Arrival (27 page)

Satine pressed herself against the horse’s neck and urged it over the barren land of her country. It didn’t take her long to reach the small town of Marat. She was a stranger to the town, so she walked her horse slowly through the main street several times. Lining it were taverns and shops, and further back from the street were houses. It was quiet. A man came out of a shop doorway, saw her, and collapsed onto the ground in obeisance.

“You may rise,” she said kindly and the man did so slowly. “Where might I find Sulla?” she asked.

The man pointed west and said, “She is at the far side of the town—a large house with a red roof and much land—you will see it from the road.” He bowed again and Satine waved to him as she rode off. She reached the edge of the town and started on the rougher road, the large farmhouse in the distance.

It was not at all what she had been expecting. She had thought that Sulla might be the only one at the farmhouse, and maybe the child too. But as she drew nearer, she could see about twenty young boys running around the paddock. Satine slowed her horse and as she entered the grounds of the house and passed the gate, the boys stopped and stared wide-eyed at the stranger. They looked to be between five and ten years old, and Satine couldn’t help but wonder if her own son was amongst them. Her stomach clenched with nerves.

Satine dismounted and tethered her horse. She knocked on the door and was greeted by a tall woman with long blonde hair and eyes of bright blue. An Amazon. The woman looked at her suspiciously.

“I am Satine,” she said, and the woman’s eyes warmed a little.

“Highness,” she said respectfully. “I am Marna. You are here to speak with Sulla?”

“I am,” Satine said and let herself be led into the large house, through several rooms before coming to a vast decking at the back that overlooked the playing children. An older woman was sitting in a chair next to the table, watching the boys calmly. She looked up at Satine as Marna showed her to another seat.

“Greetings, Satine,” Sulla said.

Satine sat down and waited for Marna to leave before replying.

“Greetings.”

“You are here for the boy?” the old woman asked. Her face was lined with wrinkles, but the eyes were cool and intelligent.

“Yes,” Satine replied. “My mother said I would find him here. Is that true?”

Sulla nodded. “You would like to see him?”

“Yes. And I would like to take him home.”

“We want only what is best for the child,” the older woman replied.

Satine frowned. “I understand. You have no need to fear that I will harm him, or not love him.”

Sulla only shrugged.

“What is this place?” Satine asked, watching the boys cartwheel and kick a ball crazily.

“It is a home for orphaned boys.”

Satine bit her lip, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. “My son is not an orphan,” she said softly. “I would have raised him myself, but ... my mother...”

“She has come to visit Altor every year since he was brought here,” Sulla said.

“Altor? That’s his name?” Satine asked, a catch to her voice.

“Liessen named him Altor. She said you would have liked that.”

“I do,” she whispered. “I do like it. Altor is perfect.”

One of the boys fell and cried out, but then jumped up and continued to run.

“Can I see him?” Satine asked.

“Come with me,” Sulla rose and threw a formidable glance at the boys who looked at her and grinned at each other at the prospect of unsupervised fun. Satine followed her back inside and down another hallway. She stopped in front of a door and turned to the princess.

“He is training at the moment—Altor has shown a very great interest in combat of all kinds since he has been old enough to walk, talk, and hold a sword.”

“He is only seven years old!”

The woman nodded. “His interest has turned to talent.”

They entered the room. It was the largest room in the house, covered in soft mattresses and filled with training equipment. Then she saw Altor at the far end and felt her eyes grow hot. He was beautiful. More beautiful than she could ever have imagined.

He swung a sword from hand to hand, twirling it through the air. He turned as the door opened and saw the women—one he had spent his life with, and the other, who was tall and young, and crying.

Satine stared at the boy, who seemed to realise that something was wrong, for he had stopped playing with the sword and stared back at her. He had milky skin like her own, and a shock of black hair that matched his sooty eyes and dark eyelashes.

“Hello,” she said, wiping away her tears and walking over to him. He nodded in greeting and looked at Sulla for direction.

“Altor, this is Satine,” she said and Altor nodded again.

“How are you?” Satine asked.

“Well, thank you,” the boy replied. “And you?”

“I’m very glad to finally meet you, Altor,” she said.

He frowned. “Have you been waiting?” he asked.

“Ever since you were born.”

“Who are you?” Altor asked.

“I’m...” Satine took a deep breath. “I’m your mother,” she said gently. And watched as his eyes widened and he took half a step forward before stopping.

There was a long moment as she held her breath, waiting for him to say something. “Why didn’t you come before now?” he asked, his voice small.

“Oh, I wanted to so much, but I never knew where you were. I’m here now. Can you forgive me?”

He looked at her for a long time, then at Sulla, then back at Satine. And he smiled.

Incredible relief floated through her at the sight of his handsome little face lit up in happiness. Tears spilt onto her cheeks.

“Of course,” he said. “If you promise to stay with me from now on. Why are you crying?” he asked.

“I’m happy,” she laughed. Then, after a moment, “Would you like to come home with me?”

“To your house?”

“Yes, to my house.”

“And my father?” he asked, and she didn’t miss the desperate hope in the words.

So she answered. She shouldn’t have lied. But what else could she do? “Yes, your father too.”

Satine lifted Altor onto the white horse and they rode at a slow trot out of Marat and onto the country road.

“Where do you live?” he asked when they couldn’t see the town anymore.

“We live in the palace in Burmia, you and I.”

They rode in silence for the long journey home, his little body desperately perfect in her arms. Satine and Altor entered the city, and rode up the hill to the palace. To where Leostrial was waiting for them.

Elixia emerged from her chamber with the book to find herself completely alone. She rushed to Accolon’s room and found it empty. It seemed she had been reading the book for the entire night. It was sunrise and the castle appeared to be empty. Elixia hurried through the quiet halls and finally found two servants.

“Where are you going?” she asked the boys. Almost tripping in their haste to stop, they became overcome with embarrassment at being addressed directly by the queen herself.

“The grounds, my lady,” one of them answered.

“Why?”

“For the beheading of course,” he slowly replied.

Elixia rushed through the crowds that parted for her as she moved to the front. Despite the commotion, all she saw was the figure—hands bound and body slung forward so that her head rested beneath the guillotine.

Columba stared back at Elixia with deep hatred. Elixia turned quickly to the people sitting behind her, and finally saw Accolon. Elixia walked over and sat down next to her husband. He looked at her briefly.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded shortly, making her ache inside with the dismissal.

King Accolon stood up then, and turned to the crowd.

“This is not a public execution!” he shouted to them all. “Return to your houses at once.” The people slowly turned away.

All the Strangers, Fern, and Liam who were sitting in the pavilion with them, stood to leave. Accolon held up a quick hand to forestall them.

“I didn’t mean you. Stay with me.”

Without a word, the four the Strangers sat down. Accolon turned to the two people prostrate before him.

“Do you have anything to say, Tomasso?” Accolon asked, his voice all harsh edges.

“I will say only that you are making a terrible mistake,” Tomasso said and fell silent. His eyes looked hollow. Elixia had a moment of confusion, and looked swiftly at her husband, but he only nodded his head once.

Columba spoke before he had a chance. “I love you, Accolon. This was never about you.”

“I find that extremely difficult to believe. You tried to have me killed.”

“There is more here than you know!” she said desperately.

“Then explain it to me, Mother, please.”

Columba opened her mouth, flustered. Then a strange look came over her face, and her eyes flickered back and forth crazily. “He should have married me!” she screeched suddenly, shocking everyone there. “I was his betrothed!”

Accolon stared at his mother. “What are you talking about?”

“I was supposed to be Altor’s wife! Instead he cast me out like I was nothing but a serving lady!”

Elixia looked away from the insane eyes of the woman before her, unable to bear watching the pathetic, crazed thing she had become.

Accolon cleared his throat and said in a stony voice, “You shall die because you committed treason. Go peacefully, Mother.” Accolon waved his hand to the man holding the rope in place.

“No, wait, I have something to tell you!” Columba cried desperately, but the man let go, the blades came falling down, and Columba’s words were cut off with her head.

Terret woke to find himself under crisp clean bed sheets. Was he dead? He’d certainly thought he was going to die, lying there in the sand. There was a sharp pain in his shoulder and his arm was numb. He opened his eyes to find the king sitting in his bedchamber, watching him. Terret hastened to try an awkward bow in his bed, but winced as the movement sent a shot of pain into his chest.

“Try not to move,” the king said absently. “Your name is Terret?”

The boy managed a nod.

“Good. I’ll get to the point,” Accolon said. “You fought bravely. You showed initiative, and you did well in trying to save my life. You have remarkable skill and strength for a boy of your age.

“As you know, we leave for war in a few days time. You will captain a small squadron of my army. Samshon says that your arm will be healed by then. For now, get some rest. There is a tearful woman in the corridor who claims to be your mother. I will send her in, but if she bothers you too much you can send her out again.” Without waiting for a reply, he stood and walked to the door. Accolon paused and turned back to the room.

“Are you coming?” he asked, and Terret was about to reply that he thought he was supposed to stay in bed, when a second voice spoke. He realised there was another person in the room. When he saw who it was, his heart nearly leapt into his mouth. He was sitting in the immediate presence of both the High King and Queen of Uns Lapodis. He was a farm boy from the middle of the country. He had no noble heritage and no birth lineage of any rank whatsoever. Never, in his entire lifetime, had he expected to be in a situation such as this.

The queen, who was only a year or two older than Terret, looked at him and smiled. Terret felt his heart thumping in his chest.

“Of course,” she replied. “Do you think that is wise? To make him a commander?” she asked, and Terret felt a wave of disappointment.

“Yes, I do,” Accolon answered shortly.

“He is very young,” she stated.

“So are you, but you have, and will, accomplish great things,” he replied.

“There is no doubt in my mind that he will become great,” she said, completely unperturbed by the reference to her age, “but is that necessarily the best thing for him?”

“Lets not discuss this in front of the boy, especially not after I have already told him that he shall be captain,” Accolon said pointedly.

“You know best,” she smiled and Terret saw Accolon roll his eyes.

Then, with a last word to Terret, Elixia left the room behind her husband.

His mother entered the room, but all he could think about were the last words the queen had spoken: “You are a brave boy, Terret. Try not to grow up too quickly.”

Harry walked past yet another servant, lying prostrate on the floor, and it was all he could manage not to sigh openly. They all seemed to think him some sort of saviour, and the same for the rest of his friends. At first it had thrilled him no end—him, Harry, someone important! But now he was starting to feel uneasy about it. It had been the death of the three men in the arena that finally jogged him out of his daydream and made him realise that he was about to go to war. In fact it was only two days before they boarded the ships, and he knew nothing of combat or strategy. Apart from the few short lessons in swordplay that he had taken from Accolon and Rome, Harry was a complete novice.

But the thought of being killed in battle was not what he was most afraid of. It was the thought that Accolon and Fern, and the rest of the entire world, would be counting on him, and that he would let them down.

He could just imagine the look of utter disgust and disappointment on their faces when they expected him to do something amazing and he failed them.

Harry shuddered and came out of his daydream. They had spent the week since the tournament and the execution in total chaos. It was Accolon and Fern’s smart thinking and calm attitude that had seen them through the preparations.

The army had been raised and was waiting in the barracks, training non-stop, ready to board the huge fleet of ships waiting in the docks. There were two thousand men from Uns Lapodis, another six thousand waiting in the docks of Cynis Witron, eight hundred desert warriors from Tirana, and a small fighting force of the Amazonians from Frescana in the north.

Harry saw Luca enter the corridor in front of him.

“Luca! Wait.” Luca turned and waited for Harry to catch up. “What’s up?” Harry asked.

“Not much,” Luca answered distractedly and kept walking.

Harry looked sideways at him and noticed the vein bulging in Luca’s neck—a telltale sign that he was very upset about something. “What’s up?” Harry asked again.

“Nothing!” Luca snapped.

“Okay ... so where are you going?”

“Harry, leave it.” Luca snapped, and Harry sighed.

“Look, this isn’t a good time for you to be angry with me. What’s wrong?”

Luca stopped walking and glared at him. “You want to know what’s wrong? How about the fact that you were the one that brought us here and got us into this huge mess in the first place?”

“We aren’t in a mess,” Harry replied and Luca raised his eyebrows slowly.

“All right. I’ll take your word on that.”

“Man, what is wrong with you? This isn’t like you,” Harry snapped. “Did something happen? Something with Jane?”

At that, Luca’s eyes blazed.

“Okay, wrong question,” Harry backtracked quickly.

“Not everything is about Jane,” Luca said through gritted teeth.

“Okay, okay, sorry. I just want to know what’s getting at you. I know I’m worried about fighting, but you never get scared, Luca.”

They stared at each other. Luca sighed slowly and said, “How’s your training going?”

“As well as I could hope for. Doesn’t mean it’s going to be worth much in the end.”

“It’s not as bad as that,” Luca said calmly. And then he gave a gentle smile that allowed Harry to relax. “You mightn’t need a sword in the end.”

“Why, because we’ll smite down Leostrial with one glance?”

“You never know.”

Anna stood with Jane on the balcony of her chamber. They looked out over the city and the harbour, both silent in thought about what was to come. Anna was thinking about Tomasso and his final words. There were three people in this world who knew Anna was dying, and he had been one of them.

Next to her, Jane looked like she was struggling with something too, but Anna felt so distant from her friend that she didn’t have a clue where to begin asking her what was wrong. Had Jane changed, or had Anna? Perhaps they both had.

Just then, Jane looked straight at her and asked, “Are you all right, Anna?”

Anna blinked. “Yes. Sure. I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you don’t look good. And this is ... a pretty huge thing we’re doing. Is everything with you and Vezzet okay? Is he treating you properly? Because the men here have a pretty funny idea of how women should be treated...”

“Yes, yes, that’s all fine!” Anna assured her. “Everything is fine.”

Jane nodded and they lapsed into another silence. Anna bit her lip. “Actually, Jane...”

Her friend turned to look at her and Anna very nearly blurted everything out. Instead she said, “Do you blame Harry?”

“What?”

“For bringing us here, I mean. It’s just ... I don’t really know what we’re going to do. We wouldn’t have this problem if he hadn’t brought us here in the first place.”

“You really think that?”

Anna hesitated before shrugging. She was thinking about her mum again. If Harry hadn’t started this whole thing, she might have been able to say goodbye.

“I don’t blame him at all,” Jane said firmly. “I’m surprised you do.”

“I can’t help it. I get really angry every time he tries to talk to me! It’s awful, I know.”

“Well, you know what I think it is, An,” Jane said very gently and Anna turned to look at her best friend. “You’re not angry with him because he brought us here. You’re angry because you didn’t.”

There was silence. Anna opened her mouth to deny Jane’s statement and then closed it again. They stared at each other. Then, shakily, she smiled. “Maybe you’re right. But I’m still scared.”

Jane nodded. “Me too. Did you ever think we’d find ourselves heading off to fight in a war?”

Anna gave a shaky laugh. “Not even close. Have you ... do you ever think about ... how we might die?”

“All the time,” Jane said. “It’s terrifying. But if you think about it too much, it would just make everything impossible, you know?”

“But what if we never get home?” They looked at each other for a moment, then Jane gently put her arms around her friend.

“Then we’ll find a way to make it okay,” she murmured into Anna’s hair.

They stood there embracing for a long time, and Anna pondered in the silence how Jane always seemed to make things better.