for you. They were athletic, but it was just for fitness—they never competed. They had cohesive, loving families.”

  “It sounds like paradise.”

  “I wish I could have seen how they lived in their own land. I wonder how long the council would have let me stay.”

  “The council?”

  “Your country was a principality. It was ruled by a council of princesses.”

  Elaina smiled. “A council of princesses? How many princesses were there?”

  “Six or seven I think, and all were on the council. Royalty was passed through the maternal line. There could have been three or four generations of princesses on the council. I can only wonder at the dynamic: imagine a three-year-old whose vote counted the same as her grandmother’s!”

  “There was never a queen?”

  “Nope. Never a queen.”

  “Were there any men in the government?”

  “Yes, there were,” Nastasha said. “But at the top there were only females.”

  “I’m so lucky you know all of this.”

  “Well, in my eighth year I did my end-of-term paper on Celmarea. I even got to interview the queen. We were to research rites of passage in neighboring cultures. I ended up writing about Kalmise. I assume you haven’t heard of it.”

  “Is that one of our rites of passage?”

  “In a way, and it’s definitely something you should be aware of. Celmareans go through two periods of rapid development during their teenage years. The first one, in early adolescence, is called Desimise, and it is analogous to our puberty. You probably recall…”

  Elaina nodded. She recalled puberty all too well. No need to go into that.

  “Well, as Celmareans near adulthood, they go through a second turbulent stage called Kalmise.”

  “I’m going to go through puberty again?”

  “No,” Nastasha said. “Well, not exactly. But the changes of Kalmise can be just as drastic—especially for females.”

  Elaina slid to the edge of her chair. Alessa had said her world was becoming more exciting—and more dangerous. “What am I to expect?”

  “Has Alessa ever told you about empathy? It’s the ability to sense the feelings of other people, even people far away.”

  “She hasn’t told me much about it, but lately I’m sure I’ve experienced it. I’ve not only sensed feelings, but thoughts, words…”

  “Well, Kalmise is when a Celmarean’s keen empathic sense manifests itself. This is when you’ll learn to trust your intuition, and to use it rather than logic to make decisions.”

  “And controlling water? That starts around the same time?”

  “Yes. The two abilities are related in ways I’ve never really understood. Something about being able to reach out with your spirit.”

  “How long does Kalmise last?” Elaina asked.

  “The changes will be with you for the rest of your life. Only they won’t seem as scary after a while.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Elaina. “You must have got a high mark on your paper.”

  Nastasha laughed. “The queen’s the only person who ever read it. She ordered my instructor to give me the highest mark possible, and then she destroyed it. She didn’t want my research made public, but I can’t imagine her intuition would have let her tell me anything she shouldn’t have.”

  “Perhaps she knew we’d be having this conversation today,” said Elaina.

  “Oh, that’s just spooky, Elaina.”

  Elaina enjoyed hearing about her people, and certainly appreciated the explanation of Kalmise. “And what about the war?” she asked. “What can you tell me of that?”

  “Prince Radovan and his army wiped out the Celmareans in less than a day, along with most of the Arrans who had come to defend the island. Nobody knows for sure why he attacked, but most likely it’s because the Celmareans wouldn’t trade with him. A ten-thousand-year-old culture, destroyed before sunset. It’s absolutely incredible.”

  “Lairen told me my parents died when I was small. I bet they died in the war.”

  “They probably did,” she said. “You would have died too, if Jaimin’s father hadn’t rescued you.”

  “King Julian?”

  “He was a prince too at the time. Julian was the one who led the Arran army and navy in Celmarea’s defense—in fact, it was said to be his idea. When his forces retreated, they brought about twenty Celmareans here, to Arra. You must have been in that group. You, and Alessa, and Alethea.”

  “I owe Jaimin’s father my life, then. I can’t imagine how he must have suffered defending us! And losing all those men! Where are the other Celmarean survivors now?” Elaina asked.

  “They went north. To Audicia and Skarjia. They didn’t want to live this close to Radovan.”

  “But Alethea stayed?”

  “Right,” said Nastasha. “She…had fal
len in love with Julian. And it seems you and Alessa stayed too.”

  “Alessa kept all of this from me,” she said.

  “Don’t fault her for that. I can tell she really loves you and would tell you everything if she were allowed to. Don’t worry. I shall come visit you and fill you in on everything you’ve missed. And I shall look for that book Alessa mentioned.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Elaina said, wiping a few tears from her eyes with the back of her fingers. Beneath Nastasha’s smile, Elaina sensed a great deal of pain, but she didn’t know Nastasha well enough to understand what she sensed. “We should check back on Jem,” Elaina said. “I want to see him before the king sends me off.”

  “All right,” said Nastasha. “Let’s go.”

  Galen showed Nastasha and Elaina into the operating room. Jaimin was sitting up in bed eating his favorite dessert: apple yogurt with spiced butter crumbles. “Can you please put these up there?” he asked, handing his bowl and spoon to Nastasha, who set them on a bedside tray.

  Nastasha squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said. “I must run home for a minute. I shall see you soon.” She slipped out. Elaina came to the prince’s side.

  “You look great,” Elaina said, her eyes tearing with relief. “Better than great.” She slid her hands behind his neck and kissed his forehead.

  “I’ve been such trouble for you. This is not how I expected your first visit here would go,” he said. “Galen filled me in on everything that happened last night—to me, to Nastasha, to you,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Alessa thinks I’ll recover quickly.”

  “Of course you will. You have that magical blood. I had no idea you were related to my mother.”

  Elaina giggled. “I’m not related to your mother. Just because we’re from the same country doesn’t mean we’re related.”

  “I’m teasing.”

  “You don’t mind that I’m an outsider?”

  “You could be a Destaurian and I wouldn’t mind,” he said.

  “Be serious!”

  “So can you do all those tricks with water?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Let me see,” he said, pointing to a glass of water on the tray.

  “I’m really bad at it, Jem, I’d probably get it all over you.”

  “Please, I insist. Bring the tray over here.”

  “I don’t even know what I’m doing,”

  “You must. The patient’s throat is parched! How cruel to deny him a sip.”

  She rolled her eyes and brought over the tray, setting it on his lap. “I warned you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Focusing on the center of the water, she focused her intent and drew out a perfect sphere the size of a large marble. The prince saw his reflection on its surface.

  “Wonderful,” he said. “That’s perfect. Now lead it over here.” She steered the globule in Jaimin’s direction and almost burst out laughing when she saw him with his mouth wide open. Unlike at the pool, though, she maintained her concentration, and deftly guided the perfect shape into his mouth. Experimenting further, she didn’t let the water fall; instead, she held it in a coherent mass, letting him drink a sip at a time. Eventually, she let him swallow the last bit.

  “You are tricky,” he said.

  “I’m an artist.” She leaned in and kissed him on his lips.

  “Jem,” she said, “I know we just recently met, but do you think I might ask you to stay out of other girls’ bedrooms? Especially girls who mean to kill you.”

  “I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “Your father isn’t going to allow me to stay, so I won’t be able to keep an eye on you. In fact, I haven’t even worked out how we’ll see each other after today.”

  “I’ll find a way,” Jaimin said. “My father can’t keep us apart.”

  She ran her fingers through Jaimin’s dark curls, which were matted from his sweaty spells of the previous night. “I’m in love with you,” she said. They kissed again. She could taste apple this time.

  When Jaimin opened his eyes, he saw something move in the shadows near the door. “Is someone here?” he whispered. Elaina, who was pretty much on top of him now, spun off and planted her feet on the floor.

  King Julian stepped into the light, stroking his beard. “Your Majesty,” she said, curtseying. The king frowned, sighed through his nose, and left through the open door.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The bushy hem of King Julian’s royal blue robes glided behind him just off the floor. He turned down the north wing’s main corridor, greeting a group of passing ministers with a nod.

  Donning his gloves, he stepped out into the bitter cold of the courtyard and crossed toward the funeral hall. A pair of royal guards ran to unlock the gate. “Stay out here,” he said, commandeering a lit torch from one of them. He made his way down the stairs.

  Once inside the ancient hall, he spent some time kneeling before Victor’s casket. The air was stale and maddeningly quiet.

  The king’s mind was mired in thoughts of Elaina. Surely she’d returned to demand that he answer for all his missteps. It made sense that the first thing she’d take was his only son. Next, his rule, his life—all borrowed, anyway. He spread his gloved hands on the casket’s polished wooden lid. “Wait for me, my friend,” he whispered. “I won’t be long.”

  Ducking into an alcove off the chamber’s left wall, Julian stepped down into his past by way of a cramped spiral staircase. There had been a time in his life when each evening he’d make this pilgrimage. He’d eventually stopped coming down here—not because anything had been resolved, but because he had a new baby boy to worry about.

  The staircase opened into an antechamber. Before him were the catacombs: parallel halls where etched into the marble walls were the names of court officials and their family members who had passed on. Even after nine hundred years, the names of some of the first Arrans—the original builders of the castle—were legible. To his left, a towering door of gilded mahogany was open, beckoning him into the Hall of Kings.

  The walls, floor, fluted columns, and vaulted ceiling of the Hall of Kings were of a lustrous Arran granite known as “fine white.” The floor was inlaid in an octagonal pattern with strips of mahogany. Alcoves on the room’s perimeter cupped life-sized marble statues of all thirty-six Arran kings, beginning with Audric, and ending with King James, Julian’s father. Etched into a bronze plaque below each statue was a paragraph summarizing what that king had accomplished and what the people had achieved under his rule.

  Julian visited each statue to weigh his own successes against those of his ancestor. Each time he looked into the face of a king he felt he’d fallen short, and by the time he reached his father, he was in a daze of despair.

  His father, King James, had always seemed to be able to tap into the strengths of the kings of the past and to excel. In fact, James had so many noteworthy achievements to his credit, his plaque was longer than all the others, and its letters were smaller, to fit more in. It was only after illness forced James to hand over most of his responsibilities to Julian that Arra’s fortune had waned.

  Finally, Julian stood before the vacant pedestal that would someday support his own statue. He couldn’t picture himself up there at all. In his estimation, he wasn’t even worthy of entering this room.

  Julian left the Hall of Kings, closing and latching the heavy door behind him, and descended into the century vaults, where those who had died within the past century were entombed. An open drawer was ready to receive Victor’s body, whenever his family thought it was time. On the wall’s far end were fancier tombs holding the crumbling remains of Julian’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather.

  He headed toward a section of wall where thirty-one plaques all shared the same date of death: the twenty-first day of the third month of spring, in the year 1006. He reminded himself, as he always did when he came here, that for each of these e
lites a hundred others had also perished as a result of his decisions. Setting his torch in a holder, he knelt down before a marker that read: “Stephan, Son of James the King.”

  Julian closed his eyes and the old scene played out once again. He went back to the worst day of his life.

  It was hot even in the shade that day in the Celmarean palace; the late spring heat wave was well into its second week. The memory began as it always had, with Julian dashing down the corridor with his younger brother Prince Stephan, Captain Valeriy, two Arran soldiers, Princess Alethea, and Princess Andienna, who held the young girl in the powder blue dress.

  The white marble palace had been impeccably maintained over its three-thousand-year history by members of a single Celmarean family, a clan known as Lemsenuerea: “Our Keepers.” Nautilus shells, sea stars, and even urchins with a hundred spines were carved in high relief into the coffered ceiling. Concave alcoves lined the hall. Some were empty; the others featured either a whitewashed wooden door with brass hardware, or a massive marble vase overflowing with wildflowers, or a low marble bench with a blue-beaded cushion. The level was splotched with scintillating pools of daylight, drawn down from the roof by a network of light tubes. Two inlaid stripes of pale brown marble ran parallel down the hall’s length.

  Andienna opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted by a Crack! Crack! from behind them. A bolt from a powered crossbow—a recent Destaurian invention that used powder to fire up to three bolts in succession—punched through the neck of the soldier beside her, bringing him down. Another just missed Andienna’s shoulder. She whimpered in panic.

  The doomed soldier twitched a few times on the floor, life spilling from his neck wound, as everyone else scrambled to take cover in the nearest alcoves. Julian, Alethea and Valeriy split off to the left side of the corridor; Andienna, Stephan, and the other soldier had jumped to the right.