Rise of the Forgotten Sun

by Jon Monson

  “I’m surprised you have the ability to laugh right now, Aydiin,” Jabari jeered. “And I’m even more surprised you had the courage to return.”

  “It’s good to see you too,” Aydiin responded, using the same friendly tone he always used with his youngest brother. He still hoped that the boy would grow out of being their father’s little pet.

  “You never change,” Jabari scoffed. “Father of course heard of your most unusual entrance to the city and is waiting to see you.”

  “Thank you, Jabari,” Aydiin said, using the same tone as before.

  “I can’t even tell you how happy I am not to not be in your place right now,” Jabari smiled. “And I really should be thanking you – I’m quite looking forward to being the Crown-Prince.”

  Aydiin walked away, unable to pretend any longer that Jabari was anything but a bratty teenager who needed a firm spanking. He strode into the palace hallways, heedless of the grime sticking to every corner of this clothing. He was looking forward to his meeting with Father. It seemed almost a treat after putting up with that insolent child.

  Walking quietly with his boots on the polished marble proved next to impossible; luckily, the servants knew well to not harass a man in a general’s uniform, especially not one wearing the grey veil of mourning. As he made his way through the hall, he found a familiar wall panel, and, with a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, gave it a hard push.

  The false wall gave way to a narrow passage. Such secret hallways were all over the palace, but Aydiin knew that this one led straight to the Sultan’s study. He had discovered it quite on accident as a young boy, and had only used it rarely. Father had no idea that he used to sneak in at night and steal the sweets that the Sultan loved so much. It had been years since he had used the passageway, but he could still find his way by memory, even in the pitch black.

  He pushed on the back of the book case that led him into the study as quietly as he could manage. The study was the only room in the palace that broke the mold of traditional Salatian architecture and decoration.

  The room had dark wood paneling, in the Albonan fashion, and several oil paintings of forests and mountain landscapes adorned the walls. A fire place dominated an entire wall – why, Aydiin couldn’t fathom. Maradon never grew cold enough to need a fire.

  The Sultan sat in his favorite leather chair imported from the northern country, his back facing Aydiin. Peeking out over the top of the chair, he could see the man’s white turban. He could feel his disapproval emanating even from this distance.

  “Welcome home, my boy,” came the voice from the armchair, “I trust you have a good explanation as to why you let my idiot brother escape.”

  Aydiin’s jaw dropped as Oosman the Third, Sultan of Salatia, rose to his feet, a cup of brandy in his hand. Dressed in a fine green robe with sleeves rolled up to accentuate the red, glowing Marks of Power snaking along his hands identifying him as a Fire-dancer, his Father looked every bit the Sultan that he was. His thick beard, now greying with age, was braided and hung down his chest. His face was calm and impassive, giving Aydiin no hints as to what was going on underneath the surface.

  “If by ‘Idiot Brother’ you mean one of the most brilliant thieves in the history of the world, then no, I don’t have a good explanation for that, Father,” Aydiin began slowly but the words quickly began spilling out of his mouth, completely disregarding the speech he’d so carefully planned on his ride to the city.

  “You had him in your clutches, and you let him escape,” Oosman said. “And for what? So you could chase ancient ruins in the desert?”

  “Yes, I saw the opportunity to explore one of the last great stretches of wilderness and I took it,” Aydiin said. “That’s no reason to have me killed.”

  “I only just heard of the attempt on your life,” Oosman said, his mouth turning into a frown. “You don’t know what it means to me that you’re safe.”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that?” Aydiin scoffed. “I really should give you some credit – sending an entire contingent of law-enforcement to bring me down. It shows how much you respect me.”

  “Fine, you don’t have to believe me,” Oosman continued, waving a dismissive hand and taking a seat on sofa that faced Aydiin.

  The denial didn’t change his opinion. Of course, he hadn’t ruled out that the possibility that his father hadn’t ordered the assassination attempt – it was just the most likely scenario.

  There were plenty of groups who may want him dead – various rebel factions, nobility who felt their family held a right to the throne, foreign monarchs who could benefit from the discord such an assassination would bring. Yet the words spoken by that young officer – they were exactly what his father had conveyed to him so many times.

  “I promise that I don’t want you dead, my boy,” Oosman said, taking another sip. “However, you disobeyed my orders, which ended in disaster. If you’d come home immediately, I doubt that Agha would have been able to escape. You gave his brigands time to plot, and all to explore some ancient ruins. The man should be hanging from the end of a rope and not out in the desert plotting his revenge.”

  “I know it’s my fault,” Aydiin said. “That’s why I’ve come back – to accept my punishment.”

  “I’m glad to at least hear some penitence in that voice,” Oosman responded calmly. “But if you’re to ever take my throne, you’ll need to anticipate the every move of your enemies. If not, you won’t last a year as Sultan.”

  “I don’t want to take your place,” Aydiin said. “Why does everyone forget about Bayram? He’s your heir, and last time I checked, he’s still very much alive.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject,” Oosman sighed. “You can’t just keep going off on adventures – at some point, you have to actually grow up. I hate to even ask what was worth defying my orders and letting Agha escape. I’d be more forgiving if you’d found something of value, yet it appears you’ve returned empty-handed.”

  Aydiin wasn’t sure why, but the words angered him. He felt the frustration, knowing that he’d found something unique and valuable but also knowing he couldn’t reveal it to anyone.

  “What I found was greater than the entire treasury,” Aydiin nearly shouted, abandoning all caution. “I’ve found wealth untold, Father. Look!”

  Aydiin ripped the veil from his face with a dramatic flair. Father stared at Son. Son glared at Father.

  “I didn’t realize you were so vain,” Oosman said, his expression appearing bored. “Yes, you’re a handsome boy, but I wouldn’t describe your complexion as ’wealth untold,’ especially covered in dirt and grime the way you are.”

  Aydiin glanced over to the large mirror on the wall behind the bar, and began touching his face in disbelief.

  The markings on his face had vanished as if they had never existed. Aydiin completely forgot about his father as he rushed over to the mirror. His skin, while covered in dirt, didn’t have a trace of the Markings that had snaked along his face and onto his neck and chest.

  How long had they been gone? Did this mean that Stone wasn’t real or that its powers had faded? There were suddenly so many more questions.

  His father’s voice continued on, but Aydiin couldn’t comprehend the words being spoken.

  ”Sorry, Father,” Aydiin finally said, turning to face the Sultan. “What did you say?”

  “I said that I’ve had a very difficult time thinking of the best way to teach you a lesson. Fortunately, a very convenient solution came to me by way of the Genodran ambassador.”

  Aydiin’s stomach fell. That could only mean one thing.

  Chapter 8

  And I looked down at him and said, ‘well, Uncle, I hope you’re ready for the Great Beyond’ – I said it just like that,” Aydiin finished telling the story – at least, the parts he liked – to Gamila and Bayram as the two sat wide-eyed.

  “He gave in, just like that?” Bayram asked.

  “You try doing anything with
a kerton sitting on top of you,” Aydiin replied. “The man’s lucky Askari didn’t just rip his throat out on the spot.”

  “Now tell us how he escaped,” Bayram said, signaling with his arms for Aydiin to keep going with his story.

  “Oh, well, I’m not as eager to tell that part,” Aydiin said, the memories of that day returning to his mind. He could almost smell the gas, could taste the bitterness on his tongue. It was an unpleasant memory, to say the least.

  “Let him be,” Gamila said, noticing Aydiin’s expression. “What I really want to know is what did you and Father talk about?”

  Aydiin didn’t respond. He’d been so eager to see his siblings that he’d gone to Gamila’s apartments without washing first, and he was now realizing how filthy he was. His robe was stiff from the dirt and sweat, his hair matted against his head. And the smell – well, Gamila and Bayram must be really interested in his story to put up with that.

  Gamila’s apartments were spacious yet intimate. His sister lounged on several silk pillows filled with the finest down. A few tapestries hung on the wall, the reds and blues contrasting with the white porcelain tile of the floor and walls.

  Bayram sat in a southern-style leather armchair with a pipe in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Dressed in an Albonan tweed suit, he looked nothing like a Salatian Prince – in fact, he would have fit in quite nicely in the court of Albona or Naerdon. Yet in Maradon, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

  Aydiin had remained on his feet, much to Gamila’s dismay, because he disliked the idea of spreading his filth to the immaculately clean furniture. Exhausted as he was, he was much too agitated to sit.

  “It couldn’t have been that bad,” Gamila prodded. “Did he make you promise to attend services with him at the Festival of Surion next month?”

  “Oh, no, it’s just that I’m realizing how much a bath would do me good,” Aydiin responded, not wanting to tell either of them about his conversation with the Sultan. For a moment, he’d been able to almost forget about his punishment.

  “You can do that later,” Gamila said, rising to her feet and grabbing his once-white robe. “But for right now, you’re going to tell me what Father said. I know it has to be bad, otherwise you would have already told me.”

  “No, it really wasn’t all that terrible,” Aydiin said, gently lifting his sister’s hand off him. “I promise, I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. I’m just tired – it’s been quite the day.”

  “That’s right, you still haven’t told us about how you became so dirty,” Bayram piped up. “Aydiin, you really do have too many updates to share with us. Please, you can’t go yet.”

  “I promise I’ll tell you later,” Aydiin said, turning and heading towards the doorway. Now that he’d told them of his triumph against Agha and his bandits, the other stories were too embarrassing or confusing for the moment.

  “You’re getting married, aren’t you?” Gamila said and Aydiin stopped in his tracks.

  “Impossible,” Bayram chided. “There isn’t a woman in the city who would consider him after all his antics.”

  Aydiin didn’t turn to face his sister.

  “Deny it,” Gamila said, ignoring Bayram. “Deny that you’re getting married and I will give you my leave to get cleaned up.”

  “I can’t deny it,” Aydiin said, turning slowly to face her. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t,” Gamila said. “But you seem absolutely mortified, and there are few punishments that Father could think of that would drive you to silence.”

  “So it’s true? Our little Aydiin is finally going to settle down?” Bayram asked, his eyes wide.

  “It appears so,” Aydiin sighed. “Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll board a ship to Genodra to marry Byanca of House Cavour.”

  “I knew there wasn’t anyone left in Maradon who would take you,” Bayram chuckled. “Father had to reach across an ocean to find someone desperate enough to spend her life with you.”

  “I’m sure he could have found someone here for me,” Aydiin said. “But then that wouldn’t have solved his main problem.”

  “Oh, you can’t possibly think that Father is trying to get rid of you,” Bayram scoffed. “Your presence is one of the few things keeping the threat of rebellion from spreading to the palace gates.”

  “Don’t start with that again,” Aydiin said. “I have no plans of becoming Sultan after Father passes to the Beyond. That burden falls on you, my good man.”

  “Still, you have to admit that you’re much more widely liked than any of us,” Bayram said. “You’re a man of the people, always going out into the streets and bazaars. They love you, and you know it.”

  “Well that must not matter much to Father, because by this time tomorrow I’ll be saying goodbye to Salatia,” Aydiin said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

  “I don’t know much about this Byanca of House Cavour,” Gamila said. “I’ll ask around and see what I can find out. Oh, Aydiin, I can’t believe you’re going to get married.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Aydiin said. “You know how these political marriages are – two people who have nothing in common become bonded for life with plenty of dalliances on the side.”

  “I don’t see what’s so wrong with that,” Bayram said, a smile on his face. “You should be looking on the bright side of things – you get to see Genodra. I’ve heard that Palmas is an absolutely beautiful city. Although, I must say I’m surprised father chose to marry you off to the leader of a republic. It seems so –“

  “Revolutionary?” Aydiin finished his sentence. “I know. But it does make sense. Because I’m being sent to her, I’ll be officially part of House Cavour. It’s a fairly archaic law that Father must have recently dug up.”

  “That may be true,” Bayram said. “But won’t you essentially be a ruler of an even better nation?”

  “Not at all,” Aydiin responded. “Because I’ll be marrying the daughter of an elected ruler, our children won’t have a claim to any power. I’m essentially a hunk of meat adding a little bit of prestige and royal blood to House Cavour.”

  “Try not to sound too excited,” Gamila chided. “I really think you should try to see the good in the situation.”

  “Which is?” Aydiin asked.

  “We can come visit you now,” Gamila smiled. “I can’t wait to meet my nieces and nephews. I’m sure they’ll be absolutely adorable.”

  At that, Aydiin turned from the room and this time neither sibling tried to stop him. He left amid giggling from one and chuckling from the other.

  It was a clear night, and the moonlight cast a soft glow over the courtyard. The sound of running water emanated from fountains spread throughout the gardens and the air felt fresh from the vegetation. It would be much more enjoyable to be here after a bath and a fresh set of clothing.

  He made his way through the courtyard and into a hallway containing both his and Bayram’s rooms – it had now been a month since he’d last seen them. Unlike Gamila, he didn’t have his own apartment consisting of a living room and bedroom. All he had was a single room, although it more than fit his needs.

  As he approached, he could almost smell the perfumed bathwater awaiting him. Hand-pumped and heated over a fire, the water was brought in by the bucket and poured into a copper tub sitting in the center of his room. He usually felt sorry for the servants when performing such a laborious task for a luxury such as a warm bath, but tonight, he only felt grateful.

  The copper tub contrasted with the white and blue porcelain tile of the floor. Bookshelves – nearly sagging under the weight of his many volumes, both legal and otherwise – lined the walls, leaving little room for paintings or tapestries. A general sense of clutter pervaded the room even when cleaned by the palace servants.

  Aydiin disrobed, dropping the filthy clothing to the recently polished floor in his haste to be clean. He placed his foot into the hot water, which felt especially comforting in the cool night air. Within moments, Ayd
iin found himself completely immersed in the water.

  I need to start actually cleaning myself eventually, Aydiin thought to himself. But the smell of the perfume made his brain feel foggy, and thoughts kept creeping into his mind. Try as he might, he couldn’t banish them.

  They weren’t the pressing issues that he expected – the Stone he’d found, whose Markings had seemed to disappear; the botched assassination attempt; or even his de-facto exile to Genodra. The thoughts were of his father and country.

  When Aydiin was younger, Oosman had spent much of his time trying to mold Aydiin into the perfect Sultan-to-be. His brother Bayram, while first-born and heir, had suffered from poor health since infancy. Father expected – and dreaded with his entire soul – Aydiin to succeed him as the leader of their fragile nation.

  For years, Aydiin had been trying to prove his father wrong. He believed he could be a scholar and a great leader; however, he was beginning to doubt that assertion. An intellectual ruler could survive in a country such as Albona with a long history of stability, a country without tribes constantly trying to go back to the old ways of blood feuds and warfare.

  Salatia was barely even a nation. The nomadic culture had bred fierce competition, and tribes still fought in the harsher parts of the Sultanate for scarce resources. Salatia was less a nation and more a group of tribes held together by his father’s force of will.

  That and of course the Great Stone of Surion.

  It had only been seventy years since his great grandfather - Oosman the Great - had discovered the Stone in ruins situated in the cliffs near Oltu. Through the Stone’s power – both magical and political – he’d been able to unite the warring tribes.

  With the advent of gunpowder, the Stone’s magical powers were becoming obsolete. The ability to burn an entire army to a crisp was much more of a threat when that army charged with swords and spears. Now, that power wasn’t such a threat when cannon and rifles were thrown into the mix.

  Aydiin snapped himself out of his thoughts and began brushing the dirt off his skin, from under his nails, and out of his hair. It felt marvelous to get clean, and by the time he finished, the water was a murky brown.