by K R Schultz
Aibhera dashed around the corner and scrambled up the ladder. A flurry of brief noises on the street below rewarded her caution. So it’s not my imagination. Aibhera waited, every muscle tense as she peered over the parapet of the flat roof to catch sight of her stalker.
Clouds slid across the moon overhead and shrouded the street below in darkness. Aibhera cursed her luck. A figure in a hooded cloak hurried past the ladder. Her stalker was trying to pick up her trail. Darkness hid his face as he rounded the corner and disappeared. She waited until the noise of his footsteps faded away and then slid down the ladder into the shadows of the street.
More cautious now, Aibhera’s ears strained to pick out unusual sounds from the background noises, but she heard only crickets and the occasional whir of moth wings. Once she neared her own house, she caught sight of the hooded figure again. It crept around the side of the residence to where her bedroom lay. She crouched low and crept after him.
Aibhera rounded the corner in time to see her pursuer trying to climb through her bedroom window. Overhead, the clouds thinned and drifted away. Without the veil of clouds, the moon became a bright disk overhead and illuminated the prowler with its pale light.
Aibhera’s stealth and patience paid off. The prowler’s hood caught on the top of the window frame and uncovered its wearer. The moonlight rewarded Aibhera with a view of her mysterious stalker’s profile. She sprinted forward and grasped the shadowy figure’s cloak, yanking it backward. “Kyonna! Stop,” she whispered as loud as she dared. “What are you doing?”
As Aibhera tugged on the cloak, Kyonna smacked her head on the lintel. Ky whimpered in pain but did not scream.
“Aibby, why did you do that?” Ky rubbed the sore spot on her head vigorously. “That hurt.”
“Serves you right. Why did you follow me?”
“I wanted to understand why my honorable sister snuck out when she should be asleep.”
“Well, what did you discover, nosy brat?”
“Let me go. Let’s get inside before we get caught.”
“Oh…right.”
“I’m way better at this than you are,” Kyonna bragged.
Once they were both inside and seated on their beds, Aibhera said, “All right, Ky, why were you following me?”
“I wanted to know why you snuck out of the house after you thought everyone was asleep. You never sneak out at night. I do, but you? Never. That was strange enough, but instead of meeting a boy or going to The Greenhouse dance club like I do, you went to old Eideron’s house. Too weird. Then Simea showed up. I knew you were both in trouble after that huge fracas with the Synod. What is the big secret?”
“I can’t tell you, Ky. I want to, the Creator knows I want to, but Eideron swore us to silence.”
“Yeah, but we always share everything!” Ky complained. “First you go to a meeting with Eideron and don’t invite me, now you sneak off to his house… Never mind. You know what? You don’t want to tell me, and that’s fine.”
Kyonna stretched out on her bed and turned her face to the wall, resentment clear in her rigid posture.
“Don’t be like that, Ky, I can’t tell you.”
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me,” she repeated, with an icy edge to her voice.
Ky’s tone set off alarms inside Aibhera. It was unusual for Kyonna to drop an issue once she fixated on it. Aibby and Ky were sisters, but more than that, they were confidantes. They always shared their secrets, but this secret came between them, and it weakened the connection they shared. Aibby wanted to grab Kyonna’s shoulder and confront her.
It breaks my heart, but I can’t share this with her. It is hard enough to slip away with no farewells. Ky’s unwelcome interference makes it even more difficult. Keeping this secret from Kyonna is the hardest thing I have done, but our mission could demand far worse of me before long. I am about to leave Abalon forever. I will never see Ky again, and Kyonna won’t know where I’ve gone. Aibby stretched out on her bed, wept silent, bitter tears that burned trails across her face, and surrendered the outcome to the Creator.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Departure
An early riser might have noticed three silhouettes against the bright sky at the lip of the crater. Aibhera looked down into the caldera that had been her home. Abalon seemed small from this high on the rim. A network of canals and fields lay below her like a game board; the orchards and vineyards in neat rows faded off into the distance. Grain fields and gardens, at various stages of maturity, formed a patchwork pattern on the valley floor. Some patches were yellow and near harvest, others remained the bright green of new growth. Fruit trees blossomed in orderly rows and provided lines of blazing color between the fields.
They tried to capture Abalon, with all its technological complexity and natural beauty, in their memories. The central lake glistened in the caldera’s center, but beyond Lake Selatan, the blue haze of the moist morning air obscured the caldera’s opposite rim. Once they completed their wordless farewell to their home, Eideron and his young companions turned their backs on Abalon.
The three companions stood on the edge of a hostile and unfamiliar world. They stared down the slope of pitted and cratered rock, across an ocean of black sand and volcanic debris, which spread outward from where they stood on the volcano’s lip. The lush greenery of Abalon formed a fragile island of vegetation behind them. Before them, an endless black desert danced shimmering in the heat.
Eideron broke the silence, ending their individual contemplations. “Now you know why no one has left Abalon for centuries. It is also why there are no guards or barriers to prevent anyone from leaving. The wasteland stretches as far as you can see in every direction. Well, shall we continue? This is our last chance to turn back.” He waited for the youngsters’ answers as they looked across the desolate wilderness that stretched to the far horizon and remembered the history. For those Sokai who survived, the first journey to Abalon was an arduous trek. For most of their people, it was a death march, and their bodies had littered the barren wilderness like a battlefield.
Since birth, all Sokai children heard horrific tales of the migration to Abalon as they carried the supplies and technology with them to make Abalon livable. Ten thousand Sokai began the trek, but only twenty-five-hundred lived through the ordeal. The march through the barren lands that surrounded Abalon had claimed thousands of lives.
The refugees abandoned equipment along the way when there were no longer enough hands to carry it. The wasteland destroyed most of the machines left behind. Stories and songs contained several versions of their trek, woven into the fabric of their culture, and once they settled in Abalon, no one left the valley. Eideron, Aibhera, and Simea were the first Sokai to abandon Abalon’s security in over a thousand years.
The epic Sokai ballads “The Time of Sorrows” and “The March of the Ten Thousand” began with tales of attacks by creatures that prowled the edges of the wasteland. It told how the Sokai fought off those creatures before they straggled into the heat of the volcanic rubble field. Thirst and hunger took a continuous toll on their numbers until less than three thousand Sokai reached Abalon. As he viewed the vast wasteland below, those songs and legends struck fear in Eideron’s heart. I wonder if any of us can survive this journey.
The Sokai’s numbers have increased since those days. Over a million Sokai now crowd a crater a mere eighty miles across. Over thirty generations of Sokai have lived out their lives in the caldera. In death, their flesh contributes to the land’s fertility while their bones rest in the ossuaries beneath the cliff walls. My wife’s bones rest there, and I expected mine to lie beside hers soon. If Aibhera and Simea survive, they will write a new history for our people outside this protected oasis, and who knows where their bones will lie at the end of their journey.
Now they know what lies ahead, I will not blame my two young companions if they turn back. If they stay, they might live long and uneventful lives. Aibhera and Simea are abandoning their families and their herita
ge. I am old. I have less to lose than they do, but the sight of the endless desert before us has me rethinking my commitment too. I wish we had the technology the original ten thousand had available to them.
Over the last thousand years, Sokai technology atrophied in in some areas. The land speeders mentioned in the old books would have shortened the journey and increased our chances of survival. There was no way to bring the ancient land speeders over the caldera rim and down the cliff wall intact, and there was no reason for their use in Abalon. The refugees cannibalized them for parts, so they only exist as stories in the Annals of Abalon. For our return trip across the wasteland, we must walk.
Simea interrupted Eideron’s extended reverie when he answered Eideron’s question. “No, Master Eideron. We will not turn back. We only wanted to look and remember.”
“I told you not to call me master.”
“But you are our master, our teacher, no matter what the Synod said,” Aibhera argued. “You are all we have left of our homes and our heritage.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I am sorry. I regret that neither of you could say proper goodbyes to your families, but we needed to leave before they miss us. The Synod will pursue us if they realize what we have done.”
“I wish we could have taken three of the smaller gliders and loaded them with supplies,” Simea said.
“I cannot fly one,” Eideron confessed. “Can either of you pilot a glider?” Simea and Aibhera both shook their heads. “Besides, the council would suspect we took them if the gliders vanished when we did. Himish will keep them guessing where we have gone. The missing gliders would be harder for him to explain. Himish is a resourceful dissembler. He says misdirection is the most important prerequisite of a good councilor. You should have heard…oh, never mind. That’s a story for another time. Shall we descend?”
They scrambled westward, down the slope of the ancient volcano, across basalt flows and obsidian outcrops. Gravel and fine sand had collected in the crevices of the rocks. By the time they reached the base of the cone and were on flat terrain, the noonday sun struck them like a hammer blow. The slight breeze brought no relief, and occasional gusts of wind blew dust that stung and burned their eyes.
“We had better ration our water since we have no idea when we will find more,” Eideron cautioned.
The two youngsters nodded.
No doubt their throats are too dry and raw to argue, just like mine, and their thoughts are on the homes they left and the families they abandoned.
Simea and Aibhera trudged through the day’s heat and suffered in silence. Despite all their precautions and their protective clothing, the dry air and the blistering heat caused their skin to flake and peel. Sunlight reflected off the bleak landscape, and the air rippled and shimmered above the black rock. Whirlwinds, swirling maelstroms of dust and debris, scoured their skin and blew sand into their eyes. They lurched and staggered like drunken men across the ancient lava field’s uneven crust. Dust filtered into the cracks and crevices of the rock, and scrubby vegetation clung to life in those pockets. The lava had cracked in many places, creating irregular fissures and craters, which made walking perilous.
Eideron kept a steady pace without complaint and hid his frailty from Aibhera and Simea. Despite the need to watch his footing and his parched throat but driven to teach his two young companions as much as possible, Eideron maintained a steady monolog. He longed to train them in the Synod’s secret knowledge, but that required concentration. The precarious footing out on the lava field made that impossible. Instead, he taught them the history of the Thousand Years War. The long war caused the Sokai to give up hope for peace and flee their only city, Berossus, near the mountains in northeastern Baradon.
By nightfall they were footsore, tired, and coated in a fine layer of black dust. The three Sokai looked like three man-shaped lumps of charcoal moving along the desert floor. They stopped for the night in a circular depression large enough for them and their gear. The temperature plummeted, and though the rocks retained heat, they cooled rapidly after sunset. Simea scrounged enough shriveled vegetation to build a small fire.
Eideron stopped them before they prepared the evening meal. “I have things I must teach you before we travel farther. We will eat after the lesson. Think of the meal as a reward for your efforts.”
While Eideron rummaged through his pack, Simea whispered to Aibhera, “What can be more important than food and rest? I don’t understand the urgency.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Return to Sethria
“Fine, let’s see what we can do together,” Aelfric muttered to the waves, having reached his conclusion. He spat over the ship’s rail and watched it arc into the Sea Witch’s wake as she surged through the waves toward Baradon. Reservations still niggled in the back of his mind, but only time could reveal whether he had chosen wisely.
“What was it you said?” a voice behind him asked.
Aelfric turned and faced Kett. His future benefactor and partner had awakened and slipped onto the deck to stand behind him.
I am getting soft…careless. How did the little fop approach me undetected? “I said, let’s see what we can do together, you eavesdropping little sneak. Let’s hear your plan.”
“Ah, so you have made your decision. I suggest we postpone that conversation until we reach Baradon. These matters are best kept concealed, and privacy is impossible on board this ship.”
“Agreed,” Aelfric said, but the morning light shone strangely in Kett’s dark eyes. His narrowed eyes and contrived smile reminded Aelfric of a forest adder coiled and about to strike. Aelfric pretended to watch the sun glinting off the swells but watched Kett with a sideways stare and suppressed the feeling that he was the adder’s prey.
The creaking rigging, the hiss of the water against the hull, and the flapping sails filled the long silence that followed his statement. The mountains of Baradon lay ahead, visible on the horizon now. Soon he would nestle in the motherly embrace of those peaks rising from the ocean ahead.
“How long till we arrive?” he asked Kett, who leaned on the rail beside him.
“Three days, four at the outside, if I am any judge. Ask the captain if you want more than my educated guess.”
Kett was right. At nightfall on the third day, the Sea Witch sailed into Sethria. The captain and first mate shouted orders from the helm while the crewmen tied off to the wharf in a bustle of activity and noise. By the time they had the ship secured and the gangplank extended, the sun had set, and lanterns lit the dock area in pale yellow halos of light.
Aelfric had a history with the port and the city. He and Shelhera had departed for Khel Braah from Sethria. They left behind everything he had fought hard to achieve. Baradon was free of the Greens’ interference in Eniila affairs, but instead of honoring him, the council of barons repaid him with ultimatums and exile. The years changed both Aelfric and Sethria; neither of them had improved with age.
Seventeen years ago, he led the conquest of Sethria as the War Leader of the Eniila, an equivalent rank to an Abrhaani king. Once they broke the Abrhaani resistance, he left his commanders in the city to accept its surrender.
Aelfric had lost interest in the conquest because his heart lay elsewhere. Shelhera was pregnant with their first child, and word reached him that she had fallen gravely ill. Aelfric left Sethria and raced to her bedside, but before he reached her, their baby daughter was stillborn. In his absence, the army succumbed to the bloodlust that sometimes overtook his people.
Aelfric had promised deportation to Khel Braah for the defeated Abrhaani if they surrendered the city. Against his orders and in thrall to their violent passions, the warriors butchered the male inhabitants of Sethria, then raped and pillaged for two days until their bloodlust abated.
Deaths were by-products of war and did not bother Aelfric, but the warriors had dishonored him when they ignored his orders. The slaughter was not his fault, but it was his responsibility. His word bound him to the promise
of clemency for the Abrhaani. As Aelfric’s second in command, Aelrin should have reigned in the army, but instead of stopping the rampage, Aelrin joined them in their brutal acts, and because of it, Aelfric blamed Aelrin for the failure.
Aelrin and the other commanders seized the opportunity presented by Aelfric abandoning his post. They declared Aelfric a traitor to the Eniila people and an Abrhaani sympathizer because of his offer of clemency to Sethria’s citizens. Instead of gratitude for his years of leadership, they offered him three choices.
Their ultimatum left Aelfric with three alternatives: he could die at the hands of Aelrin’s co-conspirators; live in exile on Khel Braah, the home of the Abrhaani and Abrhaani sympathizers; or join the Gray Brotherhood in a City of Refuge.
Aelfric knew little of the Brotherhood or their purposes and goals. Despite the Gray Brotherhood’s reputation as fearless warriors, Aelfric and many other Eniila men branded them effeminate because when they ventured outside their Cities of Refuge, they busied themselves with alms-giving and charitable acts in the service of their mysterious, unnamed god.
Aelfric refused to abandon Shelhera, and he refused to allow them to browbeat him into submission. He had chosen exile on Khel Braah, not because he loved the Abrhaani. He picked it because he loved Shelhera and would not abandon her. He hoped to atone for his failure in some small way by helping the Abrhaani in their homeland. Wary of assassination attempts, they left Baradon for Khel Braah later that year.
Aelfric had wanted to live out his life with Shelhera, atone for Sethria, and raise their unborn children in peace, away from the intrigues endemic in Baradon. He expected no favors from the Abrhaani, and he was not disappointed.
