She remembered the Sun’s words in the Kolpos Vault. Volatile. The large cylindrical contraption with the yellow painted symbol must have been the key. So far the data they’d retrieved from the Vault yielded very little in the way of explaining what the weapon was. Most of the data hadn’t been in her common tongue. Even the new slaves from Kolpos had trouble deciphering it.
Nico stumbled over his words. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he finally managed.
“Excellent. I would like you to come with me as I lead the assault.”
“I would be honored, Your Majesty!” Nico uttered, this time without as much acrobatics around his words.
Longinus tensed. Her jaw clenched hard, drawing blood from her inwardly curled lips. She felt her hand clench to a fist. It was a habit of hers—another one of her many tells. Except Nico hadn’t pointed this one out to her for he’d never seen it. She only ever clenched with her dominant hand. Yet she felt it nonetheless, the phantom sensation nagging at her. She couldn’t lose something precious to her again.
“I will go, too,” she said in her deepened, gravelly voice. “You will have Bacchuso’s full support.”
The king cocked his head ever so slightly to the side. “Is that so? Well, I should expect no less from my very own nephew.”
He placed his hand on Lord Constantine’s shoulder. “However, if the heir of Ænæria is to be away in battle alongside its king, then I can think of no better person to watch over Ignistad than the head of the noble Flavius Clan, Lord Constantine of Juptora.”
A fluttering in her chest at the king’s words. The heir of Ænæria? Me? Her uncle had shocked her in Ignistad when he named her a legate. This new revelation did not only that ten times over, but it confused her as well. Ænæria’s line of succession had never been clear. Xander never spent much focus on it aside from what he’d said in Svaldway when proclaiming himself an emperor. This made the line of succession familial. It would only strengthen Rose’s claim. What game are you playing with me this time, Uncle?
Lord Constantine met applause and bowed to the excited crowd. An odd choice, Flavius was. He had no military experience and was already an influential member of the kingdom. Surely her uncle had a plan to all of this. She simply hadn’t the faintest idea what it could be.
“I graciously accept, Your Majesty,” Constantine said. He had a powerful voice that carried over the room while simultaneously sounding soothing and calm. “Though might I ask, if you had originally wanted Legate Longinus in Ignistad, then who was to be in his place here? His captain will be with you in Svaldway, and he has yet to name a prefect.”
People exchanged words, and Longinus swore she heard her name uttered over and over again. Now she understood what her uncle was doing. He was toying with her again. Just as he always had. Except it was never without purpose. If he was sincere in calling her the heir of Ænæria, then she would need to show her mettle as a leader, able to overcome whispers and political scaling. Rose was a woman—the self-proclaimed heir. If people were supporting her, then surely Longinus would have their support when she eventually came out.
Nico tapped her shoulder lightly. “They’re waiting for a response.”
I have to choose someone now? Her obvious choice was Nico. Not only because of their relationship. He’d faced combat and was an experienced leader. Clearly, she wasn’t meant to choose him if her uncle wanted him in Svaldway.
Oh. She realized what the king was doing. All of this had been planned. He’d known she would choose to leave Bacchuso to be with Nico. Which meant he knew of their affair. The secret had been spilled, and the king was none too pleased. He was trying to interfere with them, maybe even try getting Nico killed in the battle. She couldn’t have that. He’d stepped on her toes enough and damn it all if he thought it had been in her best interest. She would not let him get in the way without a fight.
So she chose a prefect that would throw a wrench in whatever else the king was plotting. It would hurt her too, probably. That didn’t matter. She was done taking hits without fighting back.
“Lord Edwin, I would name you my prefect. You know this land better than anyone else, and you have the people’s respect and love. I would be honored to have you lead while I am away and to govern by my side when I am here.”
The chattering room shushed like a stilled field before the first claps of thunder in a summer storm. The tense air itself trembled as someone coughed, and it felt as though the entire room had shaken. Lord Constantine’s eyes bulged forth, and his chin trembled as he clenched it tight. Nico had gone still and seemed to be holding his breath. Edwin Dion narrowed his eyes and clasped his hands together, twiddling his thumbs overtop.
He grunted. “Hmm. I accept.”
The king himself was expressionless. Before Longinus had realized the motives behind his machinations and clearly disrupted them, King Randolph appeared so poised as if to float on air. Now he looked angry. It was not a good look on him. His wrath was what she’d feared the most growing up, and why she’d never let anyone know her name. That fear changed when she had something other than herself to fight for. After all, if she were to truly be the ruler of Ænæria someday, she would have to show him that she could stand up for herself. Honor demanded as much, and she had worn her father’s name for far too long in an attempt to reclaim that honor. Longinus was long dead.
Sam had her own honor to think about now.
27
Ben
Kokopolis, Ney
Ben hobbled from the gymnasium in an asynchronous march. He was no longer confined to his wheelchair. For the sake of stability, he now used a pair of crutches with cuffs that wrapped around his forearms and grips to hold onto. He used them to reduce the weight he placed on his legs while walking. Otherwise, he still felt the sharp and excruciating pain. That hardly mattered to Ben though. He should have been happy about it—ecstatic, really—after having worried that he may never walk again. It was just too hard to care that much after learning his friends had lied to him for so long.
He’d mustered the will to send a message to Rose last night about it. Not that he had been afraid to talk to her. He just didn’t like saying any of it aloud. Betrayed by his friends. All of the ones he’d grown so close to. Maybe I didn’t grow close to them after all. She hadn’t responded yet. Last he’d heard from her, she was about to attack Parvidom. He tried not to worry about that, and instead, he distracted himself with his exercises and using Hüginn to explore Ney.
Thus far, Hüginn hadn’t found any evidence of a Vault. No bright blue lights at night, no tall mysterious structures, and no Enochian mandala. Even the extra light spectra available to the raven’s sight brought up nothing. Ben had sent multiple messages to Mimir through the bird as well. He’d hoped Mimir would find the time in-between his project to check the coordinates with Ben’s location to confirm if Ney was truly the right spot. No response from Mimir either.
No, this has to be the right place. There’s a Vault here somewhere, and the Sachems know about it. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be taking so long to decide whether or not they want to help me.
Regardless of the reason, Ben felt very lonely—as if he’d been picked off the planet and tossed into deep space all by himself. It offered an eerie sense of warmth, evoking his old feelings of melancholia. It was an odd sensation, almost welcoming the blanket of darkness. He’d felt it for so long growing up that he almost felt comforted by the familiar presence.
Times like that he forced himself from isolation, often going to the gymnasium with other invalids and healers. Few spoke Archayin, but their presence kept him from wallowing in despair. At the very least, Gus was good company. He never ceased reminding Ben to look at the situation from a different perspective.
“After injuries like yours, most people couldn’t dream of walking for moons—if ever again. That’s really something you should be happy about. You’re really lucky.”
“Nah, I just have good genes.” Ben’s lips contorted into a shr
ewd smile, and he added, “The only lucky part was finding a decent healer.”
Gus lowered his head, humbled and trying to hide a smile at the praise. His gray eyes lifted when Ben changed the subject. “Have you heard from Pyat yet?”
“You realize you’re asking something very difficult of the Sachems, right?”
Ben waved a crutch angrily. “No, I don’t! I passed the trial proving I belong in Ney. I know about Vaults, and I’m the only person who can open them. That proves I have a right to use it.”
The faces in the room were fixated on Ben and Gus. They probably didn’t know what he was saying, but judging by scared eyes and open mouths, they definitely knew Ben was upset. Gus gripped the raised crutch and lowered it to the ground. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
It was like a new experience to see Ney on foot rather than from the back of a carriage. Walking slower, he got a better view of his surroundings. Not just a view through his eye, but also through feeling all around him. An odd phenomenon had surfaced as Ben recovered. It had been as though the healing had augmented the sense of touch in his legs to a new baseline. Through his feet, he could sense the vibrations in the ground spanning all across the city like an underground web. Walking outside was like a tidal wave of sensory information splashing down on him from every direction. Clopping hooves, chatting Orks, tempering steel, and hammers on nails.
They progressed slowly, Gus matching Ben’s pace. The crutches were not meant for uneven terrain such as this, and bolts of electric pain shot through Ben’s legs with every misstep. They took a soft turn right, down a busy road filled with carriages and carts displaying various foodstuffs, many of which radiated delicious scents straight through Ben’s nostrils. Brown and faded white shacks lined the street on either side, all crammed against one another as if huddling for warmth.
Despite Ben’s slow pace, they’d traveled a fair distance. About halfway down the road, Gus waved Ben into one of the shacks behind a stand selling browned heads of lettuce. It made Ben nostalgic for Kabedge’s produce shop.
The fresh scent of tea and spices greeted them as they walked up the rickety steps of a marketplace. A steaming kettle rested over a small corner fire by the owner’s counter. He was an old man with leaves tattooed across his face—and actual leaves littering his clothing. He looked at Ben and Gus suspiciously. If anything, he looked even more suspicious when Gus, an obvious outsider, uttered off a string of words in Orkish. Taken aback, the storeowner bowed and opened a door in the back, waving Ben and Gus inside.
A round alder table lay at the center of the room, dwarfed by an imposing figure with skull tattoos. Seeing an Ork in Ney shouldn’t have been a shock to Ben, except this particular Ork happened to be one with whom Ben had been acquainted.
“Skalle?” Ben nearly shouted with incredulity.
The colossal Ork loomed over Ben, his shadow nearly darkening the room. He put out his arm for Ben and cracked a smile. “You made it to Ney, friend.”
Leaning on one of the crutches, Ben raised his right arm to join it with Skalle’s. In the midst of all else that had been going on, Ben didn’t think much about looking for Skalle. This was the Ork’s home, but Ben had had doubts whether he’d ever see him again.
“And you made it home. Where is Gal?”
The giant revealed the semblance of a frown. “He did not survive the journey.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Skalle nodded at the gesture of sympathy. Ben felt guilty for having a twinge of relief at the news. After the bloodbath outside the city, he didn’t want to ever be faced with a feral again. Even if Gal still had some humanity left in him when they’d met.
Gus leaned forward. “Ever since your story to the Sachems, I’ve been working in my spare time to find Skalle. His height made it pretty easy to track him down.”
“I appreciate it, Gus. But why do this?”
“Orks don’t normally venture far from Ney. I wanted to know what they were doing all the way in the Northern Kingdoms. When he shared his story with me, I knew I had to bring the two of you together. You’ll want to hear it.”
Skalle took a seat at the table, his knees coming well above its surface. Being rather tall himself, Ben was used to not fitting well in many places. Skalle downright looked like he’d been dropped into a painting and drawn to the wrong scale. He pointed at Ben’s eyepatch and crutches. “You’ve been through much. Tell me your tale, and I will share mine.”
What story could Skalle have for Ben that Gus found so important? Ben explained his journey, including every important detail in case it would contribute to whatever Skalle had to tell. He explained why he’d journeyed here, how he’d been injured not just from the ferals, but from falling straight into the Mouth of Ney. As with the Sachems, Skalle’s expression remained neutral throughout the tale. He listened intently and interrupted only occasionally to clarify details, not once challenging the validity of Ben’s words.
“In essence, I’m looking for another Vault here,” Ben said. “It was opened, and I need to know how. If an Enochian is responsible, then we have to act fast before it can move further along with its plans. We need every advantage we can get; access to the Vaults is imperative. I don’t know how it has happened. There’s one in Ænæria that they figured out how to open, yet they still couldn’t open the Grand Vault. Maybe the Sachems figured something out or the locks here failed after so many centuries.” Though he didn’t say it, he also wondered if his mother had opened it. Maybe she was still inside.
When Ben finished speaking, Skalle revealed a toothy grin. “I have no reason to doubt your tale. I have seen much in my journey throughout the land. Allow me to impart my experience unto you in the hopes of aiding you.
“I joined the scouts in my thirteenth summer, Gal three years later. We served for many years, exploring surrounding lands and protecting our home from the eyoni—hostile outsiders. Typically wastelanders. One night, our party was patrolling the outlet of the Mouth of Ney based on reports of eyoni encroaching upon our territory without taking the trials. My brother split from the group, following a set of tracks he’d found. Meanwhile, the rest of us found the eyoni and offered them the choice between the trial and death. They all died, irrespective of their choice. Yet even after the trial, Gal had not returned.
“I sought him out myself, following the same eyoni tracks he’d found. They led me to a hidden passage behind the falls of the Mouth of Ney—one that I did not know existed. It turned to a tunnel, reaching far into the earth. It forked many times, and I strayed to many dead ends. Eventually, I found my brother lying against the cold floor, bare and scarcely breathing.
“He did not tell me what happened. Since that day his mind had been warped; his behavior more impulsive. After the incident, I begged an audience with the Sachems. The Curse, they said, must have been dormant in Gal since birth and merely presented itself late. This phenomenon, rare though it was, had been known to happen, they claimed. Yet I’d never heard of it. Something was wrong, and I’d stumbled upon something I’d not been meant to know. Gal was to be sent to Tatanka’s Cursed Grove to live with the other ferals.
“My brother did not deserve exile, and he would not survive alone with the ferals. I left with him to offer my protection and search for a cure. We followed any story similar to ours, no matter how unlikely. After nearly six summers, our search brought us to Ænæria. The change had been slow, but after so long, the effects wore on him. He had the instincts of a wild animal, his nails and teeth grew pointed, and his memory lay fragmented between recent events, the distant past, and other confabulations of things that never were. Still, he had some sense of his former self. He knew my name and had not once attempted me any harm. The same could not be said for others. Ænæria had been the biggest civilization we’d found, and he’d impulsively killed three people, which led to our short imprisonment until you saved us.
“His behavior around you came to me as a shock, for he’d not been so human for
many years. It gave me hope for the future, that we may at least be able to return home. Alas, this hope was short-lived. On our journey, home he attacked me in my sleep. Language had been lost to him, and his eyes looked only for blood. I then realized my brother to be gone and, though not typically part of our tradition, I lifted his Curse myself.”
Ben instantly related to Skalle’s concern for his brother when they’d met outside of Parvidom on his way to save Rose. Back then when he’d just been a faceless brother to a scary-looking man. His first interaction with Gal had not been a positive one. He’d feared for his life after watching the Ork takedown Ænærians with his sharp nails and teeth. Now Gal’s face in Ben’s mind was no longer through a lens of fear and blood. He was once more a man, a scout, somebody’s family. How terrifying it must’ve been for Skalle to watch his brother change from someone he once knew into one of those creatures lurking in the Cursed Grove.
The story was a previously untapped mine locked within Skalle’s past. So much of it made sense to Ben. Things that had been bothering him since he’d left for Ney and only questioned further upon his arrival. A city lay outside of Ney, hardly touched since the Old Days. A large group of people exposed to knowledge of many other civilizations and with militaristic might that could hold its own in a fight against even the Ænærians. Mimir’s alert of a Vault being opened in the vicinity.
Perhaps the biggest mystery upon his arrival were the ferals. He’d wondered what could have caused the Curse. Now he had a guess.
“Skalle, do you think you’d recognize the place you found your brother?” Ben asked.
“Of course. I would not forget a single detail of that day. Why do you ask?”
Ben closed his eyes and summoned his powers for a brief moment. Sensations filled his mind with an acute overload of magnitude. He smelled the leaves from the shop, the sweat from Skalle and Gus; he felt Gus’s nervous leg tapping, the marching horses and wandering merchants; he heard the whispered conversations in the stores and alleyways, the chirps of birds and insects. Straining, he focused on one particular sound and emitted a frequency to match it. He sensed Hüginn change its course and make for Ben’s position.
The Heir of Ænæria Page 35
