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starfast · 5 years ago

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Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 10

“Morbane”

Word Count: 3826

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

Crispin had never actually been on a train before, and at the rate things were going he hoped he would never have to go on one again. Going into it, he thought he wouldn’t be so bad. He had spent weeks at a time travelling on the Mad Maiden, so surely he could manage spending a few days on a train. Now, after having travelled all through the night and through most of the day, Crispin was eager to get off the train again. They had stopped briefly in Westcliff the day before, which had been a six hour trip from Coral Bay. Frank had used the time to get caught up on some sleep, while Crispin had taken some time to walk around the city at Frank’s request.

“The trip to Morbane is going to be a long one,” Frank had said as they arrived in Westcliff, “Might as well get some fresh air and stretch our legs out while you have the chance.”

That had been nearly five hours ago. Five long hours of being cooped up in the locomotive which barely seemed big enough for just the two of them, which seemed to become smaller and smaller with each passing minute. Five hours and still had several more to go.

It must have been close to midnight when Frank told Crispin to get some rest. There were two bunk beds towards the back of the locomotive, and Frank had told him he could have whichever one he wanted since he needed to stay awake through the night. Crispin had originally taken the bottom, but as he lay on the bed surrounded by walls on three sides he began to feel trapped. He tried to sleep, but he couldn’t get past the feeling that the walls were closing in on him. He had no idea how much time had passed before he finally decided to see if he would be any better off on the top bunk, but that hadn’t gone over any better. Even though he had enough room to sit upright, when he lay on his back he felt like the ceiling was only inches away from his nose. He managed to fall asleep eventually, but he woke up several times during the night. Sometimes he was awoken by the ear-shattering train whistle. Other times he woke himself up after accidentally rolling onto his injured wing. But most times he was woken by a squeezing sensation in his chest, drenched in a cold sweat.

When he joined Frank at the front of the locomotive again, he could see the brilliant orange sunrise shining through the window. Rays of sun peeked through rows of trees, casting golden light across open fields.

“Morning,” Frank greeted him, not taking his eyes off the railway track that seemed to go on forever.

“G’Morning,” Crispin mumbled, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Sleep ok?” Frank asked.

“Yeah,” Crispin said. It was a lie though, and not even a good one at that. Frank hadn’t even looked at him yet, but he still saw right through him.

“Most people find the train a little loud at first,” he said, “Makes it hard to get any rest. You’ll get used to it though, don’t worry.”

“Right,” Crispin said. He didn’t let Frank in on the real reason he had not slept well. He could only hope that just like the noises made by the train, he would get used to the claustrophobic interior of the locomotive.

When they arrived in Morbane early in the morning, Crispin tried to hide his relief. He stepped out of the train and onto the tiled floors of the platform. He followed Frank out into the crowded train station, finally free of the confined space that he had been stuck inside for the past thirteen hours.

Crispin had only been to Morbane a few times. His father tended to avoid it since the King had a larger presence in Morbane than he did in Coral Bay. Captain Hadley never feared the King, or any authority for that matter but he still wanted to avoid getting thrown into prison, so it had been a while since Crispin’s last visit. He didn’t remember much about the city, only that it was far nicer than Coral Bay. Where Coral Bay was run down, dirty and filled to the brim with unsavory characters, Morbane was the exact opposite: Clean, tidy and generally safe.

Even the train station was reflective of the city’s pristine reputation. Brick arches held up the domed ceiling which was lined with windows that let in rays of sunlight that reflected off of the tiled floors which were practically spotless. Crispin had thought that the station in Coral Bay had been pretty impressive, much bigger than he had anticipated. The Morbane station put it to shame, just like everything else in the city.

Crispin followed Frank out of the station and onto the streets of Morbane. He drew in a breath, tasting the salty sea air that was so familiar to him. He was surprised to see how close the station was to the ocean; the one in Coral Bay had been much farther in land. It made sense though when Crispin spotted several horse drawn carts packed full with crates and barrels moving back and forth between the station and the docks.

Frank decided that the first thing they should do is get something to eat. Crispin hadn’t been feeling particularly hungry, but he obliged nonetheless. The pair made their way to a small cafe that was only a short walk from the station. They found themselves a table on the cafe’s sunlit patio. A server came by, offering them both some tea.

“We’ll both have some,” Frank replied, “Thank you.” When the server left he said to Crispin, “Sorry, I just figured that you could use something to help wake you up a little more. You still seem a little tired.”

Crispin nodded in agreement. He had never really liked tea that much, but he welcomed the idea of being at least a little more alert. He was so tired that he felt like he could fall asleep standing up. When the server came back out and placed the two mugs of steaming hot tea on their table Crispin didn’t even wait for it to cool down. He took a small sip, burning his tongue on the bitter drink.

The two of them made idle small talk as they waited for the tea to cool down some more. Crispin found that there was little for them to talk about, since Frank had made it very clear that they were not to talk about New Vellarton in public.

“If the wrong person overhears us then the town stops serving its purpose as a safe haven,” Frank had told him. So they mostly talked about New Vellarton in the privacy of the locomotive, and made awkward small talk in public.

Their conversation had seemingly hit a dead end. Not really in the mood to force out a conversation, Crispin stared out at the streets, watching people pass by him as they went about their day to day activities. As he watched the people go by, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit out of place in his plain red coat. The men that he saw wore fancy tailored suits, and the women wore dresses that trailed along the ground but somehow never got dirty. Morbane was a city that catered to the upper class, and Crispin was out of his element. He was used to the rough streets of Coral Bay where fights seemed to break out on every corner. Not that didn’t mind the peacefulness of Morbane, but it was a stark contrast from his hometown.

Crispin noticed a pair of men walking by dressed in navy blue coats with two rows of golden buttons. A silk white sash crossed over each of their chests and swords hung in sheaths from the men’s belts. It was the patch that they wore on their sleeves that caught Crispin’s attention-- an eagle with its wings outstretched and a crown on its head. He recognized it instantly as the royal coat of arms. It was a fairly scarce sight in Coral Bay, but he recognized it nonetheless.

“...Not our problem if something happened to him in transit,” one of the guards said, “Our instructions were clear. Just bring the Prince to Lord Roland. We can’t do anything about it if he never showed up to begin with.”

“True,” The other guard said. He let out a sigh then added, “although I reckon that King Matthew may fire us anyways.”

“I highly doubt that,” The first guard scoffed, “There’s still a chance that he might show up still. If not, anything that happened to him outside of Morbane is beyond our control, and effectively not our problem. Don’t waste your time worrying over it…” The two guards walked away, out of earshot.

“Interesting,” Frank murmured as the guards walked out of sight.

“What is?”

“What those two guards were saying,” Frank said, “There’s been a lot of rumours going around about whatever the hell is going on in the castle. One that’s come up recently was that there was an attempt on the prince’s life recently. The King is either trying to downplay it or outright deny it happened, depending on who you ask.”

“Curious then that the Prince has seemingly vanished according to those guards then,” Crispin said.

“Exactly,” Frank replied in a low voice.

“I sent an informant into the castle before I came to pick you up,” Frank said, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully, “Things seem to have been pretty dicey in the castle for a while.”

“Really?” Crispin asked, leaning forward slightly so that he was literally on the edge of his seat.

Frank nodded. “It’s hard to say for sure what really goes on in there,” he said, “Hence sending in Audrey. One thing that we do know for sure though is that the King is at odds with his brother, though I’m sure you know that already.”

This was news to Crispin, but he didn’t quite want to admit it. He’d always had better things to do than worry about whatever the royal family was up to. It wasn’t like they seemed to care all that much about what went on in Coral Bay. Or anywhere else outside of Galtia for that matter. It had been years since King Matthew had left the capital. Even the Winter Palace, which Crispin could see from where he sat, perched on a cliff that overlooked the city of Morbane, had been vacant for as long as Crispin could remember.

“Right,” Crispin said, but he had spoken a moment too late, and Frank had seen right through him.

“Prince Alexander has been jealous of the King,” Frank explained.

“Why?” Crispin asked, “He just wants to be king?”

“Pretty much,” Frank said.

“Why doesn’t he just kill him then?”

“Shush!” Frank hissed, “Not so loud!” He looked around then leaned in close. “The King still has men here. Don’t give them a reason to come after you.”

Crispin glanced around at the people who walked through the streets. Even the children were well dressed, and any one of them could have easily had ties to the royal family. “It’s not like I’d ever do it,” he mumbled.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that at least,” Frank replied, “King Matthew is on our side.” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper and said, “He’s already trying to crack down on the Patrol and--”

“I hear that’s going really well for him,” Crispin in an equally quiet voice.

“Laugh about it all you want,” Frank huffed, “But he is ruling in our favour, and that’s more than we can say about his brother.” He sat back in his seat and added, “Perhaps we should discuss this later.”

As much as he wanted to, Crispin knew better than to press him. He continued sipping at his tea, which had finally cooled down to a bearable temperature.

After they ate a quick breakfast, they left the cafe to start on some errands. Frank had cautioned him to stay close to him at all times. Crispin had scowled at the request. He had spent the first thirteen years of his life growing up on the streets of Coral Bay, and the last three living on a pirate ship. Morbane was a walk in the park compared to both his hometown and his father’s ship. Nothing was going to happen. Even if something did, Crispin had fought his way out of many perilous situations. Despite his injured state, he was confident that he could do it again.

He followed Frank in and out of many different shops, as the conductor went about buying some things that were needed back in New Vellarton. Mostly, it was clothing to help prepare the citizens for the long upcoming winter. Frank had come prepared with a list of measurements of all the citizens so that he could properly pick them out. He went into several shops pretending to buy for his family. “Do you have any winter boots in a size ten?” He would ask the shopkeepers, “I’m looking to buy a pair for my son.” At this point, the shopkeepers would usually give Crispin a skeptical once over at which point, Frank would clarify, “Not him.”

As they continued shopping for supplies, Frank stopped and peered into the window of a shoe store. Rows of black boots were on display in the window. They were so shiny that Crispin could practically see his reflection in them.

“We should get you a pair,” Frank said.

Crispin looked down at his pair of brown leather boots. He’d had them for such a long time that he could not remember a time where the boots weren’t dirty and scuffed. There was even a hole at the toe of his right boot, but it was so small and insignificant that he had never bothered to try and get it fixed. Despite how worn they were, Crispin still believed that they served their purpose.

“Your feet will freeze right off in those,” Frank said, before Crispin could object, “Come on. Let’s get you a new pair.”

Frank walked into the store, and Crispin followed close behind him. A tiny bell rang as the door opened. Right away, Crispin was hit with the rich scent of leather that filled the tiny shop. He walked along the rows of shoes, which seemed to come in just about every shape and size. From elegant high heeled women's boots to sturdy work boots, the cozy shop seemed to have just about every kind of footwear that Crispin could imagine.

“Can I help you two find anything?” The shopkeeper asked from behind the counter.

“I’m looking to buy a new pair of boots for my apprentice,” Frank said, “He’s a size…” he turned to Crispin.

“Six,” Crispin finished for him.

“Yeah, we’ve got a few that should fit,” The shopkeeper replied, “Anything particular in mind?”

“He’ll be working on a cargo train,” Frank explained, “We’ll be going all throughout Toltova, so he’ll be needing something that’ll keep his feet warm in the northern and interior areas.”

The shopkeeper nodded. “I think I have a pair that may work.” He came out from behind the counter and disappeared down one of the aisles. He came back carrying a box with the words “Burbant & Elvard Shoe Co” stamped onto it in black ink. He opened up the box revealing a pair of shiny black boots lined with white fur.

“Try these on,” The shopkeeper said, handing the box to Crispin, “They might be a little snug, but the fur should get pressed down the more you wear them. The leather will stretch out over time as well.”

Crispin sat down on a stool and pulled off one of his boots, and set it down next to him.

“I think we might need to get you some new socks as well,” Frank remarked as he looked down at the sock on Crispin’s foot. It had been white at one point in his life, although now it was more of a grimy beige.

Crispin took the new boot out of the box, and pulled it onto his foot. He struggled to get it around his ankle, but after a bit of pulling he was able to force it onto his foot. The boot felt a little tight around the bridge of his foot, but not so much that it was uncomfortable. In fact, this boot was far more comfortable than his older pair. Feeling satisfied with how they fit, he let Frank pay for them before they headed back out to the streets of Morbane.

They set back down the cobbled streets, which were lined with tall pale buildings that seemed to sparkle in the morning sunlight. Crispin walked down the street, staring up at the beautiful buildings. There were so many little details that went into each one that it was hard to not look at them just to take it all in. One building was lined with elaborate cornices. Another was decorated with tall columns that supported a triangular roof that stood above a large set of wooden doors. Some had tall elegant spires that reached up to the sky, while others had large domed roofs.

Crispin had been so distracted by his surroundings that he didn’t even notice that Frank had stopped to buy a newspaper from a young girl standing at an intersection.

“You going somewhere, Crispin?” Frank had called out to him after he began to wander a little too far away.

Crispin had turned back to see Frank handing the little girl a couple of coins in exchange for the newspaper. He stood in place as Frank walked to catch up with him.

“I just thought this might be interesting,” Frank said handing the paper towards Crispin, “We don’t have to look at it now, but just made me think of the conversation we were having earlier.”

Crispin looked down at the paper. In bold black letters, the headline on the front page read ‘KING MATTHEW REFUSING TO SPEAK OUT ABOUT CASTLE RUMOURS.’

Crispin paused, leaning up against a tall white column. This was probably not the best time to be reading the paper, he realized as people moved around both him and Frank. He skimmed over the article which read:

Citizens of Galtia are growing increasingly frustrated with his Royal Majesty, King Matthew, who is keeping the public in the dark in regards to some rumours that have begun to circulate within the past few days. While nothing has been confirmed as of yet, it has been speculated that an attack took place at some point on the eve of the 28th of Tenth, when King Matthew hosted a party within the castle walls to celebrate his forty-second birthday.

Exactly what happened that evening remains unclear, however many attendees were able to agree that some sort of disturbance occurred which prompted both King Matthew and Queen Angelica to end the event several hours earlier than originally scheduled. Many have speculated that there was an attack on Prince Christopher, who has not been seen since the evening of the party. According to the Royal Family’s official spokesperson, the Prince is in an undisclosed location but is believed to be safe and unharmed.

The spokesperson also mentioned that both the King and Queen are both refusing to comment on the matter for the time being. Many remain hopeful that they will be able to shed light on the situation, though many others are dubious and are left to speculate.

Crispin handed the paper back to Frank. He hadn’t finished reading the article, but he got the gist of it. He decided he would read the rest of it on the train, which he hoped would be enough to keep him distracted from how claustrophobic he had felt inside the locomotive. Part of him hoped that he would get used to it, like Frank had said, but he very much doubted it. He had always preferred open spaces. When he’d been on his father’s ship, he’d always had the entire deck at his disposal when he felt like he needed some space. He did not have that same luxury on the train. Although, if there ever was a time to like small and closed in spaces, it would be now.

Crispin was forced to abandon his thoughts on the train when Frank grabbed at his arm and pulled him down a street.

“Sorry,” He said quickly, “I completely forgot there was something else I needed to pick up.”

“What the hell?” Crispin hissed.

“I’ll explain later,” Frank said between gritted teeth.

Crispin didn’t ask any further questions as Frank led him down a series of streets. He followed Frank who suddenly seemed to be in a great hurry. Frank had since let go of Crispin’s wrist, but was walking at an unnecessarily swift pace. They wove in and out of crowds, trying not to bump into anyone as they went along.

Crispin was left puzzled when he spotted the elegant facade of the train station in the distance. He had known right away that something was amiss when Frank had grabbed his arm, but their detour left Crispin with more questions than answers. Not that Crispin had minded getting to see more of the city, but they would have reached the station about five minutes sooner if they had gone back the way they had come.

Even when they were inside the station, Frank still walked at his faster than normal pace. It was only once they were inside the train that Frank seemed to relax. He let out a sigh of relief, and sat down in his conductor’s chair.

“So what happened back there?” Crispin asked as he began to shovel coal into the firebox.

Frank glanced around the station before he said in a low voice, “Patrol guards.”

Crispin raised his eyebrows. Even though Ambrose had confirmed the existence of the Patrol, they didn’t seem like much of a threat to Crispin. He had never really seen any concrete evidence that they were still operating, aside from Ambrose’s letters from his daughter. To Crispin, the Patrol still felt like nothing more than a rumour. He had grown complacent; the Patrol would not hurt him. That kind of thing only happened to other people.

“Did they recognize you?” Crispin asked.

“I don’t think so,” Frank said, “But I recognized them. It’s better that we just keep our distance from them.” He sounded the loud train whistle, and the train began moving slowly down the tracks away from the majestic city. And away from the Patrol, the subtle danger that lurked in an otherwise perfect city.

---

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starfast · 5 years ago

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Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 9

“Burn”

Word Count: 4387

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

It had only been a day since Caleb had been dragged out of his cell and tortured by the two Patrol guards, and it had been the longest day that Caleb had ever had to endure. The burn on his chest turned an angry shade of red, and was covered in clusters of large, painful blisters. All he could do was just lay on the floor of his cell, with his cheek pressed up against the freezing ground. The Patrol was going to kill him. It wasn’t even an if at this point, it was more of a when. Every time guards passed by his cell he always thought that they were finally coming to kill him, and Caleb almost welcomed it. With Eva gone now, he had truly lost everything. Even if he could get out of the prison, where would he go? What would he do? His whole life had a series of daydreams where he lived a better life somewhere that wasn’t in the slums of Farrowin.

He had always fantasized about it, but deep down he knew that even if he did wind up somewhere else, he’d hardly be any better off. He had no money, no connections, and no experience with anything other than cleaning chimneys. It didn’t matter where he ended up, he’d always be a chimney sweep, or something equally degrading. He’d still struggle to keep a roof over his head, and food on his plate. He was born at the very bottom of the social ladder and had no chance of climbing up.

Maybe it was better that they killed him. They’d be putting him out of his misery at this rate. He’d be with Eva, and his mother, and his father. That was the best thing that he could ask for at this point.

Caleb’s eyes welled up with tears. He still couldn’t believe that she was gone. His only family that he had left and the Patrol had taken her from him. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. His mind was filled with questions that he didn’t know how to answer, but at the same time he couldn’t stop thinking about. Why had this happened? Hadn’t he suffered enough loss?

First it had been his father. Caleb was only seven when his father had left the house one night in a great hurry. “You be good for your mother now, ok Caleb?” Was the last thing that his father had said to him before rushing out the door. Caleb used to wait patiently for his father to come home. No one ever told him that he died, it was just something that Caleb had come to understand on his own.

Then it had been his mother. It had been two years ago since she became ill, but it felt like much longer. He had always hoped that she would recover, even though he knew it would be a miracle. Disease had been spreading through the slums with the ferocity of a wildfire, killing off entire families who were too poor to afford the services of a healer. When his own mother had gotten sick, Caleb still held on to the slim hope that she would live through it. It hadn’t been much of a surprise when she finally did pass, but that hadn’t made it any easier.

And now it had been Eva. Caleb could only hope that her death had been quick and painless, as Jack had claimed it had been. While he didn’t fully trust Jack, just this once he wanted to take his word. He didn’t want her to suffer. Eva didn’t deserve that. She had always been there for him. She always rooted for him, and believed in him even if he didn’t believe in himself. If she were here with him now, she would tell him to keep his head up, that everything would be ok.

If she were there right now, she would have told him that he shouldn’t be so quick to give up. She definitely wouldn’t want him to die alone, in the Patrol’s prison of all places. The more Caleb thought about it, the more certain he was that he knew what he needed to do. He had to do it for Eva, if not for anyone else.

He had to get out of here.

Eva would have wanted him to go on and live out the rest of his life. Maybe he would finally get to see Galtia, or Morbane, or any one of the many places that he had fantasized about visiting. He’d probably be stuck cleaning chimneys for the rest of his life, but that was better than death at the hands of the Patrol.

Caleb lay on his side, staring at the door. He thought about burning it down and just making a run for it. It was almost entirely made out of wood, which would have made his job easy. He almost did it, but his hands were still cuffed behind his back. Part of him considered just burning the door down anyways, but he wasn’t going to get very far with his hands stuck behind his back. He thought about stealing the key, but then what? How was he supposed to unlock the cuffs with his hands behind his back? He wasn’t even sure how he would go about stealing the key to begin with. Caleb came up with several ways to go about it, including threatening the guards, though none of them seemed plausible.

It took him a few more minutes of thinking before he came up with a plan. It was crazy, and there was a chance that he’d end up hurting himself in the process. He was so desperate that he at least had to attempt it, even though he wasn’t sure it would work.

Caleb wondered exactly how big of a fire he would need to make in order to melt metal, but now seemed like a good time to find out. He sat up, taking a moment to listen to see if there were any guards nearby. After hearing nothing but silence, he continued on with his plan. Caleb wiggled his hand around, trying to get as close to the center of the chain that linked the cuffs together as he could. He didn’t want to be too close to his hands so that he could avoid more second degree burns. Once he found the center of the chain, grazing it lightly with his fingertips. Caleb held his finger just above the chain, and then he started the fire.

It started out small, just big enough that it could be used to light a candle. The flame flickered, threatening to go out but Caleb held his focus, keeping it going with nothing but his own willpower. Slowly, he started to make the flame grow. He tried not to flinch when he began to feel the heat radiating onto his hands and his back. He knew what he was getting into when he decided he would carry out his plan, and he couldn’t afford to give up now. Caleb made an effort to try and keep the fire fairly narrow to try and lessen the discomfort from the scorching heat. The fire was only a few inches wide, but it shot upwards in a pillar of blazing heat that cast an orange glow throughout his cell.

“Hey!”

Caleb jumped at the sound of the harsh voice, immediately losing his focus. The fire fizzled out into nothing, leaving nothing behind but smoke and the burning sensation on his hands. He looked up, only to make eye contact with a blonde haired, blue eyed guard.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The guard snapped.

Caleb froze, unable to look away from the guard’s icy blue eyes. His heart pounded against the inside of his chest, as if it were trying to burst out.

The door opened, and the guard grabbed Caleb and dragged him to his feet. He shoved Caleb up against the wall, pressing him against the stone as hard as he could. Caleb struggled against the guard’s restraint. Maybe his plan hadn’t quite worked, but he wasn’t about to give up now. Adrenaline pumped through him as he continued to thrash and kick frantically trying to get the guard to release him. All he needed was just for the guard to loosen his grip even just slightly.

“Hey,” The guard called down the hall, “I need back up over here!”

It was not long before a group of five guards came running down the hall. Caleb recognized Victor and Jack right away. A wave of fear washed over him, as memories of the previous day came flooding back. He was not going to let them hurt him again.

A flame shot up from his fingertips right between him and the guard who held him against the wall. It missed the guard, but it was just what Caleb needed. The guard cried out as he stepped back, letting go of Caleb. Realizing his mistake, the guard lunged at him but Caleb was one step ahead of him, already sprinting down the corridor.

“God dammit, Dorian!” He heard Victor shouting behind him, “Get him! We’re getting rid of him now!”

Caleb didn’t dare look behind him as he continued running down the prison’s long corridor. He sprinted down the hallway, not even sure if he was going the right way. But there were five guards coming at him from one direction, and nobody coming from the other. He dashed down the empty stretch of hallway, away from the guards.

Caleb hadn’t realized his error until it was too late. He found himself at the door that led into the room where the Victor and Jack had tortured him. The guards began to close in on him, trapping him against the door.

“Stupid boy,” Jack sneered, “We’ve got you right where we want you now.”

Jack grabbed him, holding him in a tight headlock. Caleb gasped for breath as the man’s arm wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air supply. Jack dragged him into the room, with the other men trailing behind him. Caleb still tried to fight back and free himself once and for all. He used every bit of strength that he had, but it wasn’t enough. At the end of the day, he was just a scrawny little fourteen year old and Jack was a grown man. Even when he tried to shoot flames at him, Jack seemed almost completely unfazed. Caleb had even gone as far as to set the man’s jacket on fire, but the other guards had been quick to act. Jack simply handed him over to Victor, who held him in an even tighter headlock while Jack removed his coat, and stomped out the flames.

Caleb looked around frantically as the guards led him up the steps to the gallow. He continued to fight, but his energy was starting to dwindle. His ankle, which had been the least of his worries, was beginning to ache again. He had completely forgotten about it while he had tried to make his escape. Adrenaline had kept him going before, but now his injuries had caught up and reality sank in. He was going to die, but at least he put up a good fight. He hadn’t made it easy for them. He had given it his all, and that was all that he could be satisfied with at this point. It was what Eva would have wanted him to do, he thought as Victor slipped the noose around Caleb’s neck.

“Would you like to do the honours, Jack?” Victor asked.

“Oh, gladly,” Jack replied with twisted glee.

Across the room, Caleb could see the door open slowly as though whoever was behind it didn’t want to be noticed. Between the crack of the barely open door, he could see a boy, tall and slender with untidy chestnut curls that contrasted his bright blue eyes. He held a finger to his lips.

The door pushed open a few more inches, and Caleb kept his eyes fixated on the boy. He pointed to himself, then to Caleb before pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. You and me are getting out of here.

“Any last words?” Jack asked him.

Caleb glanced up at the boy, who had his eyes fixated on the rope that hung around his neck. He gave a reassuring nod, before mouthing what Caleb believed to be the words “Trust me.”

“Um, no,” Caleb said.

The ground fell from beneath his feet. He shut his eyes, almost instinctively. He barely even had time to process what was happening.

The first thing Caleb felt was getting the wind knocked out of him, like he had fallen from a great height. When he opened his eyes, he saw that was exactly what had happened. He lay on the ground of the torture chamber, his hands still behind his back and his ankle still hurting. He sat up, frowning as he tried to make sense of the situation.

All the guards looked around, seemingly just as confused as Caleb was.

Between the wooden beams that supported the platform, spotted the boy standing in the doorway, which had been opened even more now. Caleb could see now that the boy was surprisingly well dressed in a royal blue jacket with a gold trim, and white pants were covered in patches of dirt.

It was the person behind the boy that caught his attention. Caleb hadn’t noticed noticed her right away, but once she stepped out from behind the boy he couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but somehow he didn’t doubt that it was true. Eva was alive. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. He had never been so happy to see his sister. He locked eyes with her, and she smiled back at him.

“The rope snapped,” Jack deadpanned, pointing out the obvious.

“And whose fault is that?” Victor demanded, folding his arms across his chest. Jack simply shrugged in response.

“Oh you don’t know?” Victor snapped, “Because if I recall correctly, I do believe I asked you to check everything this morning so that this kind of thing didn’t happen!”

“I did,” Jack said, “And everything was fine.”

Behind the guards, Caleb saw the boy outstretch his hand as if he was reaching for something. The cuffs fell from Caleb’s wrists, hitting the ground with a soft clink. Caleb stared at his hands in disbelief. The guards hadn’t even noticed. After all the trouble he had gone through to try and remove the handcuffs and he finally had them off. Finally, he was free. More or less, at least. He looked up at the boy, who gestured for him to come.

“Hey!” one of the younger guards said sharply, pointing at Caleb’s hands.

This got the attention of everyone else in the room, including both Victor and Jack, who up until this moment had still been trying to plead his innocence.

“What the hell,” Victor murmured. He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Then without warning he turned around, facing the door. The other guards followed suit, until all five of them had their eyes locked on Eva and the boy.

The boy’s face fell, realizing that his cover had been blown.

“Get them!” Victor roared.

Caleb wasted no time in clambering over the beams that held up the platform. He sprinted towards the door, shooting balls of fire at anyone who dared to come near him.

A loud cracking noise filled the room. Caleb glanced over his shoulder to see that the large vertical beam that loomed above the platform snapped in half. It came crashing down, hitting the platform with a resounding thud.

Caleb kept running across the room. The broken beam seemed to distract the guards, which bought him some more time to get away. Caleb grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows that hung on the wall before running out of the room with Eva and the boy.

The boy slammed the door shut. He let out a sigh of relief before saying, “We need to go. I’ve locked the door, but that won’t buy us much time.”

The three of them took off running. Caleb struggled to keep up, but he ignored the pain in his ankle as he followed Eva and the dark haired boy. Behind him, he could hear the group of guards, desperately trying to catch up to them.

The boy looked over his shoulder, his face stricken with panic when he realized that the group of guards were beginning to catch up.

“Caleb,” Eva shouted, “Light a fire! Quickly!”

He didn’t need any further instruction, though he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of the idea himself. A wall of flames rose up from the ground, separating the guards from Caleb, Eva, and the boy. The guards came to a sudden halt, not wanting to get too close to the blazing fire. Caleb smiled, knowing they wouldn’t be able to harm him anymore.

“Come on,” The boy said softly, “Let’s get out of here.”

They walked down the hallway at a brisk pace. The boy led the way, with Caleb and Eva following close behind him. He almost couldn’t believe everything that had happened. He was alive. Part of him expected to wake up in his cell again, but he could feel his heart racing and his lungs burning. Even though it felt too good to be true, he knew his was real. He was going to get out of here.

“I can’t believe you’re really alive,” Caleb said to Eva. He knew it was not the best time for a reunion, but less than five minutes ago, he thought his sister had been dead. He couldn’t ignore that anymore. He felt like he had to at least say something.

Eva smiled. “I almost can’t believe you’re alive either,” she said, “ I’m glad you’re ok though.”

Caleb wouldn’t necessarily say that he was ok, but he decided not to mention this to Eva. Although, he figured that she would probably overhear his thoughts anyways. The past twenty four hours had been the worst of his life. Caleb wanted to put it all behind him but his pain served as a constant reminder of everything that he had gone through. Even once he had recovered from his numerous injuries, he felt like this was the kind of thing from which no one ever truly recovered from.

The long hallway seemed to stretch on forever, with no sign of an exit anywhere. Despite the painful protests that he got from his own body, Caleb continued to run. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and his ankle was hurting more than it ever had before, but Caleb tried to ignore it. Up in the distance, illuminated by two lanterns on either side, Caleb could see a metal gate that blocked off an elevator with rusty metal doors.

The metal gate let out an ear piercing screech as it began to slowly open, seemingly of its own will. Only a few seconds later, the boy ran through the open gate, and came skidding to stop only inches away from the elevator. Just like the gate, the elevator doors slid open and the boy stepped inside.

“In here,” he said, “Quickly!”

Eva ran into the elevator, barely slowing down as she approached it. The boy grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her back before she collided with the wall of the elevator.

“Careful,” he said gently.

Caleb couldn’t hear anything behind him as he continued to run towards the elevator. The fire had proved to be a successful diversion, but Caleb still continued to run as quickly as he could manage. At this point, it wasn’t about outrunning the Patrol as much as it was about getting out of the prison as quickly as possible. Caleb didn’t even care where he went once they got out, as long as it was better than here, and that left him with an entire kingdom of possibilities.

The metal gate began to close once he had passed through it. It shut behind him with a loud clang that echoed through the corridor. Caleb slowed to a jog as he stepped into the elevator and joined Eva and the boy. He let out a sigh of relief as the doors slid shut and the elevator behind him, cutting them off from the Patrol’s terrible prison.

There was a loud clank as the boy pulled on a lever in the corner. The floor jolted beneath them as the elevator began to rise.

Caleb wrapped his arms around Eva as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m… I’m so glad you’re alive,” he said between gasps. Even now, as he held his sister in a tight embrace he couldn’t find the words to express his relief. He felt ashamed for allowing Jack to manipulate him in such a way. He was a Patrol guard. Caleb couldn’t trust him, yet he’d believed him without a second thought when he brought the news of Eva’s apparent death.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Eva replied, “I was worried we wouldn’t make it in time.”

“But you did,” Caleb said. He met eye contact with the other boy, who kept his fingertips resting gently on the lever as the elevator continued to gather momentum. “Thank you so much, Eva and…” his voice trailed off as he realized that he had yet to learn the names of his other rescuer.

“Kit,” the boy said extending a hand, “Kit Marwing.”

Caleb’s eyes widened. He did know the name of his rescuer after all, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to bow or not. He shook Kit’s hand, and mumbled, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”

“You can just call me Kit, if you want.”

“Ok,” Caleb said in a quiet voice, still unable to wrap his head around the fact that he not just with the Crown Prince, but that they were also escaping a prison together. He wondered what kind of events had transpired that had landed Kit in the hands of the Patrol.

“Also, you can let go of my hand now,” Kit said.

Caleb pulled his hand away as though the prince’s skin had suddenly caught fire. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He could feel his face redden with embarrassment, but there was hardly any light inside the dark elevator. No one would notice.

Kit pulled on the lever once again and the elevator began to reduce its speed. The entire box lurched as it came to a stop, nearly knocking Caleb off his feet. Light shone through narrow slits in the doors, sending strips of light across the floor.

Kit peered out of one of the slits in the door. “Ok,” he whispered, “I don’t see anyone.” He stepped back and turned to Eva. “Can you tell if there’s anyone nearby?”

Eva was silent for a moment. Her eyes drifted to the door and then back to Kit. “I think we’re ok, but we should still be careful.”

Slowly Kit pushed the doors open a few inches. He peered out for a second time before he pushed them open farther, just wide enough for each of them to step out of the elevator one by one.

Caleb tentatively stepped out after Eva only to find himself in a large room with wooden walls. The only thing in the room was a large, rusted metal wheel that sat a few feet to the right of the elevator. A cable that was thicker than Caleb’s arm was wrapped around it, stretched up towards the top of a tall metal contraption that was so large that the ceiling had been built around it. They were in a mine, he realized. Or at least, it had been a mine at some point.

Kit began walking across the room, confidently as though he owned the place. Caleb and Eva trailed a few feet behind him. Caleb walked as fast as he could manage. After all the running that he had already done, it almost didn’t feel right to be walking. There was still a part of him that told him he should be running. They hadn’t escaped yet and there was still a chance for things to go wrong, but freedom was only a few feet away. Kit stood at the door, waiting for them to catch up.

“Are you guys ready?” Kit asked, pressing his hand up against the door, ready to push it open at a moment’s notice.

Caleb nodded. He would have been willing to burn the entire place to the ground if it meant he could be free.

Kit pushed the door open. Slowly at first, as if he were checking to make sure that there were no Patrol guards waiting for him on the other side. He grinned, then pushed the door open. He held it open for Caleb and Eva as they stepped outside, finally out of the prison. The air was clear and smelled of pine trees, which seemed to be the only thing that lay on the other side of the building.

“We made it,” Caleb said in disbelief, “We actually made it!”

Eva smiled and wrapped an arm around him. “We sure did,” she said.

Caleb glanced over at Kit, who stood with his arms clasped behind his back. He stood at the edge of a steep cliff, staring out at the landscape before him. Several feet below him, the Raven River wound its way through the bottom of the ravine. On the other side of the ravine, was a dense pine forest that stretched on farther than Caleb could see.

“So,” Kit said, “If we follow the river then we should end up in Sampira.”

Caleb couldn’t tell if Kit was asking them or telling them, but he picked up on what Kit wasn’t saying. Sampira was still miles away from wherever they were. Getting there on foot would take days.

“That-- that’s right,” Eva said.

Kit sighed. “Well,” he said bitterly, “I guess we’d better start walking then.”

Author’s note: I’m sorry this one took so long! I thought I’d have enough time to edit, but I ended up making some big changes so it took a little longer than I had originally anticipated. I’m not sure I’m going to continue posting every week. I might switch to every 2 weeks so that I can give each chapter more time, but I’ll see how this next week goes.

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starfast · 5 years ago

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Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 8

“Foolproof”

Word Count: 2962

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

Kit had no idea how much time had passed since he woke up in the cell. It could have been anywhere from a few hours to a few days. He wasn’t even sure whether he really was awake. Everything that had happened since his arrival passed by in a hazy, dreamlike blur. Not that much had happened to begin with. Every now and then someone would bring him food and water. His meals were nothing glamorous by any means but it was usually enough to keep him satisfied. He had also heard screaming a little while ago. It had been a loud, blood curdling scream that sent shivers down his spine, but one of the men taking care of him had assured him that it was nothing to be concerned about.

“That boy they have in there is a threat to everyone,” the guard had told him, “Its for everyone’s safety and protection, including yours.”

That had made enough sense for Kit to not question the man any further.

But that had been a while ago. Or at least it felt like a while. His cell had no windows, so it was difficult to tell what time of day it was, but time was the least of his concern. It seemed to have no meaning in the cell. He slept when he felt tired, and ate when the guards brought him food. It was quite a different routine from his life back at the castle, but It wasn’t like the guards were hurting him at all. Besides, if he was missing for long enough then his father would surely send out some men to look for him.

Right?

“Prince Kit?” A girl’s voice whispered, “Your Highness? Can you hear me?”

The voice snapped him back to reality. He looked around, trying to spot the source of the voice, but he was all alone in the cell. The only time he saw another person was when the guards came to check in on him. Even then, all the guards that he had were men.

“Kit,” The girl hissed again, “I’m in the cell across from you.”

He scratched his head. “You… huh? Who are you?”

“My name is Eva,” The girl said, “Eva Ferris.”

“Eva,” he repeated. He racked his brain for anyone that he knew with that name, but none came to mind. Was he supposed to know this person?

“Listen to me, Kit,” Eva said, “We don’t have a lot of time before the guards come back, so listen closely. We--”

“Hang on,” he said, interrupting the girl, “how do you know my name?”

“I can read your mind,” Eva replied, “I hope that’s not a problem, but I’m trying to get out of here and you might be my only hope.”

“My father will get us out of here,” Kit drawled, as he stared up at the ceiling, “He’ll help us.”

“You are aware that they’re drugging you, right?” Eva asked.

Kit frowned. This had been news to him. The guards had assured him that they wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. That meant that they wouldn’t drug him, right? He didn’t even know this girl. How could he even be sure that she wasn’t lying to him?

“Oh no, Kit,” He heard Eva say, “You’re worse off than I thought. I’m not… you do know where you are, don’t you?”

Kit looked around the cell. It didn’t really look that familiar. He thought that maybe he had just been locked up in one of the castle dungeons. He could barely even remember the events that led up to him winding up in the cell. It was hard to say with any certainty, but the more he thought about it the less certain he was that he was still in Galtia.

“I… I actually don’t really know where I am,” he admitted. He hadn’t realized how terrified the idea was until he spoke the words out loud. How were his father’s men supposed to find him now? Maybe he would be stuck here forever. He shook his head. No, that was impossible. Eventually someone would notice that he was missing. But how long would that take?

“Kit, relax” Eva said calmly, “We’re in the Patrol’s headquarters.”

“We’re… where?” He shook his head. How was he supposed to relax upon hearing that?

“Shh,” Eva said, “We don’t want them to hear us. I’ve been listening to the guard’s thoughts though, and I think we can get out of here, but we’ll have to work together.”

Kit sat up, and moved closer to the door. “Really,” he said, “Do you think so?”

“I think so, yes,” Eva replied, “We’re in the mountains, not far from the Raven River. If we can get out of here we should be able to follow the river to Sampira. But Kit, I’ll need you to do exactly what I ask.”

Kit nodded. “Ok,” he said. He leaned up against the large wooden door. “What… what do you want me to do?”

“Next time they bring you food don’t eat it,” Eva instructed, “That’s how they’ve been drugging you this whole time. Promise me Kit. Just promise me you won’t do that, ok?”

“Ok,” Kit said.

“And don’t say anything to them,” Eva added, “They can’t know that we’ve been talking. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good. We’ll talk later,” Eva said, “The guards will be coming by soon.”

“Ok,” Kit replied again. Sure enough, only a few minutes later, Kit heard the telltale footsteps as one of the guards walked down the hallway, stopping in front of his cell. The door opened and the guard set down a tray with a glass of water and a few slices of bread. Kit stared at them, wondering if it was really true that they were drugged. Before he could even ask the door slammed shut. Kit listened to the footsteps as the guard walked back the way he had come, until their sound faded into silence.

After a few minutes of silence, he heard Eva’s voice again. “Kit? Say something.”

“Yeah?” he replied in a hoarse voice.

“Remember what I told you.”

“I remember,” He said. Don’t eat the food, don’t drink the water. That was what she had told him. He repeated the phrase to himself, as the minutes ticked by. Yet despite his constant reminders, after a while it grew tempting. His empty stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in a very long time. Every now and then, he would reach out for the food only for Eva to reprimand him from across the hall.

Slowly, but surely the drugs began to wear off. It was as if his mind had been covered in a dense fog, but his thoughts became more coherent as it began to lift. He noticed it first when he came up with the idea to get rid of the water. He picked up the glass, and smashed it against the floor. The glass shattered into a bunch of crystalline shards, and the water splashed out across the floor.

“Kit, are you ok?” He heard Eva ask.

Kit smiled, relieved to hear her voice. He hadn’t heard from her in a while, and had begun to think that perhaps she was just a figment of his drug induced imagination. “I’m fine,” He said, “Much better, actually.”

As time passed, Kit grew increasingly aware of how much the drugs had been affecting him. It was almost embarrassing how much they had messed with his mind. This whole time he was letting the Patrol manipulate him. They told him he would be safe, and he had believed them without even questioning it.

“It’s not your fault Kit,” Eva reassured, “The drug that they’ve used dulled your senses and made you extremely susceptible to the power of suggestion.”

“But I should have known,” Kit said, “Everything that’s happened so far has just been red flag after red flag. I just feel so stupid that I didn’t realize it.” He let out a sigh. At least that no one back at home would have to hear about his deluded state. Sure, it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t mean that people wouldn’t act like it was. If they ever heard about it.

“Eva,” He said, “Can you do me a favour and never tell anyone about what happened when we get out of here?”

“Of course,” Eva replied, “But first you have to help me get out of here. Me and my brother.”

“Sure,” Kit said, “I can do that.” He almost regretted the words as soon as he had said them. He wanted to help, and he definitely wanted to get out of this place. There really was no way to guarantee that the three of them would get out safely. Kit wanted to believe that he could, but there was always that possibility of things going wrong. It was a big promise that he was making. If they were going to make an escape, they would have to come up with a plan that was completely foolproof.

Not to mention the fact that they would be horrifically outnumbered. There were two of them-- three including Eva’s brother. He had no idea how much fighting experience the pair had, though if he had to guess he would assume not very much.

“Do they have any other prisoners here,” Kit asked, “Can you tell?”

“It’s just me, you, and Caleb,” Eva said, confirming Kit’s greatest fear.

He had hoped that if they had at least one more person on their side, then maybe it would give them an advantage. There was strength in numbers, as the general would always tell both Kit and his father. Having even just one extra person on their side wouldn’t level the field, but it could still be the difference between escaping and being stuck in the prison. The thought of having to stage a prison break out with only three people felt like an impossible task, but wishing that he had more resources was not going to get him anywhere. He would just have to make do with who and what he had.

“Don’t you have to know about military stuff since you’re the prince and all?” Eva asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes,” Kit groaned. Military strategy was something he was supposed to know a lot about as the heir to the throne. Compared to the average citizen of Toltova, Kit probably knew more than most when it came to military but it was far from being his strong point. He had spent several agonizing hours studying strategies and tactics used in historic battles and he felt like he had hardly retained any of it.

“I… I’m sure between the two of us we can think of something,” Eva said. There was just the slightest hint of uncertainty in her voice which told Kit that she had likely been listening in on his thoughts. “What kind of powers do you have? Or do you even have them?”

Kit hesitated. He didn’t really want to get into that conversation with someone who was a complete stranger to him. He didn’t really like to discuss them with anyone, regardless of how well he knew them.

He took a deep breath. “I...I can move things with my mind,” he admitted. Kit wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, but it would make their escape a lot easier if he was honest about it. Kit couldn’t really think of any other way to go about their escape. “Don’t tell anyone about this though,” Kit said.

“Of course I won’t,” Eva replied, “I know what it’s like, Kit. I have powers too, remember?”

With that out of the way, they were able to start brainstorming some plans for their escape. They spent the next few minutes discussing their plans, pausing only briefly when Patrol guards walked down the hallway. They would peer in through the tiny window on the door and see Kit slumped against the wall pretending that he was still drugged. As soon as they walked away, Kit and Eva would resume their conversation.

It didn’t take them long to formulate a plan for their escape. Kit would create a distraction by flagging down one of the guards and telling him that he wasn’t feeling well. Eva had assured him that the guards were concerned with his well being she seemed confident that they would tend to him if he were to get sick or injured.

“They need you both alive and in one piece,” She had told him.

“Why?” Kit asked.

“I’m not sure,” She confessed, “But they won’t kill you.”

Once the guards started tending to him, Kit would unlock Eva’s cell. Kit would then make a break for it, locking the guard in the cell as he left. That would at least buy them some time and allow them to find Eva’s brother. Once they freed him, they would escape the prison and follow the Raven River until they reached Sampira.

It wasn’t a foolproof plan. Kit knew that there was still potential for things to go wrong. Once he locked the guard in the cell he was certain that other guards would be alerted. They would have to be prepared for anything, but Kit felt like they could manage. Even though the Patrol guards outnumbered the prisoners, Kit knew that his powers put him at an advantage over the guards. He was also relieved to hear that Eva’s brother had fire powers that allowed him to both generate and manipulate flames.

“That could come in handy,” Kit commented when Eva had mentioned it to him, “Especially if we need a distraction. They’d be hard pressed to ignore a fire, wouldn’t they?” He smiled as he imagined the scenario unfolding in his head, “And,” he added, “That would almost force them to split up.”

The more they discussed the plan, the more confident he became. They decided that it would be best to carry out their plan sometime tomorrow. That way, he would be able to recover from the effects of the drugs. Even though he felt fine now, they both decided it would be better if he was well rested and ready to use his powers at a moment’s notice. Kit was eager to escape, and would have been happy to start carrying out their plan at that exact moment, but it was better to wait. Most of the plan hinged on him being able to use his powers, so he had to actually be able to use them.

He leaned back against the wall of his cell. Tomorrow at this time, he would be free. It was tempting to simply unlock his cell right at that moment, but he couldn’t let Eva down and let all of their careful planning go to waste. He could wait until tomorrow. He had no idea what time it was, but it couldn’t be that far away.

Kit occupied his time by thinking about all the things he would do once he was free. He knew his father had wanted him to go and stay in Morbane, but he remembered Audrey cautioning him about how the Patrol liked to frequent the city. He decided that the first thing he would do would be to catch the first train into Galtia. His father had spent so much time looking into rumours that the Patrol existed. People thought that it was a waste of time, but Kit had always admired that his father was trying to make Toltova a safer place. Now that Kit had experienced first hand the horrors of the Patrol’s secret prison, it would change everything. He even had their location. Kit couldn’t keep that information to himself. He had to get back to Galtia.

Kit could hear the sound of footsteps running down the hall. It was difficult for him to tell how exactly how many people were sprinting down the long, narrow corridor, since the footsteps echoed throughout the prison. Kit estimated around four or five guards, but it was hard to say with any real certainty. One thing that he did know was that it was far more than the usual one or two guards that came in to check on him.

Kit’s heart rate accelerated as the guards drew nearer and nearer to his and Eva’s cell. Did they know they were planning an escape? They had been so careful about not speaking to each other when the guards were around. They always waited until the guard’s were out of earshot so that this wouldn’t happen. Kit drew in a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. He couldn’t give up yet. There still had to be a way to escape. He would think of something, and so would Eva.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to. The guards ran right past his cell, without even stopping to check on him. This in itself was highly unusual. They always checked on him. According to Eva, they often did it without being asked. This time though, the guards carried on, sprinting down the halls right past his cell as if it were completely empty.

“Kit,” Eva said in a shaky voice, “Kit can you hear me?”

He stood up and peered out the window at the cell door across from him. “Yes,” he said.

“We… we need to go,” she said, her voice quivered as though she was going to burst into tears at any second.

Before Kit could question her she explained. “Something’s happened with my brother. They’re going to kill him. Please Kit. Please, we have to help him.”

Without even hesitating, he unlocked the cell doors.

---

Author's note: I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get the next chapter up by next Wednesday, what with it being Christmas and all. I'm going to be at my parent's house and I'm not sure I'll have my laptop with me. I'm still going to try to post as soon as I'm able to, so keep an eye out. And in case I don't get a chance to say it next week, I hope you guys have a Merry Christmas/ Happy Holidays.

---

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starfast · 5 years ago

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Cross the Kingdom- Ch 7

“Consider This Revenge”

Word Count: 5242

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

Three days went by much quicker than Crispin had anticipated. It had barely taken Ambrose any time at all to figure out where he had gone. When he came to Roger’s house in search of Crispin, only to find him sleeping peacefully upstairs Ambrose had decided to let him stay put. Ambrose still came in to check on him during the few days that Crispin had spent at Roger’s house, making sure that all of his injuries were healing properly.

Aside from his visits from Ambrose, Crispin hadn’t gotten up to much in those three days. He mostly spent his time up in his room getting lots of rest, which was a stark contrast to living on his father’s ship where he was always ready to spring into action at any given moment. He welcomed the change of pace, and savoured every moment he had to himself. Most of that had more to do with the fact that he was trying his best to avoid Rebecca. Every time he left his bedroom, she hounded him with questions that he didn’t really want to answer. Sometimes she would come in and check in on him while Roger was at work, but he’d always pretend that he was asleep so that she wouldn’t bother him. It left him feeling a little bit guilty, but he was really in no mood to be putting up with her and her never ending arsenal of questions.

Part of him seriously considered telling her the full truth about what had happened between him and his father, but he knew better. It wouldn’t really solve anything. It would only leave her with even more questions. She’d be angry for not telling her sooner, and Crispin had no patience to deal with that. It was probably better that she didn’t know. He didn’t fully trust her with that information anyways.

Finally, the third day had came. The thought of leaving left him feeling equal parts nervous and excited. He had lived in Coral Bay for the first thirteen years of his life, and then spent another three living on his father’s ship. He had never been away from the coast, and was rarely that far from Coral Bay. He was going to miss Roger too. Even when he was out at sea, he knew that his next visit with the man who had raised him was never far away. Once he left, Crispin couldn’t be sure when he would see him again. On the other hand, maybe spending some time further inland might not be such a bad thing. No one would know who his father was, and for once his reputation wouldn’t follow him.

He had started packing the few belongings that he had with him the night before.

Most of his belongings had been left on the Mad Maiden, but he had a couple sets of clothes that he always kept at Roger’s place. Aside from that, all he had were his throwing knives-- including the one that his father had tried to kill him with. He kept them all in their sheaths, which hung from his belt. He kept the one from his father tucked away in his bag for safe keeping.

Ambrose had told him that he should aim to be back at his ward around noon hour. It was half past eleven when Crispin had finished washing his hair, at Roger’s insistence. As far as Roger knew, Crispin was meeting his employer for the first time today. “You should at least try to make a good impression,” he had told him the night before, “I know you’re not going to be able to get that knife wound wet, but at the very least you should try to wash your face and your hair.” Crispin didn’t fight him on the matter. He simply agreed and promised Roger that he’d get to it in the morning.

He’d be cutting it close, he realised as he wiped his copper coloured hair dry. He grabbed his shirt and coat, draping the towel over his shoulders before he headed back to his room. He was just reaching out for the doorknob, when he heard Rebecca calling out to him from the other end of the hall. Crispin couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. Why did she have to wait to for the worst possible moment? “What?” He snapped as he pressed his back up against the wall, trying to keep his injured wing hidden. He had been able to retract his right one, but his left one was still wound up in the makeshift sling that Ambrose had fashioned for him. Crispin began to feel around for the doorknob, trying to get out of the conversation as quickly as he could.

“What time are you leaving?” Rebecca asked him, as she began walking down the hall towards him.

“Soon,” Crispin replied. His hand finally landed on the doorknob. He opened the door, stepped backwards into his bedroom before shutting the door between him and Rebecca.

He sighed, grateful to have Rebecca out of the way. He felt only a little badly about trying to avoid her, but he would make sure to say a proper goodbye to her when he left. He flopped down onto his bed, lying on his side so that he didn’t hurt his wing any more than he already had.

The door flung open and Crispin spun around to see Rebecca standing in his doorway. “What do you want?” He snarled as he frantically pulled his damp towel around his torso, trying once again to hide his wing.

“Why are you like this,” She demanded, “Why does it seem like you’ve been avoiding me ever since you arrived?”

“Maybe because I have been,” he said, shrugging unapologetically.

“What’s gotten into you?” She asked, shaking her head, “We used to be so close when we were younger, and now you’ve spent the last three days avoiding me. What’s wrong with you?”

Crispin sighed. They had been much closer when they were younger, but once Crispin had developed his powers he found himself growing distant from her. Part of him found dealing with his powers to be very exhausting, and even though it had been his choice not to tell her it was a decision that he stood by. He had no idea how she would react, and even if she did take the news well she wouldn’t understand it. He had never meant for for them to grow so distant but the less he spoke to her the less inclined he would be to slip up.

“Look,” he said, “sorry for avoiding you and all, but I’ve had a really, really rough past couple of days.”

“You say that and yet you haven’t told me everything that happened,” Rebecca said, folding her arms.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business,” Crispin snapped, “It doesn’t concern you, and I don’t want you getting involved.”

“Yeah, but why not?” She demanded, “We used to tell each other everything. You’ve changed so much.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but people have a tendency of doing that.” He grabbed his shirt, which lay in a crumpled ball at the foot of his bed. “I’ll tell you what I can, but can you at least let my get my shirt on?”

“Fine,” She said.

Crispin backed up closer to the wall. He held the towel in place before quickly pulling his shirt over his head. “Alright,” he said, “I got into a fight with my dad. A really, really bad one. It turned violent, and he tried to kill me.”

“What were you arguing about that was so bad that he tried to kill you,” Rebecca asked.

“I’d really rather not say.”

“Oh come on,” Rebecca said throwing her hands up in frustration.

Crispin sighed. “Look, do you want me to tell you this or not? Because if you’re going to be like that, then I’m just going to leave.”

Rebecca let out an impatient huff. When she didn’t say any more, Crispin continued. “I ran away after that, and wound up here and tried to get to your place. I was injured really badly though, and Ambrose noticed and took me in. We got talking and I started telling him about what happened with my father,” When he noticed her annoyed glare, he quickly added, “I didn’t tell him everything. Just that he tried to kill me. He mentioned to me that he has a friend who works on a train and was looking for an assistant. So I told him that I was interested in the position. I think my father thought that he did kill me, and that’s why he told you I killed myself. If he finds out I’m still alive, he’ll probably finish the job.”

“You pretty much told me everything I already know,” Rebecca remarked.

Crispin shook his head. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you,” he said, “But right now, I’m just not ready to talk about it.” He had no intention of ever telling her anything, but the comment seemed to shut her up. Finally.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back here?” She asked.

“I think so,” Crispin said, “I mean, we’ll see. But I need to wait until things with my father dies down a little bit.”

“I’m going to miss you,” Rebecca said. Before he could respond, she flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

Crispin tensed up as her hand brushed up against his wing. He froze in a state of panic, hoping that she wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t seemed to notice the last time, after all. But when he felt her hand patting up and down his injured wing that was when he knew that the one event that he had worked so hard to avoid was beginning to play out.

“What...?” She murmured

Crispin pulled away. He pulled on his jacket and grabbed his bag. “I need to go,” he said briskly, “I’m going to be late.”

“What’s going on,” Rebecca asked, as she chased after him.

He ran down the stairs, trying to get to the door as quickly as he could. He decided it was best just to ignore her. He pulled on his boots, but Rebecca stood in front of the door, blocking his only way out.

“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s going on,” She said.

“Oh for fuck sake,” he snarled, “I’ve already told you everything.”

“You’re still hiding something,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, I am,” Crispin said, “But I already told you, you don’t need to know everything, ok? I really don’t have time for this!” He was trying to buy himself some time. He knew Rebecca well enough to know that she wasn’t going to let him pass until he gave her a straight answer. Crispin racked his brain trying to find some sort of excuse that would explain the extra bulk beneath his shirt that she had felt, but he couldn’t come up with anything.

He wasn’t going to give in so easily. Rebecca probably had secrets that she kept from him, and he was entitled to that same right. Just because they grew up together didn’t mean that she had to know everything that was going on in his life.

Crispin shoved his way past her, pushing her away from the door and into the wall. He hadn’t really wanted to escalate to this point. He wanted to leave on good terms, but she had backed him into a corner and left him with no other choice.

“I already told you everything that I was willing to tell you,” he said, “Sorry that wasn’t good enough for you. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“You’re unbelievable,” was the last thing that Rebecca said to him, before he left the house and slammed the door in her face.

It was deceptively cold out. The sun shone down over the coastal city and there was not a single cloud in the sky. It almost looked like it could be summer, but the chilly weather served as a reminder that it was still the middle of fall.

Crispin shoved his balled fists into his pockets to keep his fingers warm as he walked at a brisk pace down the streets of Coral Bay. He made his way past lines of brick buildings, trying not to think about his final conversation with Rebecca. It wasn’t how he had wanted to part ways. He thought about turning back and apologizing, but he was already going to be cutting it close. He could afford to be a few minutes late, but he didn’t want to keep Frank and Ambrose waiting. It would have to wait for another day, he decided as he made his way down the narrow side streets.

He found his way out to the Harbour Strip. During the day, the Strip was always bustling with activity. Throngs of people made their way down the strip, either heading to and from the Coral Bay Harbour which lay at the very west end of the strip. Rows of shops and inns lined one side of the wide, cobbled road. The other side remained empty, providing an unobstructed view of the vast sea that seemed to stretch on for eternity.

Crispin walked down the Strip, getting jostled by the crowd as he headed towards Roger’s tavern, the Clockwork Crow. He made a conscious effort to try to avoid bumping into anyone. Normally, he didn’t care. The Strip’s main road always seemed far too narrow to accommodate the crowds of people that always seemed to be there. This time though, he was trying to avoid hurting his shoulder again. The pain had died down a lot over the past few days, but it still hurt when he poked at it. While it had yet to happen, he knew that the pain would be almost unbearable if he accidentally bumped into someone.

He finally reached Roger’s tavern. The sign for the Clockwork Crow swung gently from the soft autumn breeze. The door opened with a loud creak, though no one inside the noisy tavern appeared to notice. Much like the street it sat on, the Clockwork crow was bustling with activity. People sat at tables, chatting with their friends as they shared a pint of ale. It was a little early for most people to be getting drunk, though that hadn’t stopped some people as they giggled and shouted amongst their peers.

Crispin spotted Roger manning the bar counter. Roger was too caught up in his work, to notice as Crispin came traipsing in. As he began sauntering towards the bar counter, Roger finally saw him. He had just finished serving some patrons who sat on the tall bar stools when he had stepped back and locked eyes with Crispin. Rather than greeting him with his regular friendly smile, Roger’s eyes widened with panic and motioned for him to turn back.

Puzzled, Crispin took a step backwards but he was too late. A tall figure emerged from the shadows of the very back corner of the room. The whole tavern fell silent as the man stood on the opposite side of the tavern glaring at Crispin with a look instilled fear into many. But not Crispin.

“Hello father,” He said with a smug grin, “Miss me?”

Marcus didn’t respond right away. He continued staring Crispin down with a look that could kill. But even from afar, Crispin could spotted the calculating look in his father’s icy stare. It was the same look that he got when they started coming up with a plan to attack enemy ships. Crispin didn’t back down though. He stood tall, or as tall as someone who barely scraped past five feet could manage, and held his ground.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here,” Marcus growled.

“And why’s that?” Crispin said taking a daring step towards his father, “Because you already told the crew that I killed myself? Since that’s clearly not true, why don’t you tell them who really made the attempt on my life that night?”

Marcus pulled out one of his throwing knives. “Keep talking,” he snarled, “Keep talking, boy and I’ll do it. You know I will.”

A sly grin played across Crispin’s face. “Then fight me.”

“No, no,” he heard Roger shout in protest, “Don’t do this, you two!”

Neither Crispin nor his father heeded Roger’s warning. Marcus stormed across the room like an angry bull towards his son. Crispin remained rooted to his spot, his feet planted firmly to the wooden floor. “Never make the first move in a fight,” His father had told him once. Crispin had always followed that advice when he could. For the most part, it had brought him some good results in various fights.

Marcus raised his fist, ready to strike at him with his knife. As he brought the knife down, Crispin grabbed at his wrist using all the strength that he had to stop the knife from getting anywhere near him. Despite his best efforts, he was no match for his father. Even at the best of times, his father had always been a much better fighter. With all of his injuries, Crispin couldn’t hold his father back and the sharp tip of the knife came closer and closer to him by the second.

Crispin swung his leg up, kneeing his father in the stomach. It hadn’t been a particularly hard blow, but his father was caught off guard and that was all that he needed. His father doubled over, dropping the knife to the floor. Crispin kicked it away, sending it skittering across the ground.

At this point, the whole tavern was watching. A few people even cheered, egging the pair on. From the back of the room where the crew of the Mad Maiden had been sitting with their Captain, a cheer broke out. “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” They banged their fists on the table, in time with their cheering.

Before Crispin could make his next move, Marcus swung his fist and punched Crispin square in the face. Crispin ignored the blood that streamed out of his nose and trickled over his mouth. He’d had far worse. A simple punch to the face was not going to stop him.

The blow left Crispin dazed, as though his father had quite literally knocked the sense out of him. Crispin swung his fist, hoping to land a punch the same way his father had done to him but he missed his target and his father grabbed his wrist. Before he could even reach for one of his knives, Marcus shoved Crispin to the ground. Crispin lay on his back with the wind knocked out of him. There was a searing pain that ran up and down his injured wing and it was only then that Crispin remembered Ambrose telling him that he should refrain from getting into fights. Well, it was too late now. All he could do now was hope that he hadn’t inflicted too much damage upon himself.

Marcus unsheathed his broad, curved sword. He raised the blade high above his head, ready to bring it down at any second. Crispin watched him, ready to duck out of the way at any given moment.

He kept his eyes locked on his father for what felt like an eternity as he waited for even the most subtle shift in his father’s weight that told Crispin that he was about to strike.

“Any last words?” His father asked in a low voice.

Crispin was about to open his mouth to deliver what he didn’t actually think would be his last words, but it was Roger who spoke instead.

“No!” He shouted, “No! I won’t allow this!” He grabbed at Marcus from behind, and pulled him away, “It’s too damn early for this!”

Crispin stared with his eyes wide in disbelief as he watched Roger restrain Marcus. In all his years, he had never seen Roger get physical with anyone. Crispin had always seen him as this gentle and down to earth fatherly figure who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. It probably was not the first time he had done something like this, given Coral Bay’s reputation. Roger had told Crispin about many drunken customers who had stepped out of line, but he never talked about having to do anything other than yelling at them until they left.

“Have you gone mad, Roger?” Marcus said through a clenched jaw as he tried to free himself from his friend’s tight hold.

“I won’t let you do this,” Roger grunted, using every bit of strength to prevent the much stronger pirate from breaking free, “He’s hurt, god dammit! You should be bloody ashamed of what you did!” He locked eyes with Crispin. “Go Crispin,” he said, “You need to leave.”

Crispin scrambled to his feet, and wasted no time getting to the door. “Goodbye, Roger,” he said, “Tell Rebecca I’m sorry about this morning.”

“I will,” Roger said, “Good luck, my boy.”

“And Dad,” Crispin raised his voice, hoping that his next words would reach the ears of the crew, “I’ll never forgive you for trying to kill me and telling everyone it was a suicide. Fuck you.” He would have loved to have seen his father’s reaction, but he could tell that it was growing more and more difficult for Roger to hold him back.

Crispin flung the door open and started running down the street as fast as he could manage. He pushed people out of the way as he made his way down the strip, before he ducked into a narrow side street. It would be a less direct route, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about pushing people out of the way. When his entire body seemed to ache he slowed to a walk. He paused for a moment, leaning against a building as he tried to catch his breath. Crispin held his hand up to his nose in an attempt to stop the blood from dripping down his front any more than it already had. When it didn’t let up, he continued making his way to Ambrose’s place.

Crispin staggered his way down the road, which brought him just outside of the ward.

A tiny bell rang above the door as he pushed the door open. He could hear two men talking to each other as he walked slowly towards the source of the voices.

“That must be him now,” He heard Ambrose say. A door at the end of the long hallway creaked open and Ambrose stepped out with another older man close behind him.

Ambrose’s face immediately fell when he saw Crispin. “Oh, Crispin,” he said, “What have you done?” He shook his head before ushering Crispin into one of the rooms.

The room was identical to the one that he had woken up in three days ago. White walls, white ceiling, a window with dark curtains and a small metal cot next to a wooden bedside table.

“Sit down,” Ambrose ordered, gesturing to the bed.

Crispin sat down. “I’m sorry,” he said in a muffled voice.

“It’s fine,” Ambrose sighed, “Let’s just hope nothing else is broken.” He opened the door slightly and called out, “Frank, could you do me a favour and get me a damp cloth? Thank you so much.”

Ambrose pulled up a chair and sat in front of Crispin. “I thought I was very explicit when I told you to take it easy,” He said disdainfully.

“I was,” Crispin protested, “I promise!”

“So how did this happen,” Ambrose asked as he folded his arms across his chest, “Did you fall out of bed?”

“Yes,” Crispin said. He knew that Ambrose was being sarcastic, but he decided to see if he could get away with it anyways. Ambrose had made it very clear that he wanted Crispin to get lots of rest, but he had specifically mentioned to avoid getting into fights with anyone. Marcus Hadley was the one person that he had singled out and told Crispin to just steer clear of, which meant that Crispin had gone and gone and done the one thing that Ambrose had asked him not to do.

“Come on Crispin,” Ambrose said, “We both know that is not what happened.” He shook his head a second time. “I never should have let you stay with Roger.”

The door opened and Frank stepped in with the damp cloths that Ambrose had requested.

“Thank you,” Ambrose said as he took one of the cloths from the older man’s gnarled hands. “You can stay here if you want,” He added, “But I’m afraid I’m going to need a moment to tend to Crispin.”

“Of course,” Frank said, “If you need me to get anything else, just let me know.” He stayed by the door, with his hands behind his back as though he were waiting for more orders from Ambrose.

Ambrose took the cloth and dabbed away at the blood that was caked on to Crispin’s face.

“Well,” he said finally, “It doesn’t appear to be broken, so we have that to be thankful for. Is there anything else that’s hurting you? And please be honest this time.”

“No,” Crispin said, “The fight got broken up before my father could do any real damage.”

Ambrose let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m going to pretend like that’s a joke,” he said, “Because if I recall correctly, I told you that you should steer clear from your father if he happened to be in town.”

“But for what it’s worth,” Crispin countered, “I told you that I was going to beat the shit out of him if I ever saw him again. And it’s not like I went looking for him. I didn’t even know he was in town.”

“You don’t like being told what to do, do you?” Ambrose remarked as he dabbed the last bit of blood off of Crispin’s face.

“Well you did tell me to get lots of rest,” Crispin pointed out, “Which I did do.”

“That doesn’t really matter if you go out looking for a fight the moment you leave the house,” Ambrose said, “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“I wasn’t looking for a fight,” Crispin said, “And I’m glad you let me stay with Roger.” The three days that he had spent resting up at Roger’s place had been exactly what he needed after the recent events. In addition to getting plenty of rest, he spent a great deal of time talking with Roger, who always seemed to know exactly what to say to make him feel better.

“Right,” Ambrose said dryly, still evidently regretting his decision. “Let’s just do what we came here to do, ok? Crispin this is Frank. Frank, Crispin.”

Frank stepped forward and extended a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said as he shook Crispin’s hand. “Ambrose has told me quite a bit about you.”

Crispin’s brow creased. He hadn’t known Ambrose for very long, so what exactly had Ambrose been telling him? Crispin knew that he had a reputation around Coral Bay; a side effect of being the son of one of the most feared pirate captains. He wondered how much Frank knew about him at this point, and how much of it was just speculation on Ambrose’s part.

Nonetheless, Crispin managed to force a smile and say, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Ambrose told me you’ve found yourself in a bit of a bad situation,” Frank remarked.

“I find that tends to happen a lot,” Crispin said. He had endured a lot of bad situations, as Frank had put it, aboard his father’s ship. Getting into fights, either on the ship or on land, was almost part of his daily routine. The night he had escaped from his father hadn’t even been his first near death experience.

“Well,” Frank said, “You should be safe with me. We’re pretty secluded, as I’m sure Ambrose mentioned to you. I’m sure you won’t find it so hard to stay out of trouble.”

“Well,” Ambrose sighed, nodding towards the bloodied cloth that he had used to clean up Crispin’s face that now lay on the bedside table, “Good luck with that.”

“Hey,” Crispin said, “I’m trying my best, ok?” When Ambrose raised his eyebrows in disbelief, Crispin quickly added, “Well, for the most part.”

“Alright then, Crispin,” Ambrose said, “How about you prove to me that you’re not the little trouble maker that everyone seems to think you are.” He reached into his pocket of his heal, and pulled out a sealed envelope. He handed it to Crispin.

Crispin took the envelope, studying it curiously. There was no name or address written on it. It was just a plain, cream coloured envelope sealed with red wax.

“It’s a letter I wrote for my daughter,” Ambrose explained, “I want you to deliver it to her. You’ll be in the train for most of the journey, so I trust that you won’t find this too difficult.”

Crispin tucked the envelope into the pocket of his coat. “I think I got this.” He said confidently.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” Ambrose said, “I’m looking forward to hearing back from my daughter.”

Crispin flashed a smug grin at the healer. He hadn’t made a great impression with Ambrose by doing the one thing he had been told not to do. Crispin still didn’t see how the fight had been his fault-- it wasn’t like he had planned on running into his father, and his father would have hurt him regardless of what he said or did. Still, he was determined to make amends with Ambrose. After everything that he had done to help him, the very least that Crispin could do was deliver the letter.

Frank finally mentioned that it was about time to get going. “I’d love to stay a little longer,” he said, “But we’ve got a long journey ahead of us, and we’re already a bit behind schedule.” He said a quick goodbye to Ambrose, before heading out the door, but Crispin hung back a bit.

“I just wanted to thank you for helping me,” He said to Ambrose.

“I’m a healer,” Ambrose said, “It’s what I do.”

“Was that the only reason that you did it?”

Ambrose was silent for a moment. “No,” He said, “I did it for my daughter. I wasn’t able to help her when the Patrol took her, but if I can do anything at all to prevent that from happening to anyone else then I’m at least going to try.”

Crispin nodded, but before he could reply, Ambrose spoke up.

“You should get going now. Frank’s waiting.”

“Of course,” Crispin said with a nod. He rose to his feet, and stepped out of the room where Frank had been waiting. He followed the man towards the door, looking back just in time to see Ambrose heading into the back room. The healer met his gaze and gave him a reassuring smile before closing the door.

Frank opened the front door, the bell chiming as it had when Crispin had entered. He held the door open as Crispin stepped out into the street, ready for the long train journey that lay ahead of him.

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starfast · 5 years ago

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Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 6

“Consider This Revenge”

Word Count: 4296

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

When Caleb came to his senses, he found himself in a tiny dark room with his cheek pressed against the cold, hard ground. Everything seemed a bit hazy and while he didn’t recognize his surroundings, he had an idea as to where he was. The room had no real discernible features, aside from the metal bars in the door’s peephole and a lack of windows. Caleb was the only thing taking up space in the room. Perhaps it was because there was no room for anything else, or more likely the Patrol just wanted him to be uncomfortable.

Caleb tried to bring himself into a sitting position, only to realize that his hands were cuffed behind his back. He struggled for a few moments, but ultimately gave up and lay back down on his side in the position that he had woken up in. He could feel a throbbing pain in his left ankle, and he stared at the base of the door as he tried to recall what he had done to it. His brain seemed to be working in slow motion as the memories came trickling back to him.

His memory was a bit fuzzy, but he remembered enough of the major details to remember what had happened. He remembered falling and the Patrol guard injecting something into him. He remembered them breaking into his house, and Eva telling him to---

The thought of his sister sent a jolt of panic through him. What had happened to her? Caleb had never seen her leave the house, which meant one of two things. She was able to find a way to escape without being seen by anyone, or the Patrol had taken her too. Although he wanted it to be the former, he strongly suspected that it was the latter. If she was alive and also in the prison, Caleb figured that she could hear his thoughts. Eva, he thought, if you can hear me please let me know your alive.

He knew that it was a shot in the dark, but he still hoped for some kind of response. Caleb waited in anticipation, growing more and more anxious as each second passed. It took him a while to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to get a response from his sister. He lay in the cell trying to rationalize with himself, coming up with different reasons as to why Eva hadn’t answered him. Maybe she was sedated still or maybe she just wasn’t paying attention. Maybe she was back in Farrowin still, trying to find a way to rescue him because there was no way that she wouldn’t at least attempt it. Caleb would have done the same for her.

Another possibility far worse crept into his mind. Caleb tried to push it away. He didn’t want to think about it, but at the same time he couldn’t ignore that it was a very terrifying possibility. This was the Patrol after all, and Eva had powers.

Caleb shook his head. No, that couldn’t be it. He couldn’t lose her. She was the last bit of family that he had left. He wouldn’t believe it to be true until he could be certain. He didn’t want to make an already bad situation even worse by worrying about something that didn’t even happen. Eva was safe. She had to be.

Caleb tried not to think of his sister as he lay in the prison cell, but it was hard to think of anything else. His mind eventually wandered back to Farrowin, and the bleak life he had lived there. It felt like an entire lifetime ago that his biggest problem in life was being cheated out of his money by the master sweep. Yet, it could have only been a few days ago at most where he was sweeping out the chimneys of Farrowin. He had always thought that he would have preferred anything over working as a chimney sweep, but here he was now. He would have given anything to go back to work. Even spending long hours climbing up tight chimneys was better than being at the mercy of the Patrol. At the very least there had been an element of familiarity to his work. Every day he would wake up at the crack of dawn, sweep chimneys until sunset before getting paid and going home. Here, all he knew was that whatever the Patrol intended to do with him would not be good.

Caleb had never had a proper education. Much like a lot of the slum kids in Farrowin, his parents taught him everything he needed to know. He was lucky that his parents knew how to read and write, because that was a luxury that few slum kids had. His parents had taught him everything that he knew about the Patrol. Most of what he knew was based off of rumours and speculation, but it all boiled down to the same thing: The Patrol wanted people like him gone. Not just him, but everyone else who had powers. He had heard all kinds of stories about how they had killed their victims. Sometimes it was quick and painless. Other times the deaths were long and drawn out, making their victims suffer for as long as possible until they eventually died. Although Caleb couldn’t say with any certainty how much of it was actually true, he had an uneasy feeling that he might soon find out.

Right when Caleb thought that things couldn’t drive himself any deeper into a pit of misery and despair, he heard the soft click as the door to his cell unlocked. The door swung open and two men stood in the doorway. They both wore the same bright red swallowtail coats with two rows of black buttons. The one who stood in the middle of the doorway was tall and slender. He had piercing blue eyes, and blonde hair that was starting to turn grey. He also wore a patch on his right sleeve-- two gold swords crossed in a V shape on a black shield. The other man was slightly shorter but evidently younger, as his angular face showed was free of any wrinkles aside from the slight crease between his eyebrows that were stuck in some sort of permanent scowl. His dark brown hair was slicked back and didn’t have even a single strand of grey as far as Caleb could tell. Caleb also noticed that this man didn’t wear the patch on his sleeve, but their outfits were otherwise identical.

“Get up,” The blonde man barked, “And don’t you dare try to run, or I guarantee you’ll regret it.”

Caleb struggled into a kneeling position. His ankle still ached, which made it hard for him to get to his feet. He tried a couple times to find a way to stand up without putting too much weight on his injured ankle.

Evidently, he was taking too long because the blonde man glared at his younger companion. “Jack, would you help him up already,” He snapped.

The dark haired man stepped forwards. He grabbed Caleb by the collar of his shirt, still blackened with soot from his work. “Get up!” He shouted at him.

Caleb whimpered as he was shoved forwards, partly out of fear but partly from the pain when he stumbled forward and was forced to bear weight on his injured ankle.

Jack seized him by the shoulder, holding him so tightly that Caleb felt like his bones would shatter from the man’s firm grasp. The other man grabbed his other shoulder, not quite as tight which was somehow equally unsettling.

The two men began to usher him down the long dark hallway. Both sides were lined with wooden doors, identical to the one that led into Caleb’s cell. There were oil lanterns interspersed between every couple of cell doors to provide a little bit of light in the shadowy hall. Tiny flames flickered inside of the lanterns, casting shadows down the hall. If it came down to it, Caleb could easily manipulate the flames into a much larger blaze that would allow him to escape. He put some serious consideration into it, and was waiting for the right moment when the blonde haired man tightened his grip on him.

“Don’t you dare think about trying to run,” He reminded.

Jack shook his head. “They always think about it,” he said to the older man, “Even after we tell them not to. Sure makes our job more interesting.”

“True,” the blonde man said, “But I don’t reckon this one would get very far.”

As much as Caleb hated to admit it, but he did have a point. He could barely walk on it, so running was out of the question. In addition to that, he had never been a very fast runner to begin with. Even if he could run fast enough to outrun his captors-- and that was a big if-- he would have to figure out if Eva was in the prison and which of the hundreds of cells she was in. The thought of escape drifted further and further out of his reach the more he contemplated it. And, he realized, he still had his hands cuffed behind his back. Escaping the prison was about as likely has the master sweep paying him in the six figures at this point.

They reached a large metal door at the end of the hall. Jack kept a firm grip on Caleb’s shoulder he pushed the heavy door open. The door opened with a loud groan only to reveal the most unpleasant looking room that Caleb had ever seen. The walls were lined with racks of whips, spears, knives, battle axes, maces, and several other types of weapons that he didn’t know the name of that all looked like something out of Caleb’s worst nightmares. He spotted a couple bows and arrows, far nicer than the homemade ones he had used in Farrowin, but no doubt used for more nefarious purposes. More disturbing than that was the wooden platform with the rope tied in a noose dangling above it. The site of it sent shivers down his spine as he wondered how many people had died in this exact room.

Caleb couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of the wooden scaffold. He had heard that back in the day there were gallows in every city. Some of the larger cities even had multiple scaffolds set up, always areas where that drew in a lot of people so that the Patrol could really set an example to the public. The one in Farrowin had allegedly been set up in the city’s Main Square, but no evidence of it remained. At least if they were going to kill him it wouldn’t be a public execution like it would have been when the Patrol’s reign was at its peak. The last thing he needed was to have the entire city turning against him, humiliating him moments before death. The thought didn’t bring him much comfort since the two men would probably humiliate him anyways.

“I changed my mind,” The Blonde Man said, “We won’t kill him today.”

Caleb let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

“Don’t get all excited, boy,” The man said, “We’re still going to have some fun with you.”

“What’s the plan then, Victor?” Jack asked.

Victor examined the rows of weapons and torture devices. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said,“Go draw up some water. Quickly now.”

Jack grabbed a metal bucket and left the room, leaving Caleb alone with Victor. He returned a few moments later with the bucket filled with water. He dumped its contents into a larger wooden tub before exiting the room with the smaller metal bucket again.

“This is ridiculous, Jack,” Victor scoffed when the younger man returned for the third time, “We’re going to be here all day.”

“If I’d known you’d wanted me to do this I’d have done it sooner,” Jack replied in a snarky tone.

“Go find someone else to help you,” He ordered, “Douglas should be around, but I’m going to go ahead and get started.”

Jack scowled before he left the room for the fourth time, taking the metal bucket with him.

“This building wasn’t meant to be a prison,” Victor said after Jack slammed the door shut, leaving them alone in the sinister room. “Back in the day, we used to serve the King. We even used to be called the King’s Patrol. Did you know that?”

Caleb nodded, too terrified to speak.

“I come from a big military family,” Victor continued, “Back when we were in our prime, everyone knew the name Valeer. My great grandfather worked closely with King Isidore, but when his son came into power… well, I’m sure you know.”

Caleb only vaguely knew about the Patrol’s downfall. King Isidore’s reign came to an abrupt end after he had been assassinated. When his son, Enoch came into power his first act as King had been to shut down the Patrol. Caleb had heard that all of the Patrol’s high ranking officials had been put on trial only to be found guilty and were executed, but if Victor was who he claimed to be then that was clearly not the case.

Victor let go of him and began walking to the other side of the room, towards a cast iron stove. He kept his eye on Caleb the entire time, making sure that he didn’t try to run away. Caleb remained frozen in place as he watched Victor open the door to the little stove.

“Do you know what we used to do to people like you?” Victor asked as he tried to get a match started.

Caleb hesitated before shaking his head. He had always thought that the Patrol just killed their victims, but Victor had made it clear that he wasn’t going to do that. Yet.

“You’re dangerous, as I’m sure you know,” He tossed the lit match into the stove before picking up the bellow that was hanging up just beside the stove. “Sometimes we liked to let people know who they should look out for.” He picked up a metal rod with an upside down triangle on one end. He stuck the end with the triangle into the fire, and at that moment, Caleb felt sick as he realized what was happening.

Caleb glanced over to the door. It wasn’t too late to run. He could try to escape.

The door swung open and Jack returned with another blonde haired man. They both held a metal bucket which they poured into the wooden tub. As the pair headed to the door, Victor called out to Jack.

“Tie him up before you go,” He said, nodding towards Caleb, “I have a feeling he won’t want to cooperate.”

Jack gave a halfhearted salute before he grabbed Caleb and pulled him towards the wall. He forced him to Caleb knees before he shackled him to the wall.

Caleb started trembling as Victor pulled the branding iron out of the fire. He could feel his fingertips growing warm again as Victor began walking towards him. He clenched his fists trying to retain control over his powers. They weren’t going to help him in this situation. He had learned the hard way that just because he could create fires and control them, didn’t necessarily mean that his flames wouldn’t hurt him. His skin would burn just like everyone else’s and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Jack began unbuttoning the buttons on Caleb’s shirt. He tried to pull away, but Jack grabbed him and held him steady. Caleb still struggled as Victor drew nearer with the red hot iron.

“Hold still,” Jack demanded, “It’ll be easier for all of us that way.”

Caleb did his best to give in and remain still, but it was difficult when he knew what was coming. Jack pulled back Caleb’s shirt exposing his bare shoulder. His body still shook, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was so terrified or because of how cold the room was. The cold air crept over his exposed skin like the gentle waves of Lake Farrow lapping up against the shores.

“Consider this revenge,” Victor said with a smirk, “You deserve this.”

Caleb pulled against his restraints in one final attempt to escape. At the back of his mind, he knew that he would be unsuccessful, but every fiber of his being was telling him to run.

Jack grabbed him in a tight bear hug, trying to keep him still. “I said sit still, you dumbass!” He shouted, “Where the hell do you think you’re going anyways?” Caleb continued to struggle against the man’s tight grip.

It wasn’t until Victor slapped him hard across the face that he finally gave in. It was useless to try and escape, especially since he was still chained to the wall. There was no escape this time. He was just going to have to endure it.

“The more you try to escape the more we’re going to hurt you,” Victor said, “Understand?”

Caleb nodded.

“Good,” Victor said, “Let go of him Jack. Let’s get started.”

Jack let go of him, but Caleb didn’t dare to move. He closed his eyes. Maybe it would be better if he couldn’t see it coming. At this rate, the branding was inevitable. It wouldn’t kill him, he reminded himself. He would get through it.

Caleb felt the heat radiating off of the branding stick before it even touched his skin. It was bearable at first, providing him with some warmth in the chilly room. It didn’t take long before the heat became uncomfortable but there was no way to escape it. Caleb’s breath came in short gasps as the heat grew more intense still.

He knew the second the iron made contact with his skin. Even though his eyes remained clenched shut he never saw it happen, but he did feel it.

Caleb had acquired several minor burns while he had been learning to control his powers. At the time he thought that the tiny burns on his hands and arms were the most painful thing he had experienced, but they paled in comparison to Victor’s branding iron. Red hot pain seared through him, spreading across his body with the intensity of a wildfire. He could smell the pungent scent of his own flesh burning and sizzling at the mercy of the iron. And he screamed. He screamed louder than he knew that he was capable of. His anguished cries echoed all throughout the room as he begged them to stop. All he wanted was for it to end, but it seemed to go on for an eternity.

When Victor finally pulled the stick away, Caleb’s throat was raw and dry from his screaming. He hadn’t even realized that he had been crying until he opened his eyes and felt the tears streaming down his cheeks. He drew in several shaky breaths as the room seemed to spin around him.

“Impressive,” Victor said, though if he truly was impressed nothing about his tone body language indicated it.

Jack nodded in agreement. “He really gave our last guy a run for his money.”

“Didn’t scream quite as loud,” Victor replied, “But he came pretty close.”

Caleb had collapsed to the ground. He lay on his side still trying to deal with the pain. It was as if a lightning bolt had shot him right through the chest. He didn’t even want to look at what the damage to his skin looked like.

“We’re not done with you yet,” Jack said, realizing that Caleb was no longer in a kneeling position.

Jack went over to the tub of water that he had filled up earlier and dragged it a few feet so that it sat in front of Caleb. He helped him into a kneeling position in front of the wooden tub. Caleb tried to comply so that Jack wouldn’t get as rough with him. He didn’t want to have to deal with any more pain than he had to. While Jack didn’t get quite so aggressive this time, Caleb still found himself wincing in pain after Jack’s manhandling him.

Caleb stared into the large tub. There was nothing sinister as far as he could tell. He could just barely make out his forlorn reflection staring back at him. His face was still covered with soot aside from the pale white streaks that ran down his cheeks from where his tears had washed away the debris.

Without warning, Jack suddenly forced Caleb’s head down into the tub of water. The cold pierced through him, as his lungs screamed for air. Caleb struggled against Jack’s hand, but the man just held him under for longer.

Right when Caleb thought that he couldn’t take it any longer, Jack grabbed him and pulled him out of the water. Caleb drew in a deep breath, trying to draw in as much air as he could.

“The last time we had this much fun was four years ago,” Jack said before forcing Caleb’s head back into the tub of freezing water. Just like the last time, he held Caleb’s head underwater and right when he was on the verge of passing out-- when he couldn’t take it anymore-- Jack would pull him out.

“We only take the brand out for the real trouble makers,” Jack said. He forced Caleb back underwater once more. He repeated the sequence a few times, while Victor watched on. Every time Jack pulled him up, he would speak to Caleb and tell him more about their last victim.

“Our last one screamed like you,” he said, “He also cried like a little baby---”

He forced Caleb underwater

“He begged us to stop, but we kept going---”

“Told us we couldn’t do this, but we did it anyways---”

“He thought we were going to kill him, but he took care of that himself---”

“He drowned in the river just shortly after he escaped---”

“Don’t know if it was an accident---”

“Or if he was so miserable after what we did that he just decided to end his own sad life---”

“But let that serve as a warning to you.”

“Jack!” It was Victor who spoke this time, “That’s enough for now.”

Caleb’s breath came in short gasps. The air almost tasted sweet in his mouth after being deprived of it for so long. His dark brown hair clung to his forehead and his teeth chattered from the cold. He could see dark circles dancing at the edge of his vision. His whole body trembled as he prayed that this was the last of it. He couldn’t take any more of this.

“Take him back to his cell,” Victor ordered.

Jack took out a key, unshackling Caleb at last. Caleb didn’t try to run this time. It was no longer a realistic option. He wasn’t even sure he could stand up on his own at this point. He had completely forgotten about his injured ankle until he tried to walk on it. The pain from being branded like cattle had taken his mind off of the twisted ankle. It hadn’t gotten any better, but it paled in comparison to what he had just gone through.

Jack led him back down to his cell. Perhaps Caleb had imagined it, but somehow the hall seemed to have gotten even longer. It seemed to stretch on for an eternity as Jack led him back to the tiny cell at a painstakingly slow pace. Caleb almost hated to admit it, but he wanted to be back in the cell. After all that he had been put through he just wanted to be alone without Victor and Jack hurting him both physically and emotionally.

Jack finally opened up the door to his cell and shoved Caleb in. Caleb sank to his knees, as Jack slammed the door behind him. He heard the faint click as Jack locked the door.

“One more thing,” Jack said, peering at him through the bars, “That girl you came in with, she’s your sister, isn’t she?”

Caleb nodded. He had almost forgotten about Eva. All he could do was hope that she wasn’t as scared or as hurt as he was. Both Victor and Jack had mentioned that they rarely took out their branding stick, so if they had hurt her then at least it wasn’t as bad as the way they hurt him.

“We killed her,” Jack said bluntly, “Hung her this morning. It was very quick and painless. Just thought you should know.” Then he left.

Of all the horrible thing that Jack had done to him, it was his words that hurt the most. Caleb curled up on the floor of his cell and began to sob uncontrollably. He was truly alone. He had no family left. Eva had died in the horrible prison, and Caleb knew he probably would too. No one would miss him; back at home he was just a lowly chimney sweep with no real friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if no one even noticed he was gone.

How were they allowed to get away with this, Caleb wondered as he lay on the cold ground of is cell. Did the King know that this was even happening? Would it make a difference if he did? They had killed Eva, and Caleb knew he would be next. Caleb didn’t even try to find a silver lining. He didn’t have anything that was worth staying alive for. He curled up in a little ball, utterly defeated and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore.

Author's note: Sorry for uploading this a little late. I was super busy yesterday and I had less time for editing than I thought I would. I'll try to be more diligent in the future about letting everyone know if I won't be posting on time. Anyways, thanks for being patient. The next chapter should be ready on the 12th (so back to my regular posting schedule).

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starfast · 5 years ago

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Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 5

“The Clocktower”

Word Count: 4604

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

For a moment Kit thought he was still lying out in the streets. He could feel the cold, hard ground beneath him and getting hit in the head by the guard who was supposed to protect him was the last thing that he could clearly remember. When he looked around, he could see brick walls surrounding him, and a ceiling overhead. He noticed several gears and cogs that moved slowly, which initially lead him to believe that he might have been brought to some sort of factory. There was some additional credibility to the notion when he realized that the last thing he remembered was being in the Industrial District. But there were large round windows on each wall, which would have been out of place in a factory. The windows were only semi-transparent, and didn’t let much light in, which made them odder still. Nothing looked even a little bit familiar to him. Kit began to panic when he realized he couldn’t even guarantee that he was still in Galtia. He spotted his bag sitting in the corner of the room, the only thing that he did recognize.

Then he spotted a girl probably close to his age, sitting next to his bag. Black hair framed her pale white face as she read through the only book that Kit had thought to bring with him. Her striking blue eyes examined the page, completely unaware that Kit was watching her. Kit tried to call out, but his throat felt dry and he found himself struggling to make a sound. He cleared his throat and said, “What are you doing with my stuff?” His voice came out in a weak and hoarse tone, and was far less authoritative than he would have liked. Nonetheless, the girl put the book down and looked up at him.

“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t realize you were awake.” She nodded towards the book and added, “It’s interesting stuff though. I didn’t know there were any copies left.”

“This is the only one as far as I know,” Kit said, “I’m going to have to ask for it back.” He realized that he probably should have kept his mouth shut. If the girl wanted to steal from him, it would be easy to sell the book off at a high price. Luckily, she just put it back into his bag, which came as both a surprise and a relief to Kit.

The book had been given to him by his father, just shortly after Kit had told him about his powers. The book was aptly titled ‘The Book of Powers’ and contained information about every documented ability. Most copies had been destroyed when the Patrol’s reign had been at its peak, but somehow the one copy survived and made its way into his father’s hands. Kit had read the pages about telekinesis several times, but he also liked to learn more about the wide variety of powers that could be found in Toltova.

Kit struggled to sit up. His head pounded and the room seemed to spin around him. He rubbed at his forehead trying to ease the pain, though it didn’t seem to work. His head still felt like someone had been pounding at it with a sledgehammer.

The girl watched him, before calmly asking, “You ok?”

“I’ll survive,” he replied, “But I have several questions.”

The girl shrugged, and said, “Ask away then, Your Highness.”

“Ok, first off, where am I?” He looked around the room, which was much smaller than he initially thought, still trying to look for something that looked vaguely familiar.

“You’re in the Galtia Clocktower,” the girl said.

Kit frowned, looking around the room. It made sense when he studied the room a little closer. It was not a very big room, for one thing. Certainly too small to be a factory as he’d initially thought. He’d never actually been inside the clocktower before, but he had a pretty good view of it from the window of his room back at the castle. It wasn’t built to be a spacious structure, and it showed from the inside of the tower. While the girl’s response certainly made sense to him, it raised even more questions.

“It was both the safest and closest place I could think to bring you,” the girl added, which answered at least one of his other questions. “I know some people in Galtia that I should have brought you too, but they live on the other side of town. I’m not sure I could have carried you that far.”

“But you carried me up to the top of the clocktower?” Kit asked, thinking aloud.

“I never said it was easy,” The girl said, “It was kind of more like I dragged you to the top of the clocktower. You weren’t fully unconscious, which made it slightly easier. But only slightly. You were still pretty out of it.”

“I see,” Kit said, satisfied with her response for the most part. He could still remember most of what had happened before he had come to his senses. The only part that left him puzzled was right before he had lost consciousness, he remembered the guard falling to the ground after his spear was yanked out of his hands by...who? Or what?. There hadn’t been anyone else around. It had just been Kit, and the guard. He dismissed it as his imagination. He had been barely conscious at that point. Perhaps someone else had been around and he just somehow didn’t notice.

“There’s something else I need to know, and you will--” He stopped and tried again, “You will be honest with me.” Kit wasn’t necessarily expecting an honest answer to his next question, but he needed to ask anyways. It was worth a shot at the very least.

“Fine,” The girl said in an unexpectedly calm tone.

“Are you working for my uncle?” Before she could answer he quickly added, “By the way, if you lie to me and I find out about it, I swear I will report you to my father and I’ll make sure that--”

“I’m not working for your uncle,” The girl said quickly, “On the contrary, I saved your life. I brought you here so that you’d be safe. Do you think that’s what your uncle would have wanted? He wants you dead. If I was working for him I would have had plenty of time to do the deed. But here you are, still alive. With all your stuff, I might add. Quite frankly, I’m a bit offended you had to ask.”

Kit pursed his lips. She did have a point, but he was still skeptical. “But you knew that my uncle wants me dead, and that’s suspicious to say the least.”

“I have my sources,” The girl said, flashing him a mysterious smile.

“Well, by all means do share them,” Kit demanded,“Because things aren’t looking good for you right now. So while we’re at it, who are you and what do you want with me?”

The girl stared back at him, evidently startled by his outburst. “My name is Audrey Winlar,” she said defensively. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“That doesn’t explain how you know everything,” Kit pointed out.

“Ok, ok,” Audrey said, “I live in this town in the mountains. It’s kind of been abandoned for a long time, but my friends and I moved in. There’s not many of us, so we kind of have to take on different roles to make sure that things are running smoothly. Part of what I do involves leaving the town every now and then to see what’s going on in the outside world.”

“So you’re a spy, basically,” Kit said.

“I guess you could call it that,” Audrey admitted, “But the other part of my job involves helping people like you out of dangerous situations and bringing them back to our town, where they’ll be safe.”

Kit narrowed his eyes. “So when you say people like me…?”

Audrey threw her hands up in frustration, “Do I really have to spell it out for you? People with powers. Abilities, whatever you want to call it.”

Kit was taken aback by her forwardness. She clearly knew who she was speaking to, yet she didn’t seem to care. Back at the castle, most people liked to suck up to him. They liked to be extra polite, and would compliment him on every little thing. It was as if they thought that he was too fragile to handle even the slightest insult. Alexander was the only one who dared to even speak out against him, though the way Audrey had spoken was different. It wasn’t a threat, it wasn’t even a direct insult. It had been a bit condescending, if anything.

“You... know about that?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Audrey said, “I’m a spy, right? We’d been hearing that there were some things going on in the castle, so my village sent me out to figure out what I could. I was there in gardens, Kit.”

Kit narrowed his eyes. He struggled to find the right words for a long time. “I…what? How did you…?”

Luckily, for all his stammering, Audrey was able to decipher what he was trying to say. “My powers make it really easy for me to get by unseen. Really, really easy, in fact.” Before Kit could question her any further, Audrey disappeared right before his eyes. She was there one moment, and in the blink of an eye she had vanished.

“Audrey, wait!” He called out, “What the-- where are you?”

“I’m still here,” Audrey replied with a giggle. The floorboards creaked as she walked across the small room. Kit could hear her footsteps drawing nearer and nearer. Finally, she stopped. Kit could feel her presence beside him but there was nothing to indicate that she was actually there. She poked him in the shoulder. “Do you understand now?”

“You’re invisible,” Kit gasped.

“Good observation,” Audrey said, re-appearing before him.

“Wow,” Kit marveled, “That’s quite incredible, actually.”

“Why thank you,” Audrey said, beaming with pride.

Kit leaned forward, resting his arm on top of his knees. “So what else do you know?”

“Certainly not as much as I would like,” Audrey admitted, “I know that your uncle wants you out of the way. I know about your mother’s powers--”

“You can’t tell anyone about that!” Kit interrupted.

“I won’t,” Audrey said, “I swear. I was also able to gather that your father and his brother… don’t exactly get along.”

“That’s quite the understatement,” Kit said, “They can’t stand to be in the same room most of the time.”

Audrey pursed her lips. “Interesting,” She remarked.

“How’s that interesting?” Kit asked, “Practically everyone in Toltova knows about that.”

“Yeah,” Audrey said, “I guess I just didn’t think it was that bad. He’s probably going to be looking for you, isn’t he?”

Kit furrowed his brows. He hadn’t quite thought of that. It did make sense though, that Alexander might be coming after him. He had already tried to get him once. Attempting a second time certainly wouldn’t be out of character.

“Maybe tomorrow we can get you out of here,” Audrey suggested before Kit could speak, “We could stay with my friends for a bit and when Frank passes through maybe I could take you to New Vellarton.”

“I’m sorry,” Kit said, “You want to take me where?”

“Back to my town,” Audrey explained, “The one that I was telling you about.”

“No!” Kit objected, “My parents wanted me to go to Morbane. It’ll be safer for me there. Besides, I can’t just go running off with random strangers!” He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “I’m sorry Audrey. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I can’t.”

“I think you should consider it,” Audrey said, “I don’t think Morbane is necessarily the safest place to be.”

“You don’t know that,” Kit countered, “Morbane is one of the safest places to be along the coast. I’ll be fine.”

“No, Kit, please listen to me,” Audrey snapped, “Morbane is littered with members of the Patrol. They like to congregate there for whatever reason. They don’t usually take people from around there, but when they do it’s easy for them just to blame the pirates.”

“The Patrol?” Kit repeated, “So they are back. My father’s been trying to crack down on those rumours.”

“So I’ve heard,” Audrey said, “Hasn’t been successful, has he?”

“I’m afraid not,” Kit sighed, “He’s been trying to find a pattern, so that he can figure out where they’ll strike next because it’s seemingly random. It’s impossible to tell. A lot of people are just telling him to give it up.” An idea struck him. “Audrey, if I could prove that they’re real--”

“No,” Audrey said, immediately shutting him down before he could fully explain his plan. “Don’t go looking for them, Kit. They’re horrible people, and if they find out you have powers-- If that news spreads, they’re not going to give you any special privileges just because you’re the Prince.”

“That’s not what I was going to suggest,” Kit huffed, “And I don’t expect people to give me special privileges just because I’m the Prince.”

“Yes you do,” Audrey asked smirking, “You can barely go two minutes without reminding people that you’re the crown prince or that your father will be hearing about this.”

“I’m just desperate right now,” Kit protested. He knew that he was privileged but he didn’t sound that entitled. Did he? “I just thought if we could find some actual evidence that they exist, or at least give him something other than rumours to work off of, it might help him put an end to this.”

“That sounds like a better plan,” Audrey said, “I’ll tell you what I know, but I need you to promise me that anything that I mention about New Vellarton goes completely unmentioned to your father. It’s really important to my friends that it doesn’t become known to the general public.”

“But my father can--”

“Don’t make me regret saving your life.”

“I won’t,” Kit muttered.

“Ok,” Audrey said, “We know that they like to hang out around Morbane. They tend to avoid Coral Bay because the pirates are such a damn nuisance, but we know they’ve been out that way anyways.”

Kit nodded, remembering that it had been a reported disappearance in Coral Bay four years ago that had prompted his father to look into the issue. As per the last update on the case, most of the locals were blaming the pirates that plagued the area. Allegedly, it had been the doing of a pirate captain named Marcus Hadley, who was feared all over the coasts of Toltova. From what Kit had heard, Marcus seemed to thrive off of causing chaos and instilling fear into people. The pirates had always been a problem in the coastal areas, but Hadley in particular had been a constant thorn in the side of the authorities in the coastal areas. He’d committed just about every kind of crime imaginable according to the locals, but only a small handful of the stories proved to be true. Regardless, his father’s men had been pretty confident that he had been responsible for the disappearance.

“So, if my father wanted to catch a few Patrol Guards, he should send some people down to Morbane?” Kit asked.

“In theory, yeah,” Audrey said, “But they don’t really strike there very often. I’m not too sure why.”

“Do you think it’s because they know my father is onto them?” Kit asked.

“Possibly,” Audrey said, “But now that they’re operating in secret they have to be more careful. They can’t just go off and kill a bunch of people because they might have powers.”

“Right,” Kit said, “So they need to make sure that the people that they’re taking actually do have powers.” Another idea struck him. “Audrey, what if we baited them?”

Audrey considered it for a moment. Kit could see the gears in her head turning. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Kit,” she said finally.

He frowned. He thought for sure that he had convinced her. “Why not?”

“For one thing, we’d have to find someone who’s ok with exposing their powers in public,” Audrey said, “I’m not ok with doing that. You’re probably not either, and I can practically guarantee that none of my friends would ever agree to that. But let’s say we do find someone, it’s just too risky. What if something goes wrong? It would be our fault, and I would never want to live with that kind of guilt.”

“But--”

“No buts,” Audrey protested, “I don’t think you understand how horrible these people are!”

“Fine, we won’t do that then,” Kit huffed, “But I think we should at least try to get some of this information to my father. What else do you know?”

Audrey shrugged. “Not much like I said,” she said, “I know they have a headquarters somewhere in the mountains. I’ve even...” Her voice trailed off and she looked over her shoulder towards the door.

“What is it?” Kit asked.

“Thought I heard something.” Audrey said quietly.

Kit paused. “I hear it too,” he said. It sounded like footsteps; multiple people walking up the steps towards the tower.

“We need to hide,” Audrey whispered.

Kit looked around the room looking for somewhere to hide. The only place that provided a half decent hiding spot would have been behind one of the gears. They wouldn’t complete conceal him, but at least it might buy him some time. He got up and walked over to one of the massive gears, ducking behind it as he sat down next to his bag.

“Kit,” Audrey said crouching down next to him, “This might be nothing, but if it’s the Patrol-- I’ll do my best, but my loyalties lie with my friends in New Vellarton.”

“Are you serious,” Kit exclaimed.

“I promise, I’ll do everything I can to make sure we both get out of this,” Audrey said. She extended her hand. “Here, hold my hand. As long as we’re maintaining some kind of physical contact, I should be able to turn you invisible too.”

Kit held her hand, squeezing it tightly. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as the footsteps grew increasingly louder.

Three young men stepped into the small room. All three of them were blonde haired and blue eyed. They looked similar enough that they could have been brothers, though they were fairly close in age. They were well dressed too, Kit noticed. They very well could have been members of Galtia’s upper middle class.

“Doesn’t look like there’s much here,” the shortest of the three remarked.

“Shut up Dorian,” The man in the middle hissed.

“Just look around quickly,” The oldest one snapped, “No one saw him at the train stations, he’s gotta be in the city somewhere.”

The three men scattered and began scouring the room for any sign that someone else was with them. Kit closed his eyes tightly. He didn’t want to see them. He didn’t want to know how close they were getting to him. He continued to squeeze Audrey’s hand, unaware of how firm his grip was around her slender hands.

“Hm, what’s this?”

Kit opened up one eye to see one of the three men standing only a few inches away from him. Kit bit his lip to try and stop himself from crying out. He could feel tears starting to well up in his eyes. He couldn’t remember a time that he had felt this afraid. Even when Alexander had threatened him, he’d been terrified, but he took comfort knowing that his father was not too far away and that there were guards nearby. But now, he was all alone. As far as his parents knew he was on his way to Morbane. Audrey’s powers were the only thing keeping him safe right now.

The young man reached down and picked up Kit’s bag.

He opened up the bag and began rifling through it. It didn’t take him long to find the Book Of Powers. “Now this is interesting,” the man said.

“What did you find, Donovan?” Dorian asked.

“It’s a copy of the Book of Powers,” Donovan replied grinning gleefully.

“That’s impossible,” The oldest of the three men snapped, “All the copies were destroyed.”

“Not all of them apparently,” Donovan replied, “This must belong to the King. Only he would want to hold on to something like this.” He curled his upper lip in disgust as he spoke, and spat out the words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Yeah,” Dorian agreed, “What a pathetic excuse for a King, isn’t he? Wasting all his resources trying to find a couple of useless kids. I guess just anyone can be King these days.”

The comment made Kit’s skin crawl. He wanted nothing more than to defend his father, but his own fear kept him rooted to his spot and his mouth sealed shut. It wasn’t worth blowing their cover.

Donovan took a step forward, planting his foot right down on top of Kit’s. At this point, Kit’s heart felt like it would burst right out of his chest. His whole body trembled as he silently pleaded that Donovan wouldn’t notice anything. Kit could tell by the man’s mystified expression that this was not the case. Donovan started poking at him with the tip of his shoe.“What the..?”

Instantly the other two men rushed over to Donovan’s side.

Kit felt Audrey tug at his hand, indicating for him to stand up. He stood up, but Donovan still held his bag. Most of his belongings in the bag weren’t hugely valuable; it was mostly just his clothes and he had plenty of those back at home. But he would definitely be needing his money, and while he didn’t technically need the book, his father would kill him for losing it.

He’d have to go on without it. He hoped that his father would understand given the circumstances, but he felt a pang of regret for not being more careful with his belongings. The last copy of the Book Of Powers would be destroyed, and it was completely his fault. He should have left it at the castle. Perhaps there would be a way to rewrite it, or restore it somehow, but Kit tried not to think about it. It was the least of his problems.

“What is it?” The oldest of the three demanded, “I don’t see anything.”

“I don’t think we’re alone here, Damian,” Donovan said, a twisted grin spread across his face. He wound his leg back preparing for a hard kick.

Audrey pulled Kit out of the way as Donovan swung his leg, and nearly toppled backwards when his foot didn’t make contact with Kit’s side.

The other two young men began laughing, as Donovan’s face turned a deep shade of red. “No you don’t understand,” Donovan jabbered, “There was something-- it was like I hit an invisible wall or something!”

Audrey led Kit out of their hiding spot, while Donovan still frantically tried to explain what had happened. They tiptoed quietly towards the stairs, making sure to give the men a wide berth so they didn’t accidentally run into them.

They were halfway across the room when Damian let out an exasperated sigh and said, “Alright, well there’s nothing here. I’m going to go back down to make sure we didn’t miss anything.” Audrey and Kit both froze as he began walking in their direction. He came almost right up against them, inches away from where Kit stood. Kit took a small step backwards.

Damian spun around, brandishing a knife. “Who’s there,” He demanded, “Show yourself!”

Kit held his breath, uncertain of what to do next. If he tried to move again, then Damian would surely hear him. He couldn’t just stand in place and do nothing. Not with Damian standing inches away from him with a knife.

“What’s going on,” Dorian asked.

“I heard something,” Damian said, “And it sounded like it was coming from over…. here!”

As he spoke the last word his spun towards Kit, thrusting his knife in his direction. Kit ducked to the right, trying to avoid it. He hadn’t realized that Audrey had ducked in the opposite direction until he felt her fingers slide through his hand.

Just like his cover was blown. He stood in the middle of the floor, both visible and vulnerable. He had nothing to defend himself with except his own powers, but he didn’t want to have to use them. Not in front of Patrol members.

A cruel grin played across Damian’s face as Kit appeared only a foot away from him. “Well, well,” Damian purred, “Look who made an appearance.”

Kit looked frantically around the room for Audrey, or at least some sign of her whereabouts, but saw nothing. He couldn’t even make out any footsteps that didn’t belong to Dorian or Donovan. She had promised to help him if anything were to happen. So where was she?

“Father’s gonna be real happy with us,” Donovan said as he and Dorian closed in on him. Dorian stood by the stairs, blocking his only escape route. He had been backed into a corner with nowhere to go, and as far as he could tell, Audrey was not going to help him. How could she without blowing her cover?

“Please,” Kit begged, “Don’t… you can’t-- you can’t do this.”

“Don’t worry,” Damian sneered, “We’re not going to kill you. Oh no, you’re too valuable for that. We won’t hurt you either as long as you cooperate and do exactly what we tell you.”

Damian grabbed Kit, pointing the knife at his throat. Kit gasped, but he wasn’t going to give in so easily. He fought against the man’s tight grasp, thrashing frantically in a desperate attempt to escape. Without warning, Damian’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor, releasing Kit. He knew right away that it had been Audrey. He took it as an opportunity to escape and dashed towards the first of many staircases that wound their way around the inside of the tower towards the bottom.

He sprinted down the steps, taking two stairs at a time, trying to put as much distance as he could between three men. It didn’t take long for them to start following him down the stairs, but Kit at least had a significant head start.

About halfway down, he could feel himself growing weary. He was out of breath, but he pushed forward, ignoring the burning sensation in his lungs that pleaded for him to stop. He glanced over his shoulder, and groaned when he saw that the boys were right behind him.

He was on one of the landings, ready to start making his way down yet another set of stairs when he was grabbed and tackled to the ground.

“Quickly,” his captor grunted, as Kit tried to escape his clutches.

“Nice work, Damian,” He heard one of the other boys sneer. It was the last thing he heard before someone grabbed his wrist, followed shortly the telltale poke of a needle sliding into his vein.

He felt the effects almost instantly. It was just like the other night when Alexander had drugged him. How long ago that had seemed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kit murmured before closing his eyes and letting the drug take its course.

Author’s note: I don’t know if anyone actually has been keeping up with this story, but if anyone is, thanks for being so patient while I edited this chapter. With that being said, if anyone is keeping up with this, please let me know how you’re liking it so far. Tumblr doesn’t let me see who views posts so the only way for me to know if someone has seen my post is if they like, reblog, or comment somehow. I really would love to hear some feedback from you guys. I haven’t had much luck on wattpad either.

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starfast · 5 years ago

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Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 4

“People Like You”

Word Count: 5424

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

It took Crispin a moment to figure out his surroundings. He was lying on his back staring up at a plain white ceiling. The walls were white as well, but the dark grey curtains let very little light in, which made impossible for him to tell the time of day. He was lying in a bed, but couldn’t quite figure out for the life of him how he had gotten into one. Crispin tried to remember what had happened while he had been guarding the ship, but most of it was a blur. He remembered his father had found out about his powers, but he couldn’t remember much after that. His entire body ached, which told him that things must have escalated to violence. He clearly wasn’t on the ship anymore, and he’d been left to assume that he’d used his powers to escape. It seemed the most plausible, since his father now knew about his powers there was no reason to keep them hidden from him.

“Oh, are you awake?”

It was a man who spoke, but Crispin hadn’t recognized his voice. He turned towards the source of the voice and saw a man dressed in white healer’s robes with red trimming along the sleeves. Healers rarely wore their robes outside of their work which meant that he was in a Healer’s ward. Probably a good thing considering how much pain he was in. His shoulder hurt the most, though the throbbing pain in his head was also a strong contender.

“Crispin,” The healer said, “That’s your name isn’t it? Can you hear me?”

“How do you know my name,” He croaked. His throat felt dry, as though it had been coated with a layer of the powdery sand that Coral Bay’s coasts.

“You’re Captain Hadley’s boy,” The healer said, “I’d reckon that most people around here would know who you are. Although, people like your father tend to keep me in business. So yes, I know who you are. He came in here looking for you yesterday.”

The healer’s statements raised so many questions that he didn’t even know where to begin. Yesterday? How long had he been out? Crispin’s brow furrowed. Surely it couldn’t have been that long…

“You’ve been out for a day and a half,” The healer told him, “Your father came in around noon and I--” The healer stopped himself. “Sorry, I should backtrack. Do you… do you remember what happened at all?”

“Vaguely, yeah,” Crispin told him.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Not exactly.”

“My name is Ambrose Vargold. I’m a healer, and I brought you to my ward after I found you in the streets,” The healer told him. Crispin had been able to figure out as much, though it was good to have a name.

“Your father came in around noon yesterday asking if I had seen you at all,” Ambrose explained, “He seemed to be, ah… angry, I suppose. I told him no, but that I would keep an eye out and he left after that.”

“And I’m assuming that you actually had seen me at that point,” Crispin guessed.

“Yes,” Ambrose said, “You were still in recovery at that point. His boat left the harbour early this morning. I’d been keeping an eye on him. I kept worrying that he might come back, but he’s gone now.”

“You seem very confident in assuming that I don’t want to see him,” Crispin pointed out. He didn’t want to see his father, though he wondered how Ambrose had came to that conclusion.

“Sorry,” Ambrose said, “Did you want to see him? I just assumed-- Crispin, could you tell me what you remember?”

“I remember that we had an argument,” Crispin said, “I’d rather not say what it was about.”

“That’s fine,” Ambrose said, “I don’t need to know that anyways. Do you remember anything else?”

“Not exactly,” Crispin said. All he had left were assumptions that may not have even been entirely accurate.

“Well,” Ambrose said, “I don’t know exactly what happened between you and your dad, but I’m going to guess it got really ugly.” He tapped a knife that lay on the bedside table.

Crispin squinted, trying to get a better look at the knife. Was he really trying to insinuate that his father had stabbed him?

Ambrose pushed the knife towards him. “That’s his, isn’t it?”

Crispin picked up the knife and inspected it closely. It looked mostly clean, though he spotted a couple tiny dots of blood caked into the carvings that adorned the handle that would have been difficult to clean off. He studied the knife closer, and sure enough at the bottom the knife’s flat handle amid the intricate curls, carved into the handle were the initials “M.H.” Marcus Hadley.

“Where did you get this?”

“It was sticking out of your shoulder when I found you,” Ambrose said.

Crispin stared at the knife in disbelief. He didn’t want to believe that his father had tried to hurt him in such a way, even if it was plausible. He briefly wondered whether the knife had been stolen by someone else who had then tried to hurt him, but he dismissed the idea. Anyone who dared to steal from his father was either a fool, someone with a death wish, or both. Crispin could feel his heart beginning to shatter as it dawned on him that there was no other explanation. That explained the pain in his shoulder, at least.

“Oh,” Crispin said, not sure what else to say.

“It should heal up nicely though,” Ambrose said, as if that was supposed to make him feel better. “But let me know if it’s bothering you. I have something that should help with the pain.”

“Actually,” Crispin said, “That would be pretty good.”

“Sure,” Ambrose said. He stood up and made his way over to the door. “I gave you some earlier while you were in recovery, but I reckon it’s worn off by now.” He opened the door. “I figured you could use more at this point.” He stepped out of the room. “Quite the fall you had.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He had been too late. The healer had already slipped out and closed the door behind him, leaving Crispin alone in bed to speculate. It didn’t take him long to piece together the events that had led up to this moment. He knew that his father knew about his powers, and that he had tried to escape the ship by using his powers to get away. At some point he had ended up in Ambrose’s ward, and while he didn’t know exactly how he had gotten there, he at least knew how he ended up unconscious for a day and a half. He had fallen.

Crispin swore under his breath as he realized his wings were still out. How had he not realized it until now? Why would Ambrose not say anything to him? His was suddenly aware of his wings, pinned between his back and the soft mattress. There was a painful pins and needles sensation in both his wings, which he knew was from lying on top of them for so long. Crispin didn’t usually sleep with his wings out, but when he did, he always slept on his side to avoid putting too much pressure on them.

He sat up, which only made his already aching head hurt even more. He clenched his jaw and massaged his temples, trying to ease the pain. Once the pain had abated, he realized that his wings were tucked under his jacket. He fumbled awkwardly as he tried to guide his right wing back out through the slit in his shirt and jacket. The tip of his wing nearly touching the wall of his tiny room as he stretched it out. He shook his wing out, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable tingling.

A searing pain shot down Crispin’s left wing as he tried to move it. He inhaled sharply and instinctively reached for his shoulder, and began to massage it. It wasn’t quite where the pain was, but it was close enough. Crispin tried one more time to get his wing out from under his clothing. He braced himself, trying to prepare himself for the pain.

Ambrose came back into the room, nearly slamming the door behind him when he saw Crispin sitting up on his bed.

“Crispin, stop!” he said as he rushed to his bedside, “What are you doing?”

Crispin pulled his right wing in, folding it against his back, and let out a sigh of defeat. It was highly unlikely that Ambrose had not known about his powers, but in the off chance that he hadn’t he definitely knew now. How had he gone from only Roger knowing, to messing up so badly that now even a complete stranger knew? He may as well just announce it to all of Toltova at this point.

“Crispin, you need to lie down,” Ambrose said, “You’ve hit your head. You need to take it easy, ok?”

Crispin glared at the healer before he lay back down, extending his right wing slightly so he wouldn’t be lying on top of it. There was no point in trying to hide it anymore. “So when were you planning on telling me that you knew?” He asked.

“Now, I suppose,” Ambrose said, “I wasn’t trying to keep that from you, but I know you probably didn’t want me knowing about that. I was just waiting for the right moment.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I didn’t want to just spring that on you, especially since you seem to be having a hard time remembering what happened, and you’ve clearly been through a lot. I haven’t told anyone, by the way.”

Crispin had always been taught not to be too trusting of others, but he was inclined to believe Ambrose anyways. Even though he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the healer knew about his powers, the fact that he hadn’t told anyone came as a relief to Crispin.

“I appreciate that,” Crispin said, “Were you the one who brought me here then?”

“I was, yes,” Ambrose said, “I don’t know what you remember, but you flew into my window. I saw what happened, and figured it would be best if I brought you here before anyone else came and tried to hurt you.”

“Huh,” he said, “Well, thanks for that.”

“No problem,” Ambrose replied.

Even at the best of times, Coral Bay was full of unsavory characters. Mostly pirates, but the place was full of petty thieves as well. The night tended to be when the worst of the worst came out to play. Crispin didn’t want to think too much about what would have happened if someone else had found him. It was almost a miracle that it had been Ambrose who had found him, and not a violent criminal.

“And now that we’re all on the same page,” Ambrose said, “I guess I should tell you that your left wing is broken.”

“Fuck,” Crispin muttered under his breath. He had suspected as much after he had tried to move it earlier. Despite the pain it caused him, he had held on to the hope that perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“Sorry,” Ambrose said, “I’m sure that’s not the news you want to be hearing right now.”

“You’re damn right it’s not,” Crispin snapped, “So do I have any other injuries that I should know about or are you done?” He regretted his harsh tone, but he had spoken before he could stop himself.

“Um, no,” Ambrose replied calmly, evidently unphased by Crispin’s temper, “You hit your head when you fell, which gave you a concussion. That’s why you’re having a hard time remembering things right now. Then there’s the knife wound, and your broken wing. I’d imagine that you probably have quite a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing that won’t heal by itself. For what it’s worth, Crispin,” He added, “Your wing should heal up just fine.”

“How long will it take?” Crispin asked.

Ambrose shrugged. “Hard to say,” he said, “I don’t have much experience with mending broken wings, but generally these kinds of breaks only take four to six weeks to heal up. Shouldn’t be any longer than that.”

“Oh, only four to six weeks?” Crispin repeated.

“Well it could be worse,” Ambrose said, “In fact, you’re pretty lucky that it’s not. As long as you’re getting plenty of rest you should be fine.”

Crispin sighed. Of course he’d be getting plenty of rest. It wasn’t like he had any other options. He couldn’t even retract his left wing anymore now that it was broken. He may as well just lay in bed for an entire month, hiding from the general public. No one else would find out that way.

“Sure, whatever,” Crispin spat, “But if my father comes back and sees me, I’m not just going to let him beat the shit out of me.”

“Well,” Ambrose said, “In that case, I would recommend staying away from your father.”

Crispin scowled at the suggestion. Of course it was a reasonable thing to say, but Crispin didn’t want to spend his life hiding from his father. If he did, then as far as he was concerned, his father had won. That was exactly what his father wanted, was for Crispin to stay out of his life forever.

“Actually,” Ambrose said, “I know somewhere where you could go, if you wanted to. You’d be safe there.”

“Oh?” Crispin said, perking up.

“I have a daughter like you. With powers,” he clarified.

Crispin nodded. This would have explained why Ambrose didn’t seem to be fazed by his powers. Not everyone was hellbent on killing people with powers like Crispin’s father, but not everyone was able to hide their feelings of fear or disgust. Even Roger, who Crispin considered to be one of the nicest people he had ever met hadn’t quite seemed too sure what to make of Crispin’s powers when he had found out about them.

“My daughter was taken by the Patrol four years ago,” Ambrose went on, “She was able to escape luckily but--”

“Wait-- I think I remember that” Crispin interrupted, “So, she’s alive?” He narrowed his eyes at Ambrose. “You know who got blamed for that, don’t you?”

“If it’s worth anything to you, I wasn’t the one who started those claims,” Ambrose said, holding his hands up in surrender.

Crispin had still been living with Roger when Ambrose’s daughter went missing, which had been a big deal at the time. He remembered it very clearly when King Matthew had sent out a group of his men to Coral Bay to investigate the disappearance. They had questioned nearly everyone in town, including Roger. Crispin had been there when they interrogated him. They asked him if he knew the girl, if he could remember ever seeing her, among many other things. Roger had answered with a polite “No, sorry,” to almost every question. Finally one of them had asked about Crispin’s father.

“Is it true you’re friends with Marcus Hadley?”

“Yes,” Roger had responded, “You don’t think he’s done it, do you?”

“It’s the best lead we have so far,” The man had replied. Roger had responded to that by detailing why it couldn’t have been Marcus. He had raised some valid points, but had neglected to mention that neither Marcus, nor any of his crew had been in town when the girl had gone missing. By the time the Mad Maiden had returned to Coral Bay the most popular rumour was that Marcus had kidnapped her. What he had allegedly done to the girl after taking her varied from person to person, but it was widely accepted that he had killed her. Marcus had never directly confirmed that claim, but he never exactly denied it either. He never passed up an opportunity to add to his already fearsome reputation as the notorious Pirate King. In fact, Marcus seemed to be weirdly flattered that people were blaming him for the disappearance.

“I didn’t get to see my father for months after that,” Crispin told Ambrose. Following the disappearance, Marcus had steered clear from Coral Bay for a few months. His father had explained to him before leaving that it was for the best. If the King’s men showed up again, they would have him arrested, and possibly even executed. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t done the crime to begin with, but few people would attest to that. So for his own safety, and the safety of the crew, Captain Marcus had seemingly vanished from Coral Bay, only to reemerge seven months later when the rumours had started to die down. At the time, Crispin had been devastated. He didn’t get to see his father very often when he had been living with Roger. Learning that he wouldn’t get to see him for several months because of something that wasn’t even his fault had felt like the end of the world.

“Like I said,” Ambrose said, “I didn’t start those rumours, nor do I know who did.”

“Fine, whatever,” Crispin replied curtly.

“But what I’m trying to tell you,” Ambrose said, “Is that after she escaped, she was found by some other people with abilities. They’re all living in a town that’s only inhabited by people like you.”

“People with powers, you mean?”

“That’s right,” Ambrose said, “It’s very remote, but they send out a guy every now and then who collects supplies. He’s scheduled to arrive in about three days. If you wanted to go back with him, I’m sure he would take you with him.”

Crispin pursed his lips as he considered the offer. Having spent the last three years on a pirate ship, he’d grown suspicious of almost anyone who wasn’t Roger or a crew member. Although, even the crew couldn’t be completely trusted all the time, which meant that Roger was the only trustworthy soul in Toltova as far as he was concerned. Ambrose’s offer had seemed too good, and that was usually a red flag. If something seemed too good to be true, then it probably was.

“How do I know this is real,” Crispin asked, “How do I know you won’t sell me out to the Patrol?

“I’ve already risked my life for you,” Ambrose said, “Your father won’t be happy if he found out I was hiding you here. I know you know that. Do you think I’d go through the trouble if I wanted you dead? Think about it.”

“I need proof,” Crispin said firmly.

“I have some letters from my daughter that I’ve collected over the years” Ambrose offered, “I might even have some from her friend if that’ll help convince you.”

Crispin shrugged, wincing from the pain that the slight movement had caused him. “Sure, I guess.”

“Give me a moment,” Ambrose said, heading for the door once again, “I’ll be right back.”

***

The healer returned about ten minutes later with a stack of letters. He set them down on the bedside table. “Well, here you go,” Ambrose said. He picked one up off the top of the stack and handed it to him. “This is the first one,” he said.

Crispin took it, and began to read.

Dear Mom, Dad, and Andrew,

I’m writing to let you know that I’m still alive. I wanted to let you know that, because I may not be able to return to Coral Bay, at least not for a while. But I am safe and happy, and I wanted you to know that because I’m sure you’ve all been worried sick about me.

In case you didn’t know already, the Patrol took me. They’ve been operating in secret out in the mountains. I don’t know how long they’ve been hiding there, but they have an entire prison so it seems like they have been there for quite a while. I’ve been told I was lucky to escape, but it wasn’t even that hard though. I just used my powers to slip out of the handcuffs and walk through the walls of their prison before they could even get a chance to hurt me. I don’t think they knew what my powers were, otherwise they probably wouldn’t have made it so easy.

Anyways, right now I’m living in this abandoned town. Well, not abandoned anymore since there’s people living here again. I was able to meet up with some other people who had escaped the Patrol and one of them mentioned that there was an abandoned mining town where we might be able to stay. We were able to find it, but I was told not to give out the location in case anything happened to this letter and it ended up in the wrong hands. I trust all you guys, but the others are kind of on edge.

We’re trying to fix the place up and make it livable again. I’ve been designated as the healer even though I don’t really know much about it. One of my friends said he’d help me, but he knows even less than I do. If you have any pieces of advice to share with us, we’d both really appreciate it. Frank was the one who would have delivered my letter, and he told me that he would wait three days for you to write back. If you’re reading this, then it means he knows how to find you so don’t worry about seeking him out. He’ll come to you. I know that three days isn’t really a lot of time to copy out all your healing notes but even a little bit would help us out a lot. I’ll be writing back to you as often as I can, so there will be many more opportunities for you to send us out some stuff.

I just wanted to finish off by saying that I’m really sorry for all the worry I must have caused all of you. I hope that someday I’ll be able to see you again, but if not I’m glad that I can at least keep in touch.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Love, Alexis.

Crispin read through a few more of the letters, including a few that were from Alexis’ friend that she had mentioned in the first letter. His letters were were shorter and as far as Crispin could tell mostly just questions about certain treatments, but Crispin only read the first few sentences. Trying to decipher the messy scrawl of his handwriting, much of which was smudged in places, was making his head hurt.

After reading through most of the letters from Alexis, Crispin put down the stack of papers. “I’d like to think about it some more,” he told Ambrose finally.

“Fair enough,” Ambrose said, “But Frank will be coming back in three days. You’ll have until noon on the third day to make up your mind.”

“I’d like to talk to Roger about it, actually,” Crispin said.

Ambrose remained silent for a moment, thinking about Crispin’s request. “I’m not sure you’re well enough to leave yet,” he said.

“I’ll be right back,” Crispin promised, “And I’ll make sure to get lots of rest, just like you said.”

Ambrose sighed. “Crispin, this is meant to be a secret,” he said, “I can’t have you talking about it with just anyone. You realize that, right?”

Crispin was almost offended at Ambrose’s implications that Roger couldn’t be trusted. He trusted Roger’s word more than anyone else’s-- including Ambrose’s at this point.

“I know,” Crispin said, “I can make something up. I won’t tell him everything.”

“Fine,” Ambrose said, “But you’re still not ready to leave yet. I can send Roger over to see you if you’d like?”

“Maybe later,” Crispin said, “I think I just need some time to process everything. Think things over. Get some rest.”

“Of course,” Ambrose said, giving a slight nod, “I’ll leave you to it, but I’ll just be in the back room. And I’ll be coming in to check in on you, so don’t even think of trying anything.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Crispin said as he rested his head back on the thin white pillow, “I can barely move, so I’m basically stuck here until I either get better or die.”

“Ok,” Ambrose said, “Well, take it easy then. I’ll be around if you need anything.” He left the room, leaving Crispin by himself.

A horrible decision, really, Crispin thought as he struggled to sit up.

***

It took Crispin longer than he had anticipated to get to Roger’s place. Under normal circumstances, he could make the walk from Ambrose’s ward in about five minutes. It took him almost twice that time because of how sore and dizzy he was. He had unsheathed one of his throwing knives and held it at his side as he limped his way down the Harbour Strip. He was sure that he was probably attracting a lot of attention to himself since he was clearly injured. Criminals liked to prey on people who wouldn’t try to fight back. People who were small, weak, and injured were easy targets. Crispin happened to currently fit into all three categories, but the knife sent a very clear warning that he would fight back if anyone dared come near him.

He finally found himself at Roger’s place, a familiar brick house tucked away on the quiet street where he had grown up. He didn’t knock; Roger had told him that he didn’t have to because would always be welcome. He stepped into the foyer, kicking off his boots.

“Hello? Is someone there?” It was Roger’s daughter, Rebecca who had spoken. Her voice had sounded like it was coming from somewhere on the main floor; the kitchen, perhaps.

“It’s just me, Rebecca,” Crispin called back as he wandered into the living room and slumped down onto one of the couches.

Rebecca came rushing into the room only seconds later. She froze when she saw him, her jaw dropped and her face paled as though she had seen a ghost.

“Oh my goodness, Crispin,” She exclaimed, “You’re— you’re alright! I can’t believe it!”

“I think that’s very debatable,” Crispin grumbled.

“But you’re alive!”

“Well yeah,” Crispin said, “Obviously.” He heard footsteps coming from the next room, and Crispin perked up, knowing that it could only be one other person.

“Thought I heard your voice, Crispin” Roger said as he entered the room.

Crispin couldn’t help but smile when he saw Roger. It was always good to see him again, regardless of the circumstances. He tried to sit up, but Roger walked over and sat down next to him.

“I thought we were never going to see you again,” Roger said, patting him gently on the shoulder.

Crispin frowned. “Why do you two keep talking about me like I died or something?”

A heavy silence fell over the room. It seemed to last an eternity before Roger finally spoke up.

“Well, the thing is, your father came by the other day,” he hesitated, allowing the room to fall back into another uncomfortable silence, before he said, “He… he told us you’d killed yourself.”

Crispin clenched his jaw. Of course he’d said that. Of course his father didn’t want to own up to trying to kill his own son. He never wanted to suffer the consequences of his own actions.

“Well,” Crispin said, “I’m still here, clearly. And I never tried to kill myself.”

“Why would he say that then?” Rebecca asked.

“We got into a really bad argument,” Crispin said, “It got really out of hand, and…” he shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “I don’t really want to talk about this right now.”

“Of course, that’s quite understandable,” Roger said studying him up and down, taking inventory of his many injuries “Why don’t you go rest for a bit while Rebecca and I get dinner started?”

Crispin nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” he said, “That’s a good idea.” He headed back down the hall, then up the stairs towards his bedroom.

When Crispin had been living with Roger, he’d had a tendency of leaving it in a messy state. He’d leave his clothes on the floor and the dresser drawers were always half open and the bed rarely made. Now that he had been living with his father, the room was much tidier since it was hardly ever used. There was nothing on the floors, the empty drawers were shut, and his tiny bed was neatly made with a quilt folded at the foot of the bed.

Crispin lay on the bed, curled up on his side, and staring at the wall. The plan had always been to tell Roger everything that had happened between him and his father. He still planned to, but it was only just now that everything had started to sink in. His father had tried to kill him.

There was a knock at the door. Crispin didn’t even respond, because he knew it was just Roger and that he’d let himself in anyways. Sure enough, Roger opened the door, holding a stack of extra blankets.

“Hey,” Roger said gently, “I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” He closed the door behind him, and set the blankets down on top of the bed.

“My Dad knows,” Crispin said bitterly. He didn’t even need to elaborate.

Roger sat down on the bed next to him. “Oh no,” he said, “I’m so sorry. I take it he didn’t handle the news well?”

“He tried to kill me,” Crispin said, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back the tears.

Roger wrapped his arms around him, pulling Crispin closer into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Crispin.”

Crispin went on to tell Roger about the events that had transpired, from the moment his father found out about his power right up to Ambrose’s offer. Wanting to keep the promise that he had made to the healer, he didn’t tell him about the town where Ambrose’s daughter was living. Instead, he made up a story about how Ambrose had a relative who worked on a train and was looking for an assistant. By the time he finished recounting the events he had tears streaming down his face, after realizing about halfway through his story that he was no longer able to hold them back.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Roger said sympathetically, “I’ll give your father hell if I ever see him again.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Crispin said softly.

“I think you should really think about that offer though,” Roger said, “I’d love for you to stay here, but if your father saw you again…”

Even though Roger didn’t complete the sentence, Crispin still knew where he was going. “I know,” he said, “I’ve already thought about the offer though, and I think I’m going to accept it. I just came here because I wanted to see you before I left. I don’t know how often I’ll be able to see you once I go, so I wanted to tell you what happened, and to say goodbye.”

“We’ll miss having you around,” Roger said, “But I think it’s probably for the best. You don’t leave for another three days though, so let’s make the most of it.” He patted Crispin on the back, then added, “I’m going to go back downstairs and help Rebecca with dinner. You’re welcome to join us if you want, but if you want to stay up here and get some rest I’d completely understand.”

“I’ll see how I’m feeling,” Crispin replied.

“Alright,” Roger said, “Try to take it easy though.” He got up and left, quietly shutting the door as he left.

Crispin figured he probably should join them, even though he didn’t really feel hungry. He felt more tired than anything, and even thinking about food at this point was making him nauseous. He laid down on the bed, but didn’t get under the covers, and rested his head on the soft and fluffy pillow. He would just get a bit of rest like both Roger and Ambrose had requested. He would just close his eyes, but only for a little bit. By the time Roger came back to check on him, Crispin had fallen into a deep sleep.

—

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starfast · 5 years ago

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Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 3

“Poor and Unsuspecting”

Word Count: 4778

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More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

Three years ago, if someone had told Caleb that he would be making a pathetically small amount of money as a chimney sweep, he probably would have believed it albeit, rather reluctantly. Everyone knew that working as a chimney sweep was a last resort type of job. It was exhausting work and even outright dangerous at times. If Caleb's pay had been based on how hard he worked, he might be living comfortably. Yet, instead, he worked for a greedy master sweep who payed less than a fraction of what he deserved. He was lucky that he had an older sister who was able to provide a secondary source of income working in a textile factory because Caleb barely made enough money to keep a roof over their heads. At fourteen years old he was still seen as a child by most adults, and he probably would just have the master sweep laugh in his face if he dared to ask for a raise. It didn't matter that he needed the money. It didn't even matter that he had been forced to grow up quickly and take on the role of the family breadwinner after the untimely passing of his mother just two years earlier. The master sweep still saw him as a child and therefore had little to no respect for him.

Caleb shimmied up the narrow chimney, the last one and then he could go home. His elbows and knees had become scraped and raw from climbing up the chimneys all day, but he ignored the pain as he made his way up. He held his brush above his head and went to work. Caleb pulled his cap down so that the ashes and soot didn't fall on his face as he swept them away. He had made that mistake in the past and ended up inhaling a bunch of ash which had sent him into a fit of coughing and had slowed him down considerably. He remembered wanting to ask the master sweep if he could have the remainder of the day off, but hadn't even bothered since Caleb knew he would just say no anyways.

Caleb continued to sweep at the chimney. The ash and soot still covered him, but most of it missed his airways. At this point in his shift he was always covered from head to toe by dark soot that his broom had swept out of the chimneys in his town. All he could think about by the time his shift ended was getting into a warm bath and cleaning all the filth from his face. Except he didn't even have access to a bath, let alone warm water, in the tiny run down apartment where he lived with his sister. He'd usually go to the Farrow River, just outside of town to freshen up.

It certainly was not ideal, especially now that the fall weather was here to make the river's temperature uncomfortably cold. Still, it was better than nothing at the very least. Beggars could not be choosers, which was something that his mother used to say to him a lot. It was also something that he told himself a lot whenever he found himself complaining about his job. He had never sure of what he wanted to do with his life, but becoming a chimney sweep would have been low on the list. After his mother had passed away, the master sweep approached him and offered him work. Caleb initially refused, but when he couldn't find any work elsewhere he tracked down the master sweep and told him that he had changed his mind.

His sister, Eva, had not been happy when he told her that he had taken the job. Everyone knew about the terrible working conditions in which the chimney sweeps worked, but most people didn't know about how incredibly seedy the master sweep truly was. Most of Caleb's fellow chimney sweepers were orphans and the master sweep liked to talk about himself like he was such an amazing person for providing a job for all these poor, starving orphaned children. The reality was that most of the children that he supposedly cared for were probably better off without him. He took most of their pay, leaving them with hardly anything. Caleb didn't even have enough money to put even a small amount of food on the table and he'd had to teach himself how to hunt in the forest so that he could feed him and his sister. And Caleb hadn't even realized until Eva had pointed it out to him, but the master sweep had literally been waiting for Caleb's mother to die. The day after she had passed, the master sweep had approached him with a position, hoping that he'd be able to make money off of yet another poor and unsuspecting orphan. Caleb was never supposed to know that, but sometimes his sister's ability to read minds came in handy.

Caleb had powers of his own; the ability to generate and manipulate fire. He was still learning how to master it since he had only developed them two years ago, just after his mother had died. He had needed to take an entire week off of work while Eva helped him learn how to control them. He had pretended to be sick, but really he was just learning how to not randomly set things on fire. Once he had a pretty good handle on it, he had returned to work. Sometimes he created larger blazes than he had intended to, but at least he was no longer shooting flames from his hands unwillingly. That was always the last thing he wanted, but when he worked in the claustrophobia inducing chimneys, fire was especially dangerous. When he first started the job, the master sweep would sometimes start a fire in the fireplace beneath him as he worked, encouraging him to work faster. With a fire literally burning under him, the only way to go was up, working as quickly as he could without any room for error.

Luckily, now, the master sweep left him alone for the most part. There was no fire lit beneath him today as he made his way up. He continued brushing the sides of the chimney, letting the debris fall on top of him. He continued climbing and brushing, and climbing and brushing, navigating his way through the tight passage as it twisted and turned its way upwards.

The passage eventually grew more narrow, which at this point Caleb knew that meant he was getting closer to the top. He squeezed his way up with just barely enough room to move. At fourteen years old, he was a little older than most of the other sweeps, and as a result starting to outgrow the work. Yet, the master sweep kept him around knowing that he was not quite at the point where he would no longer fit up the chimneys. He may have been older, and taller than a large majority of chimney sweeps, but he was painfully thin for his age and therefore still of use to the master sweep.

Caleb eventually emerged out of the top of the chimney. He tossed his brush out onto the roof, and pulled his cap up before clambering out. He drew in a deep breath of fresh air, which tasted so sweet after hours of working in the tight and dusty chimneys. He stood up, stretching out his legs and arms of being cramped up in an awkward position. It always felt so good to relieve his aching muscles after coming out of the chimney, but it always came with that crushing feeling of defeat when he realized that the only way back down was through the chimneys again. He took comfort knowing that he could go straight home after he descended, but he still wished that there was an easier way down.

He took a moment to take in the view of the city. He could see people milling the streets below him going about their day to day business completely unaware that he stood watching them from rooftop. He was eye level with most of the larger factories that stood in central Farrowin, but he could see almost right to the edge of the town where the tall brick buildings that stood side by side in the main city gave way to smaller farms that lay spread out across vast fields that went right up to the edge of the dense forest. Caleb could even see the banks of Farrow lake, where he set up most of his traps and did most of his hunting. Sometimes he would venture farther into the forest, but the lake was a convenient location due to its proximity to the city. The view was almost enough to make his job worth his time. Almost. As spectacular as it was to see the city from an angle that few would ever get to see, at the end of the day a nice view wouldn't keep a roof over his head, or put food on the table.

Caleb could see the sun beginning to set, turning the sky a brilliant shade of orange as it sent long shadows across the town. He grabbed his brush and headed back into the tall chimney. He climbed his way back down, trying to take care that he was going down the correct flue. He figured that at this point, he had been down every chimney in Farrowin at least once, but that didn't stop him from slipping up every once in a while. It happened every now and then where two flues would merge together and he would go down the wrong one and end up coming out of a different fireplace than he was supposed to. Sometimes, he could tell when he was heading down the wrong way, but most times he didn't realize until he reached the bottom.

Luckily this time, he was on the right track. He emerged from the fireplace blackened by soot from head to toe. He collected the piles of soot that he had brushed out of the chimney, sweeping them up so that he could deliver them to the master sweep for him to sell it off to whoever wanted it. In Farrowin, it mostly got sold to farmers who used it as a fertilizer, and to the textile factories where it was used in dyes. The master sweep always told him that he the soot never sold for very much which was why he got paid so little, but thanks to Eva he knew that the opposite was true.

Caleb made his way back to the town square where the master sweep waited for him leaning against the small cart with the words "FARROWIN SWEEPERS GUILD" painted across it in fading letters. Being a former sweep himself, the master sweep had been disfigured from spending so much time cramped up in the chimneys. His knobby knees seemed to be permanently bent, and his shoulders always seemed to be slightly slouched. Although the master sweep was nearly ten years older, he was barely taller than Caleb, his growth stunted by his own time spent sweeping chimneys. Which said a lot since Caleb was just barely over five feet, making him short for his age.

"Good haul today," The master sweep commented as Caleb placed the soot that he had swept up down on the cart.

Caleb just nodded, and replied with a curt "Mm-hmm."

It sickened him that even though the master sweep knew all about the terrible conditions that they were forced to work in he still took advantage of them. Caleb knew that the opportunities for retired chimney sweeps were few and far between, and many ended up unemployed and homeless. The few that didn't typically took on the role of a master sweep. Caleb wanted desperately to get out his life as a chimney sweep. He wanted to think of it as a temporary position and not a lifelong prison sentence. Yet, he liked to think about how he would do things differently if he ever did become a master sweep. He would imagine himself giving his apprentices a decent pay, thanking them for the hard work and long hours that they put in. He couldn't imagine himself being the kind of person who cheated people out of their money.

But rather than aspire to become the generous master sweep, he preferred to dream of a future that took him out of the chimneys of Farrowin. Anything would do, just as long as he never had anything to do with the Sweepers Guild. His daydreams about travelling across Toltova were what kept him going. He'd dream about seeing the oceans in Morbane, or the Royal Palace in Galtia.

Yet, as much as he loved to fantasize over seeing new places, part of him felt like he'd always be stuck in Farrowin.

"I'll see you tomorrow," The master sweep said.

"Bright and early, as always, Gus." Caleb always liked to address the master sweep by his first name, knowing full well that Gus Marens barely knew the names of anyone who worked for him.

Caleb walked down the streets of Farrowin that lead out to the slums that were just outside of the main city where he lived with his sister. The slums were a dark stain on the already dirty cloth that was Farrowin. Farrowin had always been a painfully average and unremarkable city, and the slums made sure that it would stay that way. Petty crimes were abundant in the city. It was far from uncommon to see children pickpocketing people visiting the city, or to find that older teens and adults had come up with creative new ways to scam unsuspecting people out of their money. It all traced back to the poverty that plagued the slums. For some, crimes were the only way to make a living. In that way, Caleb supposed he was lucky to have his job, though there were times where he felt like he'd be able to make more money by pickpocketing.

The cobbled streets gave way to an uneven dirt road, which was how Caleb knew he was officially in the slums. He didn't even try to watch his step, and walked through several mud puddles. He was already covered in soot, so a little mud wouldn't harm him. He'd just wash up in the lake after he dropped off his stuff and checked in with Eva.

Caleb turned down the narrow alley where the houses were packed tightly together, leaving little room between each other. The houses all looked more or less identical, but Caleb had been living in the seventh on the right for his entire life. He knew the house like the back of his hand and knew all about the small features that made it stand out from the other houses. He had memorized the pattern cracks that he could see in one window, and always recognized mismatched curtains that were visible in the other. He knew where the paint had chipped off the door, revealing the plain and rough wood that lay beneath. The house was in dire need of some repairs, and the inside was no better. It was cold and drafty, and had just enough space for the two siblings. It was a bit of a sorry sight, much like the other slum houses, but the sight of it always welcomed him after his long day.

The door opened with it's usual telltale creaking. He couldn't see any sign of Eva, which was odd since she should have been home hours ago. The floorboards groaned beneath as he made his way across the room. He was about to call out, when Eva emerged from the next room.

"Caleb," She gasped, "Oh thank goodness you're safe!"

"Well, yeah," he said.

"We need to get going," She said, as she tossed a bag on the kitchen table. It was filled with her clothes, and seemingly nothing else.

"Come again?"

"The Patrol's in town," Eva explained.

Caleb furrowed his brow, and cocked his head slightly. That couldn't be. The Patrol had been disbanded by the King before Caleb's parents had even been born. In fact, he was sure that they had been disbanded before his grandparents were even born.

"I think you might be off by a couple decades, yeah?"

"Oh come on, Caleb," she retorted, "You've heard the rumours too. I know you have."

He had indeed heard them, though given their lack of credibility he chose to ignore them. The thought of the Patrol coming around also terrified him, and it he felt it was better to ignore the problem rather than lose sleep over it.

"So it's true then, is what you're saying?"

Before she could answer, there was a loud pounding at the door. Whoever it was, it must be really important because they were going to punch a hole through the door at the rate they were going. He started walking over to the door.

"Caleb don't," Eva hissed, "It's them."

He froze, looking at his sister hoping for some kind of guidance. "Are you sure?"

Eva nodded. There was no questioning it now. The pounding at the door grew louder. Why did they have to be so persistent? How did they even know?

"What do we do now?" Caleb whispered.

"We need to get out of here," Eva whispered, "I've packed up my things and I have some of your stuff in here as well." She nodded towards the bag that still lay on their kitchen table, "Your bow and is still on your bed where you left it though."

He darted back into the bedroom that he shared with his sister. True to Eva's word his handmade bow lay on the pile of straw and blankets that he slept on, next to a full quiver of arrows. He slung the quiver over his back and headed back into the room. He nocked one of his arrows, and aimed it at the door.

"Caleb no!" Eva protested, "What are you doing?"

"Just getting ready," He replied. He pulled the arrow back. Caleb had taught himself how to use the bow and arrow, when he realized that neither his job nor his sister's was enough to put food on the table. Sometimes they could afford enough to buy a loaf of bread and some vegetables, but it had cost Caleb absolutely nothing to learn how to hunt and set traps in the forest. His aim was not great, but if the Patrol broke into their house he was at least close enough to do some considerable damage.

"We need to get going," Eva hissed.

"How are we going to get out of here when they're standing at the only entrance," Caleb asked her, "Where are we even going to go?"

The door swung open. Caleb couldn't help but to swear under his breath as he realized that he had not locked the door. They frequently kept it bolted shut, even when the two of them were both at home. Break ins were sadly common in the slums, and Caleb and Eva needed to protect the few possessions that they had.

The two siblings froze as three men stepped into their tiny house. They were dressed in normal clothes-- brown pants and vests, with white shirts underneath. One of them wore a long, dark grey coat. Another wore a floppy cap, not quite unlike the one Caleb wore while he worked. The third wore a shorter unbuttoned black coat. As far as Caleb knew, these were just ordinary civilians. Visitors who had found themselves in the wrong part of town, perhaps. The look of horror on Eva's face told him that this was not the case.

"Evening, you two," The man in the long coat said.

"You're not welcome here," Eva barked, "Get out of here or my brother will shoot."

Caleb pulled his bow back further still with a trembling hand. He tried to calm himself down, so that he could make the shot if he had to. Even though the men stood only a couple feet away from him, his sweaty palms and shaking hands would put him at a serious disadvantage.

The man with the long coat looked over at Caleb, locking eyes with him for what felt like an eternity.

"Is this always how you greet your visitors?" Long Coat asked.

"No," Eva said, "It's how we greet our intruders. We didn't invite you to come here, you let yourselves in. There's a difference."

"Well forgive us for intruding," Long Coat said, "But we were told that you could help us with something."

"I doubt that very much," Caleb muttered.

Long Coat glanced over at him, but didn't respond to him otherwise. "We're looking for Eva and Caleb Ferris," he said, "We were told we could find them here."

Caleb felt his heart sink. They knew their names, which meant that they had been speaking to the locals. And these were Patrol members, which meant that not only did somebody know about their powers, but they had reported them. Either that, or they had been reported based on a hunch. Caleb couldn't decide which one was worse.

"Sorry," Eva said, "You're mistaken. Now please--"

The man in the hat stepped forward, brandishing a knife. He grabbed Eva and pointed the blade at her throat.

"Well perhaps you could tell us where to find them," Hat Man said.

"I-- I'm sorry," Eva stammered, "I don't know. Honest. Please, let me go!" She glanced over at Caleb with a look of desperation in her eyes.

Caleb could feel his hands heating up, a telltale sign that his powers were about to start acting up. When he had first discovered his powers, Eva had been quick to point out that the times where he lost control over them was almost always when he got scared. It was sort of like a defense mechanism, though in most situations Caleb would have preferred to use other means to defend himself. He drew in deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. They would get out of this alive. It was going to be ok.

"No! Look out!"

Caleb didn't have time to respond to his sister's cry. He felt someone grab him from behind, by the collar of his shirt. He let go of his bow and arrow, and the weapon went skittering across the floor. It wasn't until he felt the knife at his throat that he truly started to panic. His efforts to calm himself were in vain, and he sent orange flames shooting from his hands at his attacker.

The man cried out, releasing Caleb. He picked up his bow and arrow from the floor, grabbing them. He could see Long Coat looking at him with a disgusted snarl, and Hat Man watched in disbelief as his companion dropped to the floor and tried to distinguish the fires. He eventually was able to remove his coat, but not before the flames were able to do some considerable damage. A pungent smell filled the room, and Caleb knew almost instinctively that it was the man's burning flesh.

Caleb stood frozen to the spot in horror. He knew that this man wanted to kill him, but he still regretted it. If he could have kept his powers under control then maybe they could have kept up the lie and the men might have left. Instead, he had screwed up astronomically and their cover had been blown. Even if the men had believed that they weren't Caleb and Eva Ferris, they knew that at least one of them had powers and that had been what they came for.

Caleb snapped back to reality when he heard a thwack, as Eva had evidently taken advantage of the chaos and was able to turn around and punch her attacker in the face. She was able to catch him off guard and duck out and away.

"Run," She shouted at him, "Come on!"

Caleb didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted to the door, ducking just out of Long Coat's reach as he lunged towards him. Caleb flung the door open, and dashed out onto the empty streets. He ran faster than he knew he was capable of, not daring to look back. He would keep running until he could run no further.

That point came much quicker than he had anticipated. He tripped on a hole in the uneven road, causing his ankle to twist as he fell face first onto the street sending up a cloud of dust as he landed. He lay on his stomach, with the wind knocked out of him, struggling to breathe. He could feel tears streaking down is face as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel a throbbing pain in his ankle and knew that he wouldn't be able to run any further. If he could stand up, maybe Eva could help him to safety.

It was at that moment that he realized that the streets were unusually quiet. Eva shouldn't have been that far behind him. She should have caught up to him by now. When he looked briefly over his shoulder he could still just barely see his house, but no sign of his sister. Caleb tried to convince himself that she had just gone off in a different direction. The more he thought about it the less sense it made. If she had turned right after leaving the house then she would have then she would have came face to face with a dead end after maybe two or so minutes of running. There were a couple of alleyways that she could have ducked into, but most of them ended in dead ends as well. Perhaps she was hiding in one, but she wouldn't choose a hiding spot so close to the house, would she?

He let out a sob as it dawned on him that his sister had likely never left the house. They had her, and his injured ankle left him utterly helpless.

"Please help me," He cried out, "Somebody... somebody please."

Nobody responded, but he could have predicted as much. The people of Farrowin didn't like to get involved in other people's problems. When they saw someone getting beaten, mugged, or threatened they'd turn a blind eye to it. The moment they got involved it stopped being someone else's problem. It was easier to walk away than it was to step in and risk getting hurt for most people.

Caleb could hear the crunch of gravel as someone walked up behind him. He could tell almost instantly that it wasn't Eva-- the footsteps were too heavy to be his sister. In fact, knowing the people of Farrowin and their aversion to other people's problems, Caleb knew that this could only be one of three people.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Long Coat. He groaned realizing that he had been right.

"You didn't get very far," Long Coat taunted, "We appreciate that you tried though. It makes our job interesting when you try to run."

"My sister," Caleb gasped, "Where is she? What did you do to her?"

"Don't worry," Long Coat said, "She's in good hands. We may even let you see her again, but first..." He kicked Caleb hard in the side. "That's for not cooperating." He kicked him again in the chest this time, and much harder. "And this is for hurting our friend." He kicked him once more, in the face, sending blood streaming down his face from out of his nose. "And that one is just because I can."

Caleb didn't even try to fight back. That last kick had been just hard enough to beat out any remaining shred of hope that he had. He couldn't run, and even if he could Eva was still back at the house. He had lost his mother, and his father. Eva was the only family that he had and he couldn't imagine losing her too. He'd had almost every ounce of hope beaten out of him by the Patrol guard. All he could do now was hope that whatever they did to him, it would be quick and painless.

So when Long Coat grabbed his hand Caleb didn't pull away. When he felt the needle poking into his wrist, he flinched a little but nothing else.

When he felt the drug taking over his body, he closed his eyes and let it.

---

Author’s note: Big shoutout to anyone who has read this far! Now that all the main characters have been introduced, I’d really love to hear some feedback. I haven’t gotten any so far but I’d really love to hear your thoughts. You can just send me something on anon if your shy but the lack of feedback has been kinda disheartening. If you have something to say then please say it.

---

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Tag list: No one yet, but please let me know if you’d like to be added.

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starfast · 5 years ago

Text

Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 2

“The King’s Party”

Word Count: 5046

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More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

Prince Kit had been eagerly anticipating the night of his father’s birthday for months now. In fact, he could say with complete certainty that he was more excited than his father was. The party hadn’t been his father’s idea, but rather the idea of some of his father’s closest advisors. They had talked him into it by saying that it would be a great opportunity for some publicity, but if Kit’s father had his way, then they wouldn’t be having a party at all. These kinds of celebrations were often called for, but seldom did his father seem to actually enjoy them.

Kit had noticed his father growing steadily more anxious as his birthday drew nearer and nearer. By the time the morning of the party came, Kit had barely seen his father at all, though this hardly came as a surprise to him. It was typical behaviour from the king, but that hadn’t stopped the castle staff from relentlessly fussing over him anyways. Kit didn’t see why the staff had only decided to check in with his father now when he’d been openly dreading the party for weeks. In any case, Kit was just glad to have a day where he didn’t have to worry about all his regular duties as the crown prince. For the most part, at least. Kit had been to enough events to know that there was no such thing as taking a break from his duties. He had a big reputation to uphold, and he’d never want to be the one to slip up and put his entire family to shame. Still, he was determined to enjoy the party as much as he could. Someone had to since his father seemed to have prematurely decided that he would not be having a good time. Kit figured he would take that upon himself, and enjoy the party as much as possible before he went back to his regular daily life. The castle staff had worked tirelessly as they prepared for the night. It would be a shame to see their efforts go unappreciated. At the very least, Kit owed it to Katrina to be a good host.

It was only a few months ago that Kit’s parents had told him that he was to marry Katrina. Kit didn’t really love the idea of an arranged marriage but it was something that he knew was inevitable, so he’d never tried to find a way to get out of it. Surely, it couldn’t be so bad. After all, his parents had an arranged marriage and they got along just fine. The fact that he was to marry Katrina made the whole thing less intimidating. It hadn’t even been all that surprising to him when his parents finally revealed to him that he was to marry her. They were already somewhat close, which in the eyes of his father, made Katrina an ideal bride for Kit.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt, Kit,” his father had told him, “I need someone who won’t try to run away or hurt you if something were to happen.” In the context of the conversation, Kit knew that the “something” his father was referring to was Kit’s powers. His father always talked about his powers in hushed tones as if he were constantly worried about someone overhearing him. Even though they had been alone at the time, his father still felt it necessary not to directly mention his powers.

His father had wrapped up the news with, “But with all that said, I still think that Katrina is a wonderful and competent young woman who will make a great queen.”

The party had already been going for several hours by the time the dancing began. Kit had attended several balls, but this time he had secretly been dreading it. His father had mentioned to him the night before that tonight would be different since it would be the first time he would be dancing with Katrina as his future wife.

“You’ll be expected to dance with her, Kit,” his father said the night before, “You two will be representing the future of Toltova tomorrow, so I do hope that things go smoothly for you.

“Of course they will,” Kit had replied confidently, even though his father’s words had cast some doubt into him. It wouldn’t even be the first time that he would have to dance with Katrina. Still, he was somewhat intimidated by having such high expectations placed on him.

He had mentioned this to his father, who replied with, “Well, I suggest you get used to it, Kit.”

Now, his big moment was finally drawing nearer. His parents stepped out onto the marble tiles of the ballroom and the quartet of musicians began playing a slow and steady waltz. Kit couldn’t help but smile as he watched alongside many other guests as his parents led the dance. His father had accidentally let it slip to him once that he didn’t particularly care for ballroom dancing, but Kit would have never picked up on that from watching him. Both his mother and his father looked perfectly elegant as they glided effortlessly across the dancefloor.

As the King and Queen made their way towards where Kit stood next to Katrina, Kit locked eyes with his father. It had been unintentional, but his father had used it as a window of opportunity. The King nodded very slightly towards the empty dance floor as he moved past Kit, telling him that it was time for some other people join in.

Kit turned to Katrina, holding out his white gloved hand. “May I have this dance?”

She smiled, gently taking a hold of his hand. “Of course.” With that, they made their way out on the dance floor.

Once they were out on the dance floor, it was as if everyone else in the room simply disappeared. He barely aware of the other dancers or any other staff and fellow party goers alike who happened to be watching. He had blocked them out almost completely, focussing solely on Katrina, who looked absolutely stunning tonight in her emerald gown and her blonde hair done up in an elaborate braided bun.

Kit continued to lead Katrina across the ballroom floor, one light and elegant step at a time. It had really been no different from the last time they had danced together. The extra pressure that had been put on him by his father the night before had completely dissipated.

“That was wonderful,” Kit said softly as the first song came to a close, “You’re an incredible dancer, you know.”

“As are you,” Katrina responded.

Kit smiled, but before he could form a proper response, the musicians began the next song. He placed his hand on her shoulder and they began to dance once again. They carried on waltzing alongside other couples, occasionally exchanging a few words as they went.

After another three dances, the pair mutually decided to take a small break. Kit led her away from the dance floor and out to the castle gardens. He was grateful to be wearing a long sleeved coat on such a chilly night. Even with his jacket, he could still feel the cold biting through his clothing. He looked at Katrina, her dress sleeves only coming to her elbow.

“Are you warm enough?” He asked.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“Are you sure? We could go somewhere else if you want.”

“No that’s ok, but thank you.” Katrina looked up at the night sky and added, “It’s a lovely night tonight.”

“It is, isn’t it,” Kit replied. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the fall, the sun had been shining all day. Now that it had set, the sky had filled with millions of stars twinkling against the dark sky. Saying that it was a lovely night was almost an understatement.

They walked along the garden path, with neatly manicured hedges surrounding them on either side. During the summer, there were flowers of almost every colour imaginable. Now that the summer was over there weren’t any flowers left. Instead, they were replaced by the colourful autumn leaves that ranged from a deep red to vibrant yellow and every shade in between.

Kit finally stopped next to the ornate balustrade, which marked the end of the upper gardens. There were two small staircases that led down to the lower gardens. In between them was a water feature-- a three tiered man made waterfall decorated with intricate carvings and sculptures. Kit stood there for a moment, studying the detail in the nearest sculpture of an eagle with its wings outstretched-- the symbol of the Marwing house. He had seen the sculpture countless times before, but he had never taken the time to appreciate the sculptor’s impeccable attention to detail. Kit wondered how long it had taken to carve each individual feather, or the impossibly sharp talons.

“I hope you’re having a good time tonight,” Kit said quickly. It wasn’t really how he wanted to start a conversation, but he had spent too much time admiring the sculptures and he figured he should say something.

“I am,” Katrina replied.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, “You know, I was a bit nervous for tonight.”

“Really,” Katrina said, “Why? It’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

Kit shrugged. “My father was just making such a big deal about everything,” he explained, “He told me that we would be representing the future of this kingdom tonight, and people would be seeing us as the future King and Queen, probably for the first time. He just didn’t want us to make fools of ourselves, I suppose.” He smiled, then quickly added, “Not that I think we would have, but I felt like I could have done without that little speech.”

Katrina laughed. “He’s an interesting man, your father.”

Kit nodded. Interesting was one way to put it. In Galtia, most people showed a lot of respect towards the monarchy and tended to sing their praises, no matter what. King Matthew was no exception to that, but beyond Galtia Kit knew that opinions were fairly divided. Even within the castle, Kit had caught the staff questioning the King’s actions behind his back on more than one occasion.

“He certainly is,” Kit agreed, “Although, I think…” his voice trailed off as he noticed someone walking out across the garden path towards them. As the figure drew nearer, Kit recognized that was his Uncle Alexander. “What on earth is he doing here?” Kit murmured to no one in particular.

“Good evening, Kit,” His uncle said pleasantly when he approached him.

“Good evening, Uncle,” Kit replied with the slightest edge of uncertainty in his voice, “Can I help you with something?” Technically, Alexander was allowed to be here, though Kit had always known his uncle to be more frivolous than his father. Alexander certainly enjoyed the luxurious palace lifestyle that he lived, and it was at large events like the King’s party where he seemed to thrive. Which was why it was strange to Kit that he wasn’t back in the palace enjoying the celebration.

“I apologize for interrupting,” Alexander said, “But I was wondering if I could speak to you for just a moment?”

Kit frowned. “Can it not wait?”

“I won’t be long,” Alexander said, “There’s just something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Kit let out an exasperated sigh. “This really isn’t a good time. Please, whatever it is, can we discuss it later?”

“Just come with me Kit,” Alexander demanded, “We won’t be long.”

Kit gave Katrina an apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not sure what this is about.” He turned to his Uncle and said, “I’m giving you sixty seconds. After that, you get out of here and I’ll let my father know about this, because I can already tell that he doesn’t.”

“Fine,” Alexander said, “Sixty seconds.”

Kit rolled his eyes as he followed his uncle away from the fountain. Alexander led him towards a large cedar bush which was far enough away that Katrina would be out of earshot. The party was still going on inside, so it was unlikely that anyone other than Katrina would know that they were even there. But they’d only be sixty seconds, hopefully even less.

“Since you haven’t given me a lot of time,” Alexander said, “I’m just going to cut to the chase. I know about your powers.”

Kit tried to keep his expression neutral, but the words immediately made him feel sick to his stomach. Of all the people to find out, it had to be Alexander. He tugged at the button on the cuff of his sleeve, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Kit said, feigning confusion, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Yes you do,” Alexander replied, “I’m not stupid Kit. I know about your headaches.”

“Then you know that they’re only headaches,” Kit said, shrugging. “I’m sorry,” he said as he tried to walk away, “But I think you may be--”

Alexander grabbed him and pointed a knife at Kit’s throat. Kit could feel the cold metal tip poking into his skin, not enough to draw blood but enough to make the threat very clear.

“I’ve seen you when you think you’re alone,” Alexander said through a clenched jaw, “Making things move without even touching them. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean.”

“I--I don’t,” Kit whimpered, “Please, let me go!”

“I’ll make you an offer,” Alexander said, “I want your crown, Kit.”

“Are you insane?” Kit exclaimed, “I can’t just give that to you!”

“You could if we staged a little accident.”

“Never. Besides, what good would it be to you? My father would still be King.” Kit folded his arms across his chest. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry about your father,” Alexander said wryly, “I’ll deal with him later. But I’ll need you out of the way first.”

“You want to kill us,” Kit shouted in disbelief. Although, it really wasn’t all that surprising. The rivalry between Matthew and Alexander went back to when the two were still children. It was almost more surprising that Alexander hadn’t tried to pull this kind of stunt earlier.

“No, not exactly,” Alexander said, “I thought I might give you the option of faking your own death and starting a new life somewhere else under a new identity.”

Kit gave a slight shake of his head. Even if he did want to entertain the idea, it would never work. He was the crown prince of Toltova. People would recognize him, regardless of who he said he was. And he could never leave his family. The thought of his parents mourning his apparent death while he was actually alive and well was unbearable. “I would never,” he declared.

“Well,” Alexander said, “I guess we’ll just have to start telling people about your little secret.”

“You’re going to blackmail me?” Kit gasped.

“I wouldn’t call it that per se,” Alexander said coolly.

“Then what would you call it?”

“You could say that I’m just coercing you into making a decision.”

“With a knife,” Kit remarked. He couldn’t wait for his father to hear about this. Mostly because he knew that having Alexander locked up would solve a good majority of his father’s problems. Prior to now, his father lacked the means to justify it. “I can’t just lock him up for petty name calling,” he would say. In the meantime, his father tried to remain civil with Alexander, often going out of his way to deliberately avoid him. Still, Alexander seemed to know exactly what to say or do to anger his brother. His father always just sort of took it, and rarely showed any sort of reaction which was exactly the opposite of what Alexander wanted, and probably why he continued to test the King’s patience. He just wanted the reaction, and only once had he actually gotten one.

“I’ll give you one last chance to change your mind, Kit,” Alexander said, “So what’s it going to be?”

Kit hesitated. If he told everyone about his powers, then he lost the right to keep that a secret. Both of his parents had mentioned to him in the past that it may not be such a bad thing to go public with his powers. It would make him the first member of the royal family to openly have powers since the Patrol disbanded. His mother had powers as well-- the ability to speak with animals. Much like Kit, she had opted to keep her powers a secret from all but a select few. Toltova wasn’t safe yet for people with powers, despite the King’s best efforts. While things seemed to be changing for the better, neither Kit nor his mother felt like it was safe enough for them to be open about their powers with the general public.

Yet, Kit could not leave his entire life behind just because Alexander told him to.

Kit drew in a shaky breath. “I...I’ll tell her.”

Alexander flashed a crooked smile at him. “Good,” he said, lowering the knife. He shoved Kit forward, then poked the knife at his back. “Go on now,” he urged, “And don’t even think about trying to run.”

Kit could feel the colour drain from his face as Alexander urged him to walk forward. He led Kit back to the fountain, where Katrina stood waiting. She had her back facing them, looking out towards the lower gardens, but turned around when she heard Kit and Alexander’s footsteps coming up behind her.

“Oh, Kit,” She said, “You’re back! I was beginning to….” Her voice trailed off and her face fell when she saw that Alexander was still with him. A very fair reaction, Kit thought.

“Kit has something he wants to tell you,” Alexander said, still poking the knife at his back.

“Uh, actually, I-I uh, I don’t want to tell you this,” Kit stammered, “But um, I guess you would have found out eventually, so…” his voice dropped to a low mumble. “I have powers.”

“Louder,” Alexander urged, poking the knife into the back of his neck.

“I said I have powers.”

Kit could see Katrina’s mouth open slightly, as if she were about to say something but changed her mind. The air fell silent, for what felt like an eternity.

“Katrina, say something, please,” Kit whispered.

“I… it’s fine, Kit,” She said finally. She looked just past him, at Alexander. “I think… I think maybe I should go,” she said. Neither Kit nor Alexander tried to stop her as she hurried past them. She looked back only once before she headed back to the castle.

“Well, are you happy?” Kit exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“No,” Alexander drawled, still holding the knife at Kit’s lower back, “But maybe once we tell a few more people…”

“No,” Kit said firmly, “I’m not doing this!” He couldn’t afford to let Alexander think that he could push him around like this. When he inherited the throne, he didn’t want every decision would make to be the product of blackmail. “When my father hears about this, he'll--” He felt a pinprick in the back of his neck. “Ow! What are you doing?”

“It’s just a sedative,” Alexander said, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use it. It won’t take long to wear off, don’t worry.”

Kit could start to feel the effects almost immediately. He felt like the world was spinning around him, and he was seeing double of everything. His eyelids started to feel heavy, like he just needed to close his eyes and rest for a little while. He blinked several times, trying to fight off the effects of the sedation.

“Don’t fight it, Kit,” Alexander said, “Why don’t you lie down for a moment?”

“No… I’m good,” he slurred, “I’m.. fine.” He staggered forwards trying to get away from his uncle. After taking only a couple of clumsy steps forward, Kit’s legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor. He tried to stay awake, hoping that someone would find him sooner rather than later.

It only took a few short seconds before he succumbed to the effects of the medication. He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

***

Kit woke up in a dark room with no windows. He felt a cold, hard ground beneath him but that didn’t offer any clue to his surroundings. He could barely see his hands when he held them to his face. It took him a moment to remember the events that had brought him to this moment. Even when they all came flooding back, the whole thing just didn’t feel real.

Kit struggled to sit up, still feeling a little bit nauseous. “Hello,” He called out in a raspy voice.

Nothing.

Kit was able to piece together that he was likely in a prison cell somewhere. He had no idea how much time had passed since the incident in the gardens. There was a good chance that he was still in Galtia, but it was still equally likely that he was literally anywhere else.

Kit wasn’t sure how long he had been conscious when he heard footsteps. “Hello?” He shouted, “Is someone there?”

“Kit?”

Kit sat up a little straighter, upon hearing his father’s voice. Soon, his father appeared outside the door and was peering down at him through the bars of the cell. He held a lantern, illuminating the tiny cell.

“He’s in here,” His father said.

“Oh thank goodness,” He heard his mother say. In a few seconds she appeared next to his father. “Kit? Kit, are you ok?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned.

“Kit, listen to me,” his father said in a quiet yet urgent tone, “You need to get out of here. We don’t have the key but--”

“You what?!”

His father sighed. “It’s been stolen,” He explained, “I think I have a pretty good guess as to who took it but--”

“Uncle Alexander,” Kit said.

“Yes, naturally,” his father said, “We’re not sure where he went, but he we’re going to make sure he doesn’t get away with this. There’s people searching for him as we speak.” He lowered his voice then added, “But in the meantime, you’re going to have to let yourself out.”

“Is anyone else here?” Kit whispered.

“Alden’s here,” His father said in the same low tone. Alden was the Royal healer, and the only one outside of Kit’s immediate family who knew about his powers. “But other then that it’s just your mother and I,” His father said, “You’re safe.”

“Then why are you talking like that?”

“Just open the door.”

Unlocking doors was something that he could do with ease. It wasn’t something that he did all that often, but it was a useful skill to have. Kit focussed on the lock as he manipulated the mechanism until he heard a soft click as the lock popped open.

It may have been the effects of the sedative, but he felt more fatigued than usual. His powers sometimes tended to drain him, but only when he overexerted himself. Small tasks like unlocking doors tended to have no affect on him. Kit slumped against the side of the cell wall before his father came in, followed by his mother and Alden.

“Are you ok, Your Highness?” Alden asked as he crouched down in front of him.

“I think he’s just overexerted himself,” His father said.

“Yes, that,” Kit murmured.

Alden fished around in his bag and produced a small glass vial.. “Here,” he said, pulling the stopper out of the vial “This should help.” He handed it to Kit.

Kit took the vial, and drank all of its contents. It tasted bitter, and it burned his throat as it made its way down. Kit coughed a couple times before handing the vial back to Alden.

“Feel any better?” Alden asked.

“Slightly,” Kit said.

“That’s good enough,” His father said, “We need to get you out of here. It’s not safe for you here.”

Kit nodded in agreement. His father had a tendency to go pretty easy on criminals sometimes, which meant that the castle’s dungeons didn’t see much use. They were far from being in a state of disrepair, but he could see cobwebs starting to gather in the corners of his cell and wondered what else he was sharing a cell with. Spiders? Mice? He didn’t want to think about it.

“I want you to go up to your room and pack your bag--”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s not safe for you here,” His father repeated, “What part of that was unclear to you?”

“I thought you were just talking about the dungeons,” Kit admitted. But of course, the castle would be unsafe with Alexander running loose.

His father shook his head. “The fact that Alexander was threatening you and nobody saw--”

“Katrina saw,” Kit corrected.

“We know,” His father said, “She came to get us after she left you. But Alexander is going to be back, and the castle will be the first place we look.”

“Why not just tighten security around here then?” Kit suggested.

“He’s right, Matthew,” His mother said, “Do you really think we need to do this?”

“Security was tightened,” his father pointed out, “This shouldn’t have happened. I need you leave, Kit. Just for a little while, ok? I just want you to be safe.”

“Fine, fine,” Kit muttered. Alden helped him get to his feet, before the four of them left the cell.

***

Kit had managed to pack up his belongings in just a few short minutes. He was not at all surprised to learn that his father had ended the party early and everyone had already gone home by the time Kit had left the dungeon. Kit wasn’t sure whether it was due to the events that transpired in the garden or just due to his father’s own reclusive tendencies. Perhaps, it had even been a bit of both.

Kit met his parents out in the castle’s main entrance hall, where they were waiting to send him off. A guard stood with them, silent and still.

Kit’s father reached into his pocket and produced a small bag of lalts. I’ll need you two to head to Morbane,” he said addressing both Kit and the guard as he handed the bag of money to Kit. “You’re to stay with your Uncle Roland until you hear from us otherwise.”

Kit had only met his Uncle Roland a couple times. Since Morbane was quite a distance from Galtia, he didn’t get to see his mother’s side of the family very often. Kit had never actually been to Morbane, despite it being the location of the Winter Palace. According to his mother, it was a beautiful city. According to his father, he hadn’t been missing out on much. Kit had always wondered which version of the city was closer to the truth, but he wished it could be finding out under better circumstances.

“And you,” his father said pointing at the guard, “You’ll be responsible for keeping him safe. If anything happens to him, I guarantee there will be consequences. Do you understand?

“Yes, Your Majesty,” The guard said, bowing.

“Good, good,” his father said, nodding. “You’d best get going now.”

He said a quick goodbye to both his parents, giving each of them a hug and promised that he’d let them know when he arrived in Morbane before he set off.

Galtia was separated into three districts: The Royal District, the Industrial District, and the Rural District. There were no official borders between any of them, but it was still very obvious when the Royal District became the Industrial district. The opulent manors gave way to squalid factories and the smooth, cobbled roads became rough and uneven. Even the air seemed thicker, despite the fact that all the factories were closed for the night.

Kit walked down the main road, on high alert. His eyes darted all over the place as he made his way down to the train station. Despite having the guard to accompany him, he still couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The fact that the guard was constantly glancing over his shoulder did very little to calm his nerves, but Kit brushed it off as the guard being vigilant and simply trying to do his job.

It was only when the guard turned down a side street, heading the opposite direction of the train station did Kit finally realize that something was amiss. Kit stopped walking and stood defiantly where the two roads intersected.

“Where are you taking me?” Kit demanded.

“The train station,” The guard said, “As per the request of your parents.”

“It’s that way,” Kit said pointing towards down the road that they were supposed to be heading down.

The guard approached Kit, clutching his spear tightly in his hand. “This way is quicker,” the guard said, “Please, Your Highness. Your father won’t be happy with me if I don’t get you to the station.”

“We’re going this way then,” Kit said as he began walking back down the correct road, “I don’t care if it’s a longer walk.” He had his reservations about the guard’s proposed route to the station. It was a smaller, poorly lit side street while the road that Kit now walked down was a main road with street lamps lining each side. Kit rarely left the Royal District, but he still knew the layout of the city well enough to know that the main road would take them directly to the station.

The guard ran to catch up with him. “I’m so sorry to do this, Your Highness.” The guard raised his spear, and slammed the blunt end into the side of Kit’s head.

Kit fell to the ground, his cheek pressed up against the cold, hard ground. The last thing he saw was the spear being yanked out of the guards hand by an invisible force before the guard also collapsed to the ground. Before Kit could even try to comprehend the scene, everything around him faded to black.

---

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starfast · 5 years ago

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Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 1

“Into the Night”

Word Count: 3617

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

Nothing interesting ever happened at night. Or at least, that was how Crispin felt. There may have been a time where his father’s ship was ravaged by an onslaught of midnight attacks from other pirates, but those days had long since passed. Crispin had been living on his father’s ship for the past three years, and not once had there been a night attack. There hadn’t even been any close calls or false alarms. It seemed to Crispin that having someone stay up to guard the ship at night was rather redundant, but his father clearly felt otherwise and Crispin knew better than to try and reason with him.

Which brought Crispin to where he was now, sitting perched in the crow’s nest of the Mad Maiden, clutching a telescope in his right hand and a dagger in his left while the rest of the crew lay sleeping soundly in their quarters. He had lost track of time several hours ago, and stopped seriously guarding the ship long before that. At one point he had carved his name into the side of the crow’s nest, just to pass the time.

There was nothing in sight for as far as Crispin could see, even with the telescope. It was just his father’s ship just sitting alone in the middle of a vast expanse of dark nothingness. If he had anticipated that living on a pirate ship could be this dull, he might have opted to stay with Roger instead. At least if he were still living with Roger then he could be asleep like everyone else in Toltova right now. Things always felt safer at Roger’s place anyways.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle the fights that frequently broke out on the ship during the day, because he absolutely could. It was more the fact that Roger was the only one who knew about his power, and that his father would likely try to kill him if he ever found out.

Crispin liked to think that his father wouldn’t actually kill him, but he also couldn’t see it as something that would go over well. His father harboured a deep hatred towards people with powers, which according to Roger, stemmed when his father’s entire family had been killed by an all-powered crew of pirates. Most people would have grieved and moved on with their lives, but Marcus Hadley had responded to the tragedy by becoming a pirate so that he could track down the ones who had killed his family and avenge their deaths. Everyone dealt with grief differently, but unfortunately for Crispin, his father’s grief manifested in a dangerous way. So, following Roger’s advice, he kept his powers a secret. Which was almost a shame, because if powers were something that were widely tolerated he imagined that there were a number of ways in which his ability to fly could be made useful. But because some people-- namely his father-- felt like any kind of special powers were unnatural, and shouldn’t be allowed, his power was basically useless. He couldn’t even be subtle about using his powers, because there was nothing subtle about a person with wings flying high above sea in broad daylight.

It was a good thing then that it was not broad daylight. Even better, but no one else was around to see him. Crispin stood up, leaving the telescope on the floor, and sticking his dagger back into its respective sheath. He braced himself against the edge of the crow’s nest.

Crispin had never been completely sure how his powers worked. He was never really able to fully comprehend out how his wings could retract into his back when he didn’t want to use them, but it was something he’d always been grateful for. His father probably would have found out about his powers years earlier if he had to keep them hidden beneath his clothes all the time.

Crispin had also never quite gotten used to the feeling of his wings extending out of his back. When he was younger he used to compare it to getting stabbed from the inside out. Now that he had actually been stabbed, however, he felt like the comparison was a massive exaggeration. That hadn’t made it any less uncomfortable though.

He guided his wings through the slits that he had cut out in his jacket before extending them to their full length. He had an impressive ten foot wingspan as of the last time he had measured them. That had been when he was fourteen, and at the time it his wingspan was almost double his own height: A less than impressive five feet and one inch. He’d grown an entire inch since then, and figured that his wings probably hadn’t grown all that much either.

Roger had once suggested to him that maybe the reason why he was so short was due to his powers. His reasoning was that less height would theoretically mean less weight, and less weight would make it easier for him to fly around. Crispin had shot down that idea almost immediately. He didn’t hate his powers quite as much as he hated being about as tall as the average thirteen year old. No one knew about his powers, but they did know that he was the shortest person on board the ship. They never let him forget it either.

Crispin stood up on the edge of the crows nest with his white feathered wings folded against his back. He drew a deep breath, inhaling the salty ocean air before he jumped. He let himself fall for a bit before he extended his wings, flapping them downwards and sending himself skyward.

As much and all as Crispin disliked his powers, it was hard to deny that he didn’t love the thrill of flying. There was something very liberating about the feeling of soaring through the sky as the wind ran through his hair and his feathers. He kept his eye on his father’s ship, not wanting to stray too far from it. He watched it grow smaller and smaller as he increased his altitude. Soon, the Mad Maiden was no more than a dark spot sitting on the even darker ocean.

Crispin could have spent the rest of the night up in the sky, but he liked to play it safe. Staying within his comfort zone was something that, as a pirate, he adhered to very rarely. Yet, when it came to using his powers he had always done what he had to do to prevent anyone from finding out. That mostly meant cutting his late night flights short and returning to the ship after only a few short minutes of flying. That time had come already. He circled the ship, lowering his altitude until eventually he was low enough for his feet to touch the deck of the ship.

“Crispin!”

There were many things that Crispin would have never expected to hear at such an ungodly hour of the night, and the sound of his father shouting his name from the opposite end of the deck was perhaps the most terrifying. He pulled his wings in, trying to hide them from his father almost on instinct. Judging from the harsh tone that his father had used, it didn’t really matter whether he hid them at this point or not.

“Fucking hell, Dad,” He snapped back, “What are you doing?”

His father didn’t answer him. Not right away at least, and in a way that was more terrifying. He caught his father’s hand drift over to the hilt of one of his knives.

“This whole time” his father seethed, “This whole time you were a goddamn freak!” He studied him up and down, and then added, “I swear, Crispin, you’d best have a damn good explanation for this!”

Crispin drew in a deep breath. And another one. He could feel his hands trembling and hoped it was not as noticeable as he thought it was. Crispin didn’t normally get worked up over name calling. In the three years that he had been living on the Mad Maiden he had been through a lot. He’d had more than a few close encounters with death, and it had certainly desensitized him to a lot of the violence and brutality that came with living on a pirate ship. He could deal with physical pain in both large and small doses, and name calling was something that he was used to at this point.

But this was different. His father had never treated him any differently than the rest of the crew. He had made it clear to him three years ago when Crispin first joined the crew of the Mad Maiden that he wouldn’t get any special privileges for being the Captain’s son. “There’s no room for weakness on a pirate ship, Crispin,” he had said to him, “The very second I start showing any signs of favouritism, the rest of the crew will use it against me. I can’t have that.” When the other crew members poked fun at Crispin, his father never stopped them. In fact, it wasn’t all that uncommon for him to join in, but Crispin had learned to take it. He had learned to fire right back, because it was all in good fun.

This wasn’t. The words had been spoken with a pure malice that Crispin had never heard from his father before. It was as though the words were a knife and his father had thrust it into his heart, where it would hurt the most, before twisting it just to make it all the more painful.

“I was guarding the ship just like you asked,” he said firmly, hoping that he could hide his emotions.

“Think you’re being funny, do you?” His father snarled.

“You asked me to explain myself so I did,” Crispin shouted, “You asked me to guard the stupid ship at night, so here I am, guarding the stupid ship at night even though there’s nothing to fucking guard it from!”

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have dared to mouth off to his father like that, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Although, even at the very best of times, his father was not a very easy person to reason with.

“You know damn well that’s not what I’m talking about,” His father fumed, “Now are you going to explain yourself or not?”

Crispin cringed, fully expecting someone to wake up to the commotion as his father’s voice crescendoed to a shout that echoed across the silent sea. If anyone had awoken, none of them came to inspect the screaming match. Crispin exhaled in relief. He didn’t want anyone else to know. Anyone with a brain would have sided with his father. No one would dare defend him in front of the Captain, regardless of how they truly felt.

“I don’t know what you want me to explain,” Crispin yelled back, “It’s not like you’ll listen to me, anyways,” He averted his gaze for a split second and added, “I didn’t ask to be this way, you know!” He hadn’t even meant to say it. In the heat of the moment, the words just slipped out of his mouth. It was something that he thought about frequently, but had never quite been able to bring it up with anyone. He figured that eventually he might bring it up with Roger, but it wasn’t really a conversation he wanted to have yet. Not with Roger, who was the only person who Crispin ever talked with about these kinds of things . And certainly not with his father, who was too caught up in his own flawed logic to care how Crispin felt. Crispin didn’t see how being able to fly made him any more or less of a threat than anyone else on the ship. He carried six knives with him at all times, but somehow it was his ability to fly that made him dangerous. That was his father’s opinion and there wasn’t anything that Crispin could do aside from just dealing with it.

“I didn’t ask you to be my son either,” his father snapped back at him, “We can’t always get what we want.”

The words stung, but Crispin clenched his jaw, determined not to let it show. He had always known that having a child was never something that his father had wanted. Not only did his father make no effort to keep this a secret, but he seemed to constantly remind Crispin that his birth had been entirely accidental.

“Yeah, well,” Crispin said squaring his shoulders, “Unfortunately for both of us, I’m still your son.”

“Are you really?”

Crispin froze, caught off guard by the question. His mother had abandoned him as a newborn, leaving him in his father’s care when he was only a few days old. His father had then left him in the care of Roger, his close friend, since a pirate ship was no place for a baby. Crispin had often wondered about the identity of his mother. He’d asked his father if he had even the slightest idea of who she could be, but if he did, he never told him. Crispin had always just assumed that his mother knew with complete certainty that Captain Marcus Hadley had been his father. He’d never thought to question it, but maybe there had been a mistake. If his father didn’t know who his mother was, then could it be possible that his mother didn’t actually know who his father was?

Nope. No. Not right now. Absolutely not. He knew what his father was doing, and he was not going to question this now.

“Yeah,” He said with as much confidence he could muster, “Yeah I am.”

“Oh, Crispin,” his father chided, “Even if you are my son, do you really think I would let you get away with this? I can’t allow this, you know that, don’t you?” He took a step towards him and added, “I can’t treat you any differently than anyone else on this ship. You know how things are here.”

“Oh, and what are you going to do then,” Crispin taunted, “Kill me?” He almost went as far as to add that killing someone solely because they had powers was legally considered a hate crime, and was punishable by whatever the King’s men decided. In Coral Bay, favoured punishment was usually death, but this wasn’t something that happened nearly as much as it should. Crispin only knew that because Roger had told him as much. Nobody on board the Mad Maiden had even a shred of respect for the law.

“How are you going to explain that to the crew? Are you just gonna--” His words were cut short by the sudden jolt of pain in his left shoulder. He looked down, and saw the handle of a knife protruding out of him. The pain had stunned him into silence. All he could do was stare down at the silver knife handle and watch as his own blood spread out across his jacket. He was still in shock when he finally managed to say, “Oh, you really went there, didn’t you?”

Crispin’s father could throw knives with deadly accuracy. He could take out a knife and throw it so fast that most of the time, his victims never saw it coming. It was something that Crispin could now attest to, because he definitely had not seen it coming. Sure, he may have literally asked for it, but he didn’t think that his father would actually do it.

“Get out of here, Crispin,” His father growled, “I’ll take care of your mess. Just go.”

Crispin felt like he was watching his father through the wrong end of a telescope. Everything felt distant. He could barely even register what was happening. It almost didn’t even feel real, like the whole thing was just a really terrible dream. Any moment now, he expected to wake up in his hammock and go on with his daily life.

But then there was the knife. A deadly reminder, coupled with the pain that confirmed that everything he was experiencing was real. Crispin glanced down at the knife once again. He knew better than to pull it out, but he couldn’t stay on the ship any longer. He gave a slight nod, and mumbled, “Yeah, I’ll do that,” before he clambered over the side of the ship and jumped off. He struggled to get himself skyborn and began flapping his wings frantically as he dipped down dangerously close to the ocean. With one last powerful flap he levelled himself out and went soaring off into the night.

Crispin decided that the best course of action would be to head back to Coral Bay. For one thing, it wouldn’t have been that far away since they had only left the city earlier that evening. Roger lived there as well, which meant that Crispin could have a place to stay until he sorted things out. He figured that he would probably never be welcomed back on his father’s ship, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t start over somewhere else. Maybe he could even find work on another pirate ship. That would make his father even more furious, which almost made it even more appealing. Or perhaps he’d travel inland. He’d only ever seen the coasts of Toltova. As much as he felt at home by the sea, part of him wondered how the rest of the kingdom compared.

Crispin decided he would figure that out later though. Right now, he had to focus on getting to Coral Bay. He wasn’t even sure how long he had been flying for, but his injury was starting to take a toll on him. The knife sent a harsh shock of pain radiating across his chest and shoulder with each flap of his wings. He gasped for breath and longed for somewhere to land where he could rest at least for a few minutes, but there was nothing below him except the ocean for almost as far as he could see.

Crispin didn’t know how long he had been flying when he finally spotted the distinctive glow of the Coral Bay Lighthouse.

“Oh thank goodness,” he panted. The lighthouse was still a little ways away, but at least he was getting close to the shore now. He deviated slightly to the right, knowing that the lighthouse was closer to the edge of the main city. He didn’t really want to be flying into the busiest part of the city, but it wasn’t like there would be many people out and about at this hour. It was quicker just to fly right in than to land somewhere on the outskirts and walk. It probably wasn’t even any more or less safe either since Coral Bay had a bit of a seedy reputation. Regardless of where he landed, he was bound to run into someone who was up to no good. He wasn’t too worried about that though. He’d been born and raised in the city, and he was well aware of which areas to avoid at all costs, and which areas were deemed safe enough. Roger’s house was within walking distance to the Harbour Strip- a row of shops and businesses that lined the coast and looked out into the harbour. Being one of the busier and well lit areas, it tended to fall more on the safer side. He would be fine.

By the time Crispin was able to see solid ground beneath him, his injury had only worsened. He had planned to go straight to Roger’s house, but at this point he knew it would be better to find a healer. He was starting to feel dizzy and lightheaded which was making it all the more difficult for him to stay in a straight line.

Crispin had been living in Coral Bay long enough to know that there were more than a few healers in the city that could help him. He wasn’t sure whether any of them would be open at such a late hour, but he knew that there was at least one somewhere along the Harbour Strip, which was almost directly underneath him. Crispin flew above the Strip, searching for the perfect landing spot. He didn’t want to be right out in the open when he landed, but he also didn’t want to get too close to any of the buildings. When he started seeing dark spots that clouded his vision he knew he had to land as soon as possible. There wasn’t anything that he could do to help his injuries aside from get to a healer, but at the very least he could prevent more injuries by landing rather than falling from several feet up in the air.

Crispin tried to lower his altitude slightly, but he found himself dropping downwards at a much faster rate than he’d anticipated. He flapped his wings trying to regain balance, only to clip the side of a building with his left wing which not only set him even more off balance but also sent a searing pain up and down his wing.

Time somehow seemed to move differently after that. He felt like things had slowed down around him, but at the same time things were moving so quickly that he didn’t have time to do anything else but frantically flap his one uninjured wing and try his best to see where it got him

As it turned out, trying his best only sent him crashing into the side of a building, before falling onto an awning and finally, onto the cobbled road beneath him.

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starfast · 5 years ago

Text

Cross the Kingdom- Prologue

“Four Years Earlier”

Word Count: 1253

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More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

Ten children had been reported missing in the past month. Many of King Matthew’s closest advisers have told him that it probably wasn’t worth spending too much time worrying about. There’s more pressing issues at hand, they said. Ten wasn’t a really big number, they told him. Yet, it had been big enough for people to notice. Not to mention, there had only been ten reported disappearances. Who knew how many had gone unreported? Hundreds? Maybe even thousands? He certainly hoped not, yet the possibility still lingered at the back of his mind.

King Matthew looked down at the General’s report that lay on the polished wooden table in front of him. Ten children. One month. According to the report, there seemed to be no apparent pattern to where the disappearances were happening. The most recent one had happened in Coral Bay, one of the southernmost cities of Toltova. Yet, the remaining nine happened in areas that spanned all across the country. The ages ranged from nine to seventeen, so at least there was a pattern there. Matthew had no idea what it meant, but at least it was something.

The king looked up at the General, who sat opposite of him while the king looked over the report.

“This is all... rather troubling, to say the least,” King Matthew said finally.

“I know it may look worrisome, Your Majesty,” the General replied, “But we don’t know much at the moment. We don’t even know if the disappearances are linked to each other yet.”

“Then don’t you think we should be looking into that?” The King pressed, leaning back into his chair.

The General broke eye contact with the King, which told Matthew quite enough. A lot of his men tried to please him by just telling him what they thought he wanted to hear. Most times, it was harmless enough but Matthew wished they would just be honest with him. It was good to hear both sides of an argument because it helped him to know where everyone was coming from. He couldn’t find a compromise if he only ever heard one end of the argument.

“You’re allowed to say no,” Matthew reassured.

“It’s not that I disagree,Your Majesty,” The General said, “But you should probably know, there’s been rumours…”

“Rumours that you didn’t include in your report,” Matthew asked, tapping the papers that lay in front of him.

“Well,” The General pointed out, “They are just rumours. There’s little credibility to them, if any.”

The General realized his error when he noticed the King’s icy glare from across the table, and quickly added, “Next time I’ll make sure to include that sort of thing. Very sorry, your Majesty.”

“Apology accepted,” Matthew said flippantly. The General had piqued his interest at the mention of the rumours. Matthew was far more interested in that then an apology from the General that was likely insincere. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “So these rumours,” King Matthew said, “Tell me about them.”

“Rumour goes that it’s the Patrol that’s behind these disappearances,” The General explained.

“How very curious,” Matthew murmured, furrowing his brow. It may have just been a rumour, but if there was even a little bit of truth to it, he would need to get a handle on the issue before it spiralled out of control. Despite the fact that the Patrol had been abolished decades ago, people with powers still faced a lot of harassment and resentment from those who didn’t. Everyone knew that this was just residue from the Patrol’s fearsome reign, but no one ever said it. People wanted to believe that the Patrol wasn’t an issue any longer, that there was peace in the kingdom and that there was no longer a divide in the population. Maybe things were better now than they were a few decades ago, but there was still a lot of room for improvement when it came to how people with powers were living. Matthew had tried to make it a priority to improve things for them, but there was only so much he could do. He could implement as many laws as he wanted, but there would always be people who would break them anyways. It wasn’t like he could just outright ban what people thought of other people.

But if there was even the smallest fraction of truth to this rumour then perhaps he could do something about it. It would be better to act on it now then to wait until the Patrol was rising to power once again.

“I want you to look into this,” Matthew said.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” The General said, but Matthew picked up on the slight edge of uncertainty that in the General’s voice.

“You do understand how serious this could be if it turns out to be true,” Matthew said.

“But if it’s not true then it’s just a waste of resources,” The General protested, “You really want me to send out our troops to look into some silly rumour?”

Matthew let out an impatient huff. The General may have been in charge of the military, but at the end of the day he was still serving the King, whether he liked it or not. Matthew did try his best to be fair with all of the men and women that worked under him, but he drew the line at this kind of blatant disrespect. He couldn’t afford to have people pushing him around and trying to pressure him into making a decision.

“Do you know what will happen if I don’t at least try to do anything about this,” Matthew asked, trying to hide his frustration. “People will come to me asking me why I’m allowing this to happen. Right now, we have ten missing kids and if you think I have any intentions of allowing that number to grow you are sorely mistaken, and have greatly underestimated me. These children are the future of this kingdom, and I will not stand by and just watch them go missing. What happens when it’s our children who are going missing? You have children, don’t you?”

Matthew already knew that the General had two kids, a daughter and a son, who were twelve and nine respectively.

“My children don’t have powers though,” The General said quickly, “The Patrol wouldn’t come for them.”

Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Ah, so now we know it’s the Patrol?” He steepled his fingers, resting his wrists lightly on the edge of the table.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” The General stammered.

Matthew shook his head. Like it would make a difference. Back in their prime, the Patrol would execute people who were only suspected to have powers, killing them off in brutal fashions often right in public before sprawling crowds. It didn’t matter whether the General’s children had powers or not. If the Patrol thought they did, they were as good as dead.

“I want you to look into it,” Matthew ordered, “Round up some of your best men and women, send them out, and do not question me further. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, your highness,” The General said.

“Good,” Matthew said firmly, “Go then. You’re dismissed.”

The General stood up from his seat, bowing before he headed for the door, leaving Matthew alone. The King looked down at the report, still resting on the table in front of him. Ten missing kids. Matthew rubbed at his temples, silently hoping that the Patrol wasn’t behind it.

---

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