Tashami sprinted for the stairs that connected the forecastle and the main deck. Agnos observed the sea ahead, as it proved his theory correct. With sunlight gone, the waves calmed, eventually disappearing entirely. The waters lay as flat as the Intel Kingdom’s prairies. After over fifteen centuries, finally, someone had arrived to discover a legend.
* * *
Another interesting quality of this mapped but unnamed island—besides its close proximity to Phesaw—was its terrain. It jutted from the sea, but only by a few feet. It didn’t have a shoreline, berms, or even a plunge point—just a sheer drop below the ocean, sort of like an underwater cliff side. The island housed no animal or plant life, only the hard crust of the land.
But this didn’t require Agnos’s attention. He knew where he needed to go: to the seafloor. The cave was likely at the bottom of the strange landmass. As he crouched low on the rail above the ship’s bow, he gazed down into the Sea of Light. Despite its name, only darkness swirled below him. This dive would have been less daunting had it taken place with daylight.
Agnos exhaled slowly, calming himself. Standing tall, he turned and faced the rest of the ship, illuminated by lanterns and Intelights created by the seashockers of his crew.
“Remember, the moment I take the plunge, you return to safety’s edge!” Agnos said, raising his voice for the first time as a captain. For this, it was necessary. He wanted his crew to understand the severity of this rule. “Take the ship away from these waters! When I resurface, I will make sure to do so away from the island! If there is no sign of me by nightfall tomorrow, return to DaiSo with Tashami as captain!”
Agnos went quiet, waiting for a response. Zorra asked for it instead. “You idiots got that?” she screamed.
“Aye!”
Agnos nodded, turning toward the waters once more. Stepping off the rail, he blew into the bottom hole of Orbaculum, encasing himself in a bubble as tough as steel. He plummeted into the sea, then sunk like an anchor.
35
Waiting Game
Still Queen Apoleia yanked at Jugtah’s arm, pulling him across the Icebound Confluence and past the Statue of Gefal. She released her grip and placed her fingers against a door that led to the residential wing of the palace. Ice coursed through the door’s grooves, following a path that only her and a couple family members understood. Once the ice reached a snowflake-shaped indention, the door melted. Quickly, she stepped though and tugged Jugtah with her. Her sister, Ropinia, followed behind them.
“I thought we weren’t doing this until Thursday,” Jugtah said, a hint of skepticism in his tone.
“That was the original plan,” Apoleia muttered. “But plans change. It must be done now.”
Jugtah gazed back at Ropinia, for he had come to learn that she was the more delicate of the two. But Ropinia only closed her eyes and shook her head.
As they traversed the opulent corridors and stairways, Apoleia said, “You’ve proven that you can weave miracles. I’ve frozen countless prisoners to death only to watch you bring them back to life seconds later—however, not always with success. Now all I ask is that you restore movement to my father’s body, a man unlike the criminals you’ve resuscitated; he deserves this.”
“And if I fail ...”
“Then you die,” Apoleia said.
Jugtah shuddered as they reached a door. Apoleia opened it and guided him inside. The room was magnificent. Shaped as a circle, a kaleidoscope of ice coated its walls, ceiling, and floor, casting sunlight in several different directions. Only a few items in the room weren’t frozen—the bed being one of them. A lump protruded in the outline of covers. Gennaio was a large man.
Apoleia’s grip around Jugtah’s wrist relaxed as she neared her father. Ropinia remained in the doorway, watching from afar. Letting completely go of Jugtah, Apoleia placed her hand against Gennaio’s temple. His eyes had already been open, and they didn’t move following her touch. This man was nothing more than a plastic doll in his current condition. Jugtah questioned how they managed to nourish him, until he noticed a plastic tube and a baggie lying on a nightstand. Still, that didn’t explain the time he had witnessed Apoleia pushing a cart full of food out of the kitchen one day, claiming it was for her dad.
“The miracle weaver is here to heal you,” Apoleia whispered, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. “You will pull me into your embrace once again.”
A wave of pity washed over Jugtah. Suddenly, he wanted this to succeed for more than just the mission, but for a daughter who had missed her father.
She backed away and took a deep breath, her violet hair blending in with the colorful lights that rebounded throughout the room. Her eyes finally fell on Jugtah.
“Go ahead.”
* * *
Bryson, Olivia, Toshik, and Vuilni stood at the counter in Frostbite Diner for what had to be the twelfth time in their six days in Kindoliya. Olivia had raved about the place throughout the entire first day in the capital, claiming that they had the best signature drink in all the land.
She had turned out to be right. Bryson and Vuilni had fallen in love, and while Toshik tried to mask it behind his permanent sulk, they all could tell he secretly enjoyed it. The best part about the drink—outside of watching its preparation—was hearing Olivia say its name.
“Summit Buh-buh-buh-buh-Breeze,” she’d say, which would then be followed by laughter from Bryson and Vuilni. Even Toshik smirked once.
They sat in a booth, Bryson and Olivia to one side, and Vuilni and Toshik to the other. While Toshik stared out the frost-covered window, watching passersby in the frozen street, the rest of them conversed.
“We need to do something,” Bryson said.
Olivia crunched loudly on the ever-ice that coated the rim of her mug. “You bring this up every day, yet the conversation never goes where you want it to.”
As Vuilni nodded in agreement, Bryson said, “This feels like a vacation, not a mission.”
“Well, this mission is in Jugtah’s and Titus’s hands, and it might be that way for a while,” Olivia said dully. “If we were to do anything as reckless as you’ve suggested lately, we can kiss any potential deal goodbye.”
“But we can—”
“We’re not storming the palace,” Olivia interjected.
“Yea, but—”
“And we’re not infiltrating it either,” she added, cutting Bryson off once again.
Bryson pouted, plopping his chin in his hand. Vuilni smiled and said, “The two of you are amusing.”
Bryson glanced at Vuilni, biting his tongue. It used to be three of us, he thought, but Meow Meow is gone.
Olivia gave Bryson a dry look. While she could express emotion, she did it rarely—not to mention she looked awkward doing so. “This is our mother we’re speaking of. Please, let’s do this right.”
Bryson lazily returned her gaze before huffing. “Fine.”
“I swear,” Vuilni said. “Every day, it’s a reoccurring loop between the two of you.”
“We’re going to break that loop today,” Olivia said.
“What do you mean?” Vuilni asked, raising her mug to her lips and taking a sip.
“I have something to show you—something I’ve been trying to resist since arriving here, but now realize is impossible.”
Bryson slapped his hand against the table and stood up. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”
As Vuilni and Toshik slid out of their booth seat, Vuilni asked, “Is it something mysterious?”
“A guilty pleasure,” Olivia replied, grabbing some Stillian coin from her pocket and leaving it on the table. “A talent that Meow Meow would have wanted me to flaunt.”
Bryson’s eyebrows climbed his forehead as Olivia walked past and headed for the exit. That was the first time he had heard her mention the kitten hat since Toono had taken it from her.
* * *
With a bemused expression on his face, Bryson stared at the ice rink that lay somewhere in the middle of a frozen, sn
owy park. He glanced down at Olivia, who sat on a bench, slipping her small feet into clunky looking contraptions that she called ice skates. He looked back out at the rink, where Kindoliyan citizens maneuvered on the ice like they had nothing on their feet. Most skated in circles while a few leapt into the air. One person even added a twist while airborne.
“It’s such a pretty activity,” Vuilni said, forcing her own feet into a pair of skates.
Something heavy hit Bryson’s butt as he leaned against a short wooden fence. He turned and looked down to find another pair of skates lying in the snow. “Be careful with that,” he whined, reaching down to pick them up. “These things have blades on them.”
They finished gearing up, which took some time because of Bryson and Vuilni. But, eventually, they made it to the rink’s edge. Bryson stomped awkwardly in his skates through the snow. These things felt as clunky as they looked.
While Bryson remained safely planted in the snow, Olivia transitioned smoothly onto the ice. She skated effortlessly, her shoulders rocking side to side with each stride. Vuilni, too, stepped onto the ice. She barely moved her feet and kept two hands glued to the wooden fence for support, but credit to her for trying. During the few seconds Bryson was distracted by Vuilni, Olivia made it halfway across the rink. Her pace increased exponentially, and she blew past others. As she reached the final bend before completing the ovular circuit, she leapt into the air, twirled, and landed backward. She skated in reverse until reaching Bryson again, where she slid to a stop in front of him, shaving ice from the rink into the air.
“That was the most graceful display I’ve ever seen,” Vuilni said. She had only made it a few feet down the length of the fence.
Bryson guffawed. “And I’ve been embarrassed about my musical talent my entire life.”
Olivia smirked and extended her hand. “Here, I’ll help you.”
Bryson placed his gloved hand in hers. “I’m not going to be able to move like that with all of these layers I have on.” He felt stiff and likely looked it, too.
“I think Debo had a saying when faced with such excuses,” Olivia replied, now offering both hands as Bryson nearly slipped with each step across the ice.
She was right. He had heard it many times throughout his childhood, as well as when Lilu first visited his house to receive speed training lessons from Debo. Training under circumstances that cater to you is not ideal. In order to get better, you must train in conditions that are meant to hinder you.
Still, even Bryson thought this was a bit much. “Moving across ice on blades isn’t natural,” he said.
“And you think sprinting through a peg course with the added weight of Rhyparia’s increased gravity is?” she asked.
He shrugged. A passerby skated past the siblings, knocking Bryson onto the ice. He lay there like a hapless fish above water, minus the flailing. Olivia bent over and picked him up by the shoulder, standing him up straight.
Bryson scowled at the woman who had been the culprit. Olivia giggled. “You found that funny, did you?” he asked.
She nodded playfully.
After a long pause, he asked, “Do you recall what it was like before we became Jestivan?”
“Of course.”
“We saw each other all day, every day,” Bryson reminisced, “until your curfew, obviously. Once we became Jestivan, that all changed. At first, it was our separation because of the two teams. You’d always spend time with Lilu, Agnos, Tashami, and Yama, while I hung out with Himitsu, Jilly, Toshik, and Rhyparia. Then, ever since the Generals’ Battle, we’ve been separated because of missions. Considering all of this, it’s shameful to call ourselves siblings.”
Bryson paused. Olivia’s smile had fallen flat once again. He continued. “I think that’s why I’ve been frustrated this past week. This is supposed to be a serious mission, but part of me has secretly enjoyed the relaxed nature of what has turned out to be nothing more than a vacation. And that’s because I’ve found myself in a situation I haven’t been in for years. I’m spending all my time with you—and not only that, but I’m doing so in what I feel like should be our proper home. I feel like I have my best friend back.”
With a blank gaze, Olivia said, “You are my brother, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be my best friend, too. I love you, Bry.”
“Will you ever give me a hug?”
“No.”
As he frowned, a new voice said, “I think I’m getting the hang of it.” Vuilni had somehow made it to the center of the rink. She wobbled, but at least she could cover ground.
Bryson looked over Vuilni’s shoulder, toward the spectator’s area. Toshik sat on a bench, slumped over with his elbows on his knees while he stared at the snow. Vuilni turned to follow Bryson’s gaze.
“I don’t know if we’ll ever see the old Toshik again,” Vuilni said. “He could chase down Yama and kill her, and that still would make no difference. He’s lost too much, and vengeance is no cure.”
“We can never lose faith in him,” Bryson said. “His path as a Jestivan has been eerily similar to Mendac’s. On the verge of death, saved from a finishing blow by the woman he loved as she offered her life in place of his own.”
“I’ve done my best to support him this past week,” Vuilni said, wobbling again as she nearly lost her footing.
Bryson nodded gravely. “I appreciate that.”
The trio continued skating for the next hour. Noon approached, and the sun began to slip behind Earth, casting the Dark Realm in second-night’s darkness—a phenomenon not experienced in the Light Realm.
One of the more intriguing aspects of Kindoliya was its architecture. Since most of the buildings were constructed of ever-ice, the light from the stars and moons was intensified as it rebounded in hundreds of different directions through the city. Even here, in the park, enough light filled the space because of the snow that blanketed the grass and trees. The lanterns that hung from their poles illuminated the rest.
Bryson pushed off with too much force. Suddenly, he was skating uncontrollably toward the fence that bordered the rink. He flailed his arms and awkwardly kicked his legs, but nothing stopped him from his inevitable collision. His torso buckled, all air expelled from his body as his upper abdomen careened into the horizontal beam.
He stood there for a few seconds, listening to the giggles of young girls who flew past. A pair of powder blue boots entered his vision as he stared at the ground. He looked up, following the man’s legs and torso until spotting the face of Still General Valp.
“Wrap this up. Urgent matters at hand,” Valp said. “I’ll be waiting for you at the palace’s military gate. Make sure Olivia and your two friends also come.”
Valp turned and walked off, a unit of soldiers falling in line at his side.
* * *
Bryson, Olivia, Toshik, and Vuilni approached a gate as wide and grand as the wall’s main entrance to the south. This one, however, wasn’t sculpted out of ice, but constructed of metal. The gate’s hinges screamed in the cold as it opened to reveal the barracks. An officer guided them down the crowded main path. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of soldiers were scurrying to and fro before coming to a halt at random spots. Higher ranking officers barked commands at the top of their lungs, details of which were indiscernible amongst the ruckus. After a couple minutes of observing the madness, Bryson realized they were forming lines that stretched from the gate all the way to the palace.
Eventually, Bryson and friends reached a small group near the end of the path, headed by the Still General. Valp took notice of his guests and stepped away from his gathering. Snow began to fall from the night sky in curtains, making sight beyond several paces impossible.
“What’s happening?” Bryson asked.
“A battle.”
“With whom?!”
“We’re not sure yet,” Valp said. “Hopefully, not you.”
“What does that mean?” Vuilni asked, her voice muffled by a scarf wrapped around her mouth.
“
Still Queen Apoleia has been placed in a tough spot,” Valp explained, stepping closer so that he could be heard over the military’s cacophony. “She’s been exercising patience by making sure your scientist friend can really do what it is he claims. She wants to be careful before she allows the man access to her father’s room.” He paused, then said, “She wanted a few more days of trials, but that cannot be—not with brigades from both the Power and Dev militaries nearing Kindoliya’s walls.”
“What?” Bryson said.
“They’ve come to aid us, but they might be in for a surprise if the scientist accomplishes the impossible.”
“So, if Director Jugtah is successful, this orchestration happening around us will be intended for the Devish and Powish charging the capital?” Olivia asked.
Valp nodded with solemnness in his eyes. “But if he fails, then it’s you we’re ordered to attack. You’ll be surrounded by three armies at once.”
Bryson looked around, absorbing the situation’s scope and magnitude. He had wanted a mission; he’d wanted meaning in this war. Now he stood at war’s cusp.
“How close are the brigades?” Bryson asked.
“Close enough to be seen from the top of the wall.”
“And what’s the status on Director Jugtah?”
“I believe the process to heal the queen’s father is happening right now,” Valp said. “Or I hope so. We must get into proper position for whichever direction this heads. This is being cut dangerously close.”
“How will we know?” Toshik asked, his deflated demeanor having morphed into determination.
Valp glanced at Toshik, eyebrow cocked. “Oh, you’ll know.”
As snow fell in masses, Bryson said, “You do realize that if Director Jugtah proves unsuccessful and your soldiers are directed toward us, we will fight back?”
Valp nodded. “I’d expect no less. But as I’ve said already, I hope it’s not you we must fight.” His eyes narrowed. “After all, I’ve heard you have a newborn to return home to. I think, deep down, my queen would want to meet her grandchild one day.”
The Chronicle Page 38
