by G. R. Lyons
* * *
FIFTH HOUR of morning came far too soon. Jarred awake in the midst of disturbing dreams—Benash running for his life while shadows chased him in the dark—he stumbled out of bed, blinking rapidly and trying to find his balance, then dropped clumsily to his knees.
Benash sat down on his heels, clasped his hands, bent forward until his forearms rested on the ground while his forehead hovered just an inch above it, closed his eyes, and opened his mind.
It was a disconcerting and almost terrifying thing, but the morning prayers required the mind to be fully open and exposed. As far as his mind could reach, Benash heard a cacophony of mental voices reciting the prayers in unison while he projected his own voice into the mix.
Praise to the One, our lord Skelroth, who is in everything, Master of the Void and Lord of Time. To the One we pledge our undying faith…
The prayers continued, asking the Mother for a good harvest, the Fathers for steadiness and health, Lord Thrysundir for a peaceful and prosperous society, then turned to the Twins.
Praise to Inadra, Lady of Passions, who quickens the womb and helps Tanas regrow. May she keep our women fertile and give our children the strength to survive. To her we pledge our undying faith. Praise to Inaria, Lady of Purity, the blind goddess of truth. May she show us the righteous path, for the good of all men, and turn us from the sinful temptation of individual choice. To her we pledge our undying faith.
And praise to the Elders, who give us peace and regulation, who speak the gods' words with the voices of Men, and order all things as they should be. Praise to them for their benevolent leadership, and for their firm hands against those who would seek to disrupt the ordering of society with individual choice. Praise to them for the glory of Tanas, with its mighty banner of red and grey. Praise to the Elders, and praise to Tanas, to which we gratefully give our strength, our labor, and our very lives, as we belong to one another. To Tanas, we pledge our unfailing allegiance.
The half hour of prayers finally over, Benash tried to close his mind—a difficult thing when he was too busy struggling just to regain motion. Even at two-and-thirty, his knees still weren't quite accustomed to the bent posture the daily prayers required, and he winced at every pop and groan his joints made as he tried to unfold himself and rise to his feet.
Benash gave a great yawn as he stretched, and finally managed to secure his mind as he grabbed a clean uniform. He dressed mechanically, not having to think as he went through the familiar routine of right leg, then left, right arm, then left, button up, tuck in, step into one boot, then the other, and so on. The same pattern, unfailingly, every single day as far back as he could remember.
With the finishing touches of weapons strapped on and badge securely pinned, he went to the main room and sat down at the table, where a hot bowl of a mushy corn gruel was already waiting for him.
Benash dipped his spoon into the mush, idly watching the unappetizing, chalky substance plop back into the bowl, then took up another spoonful with a sigh and began to eat, forcing himself to swallow each tasteless bite.
The familiar sensation of a full but unsatisfied belly went with him as Benash stepped out onto the street to begin his long walk to the prison.
The pedestrian crowd was thick, as usual, the shapeless grey blob from the night before now moving in the opposite direction and resolving itself into individual male bodies dressed in uniform dust-grey, standard-issue coats and trousers. Benash's own darker, slate-grey uniform made him stand out amongst the crowd, but even if he'd been dressed in the same dull shade as those around him, the Hawk badge on his chest would have drawn every eye like a glaring beacon.
It made him feel both bursting with power and terrifyingly exposed.
Benash followed the same route to work that he used every day: a right turn out his front door, another right turn at 27th Street, left at the district guard station, and then two more blocks before stepping out of the gridded city and onto the forest path, isolating himself within the shadows of the trees.
The forest was almost eerily silent after the dull roar of hundreds of feet shuffling through the city. Benash took a deep breath as he disappeared deeper into the shadows of the overhanging trees that grew along either side of the path, hearing nothing over the sound of his own footsteps but a slight rustle of leaves or the occasional chirp of a bird.
Tentatively, he opened his mind, holding his breath as he searched, and when he didn't sense any other presence nearby, he broke into a run.
Shadows and sunslight flickered over his face in rapid succession as he sped down the dirt path, the gnarled trunks on either side of him blurring into a solid wall in his peripheral vision. He slowed to a stop when the fork came into view, and he sent out another feeler to make sure he was alone.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, he stared at the right fork, seeing the same dark shadows and unruly undergrowth that he saw every day, and felt the same aching temptation.
Now, Benash. You can do it. Go now.
He planted his hands on his hips and let his head fall back, taking a few more deep breaths to ease his lungs. Looking up through the canopy of trees, he saw the mountain towering over him, the forest marching densely up its slopes and carpeting the mountainside with a rich blend of emerald shades. The clearing he'd spotted the day before was just discernible from that angle, and the familiar longing welled up inside him, urging him to take the forbidden path and climb those forbidden slopes.
He was several steps into the underbrush creeping over the right fork before he realized he'd even moved. A cloud drifted across the sun, slowly dimming the light shining down on the mountain, and the magic of the scene faded, leaving Benash feeling empty and making him suddenly and painfully aware of what he was doing.
Benash jerked to a stop, heart racing with panic.
Gods, I can't…I just can't…
He spun on his heel and turned back, marching purposefully down the left fork like he did every day, moving faster and faster as he went in hopes of leaving his growing sense of dread and guilt behind him.
Never again, Benash. Remember? Never again. You just can't risk it. You can't be trapped down there forever. It's not worth it.
The closer he got to the prison, the more Benash had to force aside the thought that the freedom to choose just might be worth dying in that underground place after all.
Chapter 3
VORENA RAKED her dirty sleeve across her mouth, not surprised to see the fabric now glistening with blood.
She took an agonizingly slow, deep breath, testing her throat for any sign of a further ordeal, and straightened up.
Jevon watched her intently, his dark eyes narrowed in concern as she righted herself. Four-year-old Asenna was hitched up on his hip with her arms around his neck, and she also stared at Vorena with worry lining her innocent little face.
“Why are you still here?” Vorena spat. “I thought we agreed to keep moving.”
“We're not going to leave you behind, Vor,” Jevon said. “Not when we're so close, and almost free of danger.”
“Why, of all the thrice-damned, stubborn, mule-headed–”
“Look who's talking,” he interrupted her with a smirk.
Vorena put one hand against a tree trunk to steady herself and let her head sink forward, shaking it as she laughed.
The little girl, with her lower lip quivering, asked, “Vori, are you alright?”
Vorena gave her a confident smile, hoping she didn't still have blood on her face to mar the effect, and reached out to ruffle the girl's hair. “I'm just fine, my sweet. Shall we keep moving?”
“Are you sure?” Jevon spoke up again. “We can rest awhile if you need. No one ever comes this way. We should be safe for the time. Until we get closer to Vhais, that is.”
“No,” Vorena insisted, shaking her head. “We must reach the others by next Thrysday, and we're already behind.”
“At least let's take a moment to offer a prayer to Kalos for your contin
ued strength to get us there.”
Vorena snorted a laugh. “That's very thoughtful of you, but it won't work. I've cursed the Father so much in my life, I highly doubt I'll ever be in his good graces.”
Jevon shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He turned on his heel and continued through the woods while Vorena shook with silent laughter and followed several paces behind, keeping her senses open for any sign of pursuit.
At least the clouds were a welcome change. Not that Vorena minded the sunslight—indeed, she thrived upon a brilliantly sunny day—but the dimmer light lent more shadow to their wooded cover, allowing their filthy, earth-toned attire to better disappear amongst the trees. Vorena took a deep breath, savoring the taste of the forest air.
They crept along wordlessly for many hours, taking turns carrying Asenna or letting her walk along with them when she insisted she could move quietly. Still, even her little feet made more noise than the well-practiced silent tread of the adults, so back she went to her elevated position as the miles of forest slowly melted away behind them.
Keeping to the west of the capitol city of Vhais, they made a wide curve through the forest, staying as far from the city as possible, away from the prying eyes and minds of the Elders and their Eagle guard. Their chosen path was far from the river, but those poisoned waters would have done them no good. Carrying heavy water skins, Vorena, Jevon, and Asenna plodded along, eager for the clean waters north of Sonekha and—if they could get past the prison there, unseen—to the gathering of their fellow rebels.
And, if all went very well, to freedom and escape from the Isle itself.
When they reached an area known for excellent hunting, they stopped and discarded their packs, hiding those, along with Asenna, in a dense growth of underbrush. The little girl burrowed down in the dirt, hugging the packs to her sides and pressing her lips tightly together to keep silent while Jevon and Vorena crept out, watching and listening for any signs of prey.
* * *
THE DEER was not large but looked well-fed and healthy. They would be enjoying a feast that night.
While Jevon retrieved the arrow and unstrung his bow, Vorena started on the carcass, wrapping up the meat and storing it away in a pack before flinging the remains aside for the scavenger birds and other beasts to feed upon. While she worked, Vorena thought back to her youth, when food somehow just arrived at their apartment, rationed out and regulated by the Elders, and her father's wives would take turns cooking each day, always making more or less the same tasteless gruels, pies, and stews. Her life now was considerably more difficult, and there was the occasional day when the camp didn't eat much, if at all, but she wouldn't go back for the world.
Much better to live an entirely illegal life in the wild than submit to the Elders' control.
And there was still the possibility of a Gate. Vorena clung to that hope, wishing that someday they all might finally reach Agoran and experience true freedom, even if just for a moment.
After washing themselves from their water skins, they gathered up their packs, picked up little Asenna, and continued on their way until they found a decent spot to make camp for the night.
The habits of their daily life went swiftly into play: gathering logs, digging a pit for a fire, arranging packs and bedrolls, setting out a pot and bowls for their evening meal. The three rebels rushed through their chores, getting everything ready before they found themselves in darkness.
Vorena looked through the trees toward the horizon, seeing Garis begin to rise just as Sehryl was setting, and the twilight sparkled with the added presence of Subhadin also dancing through the heavens. It seemed the Mother would be lying with both Fathers that evening.
Jevon grunted. “A good omen for a mating night.”
Vorena turned back to face him, seeing the look of studied concentration on his face. She knew Asenna had been conceived on just such a night, but that joy had come with such a great price that it had left Jevon a shattered man.
“The Elders will be disappointed,” Vorena said with a laugh, trying to dispel the tension that had crept up around them. “Bad luck for them, this not happening on Mourning Day.”
Jevon chuckled and turned back to the fire he was tending, and they could hear Asenna nearby, gathering more twigs.
“Do you still miss her?” Vorena asked, blurting out the question without meaning to.
“Whom?” Jevon asked, not looking up from his task, though the lines of pain suddenly creasing his face told Vorena that he knew precisely which her she'd meant.
“Athisa,” she answered quietly, and saw his frown deepen.
Jevon tossed another log onto the roaring fire and sat back on his heels. He stared at the flames for a long moment before he answered.
“Every. Gods-damned. Day.”
Asenna returned then, a triumphant smile on her face as she dropped a large pile of twigs near the fire. Jevon quickly forced on a smile of his own and gathered her up in his arms, telling her what a good job she'd done. Vorena watched them, trying to fathom the depths of love and pain that Jevon carried with him every moment of every day.
While the fire roared, they made quick work of their catch, setting the meat to sizzle and crisp over the fire while a few herbs from their packs, mixed with a couple of potatoes they'd been lucky enough to stumble upon that night, went into a boiling pot, making a fragrant stew that set the mouth to watering long before it was ready.
They ate in silence, scraping up every last bit of food. The adults cleaned up while Asenna insisted on unstrapping their bedrolls and laying them out neatly by the fireside. When all was ready, they gathered again around the flames, Jevon idly chewing on a blade of grass while Vorena perched on a log and looked up at the Twins' stars.
“Vori?” Asenna asked, calling Vorena's attention back from the glittering heavens. The little girl stood between her and the fire, rocking on her heels. “Would you tell me a story?”
“A story?” Vorena asked with a gasp of feigned excitement for the little girl's sake. “What a great idea! Which shall it be?”
“The special one!” Asenna cried, grinning.
“The special one? Hmmm, I'm not sure I remember that one.”
“But you remember everything.”
Vorena grabbed the girl and drew her onto her lap. “Yes, but it is the special story. I have to make sure I tell it exactly right, don't I?”
Asenna nodded, then jumped up with a gasp and dug into a hidden pocket in her little coat, extracting a small, thin bundle which she handed over to Vorena.
Vorena took the bundle, carefully unfolded the oilcloth, and picked up the only object it contained: a charred page torn from a book. Vorena handled it delicately, not wanting to cause it any more damage than it had already sustained, and held it up in front of her face while she drew the little girl onto her lap again with her free arm. Across the fire, Jevon shook his head and rolled his eyes, then gave her a smile.
“Now,” Vorena said, dramatically settling herself more comfortably on the log and throwing back her head. “The special story.” She looked at the page in her hand and began, “Many years ago, on an Isle far, far away, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a castle built of starglass, with rainbows for bridges and clouds for floors…”
Vorena scanned the page as she spoke, occasionally looking at Asenna to see the joyful gleam in the little girl's eyes as the story unfolded, telling of an evil grey wolf that threatened to tear down the castle and enslave all its people.
“…and the giant wolf burst through the castle gate, sending splinters of wood scattering in all directions. The grey beast towered over the girl, growling ferociously as its red eyes flashed, and it told her, 'I claim this castle and all its lands, and you will serve me!' The princess threw back her head and bravely faced the wolf, shouting back, 'I bow to no one! You do not own me!' Then she mounted her trusty renkana, a winged horse of Falsin–”
“I saw one! I saw one!” Asenna interrupted, grinnin
g and clapping her hands together. “Remember? When we were shitting near Jadu'n–”
Vorena winced and corrected her. “Shifting, my sweet. Shifting.”
“Oh.” She frowned, looking oddly deep in thought for such a young thing, and asked, “Is 'shitting' not a word?”
“No!” Jevon barked, a little too quickly. “No, it most certainly is not a word.”
Jevon gave Vorena a pointed you-are-corrupting-my-child look, and Vorena winced again. It was quite likely her fault that the girl had picked up such foul language. She mouthed an apology to Jevon and turned back to the girl.
“Where were we?”
“The renkana!” Asenna cheered, clapping her hands again.
“Ah, yes, here we are,” Vorena said, clearing her throat and holding out the page again. “Her renkana was blue, with orange tips on its wings and a glorious fan of green feathers for a tail. The winged horse took to the skies with the girl on its back, and together they beat back the monster with magic flame and stomping hooves, but the wolf fought back with all its might…”
The little girl gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. For as many times as she'd heard the story, Vorena still managed to wrest a response from her. Vorena had to fight a laugh as she continued, needing to maintain the proper gravity for the great battle, and raised her voice triumphantly at the girl's victory over the ferocious beast.
“…and the princess called up magic to fix the castle gate, and her friends rejoiced, and there was singing and dancing throughout the night to celebrate their continued freedom. No one—neither red-eyed wolf nor red-robed man—would ever have power over them, for they were a free people, and they were happy to the end of their days.”
Asenna clapped her hands. “Hooray!”
“Alright,” Jevon called across the fire after the girl had enjoyed the ending for a moment. “Time to sleep, little one.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, hopping down off Vorena's lap and watching intently as Vorena carefully folded the page back within its oilcloth wrap so it could be safely stored back within Asenna's coat pocket.
