Nathaniel Grey and the Obsidian Crown

by Farrell Keeling

  ‘I didn’t know, Brother.’

  ‘Well I must confess I wasn’t expecting him quite so early,’ the man raised an eyebrow inquisitively at Nathaniel. ‘You may leave us Gabriel, I’m sure you’re all tired from working the mines.’

  Gabriel nodded his thanks, parting, Nathaniel noticed, with a scowl. The two boys beside him gave Nathaniel curious looks, shrugged and followed suit, leaving the Regal alone with the grey-eyed man.

  Unlike the Lycans who had escorted him, the man before him was well dressed, wearing a clear white shirt underneath a tweed waistcoat that matched his eyes. Like the Lycans however, his feet were bare underneath his trousers.

  ‘My apologies,’ the man said. ‘Gabriel can be a bit brusque at the best of times, but the boy means well. But I anticipate you have questions?’

  ‘You said I was your grandson,’ Nathaniel stuttered, staring at the old Lycan.

  ‘Yes, I believe I did.’

  ‘But my grandparents are dead.’

  ‘Not for a long time I’d hope.’

  ‘You’re a Lycan.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think that your father left out a lot of the key details.’

  ‘This is a lot to take in.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should have a seat.’

  The man held out a hand towards the cosy looking armchair off to his side, which sat facing the lit fireplace.

  ‘Please,’ the man said.

  Nathaniel looked at the armchair suspiciously. It all seemed too comfortable here. He wondered how long it would be until he was back in a cell pleading his innocence.

  ‘It won’t bite,’ the man added, with a wry smile.

  Nathaniel shot him a dark look and approached the chair tentatively. After thoroughly inspecting the cushions, he slowly lowered himself into the seat and let out a soft groan. It took a great deal of restraint to not just doze off then and there.

  He had so many questions to ask.

  The man pulled up a wooden chair beside him. Only the patches of silver hair amongst the red above his ears belied the Lycan’s apparent youth.

  ‘I am Thorne Grey,’ the man introduced himself.

  My Grandfather is a Lycan, Nathaniel thought with a shiver, I’m related to Lycans.

  ‘So, I understand you’ve had quite the interesting few days?’ Thorne said.

  Nathaniel shot him a sour look.

  ‘I wouldn’t call them interesting,’ Nathaniel replied bitterly.

  ‘Hm, perhaps not, although I must ask–’ Thorne showed a moment of hesitation, ‘–how is your grandmother?’

  ‘My grandmother?’ Nathaniel frowned, ‘my grandmother is–’

  ‘–very much alive’ Thorne interrupted, ‘I’d hope so anyway. She was the one who rescued you from your cell I’d wager. A woman by the name of Illumina?’

  Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The memory of the woman’s body being swatted away like a fly by shadows was difficult to forget.

  And you just left her there.

  Nathaniel told Thorne everything. How he’d been rescued from his cell after the Szar’s betrayal, how they’d come to meet the man in the red-trimmed robes – a man who could wield shadows.

  Thorne urged Nathaniel on with his story but scratched against his stubble even more vigorously after he’d learned of Illumina’s fate.

  ‘She’s tougher than anyone realises,’ Thorne insisted. Though he did look rather concerned.

  He then told Thorne of his arrival at the Spire, his encounter with the large, bald Hunter with the massive sword, and the meeting with a man who called himself The Shadow. Thorne went rigid in his chair. The amber in his eyes flickered dangerously.

  ‘That’s impossible,’ he murmured. Whether it was to either himself or in reply was unclear.

  Nathaniel could not help but fidget with his hands. Trying as best as he could to avoid wallowing in the silence that had crept upon them. Thorne’s eyes appeared glazed, staring off into some great unseen distance, lips moving, as if trying to piece together a word.

  ‘Thorne? What am I going to do?’ Nathaniel said. ‘Athrana’s grace, I shouldn’t even be here!’ he looked down at his soiled wedding garb in dismay. ‘And mixing with bloody Lycans at that! But the Szar wants me dead and I– Gods! You probably don’t even believe me.’

  Thorne rose abruptly from his chair and placed his hands atop the fireplace sill, bending his neck down toward the flames. Next to his eyes, the fire seemed almost cold.

  ‘I believe you,’ Thorne spoke finally. ‘But I’m afraid there is precious little else you can do. In fact, as inconvenient as you may find Dalmarra, you could not be anywhere safer–’

  ‘–I couldn’t be anywhere safer?’ Nathaniel said in disbelief, ‘I was made a prisoner in my home! And now I’m supposed to believe I’ll be safer here? With Lycans?’

  Thorne chuckled.

  ‘I admit it could be slightly out of your comfort zone, Nathaniel, but–’

  ‘–slightly?’ Nathaniel rose from his chair. ‘Are you mad? Look at me!’

  ‘How you look is inconsequential,’ Thorne said.

  ‘I’m not staying,’ Nathaniel insisted. ‘I can’t!’

  ‘Then what else will you do, hm? Go back and seek vengeance against the Szar, with the full might of the Regal Armada at his beck and call? No? Then perhaps you’d prefer to seek your fortunes elsewhere? But with what coin, I’d ask?’

  There was a sizeable purse of silvers Nathaniel knew he’d left back in his room in Obsidia. He did not have to have to pat down his tunic however, to know how little he had on him.

  ‘I’ll… I’ll find something,’ Nathaniel said determinedly, as he strode to the door.

  ‘Perhaps… I’ve heard the Old Grit is in dire need of mop-boys,’ Thorne remarked mildly. ‘But to what end? I imagine you’d survive, for now, but do you honestly believe that the Szar would not come looking for you eventually? What then?’

  ‘Then I’ll go elsewhere! Far away! He’ll never find me!’

  ‘Unless you plan to board an expedition across the Southern Seas, I doubt that,’ Thorne countered, ‘and I think you and I both know that’s not a life for you.’

  ‘You don’t know me!’ Nathaniel snapped. ‘I didn’t ask to be here!’

  ‘No, you didn’t. But if you stay, you’ll have somewhere safe for now. A place for you to gather your thoughts and prepare your next move perhaps?’

  ‘Did you not just see the look I got from that other Lycan?’ Nathanial pointed at the door. ‘They’d kill me the first chance they get!’

  ‘Gabriel is many things, but a murderer, he is not,’ Thorne laughed. ‘He is simply suspicious of your intentions.’

  ‘Then what exactly is this place?’ Nathaniel said, ‘I’m supposed to believe you’re just miners? I’m sure it must go down a treat with the humans.’

  ‘There are no humans in this mine, just Lycans,’ Thorne said. ‘And it’s so much more than just a mine.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Nathaniel narrowed his eyes.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Nathaniel. I’ll make a deal with you: you can leave whenever you want but, if you choose to stay, I will do everything in my power to help you clear your name.’

  ‘And how would you go about that?’

  ‘For that, I will need time but the offer stands.’

  Nathaniel supposed there was some truth in Thorne’s words… but still, to trust a Lycan – even if it was his Grandfather – was a dangerous gamble in itself.

  ‘I’m… not sure.’

  ‘Give it a day, at least,’ Thorne said.

  A day with Lycans… How did I get in this mess? Nathaniel thought.

  ‘I suppose I could,’ Nathaniel agreed grudgingly.

  ‘Thank you,’ Thorne said. ‘Brother Marcus should be outside already to show you around. I think Sanctuary may surprise you.’

  Nathaniel turned as he grasped the door’s handle.

  ‘A day,’ he said.

  ‘That�
�s all I ask,’ Thorne replied.

  *

  The moment the door had closed behind the Regal, Thorne turned back to the table behind him.

  ‘Hear all that, Vigil?’ Thorne spoke into the room.

  A rod, concealed under a pile of paper, flashed green.

  ‘I was present,’ Vigil’s voice entered his mind.

  ‘The Shadow… alive?’ Thorne shook his head in disbelief, ‘surely it can’t be.’

  ‘A pretender then, perhaps?’ Vigil suggested, ‘the Shadow’s connections and resources are a considerable temptation. Maybe one of his followers has taken up the mantle.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Thorne mulled the thought over. It brought him no more ease. ‘But why now? The timing of it is rather peculiar.’

  ‘Indeed,’ the rod hummed green in agreement, ‘the Regal Emperor murdered and a man who can bend shadows to his will?’

  ‘You don’t think that–’

  ‘–I think you know exactly what that means, Thorne.’

  Thorne looked back at the table.

  ‘It may soon be time to come out of hiding, old friend,’ Thorne said.

  The rod fell silent with that remark.

  Thorne sighed and dropped heavily into his chair, his body suddenly weary.

  ‘Precarious times,’ Thorne murmured.

  The small pot-full of petals he kept on the table was calling to him.

  ‘Not now,’ Thorne thought, ‘not now.’

  He closed his eyes but there she was watching him. Every feature so defined, so tangible he could almost touch her.

  ‘Thorne,’ she called to him.

  Chapter 12

  ‘Brother Marcus’ was already outside waiting for Nathaniel, as he stepped out of his Grandfather’s office.

  Grandfather…

  It felt so strange to say, regardless of what he was. His Grandfather was alive, his grandparents were alive.

  ‘Nathaniel, I presume?’ the man greeted him.

  With his easy smile and wavy brown hair caressing his forehead, Brother Marcus seemed a kindly man. Enough so that he almost made Nathaniel forget where he was.

  ‘Brother Marcus?’ Nathaniel inquired, wondering if he looked half as tense as he felt.

  ‘That would be me,’ Marcus smiled and motioned for Nathaniel to follow him. ‘Welcome to Sanctuary.’

  ‘Why is it named so?’ Nathaniel frowned.

  They took a right turn, into one of the narrow corridors. It all appeared to have been carved out of bedrock, with the walls and ceiling looking as jagged as the floor had felt down in the mines.

  ‘Well… I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions,’ Marcus replied.

  ‘So, it’s a hideout… for Lycans?’ Nathaniel enquired.

  ‘Not so much a hideout, as a safe space for us to grow and learn.’

  ‘Learn? Learn what?’

  Marcus pointed out the archways as they went along, three abreast, all leading into a room filled with desks and stools.

  ‘A classroom?’ Nathaniel said.

  ‘You didn’t think we spent all our time fighting each other to the death in mud-pits, did you?’ Marcus chuckled.

  ‘So, it’s a school?’ Nathaniel blushed, eager to move the conversation elsewhere.

  ‘Of a sort, yes,’ Marcus said.

  More classrooms were dotted about Sanctuary. However, the most interesting of all lay down one long, dark corridor.

  A set of double oak doors, with vines inscribed upon their frames – curiously like those found on the Obsidian Throne, Nathaniel noted – blocked their path.

  ‘What’s this?’ Nathaniel inquired.

  ‘Something I hope will convince you to stay,’ Marcus smiled wryly, before pushing open the doors.

  The room was like nothing else in Sanctuary.

  The slate floor ended here, to be replaced by a soft, red carpet spanning the entire space. The room was roughly circular in shape, with four tiers of bookcases. Each tier connected by spiral staircases, and slatted walkways with rich mahogany bannisters ascending up to the chandeliers. It seemed it would have better belonged in the Emperor’s palace.

  Only the Lycans, bare footed, as they perused the thousands of leatherbacks at their disposal, reminded Nathaniel of where he was.

  ‘This library,’ Nathaniel whispered, ‘its… incredible.’

  ‘Our late leader, MakVarn, built this,’ Marcus said proudly. ‘Thorne took it upon himself to expand upon his work and– what are you doing?’

  Marcus whipped out an arm just as Nathaniel attempted to cross the threshold.

  ‘But–’ Nathaniel frowned.

  ‘You are more than welcome to spend your time here,’ Marcus said. ‘As soon as you have showered… and changed,’ the Lycan looked pointedly at Nathaniel’s dirty tunic.

  *

  Managing to prise Nathaniel away from the library, Brother Marcus led the Regal back the way they came to Thorne’s office.

  Three corridors branched off here. The one they took, led to a room almost as large as the library, which housed what must have been a couple of hundred wooden bunkbeds. However, unlike regular bunkbeds – two beds, stacked vertically – these towering structures went up to six layers, with ladders that zigzagged their way up each structure. Pity the Lycan that’s prone to sleepwalking, Nathaniel thought.

  Personal belongings – a few books, a couple lyres lying in the low-hanging hammocks, and wooden boards for dice or chess – were scattered about, hanging from hooks or draped over the edges of beds and ladder rungs.

  A number of Lycans were huddled together in the middle of the room, tossing a ball in the air to each other.

  ‘I’m afraid the bunk-beds have been taken,’ Marcus told a perplexed Nathaniel. ‘But I think you’ll find the hammocks just as comfortable once you get the lay of them.’

  Nathaniel squinted into the gloom. In the far corner of the room, ragged-looking hammocks were hanging, three in a row, off poles that looked like they could nearly support the weight of the material. Nathaniel looked on in horror.

  ‘That’s where I’m sleeping?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Marcus replied. ‘We have a few other dormitories dotted about, but this is where most of the older children stay.’

  He instantly thought of Gabe and shuddered. Nathaniel hoped the Lycan boy and his cronies wouldn’t be there. Brother Marcus secured a pile of clothes – but no footwear – and a towel for Nathaniel from the washroom.

  Opposite the dormitory, was the food hall. A room even larger than the dormitory with a cavernous ceiling, housing a number of bench-tables spanning the length of the hall. Plates and bowls were dotted about the tables, stacked in piles, cutlery poking out over the ceramic edge.

  ‘Well I believe this is where we part ways,’ Marcus said, stopping outside the archway that marked the end of the corridor. ‘This is for you,’ Marcus handed Nathaniel a folded piece of paper, ‘and the washrooms are behind you.’

  Nathaniel thought he saw Brother Marcus wink before he departed.

  This is all so strange.

  With a frown, Nathaniel peeled open the paper. It looked like Brother Marcus had given him a timetable of sorts.

  Monday.

  Mines 10:00 – 11:30

  A History of Horizon 2:00 – 3:00

  Weapons Wielding 4:00 – 5:00

  Literature and Herbalism classes was also dotted about the timetable on Wednesday through till Friday. However, at a glance, Nathaniel determined that the general structure of the days remained much the same.

  ‘I didn’t say I was staying!’ Nathaniel called after Marcus but the Lycan had already disappeared.

  There was just the one washroom, which lay beyond another archway. It was a large rectangular room with white-tiles, some ridged with moss at the fringes, covering the floor. Shower taps were housed atop the wood panelling, which separated the room almost cleanly in half.

  Worst of all, however – the room was still in use.

  A girl, with her back turn
ed, folded a towel around her body, humming a tune that sounded distinctly similar to A Fine Maid’s Awaiting.

  No wonder Brother Marcus had left with a wink.

  That bloody fool dumped me in the girls’ shower room!

  Half-expecting to see a gaggle of Lycans outside the showers, giggling at his plight, Nathaniel caught himself in between leaving the room and issuing an awkward cough.

  Threading her hands through her damp, auburn hair, she turned. Bright green eyes, playfully curious, flickered over him.

  Her lips were full, her cheeks plump, but didn’t lack definition. However, her smile was something truly to behold. Like her eyes, it seemed to toy with you, yet Nathaniel could not decide if the crookedness of her white teeth made her prettier.

  Why does it matter? You are promised to another! Nathaniel reminded himself furiously. He must have made some strange utterance, for the girl chuckled lightly.

  ‘Lose something, Regal?’ she remarked with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘What? No!’ Nathaniel snapped out of his delirium, blustering heavily, as he strained to find anywhere else to rest his eyes, other than on her. ‘Athrana’s grace! I wasn’t– I mean– I was just–’

  ‘Sneaking a look?’

  ‘Gah! Gods alive! No! I just – I’ve come to the wrong shower room.’ He could already feel heat spreading across his face like wildfire.

  ‘Not at all, this is the only one,’ she said, before he could dash away.

  The only one? Nathaniel frowned. Had he heard that right?

  As the girl closed the distance between them, Nathaniel became aware that his legs weren’t responding the way they should.

  ‘I suppose you’re Nathaniel then?’ The girl said. ‘Gabe wouldn’t shut up earlier about the “pretty boy grey-skin”.’

  She was so close now he could see the dozens of freckles, spotted over the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks.

  ‘I suppose I am,’ Nathaniel replied stiffly, conscious of the fact that he was already pressed as far against the wall as possible. ‘And you are?’

  ‘You can call me Brey, Regal,’ she said, raising an eyebrow, as he edged away from her. ‘Never seen a girl before?’ she added slyly.

  Would she prefer if I stared? Nathaniel thought incredulously, wondering what he’d done exactly to earn this treatment.