by Kate Sander
A sail boat was coming into the dock, its massive white sails bobbing over the skyline. The city held thousands of people who dressed in robes and used camels and donkeys as well as horses. The architecture was mostly one or two floor houses built out of clay. Bright coloured fabrics contrasted the dirt and were used for everything from window coverings to clothing. Sol took a deep breath in and smelled the exotic spices floating to his porch from the market.
It smelled like home.
Sol had been sent a few years before to take scholarly courses in Artesia, and in the future work on relations with the government. They worked on a diplomatic system which allowed the people to vote for their leaders. It was a rudimentary system with many faults, and people spent more time campaigning for votes then actually making decisions. He studied it, however, and made sure to befriend those from his classes he thought would rise to power. He needed positive relations with the Carabesh in order to maintain peace and trade when he was King.
The thought of running away had crossed his mind before. He didn’t want to be King. A scholar. That’s what he wanted to be. He wanted to sit and discuss philosophy with other smart people. One time, when he was young, he remembered mentioning the thought to his mother. She had looked at him with her kind and understanding blue eyes.
“I know, my dear,” she had said to him softly, stroking his hair, “But sometimes we don’t get what we want. You are the first born, so you were named Sol. You are the rightful King of Solias, and only war and famine is the outcome if you don’t lead. That has always been the way.”
“But I am not strong like Titus. I can’t fight. How will I lead?”
“Be yourself,” she had said, giving him a big hug, “stay true to who you are and you will succeed. Don’t come in here trying to be your father or Titus. Come in trying to be Sol XIX, but be the best Sol XIX you can be. If you’re true to who you are, you will be a King who makes change for the better. Be yourself and you will change the world.”
With that she had kissed him on his head and sent him to play. He had been shipped to Carabesh shortly after.
He always listened to his mother.
He tried to gain as much knowledge as possible while he was in Carabesh. He studied hard, he loved fiercely. He would be a smart King, not a war King. That was all he could do.
Lost in thought, he didn’t see Elefteria approach until she was practically on his shoulder. Jumping in surprise, he beamed at her approach.
“Elefteria!” He cried. His voice cracked slightly and he turned red with embarrassment, although no one was there to hear. He was still only fourteen, but sometimes he felt years older.
She circled and landed on his shoulder, lightly nipping his ear. Stroking her head, she snuggled into his chin. Her bright blue eyes focused in on his face and he smiled. She held out her leg showing him an attached letter. He untied it gently and went and got her a glass of water. She chirped her appreciation, and Sol was left to read his mother’s perfect cursive.
Son,
I fear for you and your brother. I think that there will be a play for the throne, though I do not know by who. You must survive!
Flee and find your brother in the woods of Langundo. Find a woman from the Melanthios, I only know her as Prisoner 613. She will help you in your journey, I’m sure of it.
Elefteria has been instructed to stay with you. Treat her well, I know you will.
Know that I love you. Remember to be true to yourself.
You must survive. You are the true King of Solias, and only when you take the throne will there be peace.
Love you dearly,
Mother
Sighing, Sol put the letter down and leaned back, brow furrowed. He knew what he needed to do but he was afraid. What he should do is burn the letter, but he couldn’t bring himself to part with it. A part of him was scared that it would be the last he ever heard from her. His father was a mean drunk and he didn’t spend any time worrying about him.
Coming to a decision, he rose quickly with Elefteria keeping a watchful eye. He quickly changed into his travelling pants and cloak and packed a shoulder bag. Venus was still sleeping, and still beautiful. He couldn’t bring himself to wake her or to leave a note. She would be better off if she thought he left her. That way no one could hurt her to get information. He made sure he left an a hundred Krit note for her so she would be able to live in comfort… at least for a little while.
He left the apartment in a hurry. There were no tears. Sol wasn’t one to cry or show emotion. He needed to get a head start on anyone following. There was a village across the desert within a day’s walk. A small port was located outside the village, used to transfer good. Figuring they would be looking for him at the Artesia port, he would go there and barter his way onto a ship. Anywhere was better than here. After that, he’d figure out a way to get back to Langundo.
He felt himself being annoyed at the nameless enemy. Were they even chasing him yet? What did they look like? Shoving his way through the early crowd in the market, he tried to blend in. Everyone was an assassin, everyone was an enemy. He needed to get out of the city, and fast.
If someone was making an attempt for the throne, then the logical course of action would be to kill him first. Kill him, then kill his parents, then stage an accident in the Sun Gods and take out his brother.
Pretty simple. Not a lot of moving parts. And he could be killed easily without his parents even knowing something was wrong.
He pushed his way through the city and out the back gate, never looking behind him. He thought of Venus one more time then forgot her. If he survived he would send for her, but first he had to survive.
Before him was desert. Setting his shoulders, he set off west. If he followed the coast, he should hit the small village before nightfall.
He never looked behind him, and that was his mistake.
Little did he know that a member of the Sun Gods, who specialized in assassination, had visited his apartment shortly after he left. Venus, being spurned as she watched Sol leave the apartment without her, had sold the direction of his travel for one hundred Kritz.
Apparently all love has a cost.
The assassin watched him leave the city and waited until he was well out of earshot and over a kilometer away from anyone before he attacked.
Sol knew none of this. He realised he had forgotten to whistle for Elefteria when he left his apartment and turned to go back. That turn saved his life.
The assassin was leaping, daggers in each hand, when Sol turned around sharply.
Sol’s eyes went big as he saw the man attacking him and he shifted his weight slightly. This caused the assassin to miss a quarter inch to the left. He fell on his face into the sand.
Sol was never a fighter, so he didn’t know what to do. He meant to kick the man sharply in the face and missed, kicking him in the shoulder. It hurt his foot more than he expected and hopped backward. He tripped over a rock in the sand and fell flat on his tailbone. All breath left him and he started gasping.
The man got up, shaking off his bad landing. Sol was flat on his back. The assassin approached him. He had a scarf over his face, so Sol couldn’t see anything but his big brown eyes.
Sol scrambled away on his bottom, hands digging into the sand. He was going to die. There was no way to defend himself.
The assassin raised his dagger over his head for the killing strike. Elefteria swooped down in a fury of beak, claws and caws. The assassin screamed and dropped his daggers, allowing Sol to scramble onto his feet. The assassin was trying to pry Elefteria off of his face, but he was swinging wildly and screaming.
Elefteria swooped away, revealing dark red holes where the assassin’s eyes used to be. She had pecked his eyes out. Dark blood flowed out of his sockets. The assassin put both hands to his face and the blood leached through his fingers.
Sol picked up a rock. The assassin was screaming and clawing at his face, turning wildly. Sol came up behind him and smashed him on the
head. He felt his skull turn to mush under the weight of the rock. The assassin fell to the ground, but was still twitching. Sol fell on him and smashed him in the head repeatedly until he was still.
Sol stopped and looked down. The man’s head was mush. Sticky, sweet smelling blood and gore covered his hands. He was shaking. He’d never killed anyone before. He’d never even been in a fist fight.
His throat was sore, he must have been screaming. The gore made his stomach turn. And the smell. He’d never smelled anything like that before. A sharp upheaval of his stomach sent him scrambling away, puking. He wretched over and over until there was nothing left but bile. His hands still had blood on them. He wiped them on the sand until they were clean. He should go and search the man, taking all his water and belongings but he couldn’t bring himself to look.
Elefteria swooped down and landed on his shoulder.
“Well done, my dear,” he mumbled, voice gruff.
He steeled his shoulders and continued towards the small sea town. His hands were still shaking, but there was nothing he could do about that. He would buy his way across the sea, find his brother in Langundo, and find this woman with the Melanthios. He would retake his throne.
After all, he always listened to his mother.
21
Senka
Senka was running hard. The air burned in her lungs and the lactic acid was pumping through her legs. She managed to take a quick look behind her. Nothing behind her, just forest. But she couldn’t take her lead for granted. Her pulse quickened, her pupils dilated. Adrenalin pumped through her. She looked forward and quickened the pace. Trees whizzed by her face, a branch swiped her in the cheek. Blood dripped down her face, but there was no time to think about the pain.
A cliff materialized in front of her, a couple of trees leaning precariously over the edge. She knew this ravine. It dropped off into a deep river and was easily a hundred and fifty feet high. The other shore was fifty feet lower than the one she was on and it was twenty feet across.
A quick calculation ran through her head.
She could make it.
Spurring herself on, she found another gear. She needed all the speed she had.
A loud yell erupted behind her as she kicked up dirt and launched herself off the cliff. Glorious wind blew through her hair as her stomach dropped. The cliff rushed towards her and she smiled. She had judged right. Her back foot hit the grass an inch away from the edge of the cliff. She absorbed the impact by bending her knees and launching herself into a front roll. Summersaulting, she sprang to her feet and leapt up, grinning.
“No fair!” Eli yelled from across the ravine. Her four companions, Eli, Tory, Ujurak and Jules had come to a skidding halt and were standing and puffing across the emptiness.
“Hey smartass!” Tory yelled, chest heaving, “How you gonna get back to the village?”
Senka smiled broadly and held up her middle finger. Sprinting back towards the ravine, she launched herself off again. Straightening her body, she plunged feet first into the icy water. It was calm, and she relaxed under the water, letting her head clear. She made it to the surface in four or five strong upward strokes and her head broke the water. Looking around, she saw an easily climbable line up the side of the one hundred and fifty foot cliff. It didn’t take her long to scale it, and a couple feet from the top Tory’s smiling head popped into view.
“Need a hand?”
Senka returned the smile and took it, and Tory easily pulled her up and over the ledge of the cliff
She shook herself off, wet hair spraying all over. Straightening, she beamed at her crew.
“Show off,” Jules mumbled under his breath. A cross armed Ujurak grunted his agreement. Senka flashed him the middle finger. Tory laughed.
They turned and walked back to the village together. It had been two weeks since the frantic letter to the Queen. Senka hadn’t heard from her, and gradually started calming down. The Queen knew what she was doing. She had survived in the cut throat world of royalty in Solias longer than Senka could even remember. If the Queen needed her, she would have sent a raven.
Senka and her crew had developed a routine. They would run through the forest at the crack of dawn, winding and weaving new paths every day. Eli, the lead scout of the village, taught them how to read and climb the trees. Now they would pick their way through the treetops, laughing the whole time.
Ujarak kept his feet firmly planted on the ground.
They would go back to the village every morning, and after breakfast they would spar. Eli used the same style of sword as Jules and was teaching him. Jules had greatly improved and Senka was starting to think she could actually use him in battle. Tory would practice her archery and Senka and Ujarak would fight. Ujarak used a huge Warhammer and Senka had found a couple of tantos in the blacksmith’s basement. Their weight was a little off, but they would do.
Sweaty and smiling, they would move to the village and discuss theoretically what would happen if they were attacked by the Sun Gods. They all agreed the valley north of the city would be easiest to defend and would make their diminished numbers obsolete. The problem was they didn’t know how to draw the opposition. It was completely out of the way of the route the Sun Gods would take from Solias and no General in their right mind would lead an army into a valley.
Today was different. Clearing the forest, chatting in sign language, they saw the Shaman sitting on the porch of Senka’s house. They stopped dead in their tracks, all as a team. The Shaman smiled and walked into her house. Senka nodded and made the long walk across the clearing alone.
“It’s time,” Tory said. Ujarak grunted, Eli nodded, and Jules looked stricken. War was upon them.
Senka trudged her way up to the door of her house. She knew what the appearance of the Shaman meant. She hadn’t seen him since the day in the cave. She had brought her Quicksilver home and hid it in a dark corner the furthest away from her bed as she could. Then she started life in the village with her crew, trying to ignore the impending war and the sacrifice she’d have to make.
For a brief two weeks, she was happy.
She walked into her house and the Shaman was sitting at her table. The flask of Quicksilver was on the table, along with a steaming pot of tea.
“I’m sorry for intruding on your day,” the Shaman said. He poured the tea in both glasses.
“It’s fine,” she signed and slumped down into a chair.
“I have just received a raven from Solias. The King is dead.”
Senka stared. Her heart felt heavy. The Queen was in trouble, but just wasn’t able to send a raven. The horrible feeling of failure sunk in her gut.
“There’s nothing you can do for her. She made her choice to stay. She will fight, as you will.”
Senka nodded. “What now?”
“Now...” the Shaman said. Senka didn’t know how he understood her. He just did. “Now you realize the choice you made. You know you can back out anytime.”
“No,” she signed, slowly shaking her head, keeping her eyes on the flask of Quicksilver sitting ominously on the table. “I’ve made my choice. Now it’s even easier. Those four are my family. I haven’t had a family since my master died. I’d do anything to protect them. And you know that, so why are you asking?”
He smiled kindly, wrinkled face swallowing his eyes, “I don’t know everything, my dear. Many things I perceive, lots come in dreams. Mostly, I dream things too late. I figured you would stick with your choice, but I didn’t know for sure.” She stared at him, “Besides, you need to know that you can back out anytime. This choice is for you alone.”
“You said it won’t kill me for a while. So hopefully I only use these weapons this once. Then I can throw them away and live with my family for years to come. But we both know that I won’t have a family left if I don’t do this.”
“Okay, I understand. Barzilai, the blacksmith, has already started on tantos for you. Ujarak is his twin brother and told him those were the weapons you pref
er. I told him they were to be Pulse weapons, and he understood. He will lace them with copper wiring to conduct the Pulse. You should go and help him. A weapon is not your own unless you help build it.”
She finished her tea and rose, “I’ll go right away,” she signed.
“No, no. You sit. Go tomorrow after your training with your crew. It will take another week and you can help him until they are done. I will join you in a week’s time and together we will make the Pulse pack. I will also have Barzilai make some insulated training swords for Eli and Jules. They will help you practice with your new weapons.” The Shaman rose as she sat back down. She stared at the flask as he left her house.
She didn’t know how long she sat, when she heard a soft knock on the door and heard it open. Jules walked in and closed the door softly behind him. When she didn’t look up, he said, “Hey Senka. You all right?”
She nodded and let out a sigh turning towards him, “Sorry,” she signed, “Sorry lost in thought. What’s up?”
He stood there, looking awkward, standing by the door shuffling his feet. She realized they hadn’t been alone in two weeks.
“You okay?” she asked.
“We’re gonna die, aren’t we?” he signed. The crew rarely spoke out loud anymore. Signing came naturally. They only spoke if they needed to get someone’s attention. Senka would give her whistle.
“You’re not,” she signed fiercely. “I won’t let you.”
He stepped forward, “Better me die than you. I want to say this before the war. I don’t think I’m going to get another chance.” Senka felt butterflies in her stomach. She loved Jules, she didn’t know how or why. It had just happened that day in the woods when he built her a fire. She didn’t even realize it was love until now. And through all the torture, the war, the violence, this feeling terrified her beyond anything she had ever faced.
