Streams to ashes, p.2
Streams to Ashes, page 2
She smiled to herself as she imagined what might come next. If it were true, if Hacatine were gone, what entitlement belonged to Donis? Could she rise to the throne now, being the queen’s sister? Could she ignore Hacatine’s demands for revenge and instead walk into the palace and claim the Crown for herself? Or would she have to fight both the serpent and Ivar for it? Ah, but perhaps she had the magic to do both!
The moon made its course over the heavens, and Donis kept the fire burning well until dawn, unable to sleep. Just when the sun was about to crest the horizon, branches snapped. She jumped at the sound, but felt relieved when Cepha appeared.
“Well?” Donis asked and stood to meet her. “Did anyone follow you?”
“No one saw me. I stayed in the shadows and kept muted. I’m not a court jester.”
“You’ve had your victories.”
“A long line of them, and I shall not stop now.”
Donis raised an eyebrow but refused to challenge the woman. Why lower oneself?
“What the serpent said is true. The creature we saw was probably her.”
Donis took a sharp breath but held her head high. She’d be a fool to display emotion in front of Cepha. The woman could easily become a competitor. She may already be plotting.
“A man named Ivar claimed the throne, and no one is contesting him. It’s sickening. Little wonder Hacatine cries for vengeance.”
“Is he that fearsome?”
Cepha laughed. “No.”
“Who are the conspirators?”
“The entire village, the queen’s guards, all the soldiers.”
“You know this? How?”
“I’m a proficient spy,” Cepha reminded her. “I eavesdropped near the servants’ quarters, and this is what I heard. The man Ivar crowned himself and declared victory. This all happened several years ago, after we left. Why no one sent us word, I cannot tell you, but it seemed the traitors kept us in the dark for reasons of their own.”
“So those who were loyal to my sister are no longer her servants?”
“There is no one in the city who is loyal to her. We were it!” Cepha agreed.
“And the man, Ivar. What is he like?”
“There are rumors. There is no proof, only gossip. One servant claimed he was insane. Others talked of his charity. I know this, though. He wields magic.”
“He’s a wizard? From Kaempern?”
“That I couldn’t tell you. But he entertains the village people with spells and foolish tricks that only magic can spin. Some people are calling him a boy, rather than a man. He pines over a Taikan warrior named Promise and has ordered a search party for her. I’m not sure why. Perhaps she was a conspirator against him, but it seems more like he might be in love with her.”
“Promise? I know the name. Why do you say he might be in love with her?” Donis asked.
“He calls her his bride.”
“Taikan warriors don’t marry!” Donis blurted. “The sacrilege of that!”
“I’m afraid the Whisperers are the last of the Taikan warriors,” she said, her voice heavy with dread. “Everyone else has sold their souls to this man.”
“Interesting. And what are his charitable acts?” The more she knew about her enemy, the quicker she might defeat him. Winning the throne might not be as difficult as it seemed.
“He gave everyone on the island their freedom. Wizards have come out of hiding, and the rumor is that many have regained their powers. Personally, I thought you had slain all the wizards.”
“Men? Wizards?” Donis frowned. This was troubling news.
“A girl Anna was also with them. She’d be easy to take out. I know her.”
“No. No, we’ll plan our next steps with precision. Slaying them one by one would prove nothing, not if the forces against us are so powerful. We’d never be able to secure Taikus for ourselves against a city full of wizards. We must have a plan.”
“I don’t believe the rumor. They’ve no magic. We would win.”
“We cannot be too sure of that.”
“Hacatine commanded us to—”
“I know what Hacatine commanded,” Donis snapped. “She commanded a war, and she’s right. That’s the only way to overthrow the lot of them.”
“What are you saying, then? We could only win if the wizards were powerless. My guess is that Hacatine knows something we don’t.”
“We do not win a war on a guess.”
“Then how do we win a war?” Cepha asked.
“We don’t.”
“What?”
“I’m not suggesting we declare war,” Donis smiled, a scheme forming in her mind. “If we do this correctly, there would be no loss on our part.” She pivoted back to the campfire, sat down, and picked up her mug.
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
Donis looked up at her, hopeful that the plan might somehow bridge the gap between the two of them and form an alliance, at least while she attempted to win the crown. She could use Cepha’s skills. The woman had powers unlike any of the other sorceresses. That’s why Hacatine favored her. If they joined forces, used their talents for the common cause, their chances of victory would increase.
“I will take half of the women south with me. You stay here.”
“Why must I stay?”
“To spy. Keep me informed. If you see Ivar building an army, find out who they are and how many. I need all the details. If you find the warrior named Promise, capture her. She might be valuable to us. Whatever you do, stay out of sight.”
“Who would declare war if not us, Donis?” Cepha asked again.
“Alisubbo,” Donis whispered.
Cepha raised her brow and stared at her for a long while. Donis grinned, sipped her wine, and as she watched the flames in the campfire, she imagined it being an inferno swallowing a fleet of ships.
In Alisubbo
Martim had been king for three years, now, and though he was a quick learner, he depended on Maestro Sanchez as his adviser—for matters of State. Personal matters were just that. Personal. And so, with Sanchez’s proposition, he took a moment to contemplate. He strolled to his mahogany desk and poured two glasses of bourbon, swirling one gently as he stared into the golden liquid. With a polite smile, he pivoted about and handed Sanchez the other glass.
“We have a new fleet and no one to command them,” Sanchez argued. “Nor do we have enough men trained to be officers.”
Martim sighed.
“Those are the only two major concerns of mine.” Sanchez sat up in his chair and straightened his suit jacket before receiving the drink.
“Conscription and marriage?” Martim huffed. “How ironic.”
“Your navy is growing old, Martim. It’s been three years since anyone has enlisted.”
“Hmm,” the king mumbled. “And I am growing old as well?” he laughed, though bitterness was at the core of that outburst. He walked wistfully to his curio cabinet and opened it as he had every evening before he retired.
“She’s gone, Martim.” Sanchez cleared his throat.
A reality Martim refused to accept. The young king paused, his eyes scanned over the items he kept close to him—relics that were as cold and dead as time, brutal in the memories they kindled. Yet he kept them in a glass case under lock and key so that no one could take away those moments of his life—moments that made him who he was.
The crown occupied the top shelf. It didn’t fit; he had never aspired to be king. He certainly hadn’t asked for the position. The shelf below held the gloves he had worn the day of his father’s assassination. On them lay a dried flower from the bouquet his mother had thrown at the assassins. An act that had saved his life.
At eye level was his most treasured possession, the one in which he placed his hope, and there he kept his gaze.
“You need a wife, Martim. You need heirs. Without sons or daughters, this kingdom will fall to insurrectionists. Valerio will return.”
“Valerio...?” Martim whispered. “He’s a ghost. A rumor.”
“He’s still alive,” Sanchez affirmed. “If not him, others like him.”
Cassandra had called it a smartphone. It felt cold in his hands, yet there was a comfort in holding it. He squeezed the hard object as his pulse quickened and he pulled it from the curio cabinet.
Martim glanced up at the man in uniform sitting in his den. Distinguished, Sanchez’s dark complexion spoke of his nationality, his wavy black hair salted with gray above his ears. Maestro had been a father to him ever since his own father had died, always compassionate, always wise.
“I’m not in love with anyone else, Maestro. Who would I wed?”
“You’re a king, Martim. You’ve been king for three years now. It’s time for boyhood fantasies to be placed on the shelf....” Sanchez nodded at the curio cabinet and downed his bourbon. He stood and placed a hand on Martim’s shoulder. “But you know all of that. I’m ready to begin conscription whenever you say the word. We need men.”
“You may enlist. By all means,” Martim said, his thumb sliding gently over the glassy surface of the phone as he slipped it back onto its appointed shelf. He couldn’t close the door. He could barely take his gaze from it, thinking only of Cassandra, wishing he had the magic that would bring her back. How often he had tried to activate the device only to have the cold, dark screen do nothing but reflect his image.
Sanchez nodded, picked up his hat, and walked to the door. Thinking the man had left, the thud startled Martim. He spun around to see Maestro Sanchez lean against the door frame and then slide unconscious to the floor. A blue haze eddied into the den.
“Sanchez!” Martim’s blood ran cold when four women marched into the den, their swords gleaming in the dim light.
“Come with us on your own, or be bound,” one woman said.
Martim had no time to answer, nor to move. Before he could draw his sword or call for help, a woman cloaked in blue silk burst into his room and cast a bolt of light at him. Stunned, his mind went blank, and he remained conscious long enough to see himself lifted onto the shoulder of another woman. She stepped over Sanchez’s body as she carried him down the hall of the castle. Corpses of servants, guards, and soldiers were strewn across the corridor. A haze of magical vapor enveloped his abductors, shielding them from bullets as they ran past the palace guards.
His body paralyzed, Martim fell into darkness.
CARMEN LOOKED UP FROM the bread dough she’d been kneading when she heard the scream.
“What was that?” Gina, the chief cook, asked.
The floorboards trembled with the pounding of feet racing through the corridor. Gina wiped the flour from her hands, Carmen glanced at the scullion and the two of them followed the chef. The plump, dark-haired woman pushed them both back into the kitchen.
“It’s not safe,” Gina cautioned.
Carmen’s heart raced when she saw a cloud of blue vapor flash. Seconds later, a stampede of men chased after it. Gina peeked out, and Carmen pushed the door open.
Chaos had infiltrated the halls with soldiers and guards alike, running in many directions it seemed. Her heart thumped wildly as she asked people what had happened.
“The king has perished,” someone declared.
“They have captured him,” another proclaimed.
“Taikans! It was magic!”
Soldiers flew down the hall, their boots drummed like kettles, echoing through the palace.
“We need a doctor up here!” came a voice from the stairwell.
“Call a physician,” a woman screamed toward the grand hall. Carmen spun about in panic, unsure which way to turn. Gina threw off her apron and ran toward the stairs.
Soon, men in white robes carrying leather cases hurried toward the royal rooms. Carmen followed them, navigating her way against the crowd running for the plaza. She gasped when she saw the first body.
“Darling, you had better get back to the kitchen,” Gina grabbed the girl’s shoulders and turned her around. “Let the physicians take care of this. They need room to work.”
Carmen let Gina guide her away from the scene. Already tears welled in her eyes, and she felt she would gag.
“What happened?”
“Fresh air,” the woman said, “Hurry. You should go home to your siblings and take care of them. Who knows what else those sorceresses are up to?”
Confused and in shock, Carmen didn’t know what to do, nor did anyone else. The soldiers had gathered in the plaza, but there were no officers to command them. Had all personnel died? No one seemed to know. Carmen bit her lip, holding back tears as she listened to the confused soldiers in front of her.
“They came by sea.”
“And our ships are burning. Hurry!” Three soldiers took off running.
“They took King Martim to the water,”
“They already set sail.”
“Who’s in command?” a soldier asked.
“Sanchez.”
“He’s disposed,” another answered.
“Colonel Fern.”
“He’s wounded, unconscious. They were in a meeting in the palace. They were all hit!”
“Hit with what?”
“Magic!”
“We’re on our own, then.”
“To the ships. Hurry! Run!” Soldiers raced away as villagers filled the streets, the smell of smoke from burning ships lingered in the air.
Carmen followed the crowd to the bluff overlooking the sea. A sloop bearing the colors of Taikus sent a wake across the water in its haste to escape as an inferno raged near the coast. The Lisbon fleet burned.
“This can’t be happening!” Carmen cried. The clamor of the desperate men and women around her muffled her voice.
“No!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Martim was like an uncle to Carmen. Having saved her and her family from poverty and from the plague, he had taken her and her brothers to the palace. There, they learned to play the violin and cello, to read and write. He had given them work, clean clothes, food for her mother and younger siblings. For three years, she had been part of his family. He gave her the books he learned from. Only the other day they had shared memories of when their friend Cassie was here, and he had shown her the phone the girl from the other world left for him. Kings don’t do that for just anyone. She couldn’t watch him disappear like this.
“We have to do something,” she muttered through her tears.
“The soldiers will. They’ll save him,” a woman told her. “We still have ships afloat in the bay. They did not destroy our entire navy.”
“But there is no one to command them,” a man grumbled. Magic incapacitated all officers in the palace. They even blackened the halls with their poison.”
Carmen groaned and ran back down the cobblestone alley. She pushed through the crowd on her way to the courtyard. Avoiding anyone who might try to stop her, she skipped up the stairs to the castle.
“Where are you going?” a stranger asked as she opened the palace doors. Rushing down the long corridor, she could hear the faint wails of the wounded and the physicians speaking in hushed tones as they hurried to revive them. Two men in white carried the body of a poor soul who had died.
With tears in her eyes, Carmen burst into the king’s den and froze, her eyes fixed on the curio cabinet.
The glass door hung open, and as if it was an invitation for her, Cassie’s phone rested on the shelf, blinking a harsh blue light, as if Martim had tried to use it. Carmen swallowed and took a courageous step toward it.
If it was magic that took her king away, magic would bring him back.
The Call
Cassie placed the bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and sat next to her father.
“Just a casual dinner tonight, Dad.”
If she had been alone, she would have ordered Thai, but her father was against spending money on takeout. Cooking over an electric stove was not her forte, so she made the simplest meal she could think of and looked forward to the day she could move out of her parent’s condo. But with the outrageous rent prices in Seattle, it was impossible, not one she could afford while working part-time at the hospital. Still, living with her parents wore on her. They regarded her as a child, even though she was already twenty years old.
“Just potatoes?” Ian asked when Cassie unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap.
“It’s a healthy choice,” she mumbled with no other excuse but that she was lazy.
Cassie’s mom, Abbi, put her laptop down by the buffet and sat across from her and Ian. Her frown worried Cassie. That was not the cheerful greeting her mother usually wore.
“Daemon called for you at work, today,” Abbi said. “You should tell him that’s not appropriate.”
“I’m not in charge of Daemon. He does what he wants. Besides, how else would he get a hold of me? He’s going to school on the other side of the continent. He’s probably asleep when I’m home.”
“What does he want, Cassie?” Ian asked.
Cassie shrugged. She knew. Her mother knew too.
“Daemon asked Cassie to marry him,” Abbi said.
“Over the phone?”
“No!” Cassie rolled her eyes, sighed, and sat back in her chair, staring at the mound of mashed potatoes on her plate. “But it wouldn’t be out of character for Daemon if he did.”
“When did he propose?”
“Before he left.”
“And?” Ian asked.
“And no!”
Cassie passed the bowl of potatoes to her mother.
“Everything go okay at the hospital today, Mom?” Cassie asked. Talking about Daemon at the dinner table gave her a stomach pain. He was a childhood friend who helped her with homework. But he obsessed over everything he took an interest in from dungeon and dragons to bird watching to reciting the scientific names of every plant in his garden. Holding a conversation with him was completely one sided. Either he did all the talking or else she did, and his mind was off on a spacecraft somewhere and he didn’t listen to a thing she said. No. She could never marry him.
