The Aedyn Chronicles Read online

  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 all of you,” she said carefully. “Please tell 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 telling you how we came to be slaves.”

  Julia had already heard something of the story he told, but he explained everything more fully 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 all 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 all the weapons they had brought with them—all 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. All 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. Finally 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.”

  He put up his hands in a simple gesture of utter despair and hopelessness. Julia shivered.

  “And that’s the way it’s been ever since?” she asked. Simeon nodded.

  “For five hundred years, my lady,” he said. “Five hundred years, until the memory of our good land and our good king has been all but stamped out. We kept it alive. Our parents told us the stories and we told them to our children—told them of Marcus, and the One who sent him the dream. We told them of the prophecy, and of the fair strangers who would come to fulfill it.”

  “But now,” Helen broke in, “we may no longer even tell them our stories.” There was an anger in her voice that seemed foreign to Julia—this was not the woman who had held her as she wept!

  Simeon cleared his throat. “Some months ago,” he said, “a few of our number escaped. The lords took our children—all our children. They’re being held. We don’t know where, we don’t know for how long…” His voice broke. “We only know that they’ll be killed if we try to escape.”

  Julia felt herself go very, very pale.

  “Your children?” she whispered. “So that’s why it was so quiet in the streets…” Her voice trailed off as she remembered the silent rows of houses outside the castle.

  Simeon knelt in front of her, one knee pressed to the cold stone floor. He reached out and took Julia’s chin in his hand, studying her face. She met his gaze, feeling once more the sharp sting of tears in her eyes.

  “You’ve been called here, Julia,” he said. “Called to help deliver our children and restore this land to the paradise the Lord of Hosts always intended it to be.”

  “The Lord…” Julia repeated, confused.

  “One greater than Marcus,” said Simeon—the same words that Gaius had used in the garden. “It is a name we have been forbidden ever to mention on this island, on pain of death. It is a name that was daily on our lips in Khemia, and on this island until the death of Marcus. This is the name by which we know our creator, the one who brought us into being. He is the one who warned Marcus of the coming destruction. He is the one who prepared this place for us. And he is the one whose memory the Lords of Aedyn wish to purge from this good land.”

  “Are you talking about God?” Julia asked bluntly. She’d never been much interested in God—he seemed too distant, too unreal—but here in Aedyn she felt intrigued. Enthralled, even.

  Simeon smiled and stood, releasing her chin from his grasp. “We call him by the name he himself has asked us to use. He is the creator of all things, and the one who guides and cares for his people. And the one who will deliver us from our bondage.”

  They were interrupted by a slave, who burst in and slammed herself against the door. “The Lady Julia must leave immediately!” she hissed. “The guards are coming!”

  “But I need to know…”

  “Leave now! Your life and ours depend on it!”

  And Julia left, walking slowly and with dignity, as if she had no reason to hurry or be concerned about anything. She returned to her rooms unchallenged, her mind still racing, and came back to find her brother waiting for her.

  He stood by a great window, looking out. There was so much that she wanted to tell him, but she was not quite sure how much was safe to reveal. But the meeting with the slaves went out of her mind as she looked at her brother—there was something very wrong with him, she thought.

  “What are you looking at, Peter? You seem worried about something.”

  He turned around and looked at her, his eyes wide. He shook his head mutely and pointed as Julia joined him at the window. Together they looked down at a group of guards far below, gathered round a barrel on one of the castle ramparts. As they watched, one of them lit a match.

  Suddenly there was a loud explosion, and dense white smoke enveloped the scene. As it cleared, Julia and Peter could see that an entire section had been blown out of the castle rampart. Julia stared at the damaged stonework for some moments, shocked, and then turned to Peter in disbelief.

  “Peter, please tell me that you didn’t tell them how to make gunpowder!”

  And there was nothing to say. Julia gripped the window ledge, her knuckles white. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she hissed.

  Peter whipped around. “I shared knowledge, just like you said. They’re good people—they’re men of science, of reason.”

  “And you’re not concerned—not the slightest bit worried that these scientific lords might use their new weapon in a way that is not so nice and logical?”

  Peter, reduced to a sullen, shameful silence, thought it best at this point that he avoid mentioning the part about being made a prince.

  Beneath them guards rushed to the scene, hurrying to repair the damage to the building and tend to the injuries of their men. Peter turned to his sister, not able to look her straight in the eye.

  “I don’t know why you’re so set against them. The slaves are slaves because they’re deluded. Anaximander explained it all,” he said in the haughty-older-brother voice which Julia most despised. “They’re slaves because they have not ascended to a higher plane of reason.”

  Which was when Julia hit him.

  She hadn’t spent her growing-up
years honing her skills at fisticuffs, but what she lacked in skill she made up for in rage. Peter didn’t exactly go sprawling, but he stumbled back against the window ledge, his hand tight against the cheek she had struck. This was a Julia he had never encountered before.

  “Look around you!” she hissed. “Science didn’t bring us here. We were called—called by the Lord of Hosts, and we’re supposed to fix this place. We’re supposed to free the slaves.”

  “Lord of Hosts? Free the slaves? I told you, they’re practically barbarians,” Peter said, stepping away to avoid another fist if it came his way. “The lords have it sorted.”

  “I’ve been hearing stories—the slaves’ stories,” said Julia, thinking quickly. She had been warned not to repeat what she learned, and now she understood why: Peter was not to be trusted. “The Jackal, Leopard, and Wolf are the barbarians, and you’ve just handed them their greatest weapon.”

  Peter began to look unaccountably smug. “Well, not really,” he said loftily. “They can make the powder and it will go on exploding in their faces, but what they really need are…”

  “Guns,” Julia finished. “You didn’t tell them about guns, did you?”

  “Oh no,” said Peter grandly. “I’m waiting until they make me their pri…”

  He wasn’t able to stop the word from coming out in time. Julia stared at him incredulously, and his smug expression faded.

  “Peter, you are impossible,” she said, and stalked out of the chamber.

  Peter stayed at the window long after Julia had left for her own rooms, watching the chaos below. Guards and slaves rushed back and forth, scurrying to clear away the rubble that had once been ornate stonework. As he watched, the Wolf came into view.

  He was there to survey the damage, Peter realized. He exchanged a few quick words with the captain of the guards and then he stalked around looking poisonous, his voluminous robes sweeping over the dust and debris.

  His head came up suddenly and he looked straight at Peter, high up at the window. His face was obscured as usual beneath the mask, but Peter could sense the anger in his stare. There was something cold in it—something primal. Something that sought revenge.

  It was too late to duck away and avoid being seen. Fear flooded into Peter, and for the first time he felt the power of the Wolf’s presence—the power that had kept innocent people in chains for centuries. His limbs went numb under the anger of that silent stare, but with the force of overwhelming willpower he told himself to keep calm. And then, as he watched, the Wolf held up his arm and pointed at Peter, deliberately and accusingly. Peter felt a shiver go down his spine: he had given the lords a weapon but not shown them how to use it, and he would have to pay the price. He put his hands in his pockets and turned away from the window, trying with all his might to look like a prince.

  Late that afternoon Peter and Julia were summoned to the Great Hall. They both knew what could happen, but death is not a simple thing to face in one’s youth. And so they went into the hall with confidence, standing as tall as their father when he stood at the helm of one of his ships, facing the open ocean before him.

  The three lords sat on their thrones, their every movement exaggerated by those voluminous robes. Their masks were, if it was possible, more stoic, more opaque than ever before. Julia felt an unaccustomed chill go through her bones as she walked towards them.

  The Wolf—Xenos, she remembered from Simeon’s story—spoke first. He spoke simply and to the point, his voice entirely without emotion. He sounded, thought Julia, almost as if he were bored.

  “For planting false information under the guise of friendship and deliberately sabotaging an experiment performed in the name of science, Peter and Julia, emissaries of Albion across the sea, you are sentenced to death by hanging at first light.”

  And that was all there was. He raised a hand and dropped it in a dismissive gesture, and before Peter or Julia could say a word the guards had taken hold of them, twisting their hands tight behind their backs and dragging them back out of the Hall.

  Julia tried without a great deal of success to shake them off, and then, as the harsh reality of their situation dawned on her, she went absolutely still. She stared, wide-eyed and mute, as Peter cried out.

  “A word in private, my lords!”

  The Jackal, the Leopard, and the Wolf looked up at him—in shock, perhaps, for when had a prisoner ever dared to question them? The Wolf nodded and beckoned him forward. The guard holding Peter loosened his grip, and Peter shook him off as he approached the thrones.

  As he spoke softly to the three lords Julia strained to hear what was being said, but could make out only snatches of the conversation. But the words she could hear sent her heart plummeting into her stomach.

  “…show you how to make a cannon…must be allowed to go free…”

  Peter then stepped backwards, allowing the lords to consult among themselves.

  If he had happened to look at Julia just then he might have seen the most curious mix of emotions on her face: distrust, confusion, fear, and anger—anger above all. But he kept his eyes carefully focused on the polished tile of the ground beneath his feet.

  After a few moments the Wolf stood, addressing the guards. “Take the lady Julia to the Death Cage. Lord Peter will live.”

  Julia remembered then what had happened in the meadow, when the three horsemen were reduced to whimpers of pain at her screams. She opened her mouth with a vague idea of doing the same—of hurting the guards, hurting the lords, hurting Peter—but all that came out were sobs.

  She shivered with cold and fear as she was dragged from the Hall, sobbing for anyone—Helen, Alyce, Simeon—anyone who would make this all right again. And so, with her eyes shut tight against the horrors of Aedyn, she didn’t see her brother finally looking at her, staring after her captors in stark horror.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Peter watched the door close with a dull, final thud, and felt for perhaps the first time in his life that he was utterly alone.

  “Now, Peter,” came the hissing voice of the Wolf, “perhaps you would be so good as to share your secrets?”

  “Show us how to harness your gunpowder,” rasped the Leopard. Peter made a sound rather like a gulp and stepped forward. This was not at all what he had intended—but what else was there to do? How else could he save his sister? If he gave them the diagram of a cannon he would save Julia by making the Jackal, the Leopard, and the Wolf invincible. Was the cost too high?

  Peter decided he must get a grip of himself. His own life and that of his sister were at stake. He simply could not afford to make any more mistakes. He stepped forward and looked directly at the Wolf. Behind that mask, he told himself, was an ordinary human being. There was nothing to fear from a mask.

  “My lord, I gave you the secret of gunpowder. But this is of little use without the weapon to direct the blast over great distances. We call these weapons cannons. I am prepared to tell you how to make one, but there are conditions.”

  The Leopard laughed—a cold, gravelly laugh that held no trace of joy. “You are in no position to negotiate. We have ways of making you tell us what we need to know.”

  Peter squared his shoulders and tried to look brave. “I will tell you nothing that I have not agreed to, my lords. Of that you can be certain. I am offering to give you this information on certain conditions.”

  Again that gasping laugh from the Leopard, but the Wolf intervened, motioning the others to silence.

  “We would like to hear your conditions, Lord Peter. Pray tell us.”

  “Freedom for the lady Julia and myself. Freedom…and a boat, so that we might return to our own land.” A boat wouldn’t do them much good, he knew. Somehow they had to get back to that garden and make the pond become a portal back to Oxford. But freedom had to come first.

  The Wolf nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Peter. “Rebellion against the state is a capital crime. The penalty is severe and immediate. Traitors must die. You know tha
t. Normally, we would…”

  Peter’s heart leapt at the word “normally.” Surely this meant that they were about to make an exception in his case?

  “Normally, we would insist on immediate execution. But if you serve us in this way, we will allow you and your companion to leave Aedyn. You will supervise the construction and testing of this weapon, and you will have your freedom if the test is successful. If it is not, you will die. Is that clear?”

  Peter gulped again. This was getting out of control. But what other option did he have?

  “That is very satisfactory, my lord. I have your word on this?”

  “You have the word of the Wolf.” The lord stood and reached out a pale hand to Peter, who took it in his. “Now you will return to your apartment. You will remain there under guard while you show us how to build this cannon of which you speak so highly.”

  At a nod of his head the guards turned on their heels and dragged Peter away from the Great Hall and back to his chambers. He heard the ominous click of the lock as the door was closed behind him. He was alone. He looked out of the windows of his apartment. The darkening night matched his mood as one thought whirled over and over through his mind: what reason did the lords have to keep him and Julia alive if the cannon worked?

  Julia had been thrown into a wooden cage just outside the castle grounds, the door locked behind her. Two guards patrolled outside. As the sun left the sky in a burst of oranges and pinks Julia closed her eyes and wept, enveloped by the deep gloom of hopelessness. There was nothing that she could do or say to make things better. Her fate lay beyond her control. She watched the guards marching up and down with a growing sense of despair. Was there any way to escape?

  Unaccountably, her mother sprang to her mind. Not her mother as she had been in the end, lying weak and pale in bed, unable to eat, unable to speak, unable to hold her own children. No, she thought of her mother as she had been in the years before. Strong and tall—just as tall as her husband, and with all of his fire and bravery. She had been, Julia thought, a great woman. She would have known what to do. She would have known how to help the slaves and how to get home. She would have found a way out of this cage.