by A J Witt
“Good,” Hanstun said, pulling the fresh arrival by the hair. “Now, all of you stay on that side and leave us for a little while.”
“Oh, he wants some alone time,” Ruan whispered, and the others snickered.
Another man nipped Hanstun’s feet, while several of the women seized the newcomer’s arms and legs, pulling her in. Ruan lunged at the clutter of bodies, hoping to get his hands on the Noble. Shouts of ecstasy permeated throughout the chamber, when they were interrupted by a loud knock.
“Yes,” howled a breathless Hanstun.
An attendant stepped into the room. “My Lord, we captured her.”
“Very good!” the Noble exclaimed, rising to his knees. “Bring her in.”
Two attendants entered, a woman between them. Her hands were tied behind her back, and she wore a white robe. Ruan signaled with his fingers, and the men threw her onto the edge of the bed.
“So, you thought you could escape to the Temple?” the personal attendant growled.
The captive remained quiet, and Ruan turned toward Lord Hanstun.
“Strip her!” the Noble commanded. “And tie her down.”
The participants fastened the young woman’s wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed as she attempted in vain to get away.
“My Lord, I think there’s only one thing left to do,” said Ruan.
Hanstun smiled and, in that instant, his personal attendant knew he had succeeded again. The fabricated storylines were getting more inventive and difficult to manage, yet each seemed to satisfy his Noble’s venereal desires better than the last. Ruan looked at the girl’s frightened expression, and wondered whether she was actually in on it, as should have been planned. Doesn’t really matter. He helped tear the white dress from her body. Time to have some fun.
It was late in the morning when Ruan awoke. He surveyed the area and found the group still in bed, tangled and fast asleep. Except one. Ruan cursed. I should have been up first. Just as he was about to scamper off the indulgent mattress, the personal attendant heard a whimper. He turned around, only to find it was coming from the Overseer girl. In the excitement, they had forgotten to untie her, and she was still lying there, under the mishmash of limbs. Not that Ruan cared. He had paid a handsome price to procure the entertainment, insisting on good quality performing skills. Perhaps the local brothel-keeper had taken his request too earnestly, for Ruan doubted very much there had been any acting involved throughout the night. The tired woman was looking at him, still laboring to unleash herself. He removed her gag.
“Please …” she moaned.
Ruan smiled and leaned in, his scar rubbing against the side of her face. “If you think that was hard,” he whispered into her ear, “you better hope the lord doesn’t ask for some of the other things he’s known for.”
“No, wait, ple—”
The personal attendant stuffed the piece of cloth back into her mouth, cutting off her pleas for help. He pinched the woman’s cheeks, making her squirm.
The movement awakened one of the men. “What’s going on?”
“Not sure she’s learned her lesson,” Ruan whispered back.
“Is that so?”
The man crawled toward the frightened girl, and Ruan made his way off the bed. Enough fun, time to go. Scooping the clothes he had left on the ground the night before, he exited the bedroom, crossed an anti-chamber, and walked into a room built entirely of wood. The personal attendant turned a small knob placed on the wall, and water sprinkled from the ceiling. It felt cool against his skin, and as much as he wanted to stand there and let it soak in, Ruan kept the rinse brief.
After drying off and slipping into his usual tunic, he rushed through the hall toward the office where he was sure to find Lord Hanstun. As the personal attendant followed the palace’s opulent corridors, he reflected on the prior night. If Dominion law was applied fairly, they should have been beheaded. Sleeping with a member of the same sex was forbidden, the Book of Provenance’s verses stated this explicitly. The law rarely applies to the one who enacts it. Lord Hanstun and his Noble contemporaries could do whatever they wanted, and no one would tell them otherwise. Oh, what a job I have. There were certain comforts Ruan had grown so accustomed to, he could never again live without them. The banquets. The matinee performances. The social functions. Of course, his position was one that required a high level of sacrifice. If the Noble wanted something, his personal attendant had better procure it for him. The stress involved in such catering was negated hundredfold by the fact that money would never be a concern. Even though it’s not my money. Ruan could buy all he wanted and often did so on credit throughout Phaidros.
There was more. He felt a personal connection to Lord Hanstun, one that existed with nobody else. Often assuming it was reciprocated, the attendant had yet to gauge the accuracy of his presumption. I see the way he looks at me. He knew there were other lovers and other advisors, he just liked to believe he was the best among them. In essence, the personal attendant enjoyed flattering himself.
Ruan arrived at Lord Hanstun’s office and stopped. Throughout the years, he had learned the Noble detested mixing business and pleasure. And unfortunately, I have a feeling the next hours will be strictly business. Ruan knocked.
“Come in.”
The personal attendant had barely entered the room when he was greeted with a loaded question.
“What do you know of Source-powered engines?”
“A decent amount, my Lord.”
Hanstun pointed at the chair in front of his desk. “Tell me everything.”
“Everything?”
The Noble raised an eyebrow. “Was I unclear?”
While irritated, Ruan kept his composure. “My Lord, I do not want to insult your intelligence with things you already—”
“No,” interrupted Hanstun. “Explain them to me.”
The personal attendant sat still. Really? Another of the Noble’s annoying traits was manifesting itself, namely the desire to hear from others what he already knew. Fine, you’re going to get it all, then. “Adepts are able to draw energy from the Source,” said Ruan. “When they do so, the energy is stored within them.”
“Yes, yes, go on.”
“From what I understand, the storage eventually reaches a tipping point and gets released.”
“And?”
“Generally, the release results in a force blast, the energy dissipating into the air. But those clever Adepts have designed machines that trap the released energy, holding it within them.”
“Like engines.”
“Exactly, my Lord. These engines, and other machines for that matter, use the released Source energy to function. Until the energy runs out, that is. The machine is then—”
“Sent back.”
“Right, back to the Academy for what they call Source refinement. A recycling of sorts, if you will, overseen by the major source manipulator.”
“The supervisor of the Academy’s refinement facilities?”
“That’s what they say,” replied Ruan. “Though, if I understand correctly, he still reports to the preceptor.”
“Who is it? I want to speak with him directly.”
“No one knows.”
Lord Hanstun sat back in his chair and sighed. “I should have put money into this a long time ago. Even my hypocritical rivals have been developing machines for the Academy to refine for years now.”
Ruan looked at the floor. It’s never enough, is it? The man sitting in front of him had made a fortune with the salt marshes, the greatest in all of Phaidros. And he’s still not content. They sat in silence.
“If I may, my Lord, why the sudden interest?” Ruan asked. “You’re thinking of those village attacks, aren’t you?”
The Noble smiled. “Yes.”
“I thought so.”
“And what do you make of it, Ruan?”
“Well, I think it doesn’t make any sense. The destruction is one we’ve never seen, like stories of the Dread Days.”
�
��Precisely. This only leads me to believe the Academy has developed a super weapon.” Hanstun frowned. “Though there’s one problem with this theory.”
“Which is, my Lord?”
“Who at the Academy would be capable of transferring energy into such a weapon? The major source manipulator?”
“Well, it might not be one person.”
“Explain yourself.”
“They could have collaborated. My inside sources tell me it’s a common practice at the Academy. There’s even a rumor Ocean Star’s engines were created by a team of one hundred Adepts.”
“Is that so? Are you positive?”
“Absolutely, my Lord.”
“Then why haven’t they made even bigger ones?”
“Machines can reach a tipping point as well. Just like the living body does.”
“Interesting,” muttered Hanstun. “Well, they’ve clearly made some developments, and I need you to find out what those are.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Go to the countryside, figure out whatever weapon they’re hiding. I need ans—” A knock interrupted Hanstun. Annoyed, the Noble called out for the visitor to enter, and an attendant rushed into the office.
“My Lord,” the man said, panting. “News from the Temple.”
“Go on, speak.”
“Last night, two Adepts were brought up Mount Kilda. They were tried for murder, done in the way of the Gods. And sentenced to death.”
Lord Hanstun jumped to his feet. “Was it those two boys?”
“What two boys, my Lord?”
“The two boys!” shouted the Noble. “The two boys!”
“The … the two boys?”
“That were here yesterday, you fool!”
Disregarding his confused attendant, Hanstun turned to Ruan. “It was them, I’m sure of it. You’d better get ready. Now! Before the Academy changes its plans.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The personal attendant sprang toward the door.
“And Ruan,” called out Hanstun.
“Yes, my Lord?”
The Noble paused. “Be careful out there.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The eyes were spellbinding. They harbored a distinct yet unplaceable melancholy, their violet hue captivating Kyran just as it had earlier that night. By the Gods. She belongs with, well … the Gods. Her head tilted to the side, briefly uncovering ears pierced by small round gemstones. There was a certain shyness, detectible in her slight hesitations as she moved around. “Are you ok?” Kyran had been swift up the stairs, grasping Sabine’s arm and engaging in a tug-of-war that only ended when the hairy old man let go and clambered away.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “You saved me.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, I do it on the regular.”
Edvon rolled his eyes. “Tickle’s dead, in case anyone cares.”
A spider crawled across the stone wall.
“We need to get out of here,” continued Kyran. “Someone else might come down.”
Sabine stayed still. “I’m not following Adepts anywhere.”
“Wait, didn’t I just save you?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re still an Adept.”
“Fine,” said Edvon. “Go back to your cell if you want, we’re leaving.”
Kyran reminded himself that the last time he stared at a beautiful woman, it had ended poorly. Oh well. “Sabine, hold up!” She faced him, causing the Adept’s heart to skip a beat. “Look, I don’t know what happened to you. You’re obviously in some kind of trouble, and this could be your one chance to escape.”
“How do you know what I need?” she retorted. “What if I too killed someone?”
“With those eyes, I’m sure you’ve killed many.”
Edvon exhaled and snatched the key ring from Kyran’s hand. He walked toward the stairs, mumbling as he tested one of the smaller-sized keys on the lock of his platinum collar. Finding it did not fit, he tried another. And the next. Until the sixth and last one clicked into place. Edvon tossed the restraint to the ground and the keys to his brother.
“Nice!” Kyran exclaimed, also freeing himself. “Come on, Sabine, let’s help each other get out of here.”
“I can’t leave Cyrus like this.”
“Forget about that guy, we’ve got to save ourselves.”
“No, they’ll kill him.”
Kyran knelt and shook the listless Overseer. “Out cold. He’s not going anywhere.”
A bell tolled above ground.
“That … that’s the morning ring,” Sabine whispered. “They’ll be coming down here any minute.”
“Then it’s time for you to make up your mind,” said Edvon, and he ran up the stairs to the main level. The two others followed. Stepping ahead, the older Adept cracked open the courtyard door. To his dismay, the area was already filled with a number of pilgrims waiting to enter the Inner Sanctum for the sermons. “Too many people.”
“Where can we go?” Kyran asked Sabine.
She frowned. “There’s no other way out. These stairs only lead to the dungeons or up to the Court of Justice.”
“Come again?”
“That’s why we call them the Stairs of Judgment.”
They weighed their options.
“Can’t you Adepts just blast your way through?”
Kyran chuckled and shook his head. “Only the major source manipulator could do something like that.”
“Wait a minute.” Edvon snapped his fingers. “Now that I think about it, those judges walked in from the back of the courtroom.”
“I’m not sure,” replied Sabine. “I’ve never been behind that door.”
“We don’t really have a choice!”
Across the yard, Gorgios had come into view. He was making his way toward them, shoving pilgrims out of his path. Kyran shut the door. “Do you think he saw us?”
“I’m not waiting around to ask him.” Edvon dashed up the flight of steps to the Court of Justice. Much to his relief it was empty. Without hesitation, he made his way toward the small opening behind the marshals’ elevated desk. A corridor lay ahead, and the three escapees rushed into it.
“These must be the marshals’ quarters,” whispered Sabine.
A row of ornate doors graced the left side of the hallway, each revealing magnificent carvings depicting scenes from the Book of Provenance. Tainted glass windows were letting in a stunning array of color from the morning sunrise, bringing the art to life.
“Look! Reflections 24.” Sabine was in awe. “And there’s Conception 7.”
Edvon pointed to a narrow passage at the far end of the hallway. It curved out of sight, in all likelihood leading to the Temple’s main building. They tiptoed across the hallway when Tibon stepped out of his quarter, whistling a tune to himself and carrying a thick stack of papers. Startled by the sight of the unexpected visitors, he dropped the documents in a flurry of confusion. Edvon pummeled him with a vicious Source blast. The old man was sent sprawling onto the floor like a newborn balbak, his bleeding nose likely broken and glasses shattered beyond repair.
Sabine gasped. “He was just … he …”
“He was just in the way.” Kyran pushed the young woman out of the corridor, his older brother following close behind. They came to a large square staircase.
“Which direction?” asked an agitated Edvon.
Shocked by the aggression she had just witnessed, Sabine remained silent.
“We should go down,” Kyran said, “and hope there’s a way to sneak out.”
“What if—”
“Help me!”
The two brothers looked at Sabine in horror.
“Hel—”
Kyran covered the young woman’s mouth with his palm as she struggled to push him away. “What are you doing?” asked the Adept. Sabine’s panicky eyes stared back at him. “I promise we won’t hurt you. Plus, there’s no way out of this now, if we get caught, you’re as much to blame as we are. Listen, I’m going to remove my hand, and
we’re going to find an exit together. Okay?” Kyran lowered his arm.
“There … there’s a route to the gardens one floor below us,” murmured the young woman.
They were about to descend the staircase when they sensed approaching footsteps.
“Someone must have heard the shout,” Kyran whispered.
Edvon nodded. “That leaves us only one choice.”
The escapees spun around and went up instead. One floor above, another hallway led to a set of closed doors behind which faint laughter could be heard.
“That’s the dining hall,” revealed Sabine.
“We need to keep going, then.” Edvon took a step up but stopped, a fraught expression on his pale face. “Someone’s coming down.”
With nowhere left to escape and the sound of footsteps drawing nearer, they ran down the corridor toward the dining hall. Edvon spotted a possible exit to their left. “What’s that?”
“The kitchens,” answered Sabine. “We can’t go in there, they’ll see us.”
“We’re about to be seen, anyway.” He shoved his frantic companions into the unknown.
They were hit by an array of pungent breakfast smells, ranging from cooked eggs and brined geega to baked beans and burnt toast. An Overseer chef was barking orders as initiants bolted in all directions, a complete and utter mess. The confusion played out in their favor. Though they were in plain sight, no one paid attention to them, and the three fugitives looked at each other astounded.
“Just act normal,” said Edvon.
They crossed the vast kitchens, as oblivious initiants carrying trays to and from the dining hall bumped into them.
Kyran walked through a side door and let out a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe that just happened. No one even noticed—” A series of clanging bells resonated throughout the Temple with ferocity. “Never mind.”
Edvon sprinted to the end of the hallway and shook his head. “It’s a dead end. Is there any way out of here?”
“I don’t know,” Sabine replied.
They were standing still, unsure where to go, when Kyran noticed a hatch in the wall. Opening it, he discovered a hollow shaft, complete with a pulley system designed to bring up food for the kitchens. “Here, maybe we can climb through.”
