Lives of Kings (8 page)

Darkness was beginning to set in, but the town was coming to life. Sirens blared, people came darting out, and everyone seemed to have something to do. I had only one thing in mind.

“We need to get back to the hotel,” I said, “and get ready to leave.”

“After a nap,” Garrison said firmly.

What was meant to be a nap turned into a marathon sleep. We were all so tired that I woke up fourteen hours later, fully dressed, on top of the covers, with Garrison at my feet. He was curled up at the end of the bed like a puppy. Seth slept in a chair, while Moira was asleep in her own bed.

I shook Garrison awake just as rays of sunlight broke through our window and roused the others.

“Wake up, it's morning.”

The first few instants of peace, before I remembered the previous day, were quickly replaced by panic. We had given the Godelan a big head start. I tried to console myself by knowing no flights could take off from the airport, which was probably still flooded, but having slept for so long, I knew the world outside could have changed in that time. Garrison read my expression.

“Don't worry,” he said sleepily. “It'll be a while before they can gather that amount of magic again.”

“That's not what we should be worried about,” Seth said flatly.

He had turned on the television. Set to the local channels and news by default, the image featured a giant wave breaking close to the beach, and four people standing right at the brink of it.

“Uh-oh.”

Moira scooted closer to the TV. “There's no way they can tell who that is,” she said. “It could be trees, or anything.”

As if in reaction to her words, the image zoomed in on our faces, blurry, but very much us. Seth flipped the channel to Australian news, and they were playing the same video. New Zealand as well. A caption proclaimed that the video of the mystery daredevils had become an online sensation.
Great.

Just as we were all calculating the improbability of us being able to leave the island together without being recognized, the phone rang. We exchanged nervous glances until Garrison got up to get it. He lifted the receiver and just listened.

A voice on the other end talked for a good minute. I couldn't hear the words, but I could tell th
at it was angry. Had someone tracked us down?

I anticipated the police busting through the door at any moment. No matter how many faces or mouthed questions we could direct at Garrison, he just stared ahead, listening. Finally, he put down the receiver.

“Kian wants us to meet him,” he said. “He's found a way to destroy the Godelan.”

K
ian
shifted on the hard earth, trying not to panic. His hands were tied behind his back and he sat tethered to a pole in one of the Kaligan supply tents. Magician sat opposite him, apparently napping.

The tent was nearly pitch black. The only light came from the flaps that blew open with the wind. Soldiers were having a meal at many communal fires, and the prisoners had been put where they could not bother anyone.

M-A had humoured Magician and Kian. He had even fed them, which Kian welcomed, for all that he knew he ought to hate the Kaligan. The wars had always somehow seemed far removed from him. Now that he was in the midst of one, he was terrified.

His initial observation had been correct — these men had been on the road for a long time, and their patience was wearing thin, especially with natives of Alapa. Attacked, their supplies raided, and constantly on the lookout, the men were suspicious of Magician's intentions.

And they were right to be. Shortly after being secured and left alone, Magician had explained to Kian exactly how they would rob the Kaligan of the metals they needed for the ritual.

Admittedly, gold was everywhere. Perhaps to the Kaligan they seemed like small amounts, but to Kian, who rarely saw any metal at all, the army sported more gold than in all of the kingdoms in the north. Even the army's banners were golden bulls on scarlet fields.

Kian guessed Alapa wasn't the best place in the Kaligan Empire to be sent to. In fact, judging by what he heard while being transported by the Kaligan, their emperor punished people by sending them to the north.

Magician had told Kian to sleep. They would have a long night ahead of them walking to the ritual spot. Kian considered how awfully optimistic that was of him. He tried to have faith in Magician and closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come.

Just when Kian heard the Kaligan shifting and moving around outside, obviously done their meal, the biggest bonfire went out. Magician's eyes opened in the darkness and something flashed within them.

Dozens of men cursed. Some minutes passed before they lit the fire again, and soon it was roaring to life, as bright as the one that had gone out. Magician's face was stony. Kian thought he saw him huff in the darkness, then the fire went out again. This time the cursing was louder, and more men joined in.

“What are you doing?” Kian whispered into the darkness. “Is this your big distraction?”

“What are you sitting next to, Prince?” Magician asked.

Kian looked around at the supplies for the first time. “Firewood,” he said finally. This confused him. “Why would they travel with firewood?”

“Think,” Magician told him, annoyed. “They travel in the winter, when dry wood is hard to find. They would have to go farther into the woods to collect it. A Roman alone is an easy Roman to kill. They travel with wood to protect themselves from us. They fear us. And we will show them why.”

Kian briefly considered that he would make a bad soldier. And a bad leader.

More time passed now between when the fire went out and when a new one was lit. And as soon as it was lit, it promptly went out again. Angry footsteps vibrated the frozen ground beneath Kian. They approached quickly, tearing open the flap and letting even more of winter in. Kian shivered in the chill.

“Move, native.”

Kian had to tuck his legs in quickly because three men surrounded him to pick up the dry wood. M-A came in behind them, exclaiming that the northern winter built character.

Just as the men were almost out of the tent with the new wood, Magician motioned to Kian.

“Tell him I know why their fire won't start,” Magician said.

Kian hesitated. Magician's plan could go wrong, and there was no coming back from it if it did.

“Tell them,” Magician pressed angrily.

“M-A!” Kian called in their language.

The man turned around, curious. “What is it, boy?”

Kian took a deep breath. “My master knows why your fire won't start.”

“Tell him they are cursed and will have no warmth in all of their future journeys,” Magician prompted.

Kian repeated this to M-A.

The commander seemed unimpressed, his grey eyebrows rising to nearly where a hairline would have been had he still possessed any hair. He shook his head, coming slowly back into the tent.

“I will never understand your superstitions,” he told Kian, though he looked toward Magician. “In case my general lets you live tomorrow and I am not the last Roman you meet, take this word of warning, boy: don't try to push your ways on the men of the south. The only thing they may care to take from the north is your women.”

Kian's nails bit into his skin. His fists were clenched behind his back, but he kept his temper even. “Don't you have your own gods?” he asked as innocently as he could.

“Yes,” M-A replied. “And they unfortunately didn't seem to follow us to this land. They truly wield great power, and I cannot wait to get back into their sight.”

“Tell him I will work magic,” Magician said. “Just like his gods. And I will bring back their fire.”

Kian bit the inside of his cheek in frustration until it bled into his mouth, but still he relayed the message to M-A.

For a second it looked like M-A was going to laugh and walk out of the tent. A big part of Kian hoped that would happen. But then the man seemed to reconsider.

M-A called a few of his pages to come in and untie Magician. When they got him to his feet, his legs were unable to hold him up. He stumbled, and the two pages struggled to hold him up.

“An old man's body cannot live a young prisoner's life,” Magician said in a pained voice Kian knew to be fake. He translated the words for M-A but knew the real Magician would rather die than show any weakness. It was all an act.

As they passed Kian, M-A leading the way back to the dark camp, Magician stumbled again. Something fell out of his pocket close to Kian's hands. He waited until everyone was out of the tent to investigate.

Feeling around blindly, Kian found a jagged piece of metal. Hoping Magician would give him enough time, he diligently began to hack away at the thick rope.

“We have entertainment,” M-A shouted just outside the tent. “This man claims he can work magic like the gods and bring back our fire!”

The men jeered. Kian felt their boots on the ground, coming toward the fire pit to view this native and the mysteriously extinguished fire. Magician's plan was working. He was enough of a distraction to attract everyone and allow Kian to roam around unfettered.

The Kaligan rope, while thick, was very dry. The fibres snapped and tore, and while much of his skin came away with the rope, Kian was able to free himself before Magician had even begun his show.

Sneaking to the entrance of the tent, he listened until he was sure everyone was busy. Then, staying low under cover of night, he snuck toward the tents that contained the gifts. Kian and Magician had spied the riches this legion was bringing their general and their emperor. Kian had never seen Magician look so smug.

The gold was right in the middle of the procession, behind the supplies tent but before all of the important commanders' tents. For all that the Kaligan carried large quantities of gold, they had grown used to being alone in a wild landscape, only attacked in the forests where Kian's people had the advantage. Camping out in the open with scouts on the perimeter, the Kaligan had nothing to fear. Their treasure was left largely unattended, and now Kian would take advantage of that.

He found the tent with gifts of food and thick li-quids in barrels. Some smelled absolutely foul and were stained with bright colours. Others smelled richly of some kind of fruit Kian had never tasted before. The gold was in a box.

In the short time Magician had whispered the plan from across the supply tent, Kian had been panicking too much to think of the finer details.

Now his heart raced wildly as he looked for an object small enough to carry but large enough that Magician would say it was enough. Kian couldn't imagine how many provisions the treasure he looked through could buy for his tribe, but he did know he could not buy his way out of this situation. What the Riada needed was their hope back. And magic.

Finally, he spotted a bulky object wrapped in canvas. He unwrapped it to reveal a golden eagle. It was perfect. He tucked it under his arm and was almost out of the tent when the familiar sound of heavy footsteps forced him to hide next to the entrance.

Kian breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he saw that only one soldier entered, lazily looking around on casual patrol. Kian quickly considered his options. If he waited, the man might not leave quickly enough for him to meet Magician where they had agreed. If he didn't wait, the soldier could raise an alarm and Kian would be caught.

His choice was made for him when he shifted the golden eagle in his arms and it rustled against his cloak. The Kaligan soldier turned around quickly, grabbing for the short sword at his waist. Kian raised the eagle and hit the man hard on the head before he could even think about what he was doing.

A piece of the eagle's wing clattered to the floor as the man collapsed with a significant dent in his helmet. Had he not been wearing a helmet, the blow would have killed him.

Kian's hands shook as he stepped over the prone form and ran from the camp into the woods, doing his best to stay hidden. His legs carried him quickly.

Though the bare branches of winter didn't provide a lot of cover, the moonless night meant darkness for Kian. Distant fires, now burning brightly, reflected off the eagle tucked under his arm. Its weight was beginning to hurt him, and Kian set it down in the snow as he watched the camp from above, waiting for a sign that Magician had managed to escape.

Kian felt like he hid and held his breath for ages. Several times he considered if he was hiding in the right spot. He glanced at the stars to confirm he was in the northeast corner of the camp, but the longer he waited, the more he doubted himself. He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't cold and hungry. He wished, not for the last time, he'd never begun this journey in the first place. Still, he convinced himself nothing would compare with the joy of having his people's warriors back.

Eventually, shouts from below startled him into crouching lower. He ducked and covered himself with his cloak, hoping to blend in. Shapes rushed around the camp. Were they looking for him or for Magician?

Just as he finally decided that he would freeze to death out in the cold, a dark shape hurried toward him in the dark. At first Kian moved back into the shadows, keeping the eagle close in case he had to use it as a weapon again. Then he noticed the familiar movements of Magician.

The man wore a frown skewed in disgust.

“What happened?” Kian asked.

“Did you get it?” Magician countered.

Kian nodded and took the eagle from under his cloak. He waited for approval, but Magician seemed neither pleased nor disappointed.

“What happened?” Kian asked again.

Magician began walking away toward the woods. As Kian was getting ready to ask again, Magician finally responded.

“I put on their show. I started their fires. I should have let them burn.” Magician's hatred for the Kaligan was not a surprise.

“Why didn't you?”

“Because,” answered Magician, “I cursed them with a worse fate. As they laughed and mocked the magic of this land, I cursed them to wander, doomed, until one day they would be exterminated. And their fate would be lost to time and memory, just like that of our tribes.”

Again, Kian felt disconnected from the conflicts that caused such hatred in everyone he knew. The hate Magician held for the Kaligan was matched only by the hate Kian's uncle Eched had for the Godelan.

Kian wondered if Eched could ever forgive his working with a Godel to win back the warriors. Surely it wouldn't matter if the Kaligan were gone and the tribe would have its king and magic back.

“They let you get away?”

“They didn't let me do anything,” Magician fired back. “I wanted to leave, so I did. They thought they tied me up and ran off looking for you. The idiots were convinced I conjured the flames yet thought rope would hold me.”

Kian held in his emotions, reining in his hope that he would see his brother again. All the weeks and months with Magician were just bottled hope for him. And after running away from his tribe, there had been no returning without a solution — something better than just producing children in hopes of creating more warriors. By the time that happened, the Riada might vanish completely.

Magician was quite spry for an older man. Kian struggled to keep up throughout the night, fighting cold, exhaustion, and hunger as he carried the heavy golden eagle through the forest.

Snow covered the ground and he worried his feet might be beyond saving after this adventure. His hand felt frozen to the statue, and a sharp ache stabbed his lungs when he pulled in deep gulps of frigid air. Finally, to keep from falling asleep as he marched, Kian addressed Magician.

“How did you know he'd agree? M-A? How did you know?”

“He is a commander,” Magician said. “At one time he had a commander. That man probably made a fool out of him. And now he cannot resist making a fool out of those who are beneath him. A cycle of power well wasted.”

As they walked, Kian had been thinking of M-A. The commander seemed very logical and scoffed at the ways of the tribes. He hadn't believed Magician and probably wouldn't ever believe magic was involved in their escape. But he hadn't wanted to give his name. M-A's reasoning was similar to what Magician had said about names — how a name was a powerful thing to learn about someone. But surely M-A wouldn't believe that?

“Did M-A not want to give us his name because he was afraid?”

Magician actually let out a harsh bark of laughter. “The Roman is not lost to the ways of magic, for all that he claims he does not believe.”