Before Himitsu had a chance to jump for the roof himself, he heard the heavy trampling footsteps of soldiers outside the alley. “Run!” he whispered to his friends on the roof as he wove a single flame, sucking the starlight from the narrow path.
He bolted across the street into another alley, blowing past people bundled in raggedy cloaks or gathered underneath makeshift forts made of trashcans and dirty sheets. His speed caused one woman’s fort to collapse. To her, he would have seemed like nothing more than a strange gust. If only he could have backtracked and helped her fix it.
His goal was to find Throno’s wealthiest sectors, for they’d have the kind of hiding spots he’d need. He spent quite some time wending between side roads and backstreets, narrowly avoiding soldiers at each turn. If he hadn’t had his assassin abilities to aid him, this would have proved much more difficult.
Finally he wandered into a district full of buildings with whitewashed stone. The roads were still dirt, but that was commonplace even in wealthier areas—or what would be considered wealthy relative to the lower class.
Himitsu found what he had been looking for: a block of stone jutting from the dirt next to an inn. Luckily it was approaching three o’clock in the morning, so the area surrounding the building was deserted.
Hood over his face, Himitsu kept his presence to the side of the road. Slipping onto the pathway, he leapt onto the stone block. A metal lid was set into its surface, and he dragged it to the side before descending into the hole, using rungs bolted into the side. Darkness surrounded him after pulling the lid back into place.
He allowed himself a moment to regain his breath, pressing his forehead against a metal rung. He was separated from his father once again. Thankfully, Kaylee was with them. The mission had gone awry, as his mother had wanted. She had other plans for Himitsu—plans that couldn’t involve his father.
26
Miracle Weaver
Bryson had trekked along the Diamond Sea’s infinite expanse of blue for a week. His fingers were numb, and his nose drained down into the crease of his lips. It was the unflattering reality of the Still Kingdom’s temperatures. He may have suffered from a chill his entire life, but this had exceeded any such sensation. Someone could have bitten his ear off and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Kindoliya’s glacial wall loomed large as they neared the city. Titus—once an officer stationed atop the wall—said they were only a day and a half out.
Bryson glanced behind him to make sure nobody had dropped dead. During the past week, they had run into a couple of scares when Toshik and Director Jugtah nearly succumbed to the cold, which hadn’t been because of a lack of clothing. They were bundled up more than anyone. Only their eyes could be seen through the slits in their cold masks.
Bryson peered at the sky. Luck had been on their side throughout the journey, as the sun never had to fight off clouds. Today, however, the clouds were ominous and thick. Bryson feared what it meant, for Olivia and Titus had told him stories about the Diamond Sea’s storms during their first night here: hail the size of boulders showering the sea like rain—Bryson would have rather fought Debo in his prime.
A few pellets of ice began to rain upon Bryson. He looked down to see pebble-sized hail bouncing atop the ice. He then glanced at Olivia. “Are we in trouble?”
Titus answered with a mighty bellow instead: “RUN!”
Toshik acted first. Despite the slick ground and heavy gear, he blew past everyone toward Kindoliya. The rest of the unit followed, and Bryson joined the crowd. He lost sight of Olivia, Vuilni, Toshik, Titus, and Jugtah in the ruckus, but it was Vistas who worried him.
The Dev servant wasn’t a physical guy, and Bryson wasn’t sure how he’d respond to a situation such as this. Bryson spun in circles while the mob pushed him forward. The hail grew larger, and a chunk collided with the back of his neck, cluttering his vision with stars. He looked backward to see the storm’s brunt bearing down on them.
Refocusing his attention ahead, he had no choice but to hope that Vistas was taken care of. He pulled out ahead, his speed percentage far superior to anybody else. The crowd had changed direction to curl off from the storm’s path. Stillians weaved domed ceilings of ice above the fleeing masses, but it only took a few collisions before the hailstorm overpowered the barriers. Bryson could only hear the frantic cries of those directly surrounding him, for the storm was far louder. Boulder-sized hail hit the frozen sea with enough ferocity to nearly penetrate the surface entirely, sounding like a crack of thunder across the sky with each impact. Some hit people instead, undoubtedly killing on impact.
Once Bryson escaped the storm’s path, he collapsed onto the ice along with many others. He sucked in frigid air, only to hack it back out as it blistered his windpipe. Grimacing, he lifted his head and gazed to where the storm still raged. A lot of Devish soldiers were still stuck, falling victim to nature’s wrath, flattened beneath hail bigger than them. Most of those who escaped were Stillians or Powish. Stillians had likely handled such a storm before, so they knew how to survive it, while Powish simply had the strength to survive the blows.
Bryson gazed around to get a head count of his friendlies. He spotted Toshik, Olivia, Titus, and Director Jugtah, but he found no sign of Vuilni or Vistas. He leapt to his feet and scanned the storm from a distance, narrowing his eyes.
Vuilni broke free from the storm with Vistas on her back. She dropped to her knees and slid across the ice before coming to a stop in front of Director Jugtah and placing Vistas on the ice. His eyes were closed, but it was impossible to tell the condition he was in beneath the layers of clothing. His neck and chest were unreachable, so reading a pulse or heartbeat was impossible.
Jugtah placed his ear above Vistas’s mouth and whispered, “Not good,” and immediately removed Vistas’s top coat. “Lift him from the ice for a second,” he said, struggling to pull his arm out of his coat sleeve.
Vuilni picked up Vistas, and Jugtah spread his wool coat beneath the servant. As Vuilni lowered him onto it, Jugtah removed more layers, including his gloves, before pulling down Vistas’s collar and checking for a pulse. “Cardiac arrest,” he said.
“Which means?” Bryson asked.
“His heart isn’t beating.”
Bryson’s eyes widened. “He’s dead?!”
“Vuilni, I need his chest exposed,” Jugtah said. “Quickly. Everyone else, give me some space!”
The growing crowd backed away. Despite the ongoing storm nearby, it now seemed as if it no longer existed. Vuilni gripped Vistas’s cloak at the center, grabbing lower layers in the process. Her muscles bulged as she tore the fronts in half, exposing the pale skin of Vistas’s torso. Jugtah kicked a leg across the servant’s waist, straddling him like a horse. What was he doing?
“Get back, Vuilni,” Jugtah demanded.
As Vuilni crawled backward, Jugtah slammed his hands into Vistas’s chest. Vistas’s body jerked once from the impact, but nothing besides that. Jugtah struck him again, causing the servant to convulse a few more times.
“You’re not helping!” Bryson bellowed over the distant storm.
“It’s been a while!” Jugtah said.
The director thrust his palms into Vistas’s chest for a fifth time. This time Vistas jittered violently. Strings of electricity emitted from Jugtah’s hands, coursing over Vistas’s chest before disappearing within his skin.
Vistas’s eyes snapped open as he gasped for air. Bryson’s shoulders relaxed, but now confusion replaced fear.
While Vistas recuperated, onlookers began to whisper amongst themselves. What they had just witnessed was a miracle—or at least to their eyes. Jugtah likely had a logical explanation for what he just performed—bringing someone back from the dead. But even Bryson was at a loss for words.
As Jugtah dismounted Vistas, Vuilni began dressing the Dev servant to the best of her ability.
Jugtah quickly put on the layers he had taken off. “Adrenaline is an amazing thing,” he said. “I’m swea
ting.”
A man with hair as yellow as Thusia’s stepped out of the crowd, joining Bryson’s circle. He was one of the Devish who had been stationed at the teleplatforms. Both of his eyes glowed burgundy.
“Did you record that?” Bryson asked.
“He definitely did,” Titus replied. “The question is: who is on the other side watching?”
The Dev servant’s right eye dilated, morphing from burgundy to its natural blue. A holographic display hovered above them. In it was the unmistakable face of the Still Queen—Bryson and Olivia’s mother. She wore thick white-rimmed glasses, her violet hair sparkled with frost, and cuts ran across her neck. But her most unmistakable feature was the maniacal smile that should have broken her jaw.
“Quite a trick, sir,” she whispered. “Consider your passage into Kindoliya ... granted.”
* * *
Bryson neared the southern gate of Kindoliya’s outer wall. He waited outside with those who had survived the hailstorm, looking up the wall in awe. “You used to stand at the top of that?” he asked.
Titus glanced upward and smirked. “Yes. It was always a surreal experience.”
“I’ve never been more miserable in my life,” Toshik said, his voice muffled by the mask covering his face.
“It only grows colder within the city,” Titus said. “But that’s why I advised bringing a lot of wood. Thankfully, hailstorms don’t occur within the walls, so you’re done with that at least.”
Bryson’s teeth chattered. Perhaps it was time he equipped himself with more layers like the rest of them.
On the other side of the frozen gate, Kindoliya citizens had come to a halt as they stared back at what had to be a strange sight: foreigners—a whole group of them.
“They’ll speak of this day for decades,” Titus said.
“Do they know the specifics of who we are?” Bryson asked.
“You mean you and Olivia?”
“Yea.”
As citizens pointed in the group’s direction and spoke amongst each other, Titus said, “I think Olivia’s hair is telling, and they’re presently connecting the dots.” He went quiet as a small unit of Still soldiers in powder blue cloaks rounded the corner of an intersection a few blocks down the road. “I’m sure they’ll find out soon.”
Soldiers on the outer edges of the unit guided citizens to the side of the streets, clearing a path. This seemed to be standard protocol. But when Bryson saw what trailed the unit, his teeth managed to stop chattering. “What is that?” he asked.
“That is a tram ram,” Titus replied. “One better suited for the military, however; hence the elongated horns.”
It was a mammoth animal, decked in white fur that crashed to the ground in curtains, obscuring any legs—if they even had any. It stood taller than any one-story building, and the three horns that framed its head jutted forward at a meter’s length before ending at a deadly point—one behind each ear and a third below its chin. Bryson would have hated to be in front one of these beasts when they were charging forward. They’d likely obliterate a transit, skewering any unfortunate victims in the process.
After becoming transfixed with the tram ram, Bryson finally took notice of the man riding it. Clearly, he was of importance. “And who is that?” Bryson asked.
“Apparently, Still General Valp Quin,” Titus said. “Before the former general, Garlo, was relieved of his position, Valp was the most promising officer in the Stillian army. It comes as no surprise to me that he was promoted to the position.”
As the soldiers neared, they split to the side, making way for their commanding officer and his mighty escort. With how high he sat, it was difficult for Bryson to distinguish much about him. He was lean, with a head full of perfectly combed gray hair—undoubtedly a handsome man in his late forties.
“I’ll look like that when I’m his age,” Toshik said, speaking for the first time in a while.
“Looking like that is one thing,” Titus replied. “Becoming as great a man as him is another.”
The tram ram didn’t stop until its horns penetrated the gaps of the frozen gate. Icicles hung from its horns, and its fur glistened in frost. The general stood and walked carefully across a leather seating area equipped to the beast’s back. He descended a set of flimsy steps that had been rolled down its side. As his feet connected with the ice below, he turned toward the gate with the blankest of looks.
Valp was tall, probably taller than Toshik, Himitsu, or Debo—pushing six foot seven inches, at least. Despite the gray in his hair, his face was absent of scruff and wrinkles. His jawline looked to be sculpted from ice, like the structures of the city themselves. He stood erect, his hands behind his back. His chin, however, didn’t tilt up, which did well in extinguishing what would have been a stiff persona.
“Yes, this is definitely future me,” Toshik said.
Valp stepped forward. Unlike his subordinates donned in powder blue cloaks, he wore a white trench coat that hugged him tight until it split at his mid-thigh, revealing white pants that squeezed his legs before disappearing within the high-tops of his powder blue boots. He came to a stop across the gate, a few feet away from Bryson and company. Bryson—a couple inches away from six feet—had to look up.
“Titus Finilguster,” Valp said, his voice smooth and soothing. “Welcome back to Kindoliya.”
“It’s good to be back, General.”
Valp’s eyes fluttered across every face in the crowd, but they grew more focused as they scanned over the likes of Bryson and Olivia. Still, they did not linger. “The queen has instructed me to escort all of you in by groups that she has created. The first will be the largest. Anyone who was stationed at our kingdom’s teleplatforms will follow my unit to a secure location.” He looked over Bryson’s head, toward the back of the crowd. “That should be mostly everyone.”
Valp looked to his right and nodded his head at a soldier. The gate began to lift. “Please let them pass,” the general asked of Bryson’s inner circle.
While the personnel who had been stationed at the teleplatforms congregated behind a line of Still soldiers, Bryson noticed a rather important face missing from the group: Still Warden Moroza. Had she died in the hailstorm?
“Where’s Moroza?” Bryson asked.
“I believe she fled during the hailstorm,” Jugtah said. “I may have forgotten to mention it following the Vistas fiasco afterward.”
Bryson whirled, scanning the expansive Diamond Sea. By this point, she would have put considerable distance between herself and the city. Bryson clenched his teeth, scowling at Jugtah. Then a hand rested on his shoulder. He turned and looked up.
Valp shook his head. “That woman is nothing to worry about,” he said.
Bryson’s face relaxed, and the general gazed down at him with eyes of cinnamon. This man had an uncanny resemblance to Debo. Valp smirked, and the slightest of wrinkles wrapped around the edge of his mouth.
Valp removed his hand from Bryson’s shoulder and addressed the small group. “Titus and the miracle worker will follow the three corporals to the palace; the swordsman and the muscular young lady with braids will follow the major; and Bryson and Olivia will come with me.”
“You’re not splitting us up,” Toshik said.
“I have no choice,” Valp said with a genuine tone of remorse. “And I must apologize about your Dev servant, but we must take him alone.”
“Why?” Bryson snapped.
Valp waved a hand toward Vistas, and an officer approached the servant and began tying a blindfold around his head. “It is a necessary precaution. We will treat him nicely, as long as the miracle worker seems to be doing what it is you all claim him to be able to do. The Dev servant will receive a lavish room in one of our finer establishments, equipped with a steam room—which is not an easy find in a city such as this. He will be well fed and taken care of, but he’ll be stuck in that room until Still Queen Apoleia’s father can walk again.”
“I’ll be fine,” Vistas said, his eye
s hidden behind black cloth. “Complete the objective; heal the man.”
Jugtah shuffled behind Titus and the corporals. He seemed nervous—something Bryson had never seen from the director. Bryson was reminded of Agnos. It seemed that a lot of the intelligent ones were confident when not in danger, but the moment they were faced with a physical threat, they balled up. This wasn’t always the case, of course. Lilu was a testament to this. Bryson only hoped that Jugtah wouldn’t crack under the pressure. If he couldn’t heal Gennaio, chaos would erupt in this city because Bryson and friends definitely wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“Prince Bryson, Princess Olivia,” General Valp said, catching Bryson by surprise. He extended an arm toward his tram ram. “Shall we ride?”
* * *
Bryson stood atop the tram ram in a seating area suited for half a dozen people. While Olivia and Valp sat quietly for the beginning of their journey, Bryson gazed over the safety rails and down the tram ram’s cascading fur. It was quite a drop to the glistening streets below.
Kindoliya was beautiful. The buildings, mostly constructed of ice, reflected sunlight in multiple directions, casting violet, blue, and green lights throughout the streets. Not all pedestrians walked. Some skated to their destinations. Occasionally, Bryson passed a few other tram rams much smaller than theirs but carrying significantly more people. These tram rams were less threatening. Their horns didn’t extend as far, nor did they end at a sharp point. They were public transits—nothing more.
“Are you enjoying your sightseeing, Prince?” Valp asked.
Bryson furrowed his brows before turning toward the general. Being addressed as a prince was the last thing he had expected when visiting this city. In fact, it was the first time someone had ever addressed him as such. “Why do you call me that?”
“You are my prince,” Valp replied flatly. He gazed to his side, where Olivia sat. “As is she my princess.”
“You don’t despise us?” Bryson said—a hint of skepticism laced into his question. “We are the offspring of Mendac LeAnce. I’ve been told many times throughout my life that I look exactly like him. And Olivia here ended up siding with me when your queen invaded Phesaw a year and a half ago.”
The Chronicle Page 29
