Chosen Ones (8 page)

Anaximander granted him a smile.

“We are. And it is for that reason that I come to you.” Anaximander pul ed over a chair and sat to face Peter. “The lords were most impressed by the invention that you showed them yesterday. The lords said you had a devil in your hand—something you cal ed gunpowder. Did you make it yourself?” His eyes were inquisitive.

“I did.” Peter got a look on his face that he intended to be appropriately humble, but which Julia would have recognized as smug. “Of course, the precise formula is a secret known only to me—and the other great minds of Albion, of course.” Anaximander smiled. “Of course, Lord Peter.

The Jackal, the Leopard, and the Wolf are most favorably impressed by your abilities. Not only are you a man of great intel igence, but you have shown great wisdom and distinction.” He dipped his head in a brief bow.

“You flatter me, sir,” said Peter, who real y was quite flattered. Anaximander smiled again.

“I do not seek to flatter you, Lord Peter. I only tel you what I observe and what I myself have been told.

The Lady Julia spoke of sharing knowledge, and I confess that our great lords are most eager to learn more of your secrets.”

“The secrets are not mine to give,” started Peter, but Anaximander leaned in closer and breathed softly in his ear.

“The lords would make you a prince of this land.” He drew out the word “prince,” letting it rol , sparkling, over his tongue. The sound of it fil ed Peter with glittering images—images foreign to the lonely life of a schoolboy he’d left behind in England.

Images of glory, of riches, of dominion over everyone who had teased and brutalized him at school. His eyes were wide and his gaze was far away.

Anaximander brought him back to the moment by repeating the word.

“A prince, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes snapped back to the red-robed figure before him. “Gunpowder is simple, real y,” he said, and, grasping a quil laid out on the table, sketched a brief formula on a sheet of paper. He passed it to Anaximander, who smiled as he took it in his hand.

“Aedyn is fortunate indeed to have such a wise leader to guide it into the future!” He rose and bowed low, then turned on his heel and left the library.

Peter returned to his own apartment in high spirits. He was walking on air, delighted at being part of such a wise and advanced civilization. A prince of this civilization!

Julia was stil shaking as she returned to the bedchamber. As she walked she mul ed over the conversation she had just overheard—a rebel ious band of slaves, a new weapon to defeat them…and then there were the two Chosen Ones, cal ed from another world. This was al becoming exceptional y difficult.

She flopped onto the bed, wondering if a good cry might help and determining that tears were probably beneath an emissary of Albion. Oh, it was al wrong, she’d messed it al up! She never should have pretended, never should have come here in the first place, never should have paid attention to that wretched monk in the garden!

And then, in spite of al her determination, the tears came after al . She heaved great, noisy sobs into the pil ows, gasping as hot tears poured out of her eyes. And it was at this moment that the slaves came in to lay out the afternoon meal.

Some people have been given the great gift of looking pretty when they cry. They become al the more lovely as delicate tears stream gently down their cheeks. Julia was not one of these fortunate few. Her blonde hair was plastered messily to one side of her face and the other lined with the folds of the blankets. Her cheeks were a bright, splotchy pink and her eyes a deeply unfortunate red.

The slaves of the castle had been absolutely forbidden, on pain of death, to speak with the fair strangers. But when confronted with such an unfortunate sight—with a young woman who has suddenly been transformed into a very young, very unhappy girl, their orders ceased to mean a thing.

They both started forward, the tal er of the two grasping Julia into a hard embrace.

The slave, a woman, smel ed of the same fruit Julia had encountered in the meadow beyond the mountain pass, and she was unaccountably reminded of her mother. She buried her face into the slave’s shoulder and gave a few shuddery breaths as she tried to stop crying and look presentable.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” she started, and then she looked up. The slave who was holding her had let her hood fal back, and her face could be plainly seen. It wa s deeply lined and her dark hair was streaked with gray, but she was not, Julia thought, an old woman. Her eyes were deep-set but clear, and there was a hint of youth left in them.

The woman smiled, and Julia noted that at least a few of the lines in her face came not from the rigors of hard work but from laughter. “I’m Helen,” she said simply. “Now, why don’t you tel us what’s troubling you?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other slave, and a look between the two of them that Julia barely registered. The second slave let her breath out in a hiss and nodded almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know what to do,” Julia said, wiping her face and nose on her sleeve. “The monk said there was a prophecy—said I—we—were the Chosen Ones and I ought to free you, but I don’t even know where to begin!”

Another look between the slaves—this one longer and more pronounced. Helen final y broke the silence.

“A monk told you about a prophecy?” she asked slowly. Julia nodded.

“And I’m not to tel Peter, but I think he’s already ruined everything with his sil y gunpowder and I don’t know how to overthrow the lords and I’m out of ideas!”

The second slave removed her hood and stepped forward. She was quite a young woman—

not much older than Julia herself, though with a hard look in her eye that could only have come from years of hard work and pain. “If you are the one who was promised us,” she said, “you wil not have to overthrow them alone.” She paused, and then broke into a smile. “I’m Alyce,” she said. “Our people have been waiting for you a long, long time, my lady.” It was her smile that final y brought Julia out of her tears and into the moment. Whether or not she was real y the Chosen One, she was the only one here. And she had to do something.

“Would you…” she paused, uncertain exactly how to phrase her question. “Would you tel me your stories? Tel me your history. Tel me of Marcus and al the others.”

Helen nodded. “Of course, my lady, but now is not the time. I wil arrange for you to meet with my brother, and he wil tel the tale true. But first, I feel you must know what you risk.” She stopped and glanced at Alyce, who nodded, urging her to continue. “You must understand that by siding with us your life is forfeit. The lords…” Again she hesitated.

“The Wolf is not known for his mercy.” Julia nodded, not precisely sure how to respond. And then Alyce smiled again. She came to Julia’s side and held her face, stil red and wet from the tears, between her hands. “Welcome, Julia,” she said softly. “Welcome to Aedyn.”

T
hat afternoon, Julia slipped out of her chambers and made her way down the stairs and through the dark corridors to the slaves’ meeting place, fol owing Helen’s directions. The tapestries hanging on the wal s became more and more dusty and threadbare as she went, and there was a dank, musty smel in the air as she descended into the bowels of the castle. But she held her head high, stepping briskly and with confidence, trying to look as if she had every right in the world to be there.

She need not have worried. Nobody noticed or chal enged her. Julia found the door that Alyce had described and opened it, trying not to let it creak.

She shivered—the air had a wet chil here, and there was a steady drip from somewhere to the left. She minced her

way down a spiral stone staircase into what was clearly the basement of the castle. The fragrance of a cooking stew wafted through the dark stone cel ars, mingling with the less pleasant smel s of stagnant water and rotting food. She could see only by the flickering light of the torches burning at intervals, and she guided herself by running her fingers along the wal , shuddering as she felt the muck and slime beneath them. At last she found herself in what looked like an old wine cel ar, with wooden benches arranged against its wal s. And on the benches sat a smal group of hooded figures, huddling together for warmth in the cold, dank air.

They stood as she entered the room.

One stepped forward. He was of a muscular build, and might have been a soldier or warrior had he not been born into slavery. His eyes were dark and hard and, like Helen’s, set deeply into his face.

“Greetings, Lady Julia. I am Simeon. You have already met Helen and Alyce, and these are a few of the others—more of those who have been enslaved by the Wolf and his men.” Julia nodded her head in a brief gesture of greeting, then sat down on the cold bench where Simeon indicated.

“I am very grateful to you—to al of you,” she said careful y. “Please tel me about yourselves.

Gaius told me so little in the garden, and I…I want so much to understand.”

Simeon smiled. “Of course, lady Julia. Let me begin by tel ing you how we came to be slaves.” Julia had already heard something of the story he told, but he explained everything more ful y than Gaius had done, adding in a deep, musical voice details that had been left out. Simeon explained how Marcus, the wise and good ruler of Khemia, had been warned in a dream that his homeland was about to be engulfed in a catastrophe. He ordered boats to be built, enough for al the souls on the island, and the people of Khemia had sailed from certain death to safety. He described their wonder and delight as they found themselves disembarking on a mysterious paradise. Everything seemed to be ready for them—a safe harbor and fields laden with fruit and grain. They lacked nothing. At Marcus’s order the ships were torn apart, the wooden planks used to make the first shelters in their new land.

Simeon paused. “Soon after their arrival, Marcus declared that there was no need for weapons in this place of peace. Wars between neighboring tribes and peoples were a thing of the past, and so he ordered al the weapons they had brought with them—al the swords and bows and arrows—to be destroyed. Marcus put Thales in change of the destruction of the bows and arrows, and Brutus of the swords. Aedyn would be a place of peace and tranquility.”

Simeon stopped speaking and closed his eyes.

Al was silent for a long moment while Julia sat on the edge of her seat. She knew the end of the story, and yet she longed to hear it told again. Final y she was driven to beg, “What happened next?” Simeon’s

eyes

opened.

“Marcus

was

assassinated by Xenos, his most trusted lord. Within days he and his men had taken over the island, murdering anyone who stood in their way. You see, the swords had not been destroyed. They had been hidden, ready for this day. Xenos and his two treacherous aides, Thales and Brutus, declared themselves to be the rulers of this island. They gave themselves new names and new titles—you’ve seen this yourself,” said Simeon, nodding to Julia. “The Jackal, the Leopard, and the Wolf: the Lords of Aedyn. Our fathers’ fathers were given a choice: total obedience to the lords or death for them and their children. No mercy would be shown. They had no choice.”