by J C Maynard
“Please mind what you say about war in our country, Sir Shipton.”
“Of course, my Lady.” he said. “As you know, the Cerebrians stole trade vessels from you and converted them into warships.”
Lady Parrine picked up one of the ducks and held it in her arms. It nestled its head in her flowing red hair. “I am aware. May I ask, Sir Shipton, why you seem to be referring to the Cerebrians as though you were not one?”
“My Lady . . . we are representatives of a rebel group whose goal is to fix the damage Queen Xandria has done to Cerebria and end its war with Ferramoor.”
“By dethroning her?”
“By whatever means possible.”
Lady Parrine set down the duck. “And for some reason you ask my nation to join is this bloodbath?”
“My Lady,” said Borius, “we are a strong presence and are sure that we could bring peace to this conflict, and by telling you this, we request secrecy. We were responsible for the destruction of the Great Cerebrian Gate in the Taurbeir-Krons a month ago. We are capable of many things. Our primary advantage is our way of transportation. Our organization operates underground in a Network of abandoned cities and tunnels beneath Cerebria and sections of Eastern Endlebarr and The Crandles.”
“The Goblins’ Network.” said Lady Parrine. “You wish to take down a person who committed genocide, yes; but you don’t find it ironic to house your operation in the catacombs of the race she exterminated?”
“We use the location solely for strategic purposes.” said Borius. “We would not ask for men, rather, just some of the vast resources here in The Crandles. We can travel and ship both food and information undetected by Cerebrian troops faster than on the surface. Mr. Calleneck Bernoil here is an expert in the layout of this Network and would lead the operation. Sir Kishk here, a representative of that section of our council can elaborate further.”
“Sir Shipton,” said Lady Parrine, “the fact that your country stole our vessels doesn’t make us want to jump into war. We aren’t even equipped for it.”
“My Lady, we are aware of the Crandles’ cultural values; however, we also believe that peace can be found in the very near future between Ferramoor and Cerebria. Is that not something you and your people would wish for?”
“We wish only peace, but it is not our place to contribute to either nation’s demise.” Lady Parrine lifted her bow and shot another arrow.
“With all do respect, Lady Parrine, if you do nothing to show that the Crandles is a strong nation, Xandria will trample you. There will be no more peace in your land.”
“And you expect me to rest the fate of the Crandles on a small group of rebels who, I imagine, don’t have adequate resources for the job you are undertaking? Where are you going to get the manpower if you aren’t making alliances with the Ferrs? And food: you have limited donors to your cause, farmers who are probably going bankrupt supporting you, how do you plan to keep up your efforts? . . . I’m sorry you have come so far only to be turned away. Sir Shipton, we won’t be a part of it. This also is not a government decision; any of my fellow citizens in this nation would say the same.”
Borius began to bow, and stopped himself. “We understand.”
Lady Parrine smiled as the ducks plopped back into her pond. “I don’t think you do . . . we are a strong people here. Every morning I wake before the sun does, and I watch the society blossom as the sky turns light. There is no way we would rather live than like this. The Crandles are a safe haven from the world and our identity will not be shattered for political interests.”
Borius nodded. “We admire your steadfastness and love for your nation. As before, we respect your decision but also implore your discretion and secrecy. Thank you for allowing us to meet with you; we wish you well in your position as a role model for peace.”
Lady Parrine smiled and shot another arrow into the log. “Before you go, stop by the Dinpalire’s Tavern; you look weary and I am sure you have never tried grindsvak — they make some of the best.”
The three thanked her and left the way they came.
Following the recommendation of Lady Parrine, they stopped by a small tavern to rest. Although Calleneck felt that they should not be so public about their whereabouts in such a nation, Kishk reminded him that the Crans had little concern about what happened in the outside world.
The tavern was homey, with a fire in the corner and candles hanging from the ceiling to illuminate the room on the foggy day. A waitress, with red hair of course, asked for their order; Calleneck requested the ‘grindsvak’ for the table, although he knew not what it was. When she had left, Kishk traced his fingers along the grain of the wooden table they sat at. “Well, we tried the best we could.”
“Isn’t enough.” said Borius scanning the tavern. “We cannot over prepare ourselves to take down the throne of Cerebria. After we destroyed the Great Gate, our nation has heard of the Evertuari and so has Xandria. Our only advantage at this point is the fact that no one knows where and how we operate, and also there is suspicion that we might be a Ferramish group.”
“-which the Ferramish government claims.” said Kishk.
Borius picked a splinter off the wood table. “I recently found out that Raelynn Nebelle helped stop the attack on Ferramoor — she aided in destroying the naval fleet in Aunestauna’s harbor. Even so, they have taken a heavy hit and have been struggling to maintain control of the pass where the Great Gate previously stood. We needed support from the Crans.” Borius tapped a finger on the table and a single yellow spark flew out. “Will we come back the same way we came?” asked Borius, turning to Calleneck.
“Yes, sir. Although if we have an hour to spare, I would like to examine a new passageway in the Network about twenty miles past the turn to-”
“We don’t have time.” said Borius.
“Not a problem.” said Calleneck. The refusal bothered him, as Borius was in no obvious rush to leave, and had not listened like he normally did.
The front door of the tavern flew open and Lillia briskly weaved her way through servers and tables to the three. “Miss Hane,” said Kishk, “what are you doing here? I thought you were staying back with the group guarding the entrance.”
“I was told to tell the three of you come with me now.” Lillia’s face was dark and cold. The three immediately understood the gravity of the situation, though they didn’t know why; but Lillia normally would never speak so abruptly to a superior.
Kishk stood and dropped two argentums on the table for the food that had not yet come and followed Lillia with Calleneck and Borius out of the tavern. She lead them down the grassy streets of Findinholm and into a glade in a deep thicket of trees where a group of ten Evertauri stood.
An Evertauri with a salt and pepper beard down to his stomach stepped forward, a sorcerer from Madrick’s Council and one of the first Evertauri. He looked around at several others, knowing that this information was classified. So the man walked up to Borius and whispered so faintly that Calleneck could barely pick out the words.
“President Nebelle wishes me to inform you that he believes The Rose is back. He wants you to search for her on the journey back to Seirnkov.”
The Rose? Calleneck thought. In his memory he saw the bodies of all the sorcerers who tried to overrun the Evertauri vanishing into clouds of fluttering rose petals. Calleneck’s stomach turned. Is Selenora still alive? . . .
The Sewers
Chapter Thirty Two
~Evening, February 2nd
Kyan brushed snow off the roof of his shack before entering it to retire for the day. Kicking off his boots, he opened the little door and shut it quickly behind him as a gust of snow-blowing wind howled outside. Inside the shack, a candle was lit, and Raelynn sat with a blanket around her in the corner eating a loaf of bread.
Raelynn looked up at Kyan and covered her mouth. “Oh- sorry for not waiting to eat dinner with you.”
Kyan shook some snowflakes off his hair and brushed off his jacket. “It’s
no problem; I was out later than I said I was going to be.”
Raelynn coughed and shivered; her nose was red from the cold. As much as they had tried to seal up the shack from winter’s cold with panels of wood and blankets, the cold air still snuck into the small attic space. “Well, now that Prince Eston is away, you have to stay as long as Prince Fillian tells you.”
Kyan shrugged. “That’s the life working as a spy;” Kyan lied, “You would know.”
Raelynn smiled and put a piece of paper on the wall where a crack blew in cold air. For three months, Raelynn had stayed with Kyan in his home. Fighting against an unusually cold winter, the two had spent their days helping rebuild the city, with Raelynn still stopping by the Palace occasionally to see if she could find any additional information concerning her mother’s disappearance years ago.
Raelynn pulled a blanket up to her chin and looked around the shack, which she had helped clean up and organize into a homey space. “Again, I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay with you.” she said to Kyan.
Kyan sat down on a wooden chest in the other corner. “Well, with half the city burned down, there aren’t too many other places for you to stay.”
They sat for a moment before Raelynn perked up. “Did you see they’ve rebuilt the bridge connecting Wetthern Street to Northmoon?”
“I did,” said Kyan. “I assume you crossed it going to the Palace earlier?” Raelynn nodded and Kyan sat down, grabbing the other loaf of bread. “So did you find out anything today?”
“About my mother?” asked Raelynn.
Kyan nodded.
“No.” said Raelynn, fixing the flap that kept allowing snow to blow inside the shack. “My father said her name was Abitha, but they only file the reports that I’ve been checking under last names, and there have been no ‘Nebelles.’ It also doesn’t help that a few sections of the library were burned when Cerebria attacked. All of those records are lost.”
“Do you think the information about your mother was on one of those documents that got burned the night I . . . um, Prince Eston was born?”
Raelynn straightened up. “What are you suggesting?”
Kyan scratched his head. “Could your mother have something to do with those documents burning? It seems unlikely that there were no records of her. Maybe she—”
“Maybe she didn’t want anyone to find her . . .” Raelynn stared at the dancing candle for some time and whispered, “I have to talk to someone . . . someone who knew her.”
“King Tronum would know . . .”
Raelynn shook her head and Kyan tried to think of anyone else who she could talk to, but failed to come up with anyone.
“I’m sorry it hasn’t been productive.” said Kyan.
Raelynn sighed. “I just — there’s got to be someone who knows something! I have to be missing something obvious. Hell, I’ve found all kinds of details on everything ranging from secret documents about thief gangs in town to politics of strawberry trade. If I could just—”
“Wait, what did you say?” asked Kyan, setting down his bread.
“Thief gangs or strawberries?” asked Raelynn.
Kyan gave her a raised eyebrow.
Raelynn shrugged. “It’s a gang called the Nightsnakes. From what I’ve found in just browsing through, Sir Whittingale, the guy who really worked for Xandria, he made some bargain with these people.”
Kyans heart raced. “What do you know about that?”
“Well I know it probably wasn’t Benja Tiggins who stole from the vault back a month or two ago. Apparently it was all a setup. Whittingale was gonna burn their documents and destroy all of the leads pointing to the Nightsnakes as an incentive for them to steal something he wanted, but he died before he could. I think that — Kyan, what are you doing?”
Kyan had stood straight up and walked toward the door, peeking out of a crack in it to the snowstorm outside.
“Kyan, what are you-”
“Shhh!” whispered Kyan, staring out into the night.
Raelynn stood still, worried.
After a minute, Kyan sat back down. “I thought I heard someone . . . Anyway, maybe we should bring those papers to the Council. It could give the government an advantage over the Nightsnakes. What if we gave them to Prince Fillian?”
“We could . . .”
“And who knows?” said Kyan. “Maybe this could get you access to the files you need to find your mother. I know how much you want to find her.”
Raelynn nodded, and she and Kyan sat in silence.
After a considerable time, Kyan noticed Raelynn’s eyes becoming watery and red. Not wanting to enter into a conversation that didn’t need to be broached, Kyan kept quiet.
Raelynn sniffed and wiped a small tear off her cheek. Sitting with her knees against her chest, she looked away from Kyan and hugged her knees with her arms. She shook her head in an attempt to compose herself. Looking at the wall of the shack, she spoke to Kyan in a half whisper. “Do you ever . . .” she sniffed, “Do you sometimes feel like you can’t ever change something?”
Kyan hesitated and then spoke softly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Raelynn wiped another tear from her eye. “I mean . . .” she tried to find the words for her thoughts. “Do you ever feel like all your efforts are in vain? That no matter what you do to try and . . . well, fix things . . .” She looked at Kyan with glazed eyes.
“. . . the world throws you another obstacle.” said Kyan, finishing her sentence. He looked around his shack and at the small, flickering candle and nodded. “Yes.”
Raelynn looked up at the low ceiling, almost trying to keep the tears in her eyes. She let out a brief little laugh, but a laugh out of self pity, then softly bit her lower lip. “I—” Raelynn lowered her head. “I hoped that if I could find out what happened to my mother, that everything would be normal again. That somehow I’d have a whole family and I could just — just live in peace for once.”
Kyan sat still, knowing that there was more. He wanted to spring forward and wrap Raelynn in his arms and comfort her, but he sat opposite her as the cold air sank between them.
Raelynn’s eyes were red and watery, tears slowly running down her face. She clenched her fist. “And—” The words on her tongue seemed bitter and hard to form. “And I was too caught up in my own fantasy to be there for my brother . . . He died while I was chasing nothing but a dead hope that my mother would — would just show up somehow.” She could barely bring her voice to a whisper through the tears. “And now everything’s gone . . . my family and my magic . . .”
Kyan overcame the voice in his head, and knelt next to Raelynn, putting a hand on her face. The words he needed to say couldn’t find their way out of his throat, and instead, his eyes watered up. Raelynn looked at him with tear-filled eyes, glistening in the orange reflection of the candlelight.
Finally, Kyan spoke, trying to smile. “Raelynn . . .” A lump formed in his throat. “I know I’m a solo-act . . . And I know how hard it is to feel alone . . . to be alone. But you have so much more than you realize.”
Raelynn sniffed. “Like what?”
Kyan took a deep breath in and shook his head. He looked at Raelynn. “Like friends.”
Raelynn gave a small smile and embraced Kyan. For a few minutes, she cried on Kyan’s shoulder, and then she whispered something to herself that Kyan couldn’t hear. She leaned back from Kyan and ran her fingers through his long, dark hair before turning around and lying beneath a blanket, placing her head on a small pillow. Within a few minutes, she had fallen asleep.
Kyan breathed out deeply and grabbed his own blanket. Sitting down in the opposite corner, he felt a cold draft seep through another crack in the wall. He looked at Raelynn’s sleeping body and down at his blanket. Putting on another coat, he walked over to Raelynn and lightly placed his blanket over her, falling asleep across from her on the cold, bare floor.
◆◆◆
~A Half-Hour Before
From across the stre
et, Riccolo watched Kyan climb up the theatre roof to his shack. The snow was falling and the sun’s evening light was nearly gone, replaced by a biting and howling wind that coursed through the third district of Aunestuana. Riccolo walked across the snowy square and took hold of the ladder that led to the roof, putting his feet where Kyan’s had been.
Once at the top, the wind worsened, but orange light from the west cast a silhouette of the shack that sat partly above the roof, and partly below. Riccolo picked up a voice from inside the candle-lit shack, but it was a girl’s voice, one that had been there for the last month. Who does Kyan have in there with him?
Listening in on multiple conversations, Riccolo could still not figure out who this girl was except that every few days, she went to the Palace, or what’s left of it. Kyan responded to the girl, and Riccolo walked closer to it to try and hear, careful to put his feet in Kyan’s snow footprints. Leaning against the shack, Riccolo closed his eyes.
“Could your mother have something to do with those documents burning?” he heard Kyan say. “It seems unlikely that there were no records of her. Maybe she—”
“Maybe she didn’t want anyone to find her . . .” said the girl. The voices continued speaking about things that made no sense to Riccolo. “I’ve even found everything else from secret documents about thief gangs in town.” said the girl. Riccolo’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s a gang called the Nightsnakes.” Riccolo clenched his jaw. “From what I’ve found in just browsing through,” said the girl, “Sir Whittingale, the guy who really worked for Xandria, he made some bargain with these people . . . Apparently it was all a setup. Whittingale was gonna burn their documents and destroy all of the leads pointing to the Nightsnakes as an incentive for them to steal something he wanted, but he died before he could. I think that- Kyan, what are you—?”
