The Funeral

Well, there’s nothing really I want to tatter on about. My brain really refuses to function right now, so we’ll just go straight to the story. Last time, I said that I had essentially destroyed Martin’s life. One of his best friends is dead, his girlfriend hates his guts, important people know who he is, and he knows that he’s not going to be allowed to spy again. Yep. I’d say his life is looking crappy at this point. But I have a way to fix that. To the story!
****************
Abigail decided to leave early the next morning. She wanted to leave as soon as possible to avoid any fuss, but she did have a few final words with people. With Jordan, Var, and Calvin, she had a private meeting, impressing on them the importance of keeping Martin’s real occupation, as the Spy Alex, a secret. They were going to need to create another background for her son. Not just for his protection but for the protection of everyone he ever spied on, reported to, or even encountered. He had a common face. He could easily be mistaken for someone else.

There were a few more meetings with the commanders and the nobles, mostly about getting the men home and ensuring no one talked about recent events. Those meetings she put away shortly. Martin was her concern now.

She sighed the morning they left, thinking of her son. He barely spoke to anyone, his eyes just as dead as they were before. He spent most of the day in her apartment, keeping out of the way and out of sight. This, she supposed, was because he didn’t like attention. However, this morning to leave, he seemed even more withdrawn than the day before.

He stood by his elven horse, slowly stroking its neck. Martin had shivered when he learned that someone had already taken care of his horse and had the beast saddled. There were even offers to help him pack, but Martin refused. Abigail said nothing about it. Martin had brought little with him and she doubted he got much here. Once they got to the Tree, then he would pack up and move to Nacre.

The queen glanced up at the grey sky, wondering when the clouds would finally break. She shivered as she wondered if the depressing weather had to do anything with Martin’s current mood.

“All set,” Commander Bentley said, saluting to her. “The guards are ready.” Abigail nodded absently. She ordered just a small group to join them in their trek back to the Tree. The less people who knew that Martin was a spy, the better. Thomas was also coming with them. She felt that Martin needed a friend right now.

Sona, she knew, wouldn’t be that friend.

The pretty researcher had avoided Martin since his reveal. Abigail couldn’t blame the poor girl. The man who had been courting her turned out to be the very prince she had been searching for. Sona had been very clear. She did not want a prince for a husband.

And so ends their romance, she thought with a sigh. Too bad. They were a nice couple.

“Very well,” she said to the commander, straightening her back. “We ride.” Everyone mounted and they rode off without anyone sending them off.

The next two weeks were the same. Ride in silence during the day, little conversation at night. Martin stayed away from everyone, not even joining in with card games with Thomas. He would set up his tent, dodge inside and wouldn’t appear again until morning. Abigail was a bit worried because of his behavior. Somehow, it wasn’t right for him to be so depressed.

The night before they reached the Tree, Thomas finally managed to drag her son away from his tent and joined them at the fire. Another first was that Sona stayed on her log by the fire instead of leaving as the prince approached, but she did refuse to look at him. It was a start. Abigail tried to have a conversation with the three of them, but she got very little response. It was as depressing as the weather.

“Tell me,” she said, thinking of some topic that would get her son to talk. “What are the type of funerals the Tree has?”

“A typical funeral,” Sona said softly, glancing at the only wagon in their mist. The wagon that held Luke’s body. It was only right to return his body to his family. “His family will probably speak, Suit will say a word or two. They’ll bury him at the graveyard.”

Abigail blinked. “I didn’t know the Tree had a graveyard.”

“Of course they do,” Thomas snorted. “People die there all the time. They needed to put the bodies somewhere.”

“But we’ll need to break the news to Luke’s family,” Sona sighed, staring moodily into the fire. “Usually it’s tradition that any spy who witnessed another spy’s death would tell the family…”

“I’ll tell them.”

Everyone turned to the prince. Martin stared into the fire, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. “I should tell them,” he went on, still as if they weren’t there. “I’m the reason he’s dead. I owe them that much.”

“If you don’t want to,” Abigail tried to say when he shook his head.

“No. I owe them the truth.”

He refused to talk again after that.

The next afternoon they entered the roots of the Tree. Abigail was sure their arrival had been signaled ahead because Suit was waiting for them at the entrance.

“Your Majesty,” the Spy Master said, quickly catching the group’s somber mood. “I take that something has happened…”

“Yes,” she sighed. She was going to explain when she noticed that Martin had dismounted. Luke’s mother, father, and twin sister stood not far off, looking anxiously for their son. Martin stood up to them. They looked worried.

“I’m…” Martin stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. “I’m sorry… Luke…” He gulped. “Luke has died. General Terk killed him.”

The mother broke down, bursting into tears. Her husband caught her, slowly lowering her to the ground, tears already streaking down his face. Luke’s twin, Kriste, held for a moment before the emotions caught her. She ran away crying.

“Luke is dead?” Suit asked softly, gazing at the wagon.

“He died trying to save the prince,” Abigail sighed. “Terk had taken over the mansion and Luke tried to poison him. The Mad General was just faster with a blade.”

Suit groaned, rubbing the side of his head. “I don’t like loosing men.” He took a moment to regain his composure. “So, I’m assuming that you’ve found your son then, thanks to Luke’s sacrifice.”

“You could say that,” she moaned, trying to covertly glance at her son. Suit caught it and turned around. Martin was leading his horse to an empty stall when one of the guards who accompanied them took the reigns from him.

“You shouldn’t be doing commoner work, your highness,” the man said, smiling at the prince, probably thinking a kind deed and word was what the prince needed. Martin took a step back, shaking. Everyone in the stables went silent and stared at him, having heard the guard’s words; even Luke’s father was staring, though the mother was still in tears. Martin took one look around the stable, paling as he realized why they were staring, and then ran out. The stables broke out in whispers, shock and amazement at the Alex’s behavior and what it meant.

“Martin?” Suit breathed, the look of shock on his face almost comical if the situation wasn’t serious. “He’s… He’s the prince?”
*************
The funeral was the next day. Martin joined the mourners as the funeral commenced. Everyone was very solemn as they filed outside to the graveyard where Luke’s body was ready for burial. He kept his head down as he walked with the others, staring at the knife he held. It was tradition at the Tree for everyone to bring something that reminded them of the deceased, to hold it as the funeral progressed. Toward the end, everyone would get the opportunity to approach the coffin and either offer the item to the dead in thanks or to keep it, so they could remember the deceased the rest of their lives.

This knife was the reason why he and Luke were friends; one of his very few possessions that he had any attachment to. He remembered that day clearly. He was eleven years old, Fred had just left, leaving him alone in a world full of spies. It was a decision Fred helped him come to. He could do anything he wanted in Aeterna, but this job, Fred had felt, would best fit him. Martin had agreed, the general’s description of Aeternan spies filling his imagination. But then, as he made his way alone to the weapons room for his first lesson, he wasn’t so sure.

The moment he walked through the door, this knife came out of nowhere, nearly hitting him. He was ready for a fight when another elven year old, tall and lanky, approached with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” the kid said. Martin said nothing. “See, I’m learning how to throw knives, but I’m not very good at it yet. Say, aren’t you new around here?” The kid forcibly took his hand and shook it. “My name is Luke Ander.” Martin was sure this kid was out of his mind. Who befriended someone they had almost accidentally killed? “The quiet type, huh? Well, come along, Silent One. I’ll show you around.”

Luke had been his first friend at the Tree. It took Luke a while to get him to be friendly back, but by the time Thomas came around when they were fourteen, Luke finally stopped calling him the Silent One.

Martin fiddled with the knife. It was a gift from Luke that day when they met, as an apology and also as an expression of friendship. With this knife, he learned how to throw knives, learned how to carve, learned other uses with it, all with Luke laughing over his shoulder.

There were a lot of people at the funeral, Commander Suit, many of the spying teachers, friends, colleges, even Queen Abigail showed up, dressed in black in respect. He hadn’t had much opportunity to attend funerals and he had to find the darkest clothing he had so he wore dark grey with blank armbands on his upper arms. He wasn’t the only one to sport blank armbands and wore subdued colors. Spies didn’t often make friendships strong enough to constitute wearing complete black.

Thomas walked beside him, fiddling with what looked like an old drowned rat. It was actually a toupee, snatched off a teacher’s head and used to scare some girls as a dead rat. It was one of the more memorable pranks the three of them did. Martin wondered why Thomas still had it.

The funeral commenced with Suit standing at the coffin and saying a few words. His speech was short but the words truthful. Luke had been a troublemaker, but he would be sorely missed. His parents said a few words, speaking of the good times, the pranks, and how proud they were of their son. Kriste got up to speak but she couldn’t get the words out. She started trembling and sat back down without saying anything. Martin couldn’t blame her. He doubted he would even have the strength to stand.

The time came to present the item. One by one, the funeral attendees approached the coffin, some said a few words quietly to the family, some mute as they passed by. They all paused at the coffin, holding the item that reminded them of Luke. Martin wasn’t surprised to see a lot of ruined jokes.

The graveyard slowly emptied as people finished paying their respects. Martin waited until nearly everyone was gone. He didn’t feel much like being stared at as he tried to pay his final respect. Thomas had paid his respects and was talking with Luke’s parents when he finally stood up and approached the coffin.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just a wood box, already sealed and ready to be buried. It was almost unfitting for Luke’s final resting place. However, it was surrounded by memories, tokens from Luke’s life. He fiddled with the knife, trying to sort his thoughts.

“He’ll want you to keep that.”

Martin felt a hand clap on his shoulder. Looking to the side, he saw Don Ander standing to his side, smiling sadly.

“I know,” he sighed, looking down at the coffin. “I wasn’t going to give it up.” He had a feeling that Luke wouldn’t like it if he left it.

“I know you’re blaming yourself for his death,” Ander said softly. “You shouldn’t. Luke would have preferred dying knowing that he was insulting the enemy.” Martin chuckled softly. That was Luke.

“Besides,” Ander went on, the smile heard in his voice. “You’re messing with the weather, being this depressed.” Martin shook his head, not knowing whether to cry or chuckle. It was still overcast.

“I’m trying to work on that.”

“I know,” Ander whispered, patting his shoulder. “I know.” The spy teacher took a deep breath. “Martin, I want you to know that we don’t blame you. And not because you are the prince. You are Luke’s friend. Nothing changes that, not even your name. He would call you an idiot for being depressed about his passing or blaming yourself for it. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Martin glanced at Ander. He didn’t need his powers to see the truth in the spy’s eyes. “Yes,” he whispered, finally smiling. “Thank you.”

Ander returned the smile, squeezing his shoulder. “Come. My wife would also like to talk with you.” He pulled Martin away from the coffin, not noticing the flower he had placed on it.
*******************
Martin lay on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling of his room. Well, former room. Tomorrow morning, the queen was taking him back to Nacre where he was going to begin his life as a prince. He wasn’t excited about that.

He had left the graveyard when Abigail approached him and told him the news. Accompanying her were two of his former fellow spies, given the duty to guard him until other guards were provided. It had been a very awkward conversation. The queen didn’t know what really to say to him and the two spies were uncomfortable with the fact that they were now charged to protect a man who used to be their equal. He returned to his room after that, followed by the two spies, and collapsed on his bed without even changing from his mourning clothes.

Now he just stared at the ceiling, his emotions too rung out. He didn’t want to go to Nacre. He wanted time to recover, time to mourn, time to…

I’m putting off the inevitable again, he berated himself. Don Ander may not blame him for Luke’s death, but he wasn’t so forgiving of himself. It was a truth; if he had just revealed himself sooner, Luke would still be alive.

“We warned you.”

Martin sighed. “I thought you were going to leave me alone.”

“We’ve given you a proper amount of time to be miserable without us.”

Why did it sound like the voice was coming from inside his room, instead of inside his head? Turning his head to the side, he saw the wrong reflection of his dreams sitting on an invisible chair, his noble face mournful. In a flash, the wrong reflection changed to a soft glowing vague shape of a person. The Spirit.

“Why didn’t you show yourself like that before?” Martin asked. “Why show me a wrong reflection instead?”

“Because,” it said, though no mouth moved, “we’ve been separated for so long. We didn’t know you. We needed to learn more about you. And we didn’t feel like scaring you away. It seemed appropriate at the time.”

“Huh,” Martin hummed, staring back at the ceiling. “I would have thought I was going nuts.” He thought about it. “Does this mean I get my reflection back?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“You still have so much to learn,” it said, “Perhaps we were harsh when we told you to just accept who you are. We shouldn’t have forced you. You do need answers.”

“So that’s it?” Martin asked dully. “I’m to go to Nacre now? Learn what I must to be the prince you need?”

The Spirit chuckled, an odd sound, like there were hundreds of people chuckling at once. “Nacre does not hold the answers you need. We have someone else who will help you.” Martin turned his head to ask the Spirit what it meant by that, but it was already gone.
************
Jonathan had watched the funeral from a distance. It wasn’t his place to intrude on this grief. His offering, given once everyone was gone, was quill pen that leaked ink. A prank Luke had played on his friend’s guardian. The king had taken it in good humor, though he did make the young boy wash out the ruined shirt.

With his respects paid, Jon knew he had work to do. He had glimpsed Martin throughout the day and knew that he needed to intervene before Abby could take him to Nacre. Luke’s death did not change the plan.

He came to Martin’s room, a bit surprised to see two spies standing outside his son’s door. These two spies knew him as Fred, Martin’s guardian. They didn’t question him as he knocked on the door.

“Martin?” he asked, knowing his son was inside. “May I come in?”

There was no answer. I’ll take that as a yes. He opened the door and walked in, closing the door softly behind him. Martin’s room was much like it always was. Small, with a bed cramped to the side with a dresser stuffed in the corner. Martin lay on his bed, wearing dark grey with black armbands, staring at the ceiling. It cut the king to see his son so depressed.

“Martin?” Jonathan said, sitting down on the end of the bed. “Are you alright?” Stupid question, really. He had just lost his best friend.

“I’m going to Nacre in the morning,” his son answered in a dull dry tone. Jon hated to hear that. That wasn’t his Martin speaking, it was the depression.

“No,” Jon said sternly. “You’re not. You’re coming with me, remember?”

Martin frowned. Sitting up, he gave him a confused look. “Why? Everyone knows that I’m the prince. They’re not going to let you take me away.”

“Perhaps they won’t,” Jon said, rubbing his beard. “But they won’t stop you from leaving.” His son tilted his head to the side, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You’re still willing to go with that plan?” Martin asked. “Even with…”

Jon held up a hand, stopping his son. “I told you. I am not abandoning you. Nothing has changed.” He sighed. “I wish you could see yourself, see how you’ve sunk into depression. I can’t let you go to Nacre in the state you’re in. You’re not ready for the life of a prince.”

“But…” Martin started to say.

“No,” Jonathan said firmly. “I’ve said it before. The plan is for your benefit- not theirs- yours. They’re just going to have to live with that until you are ready.” The king stood up, meeting Martin’s suspicious gaze with firmness. “The choice is yours, Martin. Go to Nacre where you’re going to spend the rest of your life being protected and mistreated, or come with me and show the world that you are not to be underestimated.”

Martin held eye contact for a full minute before finally looking away. Very few men could have held his gaze for that long. Still, his son didn’t answer. Jon sighed. He had hoped giving Martin an option would at least begin to pull him out of his depression. Wondering if he made any progress, Jonathan went for the door.

“Where do you want me to meet you?”

Jon turned back. Martin had his head up, the fire in his eyes had returned. The king smiled. That was his Martin.

“I’ll meet you tomorrow at the crossroads north of Firth,” he said. “Make sure no one follows you. I’ve got to explain to your mother tonight why you won’t be going to Nacre with her.”
*****************
Martin waited until Fred had left before he started packing. It wasn’t much; most of it was already packed since he hadn’t unpacked when they returned. He quickly changed out of the dark grey and put on tan pants, red shirt, with a grey vest. If he was going to leave the Tree, he was not going to look like a prince. He left the rest of the clothes; he was going to get a new wardrobe later anyway. No need to take extra with him.

That left his very few possessions. He had a few books, the carved flute Sona gave him, the knife, a seashell he picked up at the Stand, and a few other mementos from his travels in Aeterna. In all, it fit nicely in the pack with the broken buckle.

“I really need a new pack,” he muttered as he tied it up. He shouldered it and was about to leave when he remembered one last thing.

The glove, his Connection, was on top of the dresser, where he had left it the night before. He reached over and picked it up. Of all the things he ever owned, this was the one thing he never left behind. A year ago, it had been taken from him and, at first he felt naked without it, he slow got used to not having it. It was a lucky charm, nothing went too terribly wrong if he had it. Holding it now, he realized just how much he missed having it. Things always seemed better with it. He looped it through his belt. Before he didn’t want people to see it. Now it didn’t matter.

The last thing he did in his room was write a short note. Fred said that he would talk with the queen, but Martin felt that he should at least leave them something. That done, he left his room.

“Martin?” said one of the spies, frowning as he eyed the pack. “What are you…” He didn’t finish the question. Martin pressed the nerve in the man’s neck, dropping him. The other spy opened his mouth to call out when he landed on him, hitting the same nerve.

“Sorry, friend,” Martin whispered, slowly lowering the second spy to the ground. Sure no one else was around, he made his way to the stables. It was late at night, only those on night duty would be out. It wasn’t hard to dodge them.

Once he made it to the stables, he quickly found Rowan and saddled him. He didn’t know how long it would be before someone discovered he was missing. Probably not long at all. Abigail wanted to keep him safe.

Mounting Rowan, Martin searched for any emotions near the emergency exit, a side root path that lead the way outside the normal spying perimeters. Exactly what he needed. A spy on duty was making his rounds in that direction but was moving away. Now was the time.

Martin paused, however, taking a last look around the stables. He had always imagined that he would live out his life at the Tree, once his field days were over. He had planned on becoming a teacher here, helping new generations of spies, perhaps marrying and having kids who’d follow their own paths. The distant future he saw was one he was looking forward to.

He was under no illusion that he wasn’t running away. He was. Running from a new future he didn’t understand yet, hadn’t planned for. He hoped they would forgive him.

Martin kicked Rowan into a canter, running away from the only home he had ever known.
************
Sona was walking around the Tree, unable to sleep. The last two weeks had been hard. She couldn’t quite make sense of her thoughts or emotions. The man she had fallen in love with, a man she had liked for a long time, turned out to be the very prince she had been searching for.

Why didn’t he tell me? she thought indignantly for the thousandth time in the last two weeks. How could he ever had the nerve to court her, when he knew that he was one day going to have to break it up? Did he think it would be fun, stringing her along? Or did he want something else? The unanswered questions made her shake with anger. The nerve of that man! She wanted answers, as did Abigail, but the queen insisted that they did not ask Martin anything until he came out of his depression.

The queen was probably right in that regard. Even with her mounting anger, she could see how Luke’s death had affected the prince. To see him in that much pain almost made her forget how angry he made her.

But today, Sona saw the first sign of him coming out of his depression. After the funeral, Don Ander had approached Martin and then pulled him to his wife. Martin had a conversation with them, smiling a bit when memories were brought up.

The overcast weather also started clearing up.

Sona had planned on giving Martin an ultimatum, telling him exactly what kind of jerk he was and how she never wanted to see him again. Even with her fury, it still took her a lot of walking around the Tree to gather the nerve to face him. Steeling herself, Sona made her way to his room, replaying in her mind what she was going to say to him.

She was almost to his door when she noticed the two spies on the ground, unconscious. The door had been left open. Sona felt fear as she slowly approached the open door, afraid to enter the room. Her mind was in a whirl of what might have happened. Thoughts of kidnapping to murder raced through her mind as she stepped inside.

The room looked like it always did; bed, dresser, and little of anything else. It didn’t look like there was a struggle… She spotted a folded paper that lay on the end of the bed. She picked it up and read it, paling. There were only two words.

I’m sorry.

Sona dropped the note, knowing exactly what it meant. She ran out and away from the scene, yelling.

“He’s gone!”
******************
Yes, Martin has runaway. Now he’s not only pissed off his ex-girlfriend, but his mother, the spy master, his best friend, and a number of others. But for the sake of the plot, he can’t go to Nacre right now. There are a couple of things I want him to do before he’s known to the general public as the prince. Until next week’s post, enjoy the journey!

P.S. Next week, Fred gets slapped.

Anything But Common

I’d like again to apologize for last week and not posting until today. But DICAS is kinda important to me. Thankfully, it is all submitted and awaiting for the internships to look at. Groan. Now it’s a long process of interviews and waiting to see if I’m accepted or not. I won’t know anything until April 1. What a great April Fool’s Joke! (Not!)

Oh, and I’m switching to Friday posts again. I don’t work Fridays and I have a better time posting on my family’s computer more than the one I currently use. Hopefully I’ll get a new laptop coming the end of March, beginning of April.

But you don’t want to hear about my computer problems. You want story. Very well, our hero is trying to take the mansion back. Oh, and by the way, the 50,000th word was written toward the end of this post. Enjoy!
**************
They finally came up with a plan that afternoon. It was after breakfast that the older commanders finally listened to Commander Bentley’s plan and then they spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon bashing out the small details of it. Martin sat through all of it, listening but not really involved. The only reason he stayed with them was because he wanted to be part of the plan of regaining the mansion. This was his fault. He should at least have a hand at cleaning up his mess.

As the day progressed, he could feel his body slowly lose strength from the loss of sleep. Bentley kept shooting him worried glances as they finalized the plan. The one thing Martin did not want is for the commander to order him to stay behind and get some rest. It was time to ask the Spirit for some help. If it was going to meddle with his life, he expected something in return.

You there, Aeterna?

“Always.”

It was good to know that he could call on Aeterna when he needed, not just when the Spirit needed him. Bentley’s worried that I’ll collapse from lack of sleep.

“And?”

Sara was right. It did have a personality. Well, he thought to it, still unsure how he was having this conversation. I won’t be able to do any good to help the prisoners if I’m too tired to do what I need to do. He assumed that the Spirit had been listening in on the meeting and knew that he had a part in the plan.

“You have a point. We’ll renew your energy when the time comes.” The voice was then gone. Martin snorted softly to himself. The Spirit was doing a lot of things to him without his permission. He would have been bitter if his emotions weren’t suppressed and if it weren’t just so useful.

It wasn’t until evening that they had everything ready for the takeover. All things considering, they worked fairly fast for the amount of people ready to march on the mansion. Even in his emotion-suppressed state, Martin was impressed by their efficiency.

“You know the plan right?” Bentley asked him for what seemed the hundredth time.

“Yes,” Martin sighed, exasperated. “You and the rest of the army will work on disabling the magical barrier while I sneak back inside, turn off the Inhibitor on the prince, restore his powers, and signal that I’ve completed my task by tolling the bell three times.” He had to explain the Inhibitor to these men. They didn’t realize the danger he was still in. If Terk managed to permanently block his powers…. He managed to suppress his shiver. He didn’t want to go back to that half life.

“Then we rush in and take the mansion back,” Bentley finished, a distant look in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Martin actually smiled. The moment they started marching for the mansion, he felt the strength Aeterna had promised him. “I can do this,” he shrugged off. “Just don’t fail on your part.”

They came to the same spot of the wall he had used to escape. The oak tree was just as he had left it. Martin stopped as he gazed up at the high branches.

“Something wrong?” Bentley asked after he ordered his men to start working on the magical barrier.

“Sort of,” Martin muttered, still gazing up at the branches. “I’m terrified of heights.”

“No,” Bentley breathed, shocked. “Should we send someone else?”

Martin quickly shook his head. “I’ve got to do this. Heights haven’t stopped me yet. Could I get a hand up?” Calling back a couple other soldiers, they helped him reach the high branches. Clinging to the branch after he got up, Martin forced himself to move forward, trying to ignore the ground below. He once again passed through the magical barrier, the cold gripping at him and pulling him inside. He gasped as he passed through. Behind him, he heard some other soldiers also making their way across the branches.

No time to think about them, Martin thought, getting to the trunk and climbing down. He had a job to do. He had to get his powers back.
****************
Hal Gaffner had tried to work through the night on the Inhibitor, but he had fallen asleep in the early morning and only just woke up in the afternoon. He was embarrassed to admit that he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Working all night used to be easy on him, but now, well into his forties with his hairline already receding, he knew his age was catching up with him.

Not that it mattered with his work. He counted himself lucky that Terk hadn’t come to visit him while he was napping on the workbench. Gaffner knew all too well of the general’s temper. This was a project he had to get done.

Rubbing his eyes from sleep, he picked up where he had left off. While he did not like the working conditions, the lack of sleep, threats, and a workroom with barely enough space for all his magical tools, he did like the pay that was promised to him if he did this task. Just thinking about that large amount of gold to be his if he managed to block this Aeternan prince when the other mages could not… He shivered with glee. All that money for him if he could get the job done!

He picked up his specs and put them on. The room immediately lit up to his vision. Magic was revealed to him with these glasses, each magic a different color. His tools all glowed different colors, signifying the use of the magic. But he should focus on the Inhibitor and glove. The Inhibitor was a dark grey color, signifying its ability to cover other magic, suppressing it until the magic would be either of little or no use. It had been easy, although a long process, to create this Inhibitor. That wasn’t the problem, however. It was the glove that caused him grief.

Just glancing at the glove, he knew it was old magic infused in it. To him, it looked like any other common glove, made of dark leather with green trim. If he could put it on, it would reach almost to his elbow. However, he had been warned not to wear it. Only a Santer could wear it.

But looking at it with his glasses, he knew it was far different from any magical object in the room. He couldn’t quite explain it. It was almost as if there were several different types of magic infused in the glove, either a result of the Renewal spell, the magic of the land, or even the prince’s own magical aura, he couldn’t tell. But it made it terribly difficult to read or even figure out how to create a block. Should he focus on the magic of the land? The prince himself? The Renewal spell? Or all of them?

He shook his head. Terk knew it might take a week to create the block. Gaffner was bright enough to not mention that it might prove to be an impossible task. There was just too much magic to suppress.

If only the prince was here, he thought bitterly, picking up the Inhibitor, hoping an answer might be found there. Another Inhibitor had suppressed the prince for nearly sixteen years. Perhaps the answer lay there…

A knife appeared at his throat.

“Don’t move,” whispered a deep voice. Gaffner froze, though his hands started shaking. “And don’t scream. I’ll cut your throat before the sound even leaves your body.” Gaffner believed the threat. That knife felt sharp! But that wasn’t the only reason why he believed the threat. There was something wrong with that voice. There wasn’t any emotion in it. The man who held the knife sounded like a man who would kill him without a second thought.

“Now,” the voice went on. “Where are the Inhibitor and the Connection?” Gaffner trembled. What would Terk do if he learned about this? All that nice money taken away! He should scream.

“I don’t have time for heroics,” the man snapped, the knife pressed harder against his neck. Gaffner gulped. “Where are they?”

With shaking hands he lifted the objects up. “Good,” the man said softly, easing the pressure of the knife but still held it to his neck. “Turn the Inhibitor off.”

“I…” Gaffner thought of lying. Surely this man didn’t know…

“I know it needs to be turned off,” he growled. “I’ve watched it done before. Now, turn it off!”

Putting the glove down, Gaffner did as ordered. Whoever held the knife knew his magic. He turned the silver ball in his hands, moving the different pieces to inactivate it.

Click.

Gaffner briefly thought to keep stalling by keeping moving the pieces of the Inhibitor when the man pressed his knife again. “That’s enough. It’s off.” The man really did know his magic.

“What ar… are you pl…planning to do…do with me?” Gaffner asked, not the least ashamed that his voice quivered. “Yo… You know there is no…no way out of th…this mansion.”

“I’ve got out once without powers,” the voice whispered. “I’m sure I can get out again.”

Gaffner gasped. The prince! Suddenly the knife disappeared from his throat and something hard hit his head. He sank to the ground, his vision blacking. He managed to look up at the man who had held him captive. Martin Santer gazed down at him coldly, the knife still in his hand.

“Who are you?” he asked. Surly a prince would not know how to sneak into a mage’s workroom and threaten him. Such a common face… No one thought any threat from that… But Gaffner knew better now.

“Me?” the prince asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not to be underestimated.” He knocked the hilt of his knife on the side of his head and Gaffner blacked out without another word.
*************
Martin didn’t waste any time watching as the mage finally blacked out. He had work to do. Just has it had been a year before, he placed the Inhibitor on his glove. The magic had to be transferred back. That’s what happened last time. He closed his eyes as the magic flashed back into his Connection, making it glow softly. He reached for it when he remembered something.

Aeterna… he thought wearily.

“Yes?”

Is this going to hurt? Like last time? Last time he had spent all night sprawled on the floor as the magic flooded back into him.

“It shouldn’t,” was the reply. “The pain was just us getting reunited with you. We’ve only been separated for a short time.”

That made sense. He picked up the glove and pain raced through him. He dropped to his hands and knees with a cry, roaring filled his ears and the pain tingling every part of him.

Liars!

“Sorry.”
***********
Abigail gazed up at the tall windows above the ballroom, judging that it was evening. Nearly a full day since Martin came into her office and admitted to being her son. A full day since Terk took over the mansion, killed Luke, and taken her son away. If she had any energy left, she would have been trying to find a way out. But her energy, as well as everyone in the ballroom, was gone.

Sighing, she dropped her gaze and looked over the ballroom. They had not yet been permitted to leave, except in small groups to relieve themselves in the privy. The Venter guards had also delivered blankets for the night and stale bread for their meals. Other than that, they were locked in the room, men in Aeternan uniforms still making sure they didn’t escape.

She sat on the stage, a back corner so no one was staring at her. After they had taken Martin away, she tried to order some sort of organization to the crowd when gaurds came with their blankets. After the blankets had been given out, they all tried to get some rest, though she doubted sleep came easily. She kept waking up all night, drenched in sweat and trembling in fear. The nightmare of seventeen years before kept haunting her. Her son’s room, masked thieves hurling themselves from the window, thinking her son was dead.

She idly played with her necklace, a silver locket with the Santer symbol. It had been Jon’s wedding gift to her. Her Connection. If Martin had his, she would have felt him. However, it seemed that they had taken it away from him. Though her face was drawn with exhaustion, her stomach kept knotting in painful ways, worrying over her son.

“Your Majesty?” Lord Grelend said, walking up to her. Glancing up, she noted the bags under the lord’s eyes. The man had spent most of the night helping where he could, as did his daughter and son. They were good people. They didn’t deserve this. He held a loaf of stale bread.

“You should eat,” he said, kneeling down and handing her the loaf. “It’s been since morning.”

“I doubt I could keep it down,” she sighed, though taking a small bite. She let her eyes wander around the ballroom again. She could name half of those inside, mostly men and their wives. Sona had disappeared to somewhere. Abigail didn’t blame her. The poor girl had just found out that the man who was courting her was the prince and he was currently in danger. The pretty researcher needed time alone to figure out her emotions. But thoughts of the researcher vanished as she spotted a table across the ballroom from her.

Thomas hadn’t left Luke’s body since… She sighed. She had ordered that they at least cover the spy’s body and a white blanket was spared to wrap around his cold form. Someone else, she guessed Grelend, suggested that they place the body on a table, allowing people to pay their respects to him. Thomas refused to leave his friend’s body, the haunting look in his eye she knew all too well. She felt that when she thought her Henry dead. She felt it again when her husband died.

“I wonder if they knew,” she whispered. Sona hadn’t, but Thomas and Luke were Martin’s best friends. Surly they knew, right?

“Who knew what?” Grelend asked, sitting down next to her.

“My rambling,” she sighed, taking another small bite. Where was Martin?

“I wouldn’t have guessed that Martin was… is your son,” Grelend was saying, trying to draw her out of her melancholy. “I know he’s a Ghost, and he was very good in all his classes… but he was just so…” He sighed, realizing that he had just set himself up to explain. “Common looking.”

“I think that’s what the kidnappers had in mind,” she said softly, completely agreeing with the lord. It was one of the reasons why Martin made a good spy. No one looked twice at him. “No one would see a prince behind that common face.”

Pain raced through her. Yelping, she dropped her bread, holding her head.

“Your Majesty?” Grelend asked with concern, but she didn’t hear him. Something else filled her view.

Someone was on his hands and knees, fighting to keep the pain away. One hand grasped her son’s Connection.

Liars! she heard. That was Martin! He had escaped!

“Sorry.”

This second voice she knew immediately. The Spirit of Aeterna. Her son could talk to it! Her son shook his head, slowly getting to his feet. He was in what looked like a workroom, with a table covered in tools. There was another man, Terk’s pet mage, but he was unconscious on the floor. But she ignored the man, focusing on Martin. He was dressed in an Aeternan uniform and looked extremely tired.

Shaking his head one last time, he glanced up to a high window. From his view he could see the clock tower. Glancing down briefly, he put the glove on and, looking back up, reached up to the window, focusing…

BONG!

Abigail shook out of the vision, the image leaving her mind. She wasn’t the only one to look around when the bell rang.

BONG!

BONG!

The last note of the bell died off. The ballroom was silent for a moment then erupted into whispers. It wasn’t the normal time for three chimes.

“Your Majesty?” Grelend asked, looking worried at her smile. “Are you alright?”

Abigail laughed. She knew what those bells had meant. Martin had escaped only to bring back reinforcements. They were going to get rescued!

“Get everyone ready,” she ordered, standing back up. She felt alive again, just knowing her son had escaped. “We’re going to have company.”
*************
Overtaking the initial guards was easy. As was dispelling the magical barrier around the estate. Commander Bentley was greatly pleased with how the plan was going. He wasn’t the only one who cheered when the bell rang out three times. It meant that Martin had managed to turn the Inhibitor off. The prince was safe! Well, the commander amended to himself, as safe as he can be until we get him back.

They had gained entrance to the mansion through the servants’ entrance and there he stayed as he commanded the sweep through the mansion. The other commanders were busy taking care of the enemy out on the grounds. Martin had said that Terk hadn’t brought many with him, but it wasn’t until they started fighting that he realized that the spy has spoken the truth. To avoid suspicion, Terk hadn’t brought much more than the normal guards that Bentley would have. Jim made note of if. He needed to increase the number of guards to insure no one would attack them again.

Getting a report from one of his runners, Martin ran into the room, pausing briefly as he saw the commotion of soldiers. He slowed his pace but he walked quickly through the men to join him.

“Martin!” Jim said, grinning. “It’s done! Terk has been spotted running for the ballroom with a few guards. Care to come along?”

“Of course,” Martin said, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve got some unfinished business with Terk.”

Bentley laughed and was going to ask about the Inhibitor when he finally noticed Martin’s right hand… Where had he gotten that glove? And why not two…

Glove? Bentley paled. No, not just a glove. The Connection! Martin frowned at him before realizing what he was staring at. Sighing, he looked down at his gloved hand. At this point everyone noticed him. Without knowing why he knew, Bentley knew what it meant for him to wear that Connection.

Taking a deep breath, Martin formed a fist with his gloved hand, glaring. “If you so much as try to stop me from joining you,” the prince growled, pointing with his other hand, “I will show you what I can do. Now let’s march!”

Turning on his heel, Martin marched away. Halfway to the door, he threw his arm out to the side and caught a bow that was flying at him. A second later, a quiver full of arrows came from the other direction and he caught it out of the air. Bentley wasn’t the only one who was staring.

“Sir,” the runner whispered, the first to find his voice. “Are you just going to let him fight?”

“What choice do I have?” Bentley asked, blinking fast. Martin, the Spy Alex, was the prince? A man who was so common looking that he was almost always dismissed? Why hadn’t he…? The commander shook his head. They were still trying to retake the mansion! “Men!” he snapped, gaining everyone’s attention. “Form ranks! We’ve got a Mad General to catch!”
******************
The captives were all confused about her order to get ready. Ready for what? Abigail just smiled and said that they were expecting company. Some had caught her meaning and grinned back. They were going to get rescued.

She wasn’t sure what was happening. She only knew Martin’s part of the plan. He was supposed to turn off the Inhibitor and ring the bell three times when he had completed his task. What that meant for the rescuers, she couldn’t say. It would be just another question to ask him when he returned. But that did not mean that she couldn’t help these people be ready. Warning them that something was going to happen would help.

It wasn’t long after the bell had tolled that things became quiet. Abigail was in the process of talking with Grelend’s son Phillip when the silence spread through the room. Even their guards at the door and on the balcony above grew still, listening. The air was tight with anticipation. Something was going to happen…

BANG!

The grand entrance burst open and fighting soldiers spilled into the room. Several people screamed and backed away, fleeing from the blades that were flashing. Abigail tried to push through the fleeing crowd, trying to see what was happening. She finally burst through, shocked by the scene that met her.

General Terk fought in a ring of his soldiers, fighting off the true Aeternans. Glancing up to the balcony, she watched as the archers were taken out from behind. Terk also noticed the archers being replaced by Aeternans. He swore loudly and broke out of the ring, running for the closest escape, leaving his men to fight the soldiers.

“TERK!”

The voice boomed over the noise in the ballroom. Abigail gazed up at the grand entrance. Martin stood in the mist of the broken door, sighting down an arrow pointed at Terk. People often called Martin common looking, even she admitted it. But at that moment, surrounded by debris and the sounds of battle ringing in the air, there was nothing common about him. Nothing common about the aura of power and determination in his stance, expression, eyes, the very air. It was then when she finally realized the mistake she had made. Martin was more powerful and more dangerous than anyone knew.

Below in the ballroom, Terk paled. Fumbling, he ripped a medal off his coat and pulled it apart. The air around him warped in color….Transport magic!

“No!” Martin yelled, his face contorted with rage and pain. He let his arrow loose. The warped light around Terk slowly faded and his arrow passed through nothing.
**********
It took almost an hour to restore order to the ballroom. The men Terk had brought with him were being taken away. Those in the ballroom started filing out; there were moans and groans from those who had bruised themselves from their flight, but no one was the worse for wear. Abigail had to congratulate Commander Bentley for a rescue well done. The commander took it gracefully, though his attention seemed to be elsewhere. Once his attention was drawn away as a runner came to report of what else was happening in the mansion, Abigail decided it was time to focus on her son.

Martin had sat down on the grand staircase, his head buried in his hands. The bow and quiver of arrows lay by his side. The anger and power he had just an hour before was gone, replaced by tiredness and pain. Abigail slowly walked up to him. He looked so exhausted…

“Martin?” she asked, sitting down next to him. “Son?” The word felt old and unused in her mouth. She nearly croaked. “Are you alright?”

“Doubt it,” he sighed, running his fingers through his short hair. He looked up briefly. She followed his gaze. His eyes became unfocused as he stared at Luke’s body. “He shouldn’t have done it.” He shook his head, planting it once again in his hands. “I warned him that it would be suicide.”

“He did what he thought was right,” Abigail said, patting her son’s slumping shoulders. “He thought he was protecting you.”

“And that’s to console me?” Martin asked dully, turning his head slightly to look at her. She froze. What was wrong with him? Why was there no life in his eyes? He sighed, turning away.

“I’ve always been the one to risk my life for others,” he whispered. “I’m the extendable orphan, just another extra spy. People shouldn’t risk their lives for me.”

Abigail snorted. “I would beg to differ. You’re…”

“A Santer that has lied for the last year,” he spat out. “I’m not a prince. I’m a traitor to my name and my nation.”

“Your Majesty?”

Abigail looked up, surprised to see Commander Bentley standing there. “Yes?”

“We’ve completely taken the mansion back,” he reported, glancing at her son. “We’re safe.”

“Good,” she snorted. “Then let’s made sure everyone is alright…” She stood up. Perhaps something to do would break her son out of this strange self pity. “Come on, Martin. We still have work to do.”

“Um,” Bentley said, flinching. “He should get some sleep.” She frowned at him but said nothing, allowing him to go on. “He hasn’t slept in nearly two days,” Bentley explained. “I’m surprised he’s been able to do what he has.”

She gazed down at her son. He did look exhausted. “Is this true? You haven’t slept in two days?”

He shrugged, leaning back with a sigh. “Aeterna wouldn’t let me.” He yawned, tears coming to his eyes. “But everyone is safe again. They’ll let me.”

Abigail stared at him; she had known that the Spirit had been talking to him. She hadn’t realized just how much he had talked with it. “Alright,” she said. “We’ll get you in a bed.”

“The nearest couch would work,” Martin said, yawning again. “I’m about to drop off here.”

“There’s a sitting room nearby,” Bentley offered. “There are couches there.” He glanced down at the prince. “I don’t know if he’ll make it there though.” Abigail agreed. Together, she and the commander bent down and helped Martin to his feet. They carefully walked through the wreckage of the door and out into the main hall. The sitting room was close by, usually used for smaller parties. Once they got there, Martin collapsed on the nearest couch right by the door, falling asleep immediately.

Abigail examined the room. She was very familiar with it, having spent many nights with the Grelend family and Thomas enjoying the end of a long day. “Send someone for Duke Dawson and Lord Grelend,” she told the commander. “I’d also like to talk with the other commanders.”

Bentley nodded and walked back into the hall to find a runner. Abigail went over to another couch, picked off its blanket, and returned to the couch Martin collapsed on. She unfolded the blanket and draped it over him. He didn’t even stir.

He must be exhausted, she thought, gazing down at him. What had he meant before, when he said that Aeternan wouldn’t let him sleep? She couldn’t see why the Spirit would keep her son from sleep when he so obviously needed it. It just didn’t make sense.

Sighing, she decided that she couldn’t do anything about him now. He just had to sleep whatever it was off. She walked over to the fireplace and lit the fire. By the time she had it roaring, the ones she had summoned had arrived. While the commanders and Grelend looked tired, Thomas still had that haunting look about him.

“Answers, gentlemen,” she said sternly, sitting down next to the fire. “I want them.”

The commanders were quick to explain why Terk had managed to get control of the mansion. They were also as quick to explain what they had done to take the mansion back. Lord Grelend, as she knew, had nothing really to offer this conference. But she listened politely until it finally came to be Thomas’s turn. The young duke was sitting by himself, staring out the dark window.

“Thomas,” she said when it came to his turn.

“Yes?” He didn’t even look at her.

“You knew,” she said quietly. She didn’t need to say what he knew.

He sighed, sinking into his chair. “Yes. I knew. Luke did too.”

She had expected Luke, especially if Thomas knew too. “When did you learn?”

Thomas shrugged, still staring out the dark window. “We pulled it out of him about a year ago, when you found the glove. We asked him what was wrong and he told us. He didn’t believe it then.”

“When did that change?” Abigail asked. She needed answers and Martin was too tired to answer. In his current state, Thomas would be likely to answer the questions that she really wanted to ask Martin.

“At the Stand,” Thomas said in a dull tone, as if he were talking about something other than why the prince lied about his identity. “The mages who changed his face met up with him.” The duke paused, briefly glancing over to the sleeping prince. “He didn’t like talking about the encounter.”

“Was there anyone else who knew?” Abigail needed to know. Who else had been privy to this?

“Not many,” Thomas replied. “Commander Gillian.” Abigail vowed to have stern word with the prison commander. “A couple of his friends from the Stand. Fred Chief.”

“Fred Chief?” she asked, frowning. Why did she know that name? “The man…”

“Who brought Martin back from Loman,” Thomas finished. “Yes. But he didn’t know until just a few days ago himself. He got a letter from Commander Gillian about it and he told Martin that he had to reveal himself to you when he got back here.”

Abigail sunk into her chair, thinking. She really must meet this man who so obviously had an impact on Martin’s life. But that would have to be a matter dealt with later.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Martin?” she asked, changing the subject suddenly. “You’re a duke of this nation…”

“I was a simple spy when I learned about it,” Thomas said, his tone finally taking some heat. He turned to her, his expression grave. “What would you do, your Majesty, when you see your friend suffering from powers and an identity he knew nothing about? When you knew your friend had to fight for everything he has ever owned then suddenly find himself in a position of prince? I know what it is like to work hard for something, only to have it stripped away. How could I reveal my friend? How could I, knowing just how hard he had to work to get what he has? I couldn’t put him through that.”

Abigail blinked at the harshness in the duke’s voice. More than that, she was surprised by how passionately he talked about her son and how he had to work. She glanced at Martin. He still slept on the couch, oblivious to them. What did she know of this man? She knew he was the Alex, a dangerous spy. She knew he liked to keep busy, she knew he kept mostly to himself, not allowing people to get close. She barely knew of his childhood, other than he spent most of it on the streets of Loman.

But as she gazed at him, she realized something very profound.

“I don’t know anything about him?” she asked softly. “Do I?”

The commanders and Grelend were quick to argue.

“You’ve conducted interviews of all the men,” Bentley pointed out.

“You knew he was a spy,” another commander piped up.

“You said yourself that you like the young man,” Grelend added.

“No,” Thomas said loudly, drowning out any more protests. “You don’t know him.” The others turned to the duke, shocked that he would be so blunt about this matter.

Abigail nodded. “Thank you, Thomas,” she said. “For your honesty.” Thomas knew Martin better than her. Luke had too. They kept his secret because they knew him and what it meant to him.

Herself… He may be her son, but she didn’t know him at all.
**************
Martin couldn’t tell how long he slept. Once Aeterna finally released him to sleep, he felt as if the two days crashed into him and he knew he needed to sleep. He honestly couldn’t remember how he got on this couch or even how the blanket found itself draped over him. The last thing he remembered was a soft word from the Spirit.

“We’re sorry.”

The depression came crashing on his mind, overwhelming the last two days. Letting out a quiet sob, he opened his eyes. He was in a smaller sitting room. The fire was long dead and the light of an early morning was muted through the clouds that overhung in the sky. This, he supposed, was because of his depression. The land knew just how depressed he was.

He didn’t care.

Once again he found himself thinking the same thoughts he had in his cell before Aeterna took his depression away. What he had said to the queen last night was true. He was a traitor to his name and nation.

I shouldn’t even be a Santer, he thought bitterly, gingerly sitting up and rubbing the small of his back. How can the people trust me if I lie about my name?

He was half expecting an answer from Aeterna, but none came. It made him feel more depressed. The silence from the Spirit meant one thing. It agreed with him.

“We do not.”

I thought you were going to leave me alone.

“We’ll leave you to your grief,” Aeterna explained. “But we won’t abandon you.” The voice was gone. Martin snorted. Not abandon him, huh? What did it call this now?

Someone had left out some cold meat and bread on one of the end tables. He figured he should eat. When was the last time he ate a meal that wasn’t in a tent or on the road? He ate slowly, forcing himself to eat. He knew others would be so depressed that they wouldn’t eat, but he was just too hungry.

Besides, he didn’t want Aeterna to force him to eat as well.

Once he was done with his meal, he wondered where everyone was. Second nature made him open himself to the emotions. Strangely, everyone was back in the ballroom. Wondering, he crept out of the sitting room and crossed the hall. The grand doorway was still broken and he stepped inside. Nearly everyone was there. Servants, soldiers, nobles, those on the list. The queen stood on the stage, talking. The commanders, Lord Grelend, and Thomas also stood up there.

“I know the last day has been hard,” his mother was saying, her voice carrying over the crowd. “But I must ask that you do not relate any of this to anyone. My son is still in danger, and I fear that he will continue to be until we return to Nacre. So until you hear word of his return to the capital, I must ask that you do not speak of this event or him until then.” She stared at them, as if daring they try to disobey. Martin knew that everyone in the room would obey.

“Furthermore,” she went on, “with the discovery of my son, you will now all be able to return to your homes. Lord Grelend will organize your return. I wish all of you safe journey home and I hope all of you will have wonderful lives. Thank you.”

There was a small applause and the crowd started to disperse. Martin snuck back into the sitting room. He didn’t feel like talking with anyone, or having people stare, or hear those whispers. He was better off alone.

I’ve always been better off alone.
************
Whew! This was a long post. It was already long when I divided the story, but after editing, I added about two pages. Anyway, there you have it. They’ve taken back the mansion and Martin is seriously depressed. Now that I’ve effectively destroyed our hero’s life, what am I going to do to put it back together? That’ll be answered in next week’s post.

Now, odd question. As I’ve mentioned, my computer is being uncooperative. I won’t go into the small petty details of how slow it’s gotten, the random freeze moments, the problems it has with anti-virus and anything with the internet, so on and so forth. Now, I’ve been dealing with these problems since NaNo 2010, when it got a very ugly virus. It hasn’t been the same since. Now, over a year later, I’m getting really, really tired of it. I currently have a half decent job with acceptable paycheck, so I’m thinking of buying a new laptop as a graduation present to myself. Any recommendations for computers? I’m currently leaning towards an Apple, but I’m not too terribly excited about the price. I’m no computer nerd, I just want a machine that will do its job without too many glitches. And I want it to last. Foaly (my current laptop) has lasted a faithful four and a half years before limping this last year. I’d like to meet or top that. I’d like some laymen’s suggestions.

Until next week, enjoy the journey!

The Child From Loman

So, um, I don’t think I should continue the story today…..

Let me explain before you tie me to the stake! Right now, I’m applying for a dietetic internship through DICAS (pronounced in my head like die- cuss, which most dietetic students feel like doing to the program right now). Anyway, it’s a big deal and I’ve got to finish it by Wednesday. So, since my focus is on DICAS, I haven’t been able to edit the next section yet (and believe me, editing needs done. Not major changes, but changes nonetheless. I was just a bit excited when I wrote it and left out some points). Just please be patient as I work hard on my application.

But I do feel obliged to give you something. Now that’s Fred’s secret is out, I can give you a bit of something I worked on this last summer. May I present, The Child From Loman, Martin’s early life and how Jonathan found him. Enjoy!
***************
A young child sat on an upturned barrel, waiting for the signal from one of the older boys. His dirty face frowned in concentration as he listened for the distinct sound of a not native bird. If all went right, he would go to sleep with a full stomach. The thought made his stomach growl. Groaning, he pressed his hand on his stomach to keep it quiet. How long had it been since he was full?

Trying to distract himself from his hunger, he looked around the street he was waiting. It was like most streets of Loman. Merchants trying to sell their wares to other people, horses whined in their carefully guarded lines, laborers carried goods from one spot to another, sellers flashed fake smiles as those with money examined the merchandise, the clanking of coins being exchanged. There were also guards and attendants who followed the merchants and buyers, both parties eying the other suspiciously. The sights, sounds, and smells clashed out on the streets and often overwhelmed newcomers. Here, in the seaport of no nation, Loman’s only rulers were greed and money. A paradise for anyone who had enough of both.

The child gazed on the scene, seeing more than most. The children of Loman were ignored. For the most part anyway. Most kids didn’t have money, and if they did, their parents made sure that they never went out without some sort of guard. But they had plenty of greed. At least, that’s what he had been told. He was just hungry.

“Hoo, hoo, hoot!”

That’s the signal, the kid thought, jumping off the barrel. The teen had called it an owl. The child rolled his eyes; like he didn’t know what an owl was. But his job wasn’t to question the leader; his was to be a distraction.

Why did they want me to be the distraction? he wondered for the hundredth time. Most older kids, the lucky ones who got into their teens, never paid much attention to someone as small and as young as he was. It was called the Thinning. Let the younger street urchins fight it out until their teens. If they survive that long, they could be accepted into the teen gangs. And if they survived those gangs, the thieves would take them in. The child knew a lot of other street urchins who never got to his all of nine, almost ten, years.

His target was one of the poorer merchants, one who didn’t have much standing in the order of things. He wouldn’t have been in business if he didn’t bribe the innkeeper he had set his shop up in front of. The only reason the innkeeper allowed the peddler to stay there because of the bright colored apples would attract customers. The kid’s stomach growled again, reminding him of the hunger he wanted to go away. Pressing his stomach again, he hesitantly approached the apple seller.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice cracking, “sir?”

The merchant looked down at him through his long mane of hair. “What?” he sneered through his nose. The kid wanted to bolt out of there and leave the older teens deal with the arrogant merchant. No, he firmly told himself. I don’t back down. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed an apple and ran.

“Thief!” the peddler yelled, pointing at him. “Someone catch him!”

Not if I can help it, the child thought, feeling his anger rise. He urged his feet to go faster. Behind him, he could hear the merchant try to give chase. No one would help him. In the world were greed and money matter, helping others ranked low on anyone’s priorities.

If the plan went right, the teens would be taking more apples while the peddler was away. The kid ran faster, leaving the swearing man far behind. Clutching the apple he had stolen, he disappeared in an alleyway. He tired to quiet his panting as the man barreled past his hiding spot. The kid let out a quiet sigh of relief. Perhaps one of the reasons why the teens wanted his help was because he was faster than most; some teens had trouble keeping up with him.

Instead of going back to the regrouping spot, the kid waited until the merchant walked past his hiding place again, grumbling under his breath as he walked back to his stall. The kid watched and sighed again in relief when he was gone. His distraction had done it. There would be enough apples for everyone. He eyed the apple in his hand. They said it would be his, since his dirty hands had touched it. Most teen gangs would have told him to give it over. He was a lucky street urchin.

Then why am I so nervous? He had found that if he was nervous, it was generally for a good reason. Something bad always happened when he was nervous. What’s going to happen now? Being extra aware of his surroundings, he cautiously went to meet the teens.

As he walked, he looked at the apple he stole. He couldn’t remember the last time he had an entire apple to himself. Usually, the only apples he ate were half eaten ones he found in the garbage of rich people, most of them bruised and molding. He ate them anyway to keep from starving. This apple was pale green and bruised in a few places; but it was whole. He took a careful bite, savoring the sweet taste. Wiping the juice from his face with his shoulder, he put the apple into his pocket. If something bad was going to happen, he at least wanted the apple.

The place the teens had told him to meet them at was another alleyway, one far from the apple stall. There were three teens sitting on crates, munching on the fruits they stole, and laughing at the cruel jokes they shared. The kid hesitated before getting any closer. He was nervous about seeing them. Shouldn’t it be better if he ran away?

“There’s the kid,” laughed their leader, the biggest teen. The kid flinched as the other two saw him. All three of them were at least twice his size. “Come on over, Martin,” the leader chuckled, waving him towards them. “You did a great job.”

Martin hesitated a moment longer before joining them, his nervousness growing with each step. Something bad was about to happen; despite their good moods. If anything, it was a very bad sign for a street urchin such as him.

“Scared of us?” one joked, slapping him on the back when he got to them. Martin flinched. Yes.

“Did you get enough apples?” he asked, his voice squeaking.

“Sure did,” the last teen laughed, holding up a large bag bulging with apples. “You did great kid.” He laughed louder. “You should have seen the weasel man when he came back and found more apples missing! The innkeeper had to come out and threaten to throw him out if he didn’t stop the racket!” The three teens laughed. Martin could only chuckle weakly.

“Ah,” the leader said, calming down. “That was so funny, I’m tempted to keep my promise to you.”

Martin shivered. He figured the teens wouldn’t give him a fourth of the apples, as they agreed. But there was something else… He had to force himself to not reach for the apple in his pocket.

“Could I at least have one?” he asked, taking a step back as they jumped off the crates they were sitting on. The largest one grinned.

“Sure,” he said, reaching into the bag and pulling an apple out. It was rotted, so much so that it dripped on the teen’s hand. “Have it!” He threw it and hit the kid in the face. Martin yelped, trying to wipe the rotten apple off. Before he could clear his eyes, the teens were on him. He cried out with the first punch to his gut. Instinct took over. Dropping to the ground, he covered the back of his neck with his hands and curled into a ball. The teens laughed as they kicked.

Please! Stop! Martin gritted his teeth to keep from crying. That’s why they were doing this. They wanted him to entertain them. As long as he remained silent, they would loose interest.

His trick worked. The teens quickly lost interest in him. Martin lifted his head barely high enough to see the leader looking back at him. The two other teens were already in the street.

“You’re good, kid,” the leader chuckled. “Live a couple more years and you can join us. See ya, Marty.”

Martin dropped his head, sobbing as softly as he could. I don’t want to join any of you. Not if this was how they would treat kids. He would have bruising on his ribs, and a sore stomach, but he lasted through the beating. Wiping the rest of the bad apple off, he reached into his pocket to see how his own apple survived. His hand brought out mush.

Martin sobbed again. He lay there in the dirty alley until nightfall, his eyes closing with sorrow. He knew the signs of unconsciousness. His vision was already starting to blur.

They must have hurt me more than I thought. He groaned, relaxing and waiting for the blackness. Closing his eyes, he tried to breathe normally. It wouldn’t last long. It never did.

Then a vision flashed in his mind. It was a man in a multicolored room, gazing out of a window over the sea. The man wore fine clothes of a rich man, and he held himself with pride. However, his expression was concerned.

The vision was gone as soon as it came. Martin ignored it, finally surrendering to the forced sleep. The visions never did anything for him.
**************
Jonathan Santer, King of Aeterna, suddenly felt pain in his sides and stomach. Groaning, he rubbed the affected areas, wondering why these attacks would come. The doctors he had consulted in secret said they were nothing, that he was in perfect health. However, King Jonathan still felt pain. It had been three years since he stopped trying to find a way to heal it.

Sighing, he glanced around his office. It was of the same stone as the rest of the palace, a multicolored stone that shone different colors in different light. In the fading light of day, it was glistening a pale blue and gold. But bookshelves covered one wall, while a large family portrait filled the other. Leaning back in his chair, Jonathan regarded the painting.

He and his wife stood with their daughter held up between them. He smiled a bit; his wife, Queen Abigail, was as beautiful as the day he married her. A slim figure with passionate grey eyes and long flaxen hair, she was the center of his world and one of the few people he trusted. Their daughter, Princess Sara, was growing to look more like her mother every day. However, the five year old was also showing the queen’s temperament. Everything had to be done her way or not at all.

At least Abby is more controlling of her temper, he thought with a chuckle. The next few years was going to prove interesting.

However, as much as he loved his family, he knew there was someone missing from the portrait. He sighed deeply, looking down at his desk and the paperwork he was putting off. It was approaching the eighth anniversary of when Nacre, the capital of Aeterna, had been raided by pirates. He had been away fighting a war against the nation Venter. He had established a treaty with General Terk the week before when the attack against the capital came.

The attack that took their son away.

Years of searching had brought him the news that he had just read. It was in Suit’s own handwriting, and brought the news he had been fearing. The pirates had been working with General Terk. They had been ordered to take the prince if the general lost the war. But at the rendezvous with the Venter navy, the pirate ship was sunk and everyone killed.

I already knew my son was dead, he tried to berate himself, but the pain of loss attacked him just as hard as it did when he learned of the kidnapping. His Connection had proved it all those years ago. Prince Henry was dead. The letter only proved it still.

He couldn’t sit any longer. Shoving away from the desk, he walked over to the large bay window that overlooked Nacre and the sea. The loss of the heir had hurt Aeterna until Sara was born, but he and Abby still hurt. It was hard to say who was in more pain. Abby who watched him get kidnapped or himself, who had been away from Nacre when he should have been there with them.

A vision flashed in his mind. A child, maybe nine, possibly ten, lay on the ground of a dirty alley, sobbing softly. His face was covered in a dark sticky substance and his hand full of mush.

Jonathan blinked as the vision left. What was that? He was familiar with magic, since he was connected with the magic of the land, but this seemed… different somehow. He never had visions before. He shook his head. It could be anything and no one would likely give him a clear answer about it. Besides, it only lasted a half moment. It couldn’t mean anything.

I need to go to Loman.

Jonathan frowned at the intruding thought. For the last eight years, the same thought would randomly come to him. I need to go to Loman. It was a bit nagging, but easily ignored.

Not this time. It was demanding. Jonathan groaned, rubbing his temple. Go to Loman? The seaport was on an island half way between Aeterna and Poca. A known thieves nest, Loman wasn’t the type of place a reigning monarch went to just because he felt the need to go.

Maybe I should just go, he thought, rubbing his chin. It would end the thoughts of going; he had nothing to lose by going. And besides, he didn’t need to go as the king of Aeterna. He did have another name he went under when he didn’t want to be king.

“Jon?” that sweet voice said softly behind him. The king turned around to see his wife standing in the frame of the doorway, their daughter clinging onto her mother’s skirt. “It’s bedtime…”

“And I want you to read!” Sara finished, rushing into the room and hugging him around his knees. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please?”

Jonathan laughed as he bent over and picked his little daughter up. “Alright,” he said, flicking her nose. “But I don’t want you to whine about going to bed. Deal?”

The young princess laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Deal!”

Abby smiled as they joined her at the door. She kissed him softly on the cheek. “It’s time we all go to bed,” she said, wrapping her arm around his free one. “The paperwork will be there in the morning.”

Jonathan smiled, pulling the two women in his life closer. He didn’t know what he would do without them.
**********
It was finally dark when Martin came to. Groaning, he forced himself to first his knees and then his feet. He swayed slightly as his pounding head tried to clear, but he managed to keep upright.

“I need to get home,” he said to himself, walking away. If he didn’t, someone would move in.

With the fall of night, most people moved their businesses inside. The street gangs would meet to divide their spoils, the thieves would meet to start stealing from others, and the street urchins would venture out to forge for food.

The thought of food reminded Martin of his growling stomach. When was the last time he ate? It had been the night before. The kid sighed, resigning himself to digging through garbage again.

He ignored the back alleys of inns and rich people’s homes. The inns would already have urchins searching through the trash while rich people had guards around their homes. Instead, he went for the less prosperous merchants. There were fewer urchins there and the peddlers didn’t mind if the children ate their garbage. It cleaned up their streets.

The first few homes he came to, there were already urchins digging through. Martin weakly waved at them. They shared sorry smiles and continued eating. It was tough to be an urchin, but at least they tired to be kind to each other.

Martin came to a house with no urchins. He stopped before he dug in, waiting for that nervous feeling to warn him. There was no such feeling; this place was safe to eat. Careful of the lighted window, he snuck past it to the garbage by the door. Lifting the lid, he looked inside, the smell of half rotten food drifting up his nose. The smell never bothered him; it was new street urchins who had a difficult time with it.

Plunging his hand into the trash, he bit his tongue awkwardly as he searched for anything edible. A half hour later, he sat down beside the garbage, pleased by what he got. Two chicken legs with meat on both ends of the bone, a still good roll with only a bit of mold he picked off, the ends of various vegetables, and even a half eaten apple that was still good. He was extra lucky this night. He enjoyed his meal, waving at other kids who passed by.

“I’ll be right back,” someone from inside said loudly. “I’ve just got to throw this out!”

Martin froze. Someone was coming out? Why wasn’t he warned? Before he could get up and run, a large woman opened the door and nearly stepped on him.

“Oh dear,” she said, seeing him. “Seems we have rats again.” Martin shivered. Not a good sign when someone called you a rat. He almost ran when the woman smiled down at him. “Don’t worry, young child,” she said softly. “Just stay here a moment and I’ll be right back.” She closed the door. Martin knew if he had a chance to get away, now would have been the time, but he was rooted to the spot.

“Did you forget something?” another voice asked, and not too kindly either.

“I did,” the woman answered. There was a scuffing sound. “I’ll be back again.”

The woman returned with something wrapped in a white cloth. She patted his head and gave it to him.

“It would be unwise to return here,” she told him, placing something else in his hands. “I don’t want to see you again. Is that understood?”

Martin nodded his head vigorously. The woman smiled. “Good. Now, get out of here before the guards come out.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Running as fast as he could, he didn’t stop until two streets over. Breathing hard, he found a dark place to sit and see what she gave him. He gasped as he opened the white cloth. It was some bread and cheese, neither rotting nor molding. Quickly tying the cloth back up again, he checked his other hand. He froze.

It was a candy.

Candy was rare. The only time he ever had one before was when he helped a merchant calm his horse. The candy had been his reward. This one was almost the same. It was dark in color and it got soft the longer it rested in his hands. Before he could stop himself, he stuffed it into his mouth. He savored how it melted and went down his throat. Candy was so good. Licking his hand, he knew he had been doubly lucky that night, despite the beating earlier.

Really time to get home. If he didn’t, someone else would move in. He stuffed the bread and cheese down his shirt before getting up and leaving. The street urchins continued their foraging; some would be at it all night to get full stomachs. Martin ate enough to stave off hunger. Eating yourself full just made an easier, slower, bigger, and sleepier target.

The trip to his home was short. Walking past the houses, the moonlight revealed the bridge he slept under. Bridges were highly coveted among the urchins. Only the older ones could sleep under them. It’s only been three months since he moved in when the previous urchin joined a gang. Age was finally working for him.

Walking along side the bank, he approached his bridge when he noticed two shadows moving toward his spot. He sighed. It seemed that he was going to have to throw out whoever they were. Street urchins might be nice to each other, but lines were drawn.

“Do ya think he left?” one of the shadows said, peering under the bridge where his stuff was. “He didn’t take anythin’.”

“I don’t think he would if he’s dead,” snapped the other. “I can’t wait for him to get back. Let’s take it.”

Martin snorted. “No, you won’t.”

The two shadows froze and spun around. Martin recognized the two. They were the next two street urchins under him. When he left the bridge, they would move in.

“Martin,” the first one said. This was Penn; a sniveling coward who followed the other, Cleck. “Ya’re back.”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he snapped, using Penn’s slang. “Whatcha doin’ here? Tyrin’ ta take what’s mine?”

Cleck stood taller. The young boy was going to be a monstrous mountain of a man if he grew up to be that old. His bully attitude may get him there; it may also kill him. “This spot’s ours,” he challenged. “You didn’t come back in time.”

Martin snorted again. “Right. It’s my place and I’m not giving it up. Got it? Now leave before I make you.”

“I think you’re going to have to,” Cleck sneered, casually slapping Penn. “You’ve got to get past us.”

Martin glared. “Fine.” Before either boy could act, he charged them. He brought his knee up to Penn’s stomach, dropping the coward. Cleck managed to step to the side, but Martin was quicker. Swinging his arm around, he hit the larger boy at the back of his neck. Cleck fell with a cry. Not giving the boy a chance to get up, Martin jumped on top of him, pressing his elbow into the small of his back.

“Now,” he whispered, digging his elbow more into Cleck’s back. “Are you going to leave my place alone?”

“Yes!” Cleck cried, tears streaming down his face. “We’ll leave it alone.”

“Good,” Martin snapped, quickly stepping back from him, placing himself between them and his spot. “Go.”

Neither boy looked back as they ran away. Martin snorted. They were a year younger than him and were always trying to take his place. He waited until they were out of sight before ducking under a support beam and checking his spot. A thin sheet covered his spot, strung up between two support beams that protected the place from most weather. He pulled the sheet back and, with a single glance, knew nothing had been taken.

His bed, a worn pallet some innkeeper had thrown out, was pushed up against the wall. The different sort of blankets he had found were neatly arranged and his pillow, an old vegetable sack filled with straw, were waiting for him to sleep. He side stepped the shallow hole in the ground, a pit used for fire when the nights were too cold, and sat on his bed. The only other things in his hovel were candle stubs left from the pervious owner, a knife he carried only when he woke up feeling really nervous, and a few clothes.

“Home,” he sighed. Reaching into his shirt, he pulled the bread and cheese out. He turned to the back wall and pulled out a loose brick, revealing a hiding spot. He put the precious food inside and replaced the brick. About to lie down for the night, he remembered something else.

Reaching into his shirt again, he pulled out his lucky glove. Martin turned it over in his hands, trying to remember where he picked it up. For as long as he could remember, it was in his possession. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that good things happened when he had it. Some small part of him believed it was magic, but the other argued that it wasn’t. If someone was going to make a magic glove, it would have a partner and looked more… magical. This was plain brown with a dark green trim.

On a whim, he pulled it on his right hand. It reached his elbow. Laying back down, he gazed at his gloved hand.

If this were so lucky, I should be in a home. The thought was bitter, but it was the truth. What luck was there with getting beaten? Or having your food or spot stolen? Martin sighed, letting his hand drop. He was lucky. A decent meal with food for tomorrow. Candy even. He wasn’t beaten to death and would recover faster than others.

But he still wished for a home. Turning over, he looked at the sheet covering his spot. Martin didn’t remember a home, no parents, no siblings, not a proper roof over his head, not even a name. The only reason he had a name was because an old lady said he needed one. She called him Martin after one of the Seven Founders of Aeterna. She told him it was said that anyone named after a Seven Founder would find the same traits as them. Martin of the Seven Founders was extremely smart.

The kid burrowed under his blankets, doubting being smart would get him out of this life.

If only I could get to Aeterna, he thought closing his eyes. It was perhaps the dream of every street urchin at Loman to get to Aeterna. There, anyone with enough hard work and determination could get somewhere. Martin yawned, hoping his dreams carried him to that mystic, wonderful place, where he could find a home.
***************
You know, I’m not really nice to Martin. Again, I’m sorry that I won’t be able to continue with adult Martin’s story, but I hope this eases the pain of waiting another week. I really do need to get my DICAS done.

Speaking of DICAS, look what I found as I was looking for material for my application!



That’s right! It’s the notebook I started writing Martin’s story in! My goodness. I was a crappy writer. No really. I spelled duke as “duck,” Chief was often spelled wrong, and don’t get me started on the lame plot and two dimensional characters. It’s amazing what ten years, a laptop, and a lot of practice can do for a story.

Got to go. DICAS won’t get done without my input. Enjoy the journey!

The Reason

I think one of the hardest things to do is try to name these posts. I mean, I don’t want to give too much away about what the post is about, but at the same time, I don’t want to be too vague. Oh, some posts are easy to name. Such as “Fred’s Secret”, “Martin’s Entrance”, and so on, but there are other posts that I have trouble naming.

Such as this one.

Other names I considered for this post: “How is the Land Divided?” “Escape” or even “Depression.” However, I picked “The Reason” because this post will reveal the truth behind Martin’s kidnapping. Last time, Luke was killed, Martin revealed as the prince, and he was captured by the enemy. Time for the hero to act.
************
When Martin finally woke up, he didn’t open his eyes. His emotions were too raw, too fresh. He didn’t want to wake up; it would be better if he were still unconscious. Even without opening his eyes, he knew he was in one of the mansion’s dungeons, laying on a rock hard cot. There were shackles on his wrists, the iron digging into his skin. He guessed the chain that was laying on top of his stomach was attached to the wall. They must have hurried to put him in here; they hadn’t even frisked him for weapons. He could feel the hilt of one of his blades digging into his ankle from inside his boot. All this he knew without even opening his eyes.

And he didn’t care.

What did it matter? He was captured by Terk, the other captives knew he was the prince, and his best friend was dead.

He let out a low moan, though he wanted to sob. Luke was dead. Dead because of his stupid mistake. Why couldn’t he have revealed himself as prince sooner? Would it have really hurt, letting the queen know the truth that day when his glove was discovered? Was he really that selfish to think he could keep this a secret for the rest of his life?

Yes, he thought bitterly. I thought I could keep on living like nothing had happened. I was too afraid of what they wanted me to be. No, that wasn’t true. He had been afraid of not living up to what they wanted him to be.

But it didn’t matter now. Luke was dead, he was captured, and Terk was going to finish whatever he had started seventeen years ago when he had kidnapped him.

“Santer!”

It was that voice again. Martin ignored it.

“Santer! Snap out of it!” It didn’t want to go away.

He snorted. Why?

“Because you’ve got to get out of here! Before they can create that permanent block!”

Let them, he thought, not caring.

“We know you’re suffering…”

You think?

“But we aren’t going to lose you now! Get up!”

Make me.

He could tell that he had just annoyed the voice. “Fine! We’re going to take away that depression of yours. You’ll get it back once you go to sleep.”

Then I’ll fall asleep once you’ve taken it away.

“No you won’t! We won’t let you sleep. Not until you’re safe! Now, get up!”

Martin yelped, a shock running through him. “Oh,” he groaned, putting a hand to his forehead, slowly sitting up. Why was he depressed?

“Now,” the voice went on, “Get to work. Escape, tell Commander Bentley what’s happened. Free everyone here.” Before he could reply, the voice was gone.

That’s a tall order they want, he thought, rubbing a large bump on his head.

“So,” said an oily voice. “You’re awake. Finally.”

Martin looked up. As he knew, he was in one of the cells beneath the mansion. He was sitting on an old hard cot and his wrists were shackled, the chain attached to the wall. But his attention was at the door. There was a small barred window in it and Terk’s face was filling it.

“I suppose I am,” he growled, his hate for this man shaking his frame. “Too afraid to come in here, Terk? Afraid that a chained Santer might be able to break something other than your nose?”

“You’ll pay for that,” Terk snapped through the bars. It must have been a while since the ballroom. Terk’s nose looked like it had been fixed, though there was still dried blood on his face. “I’ve just come to inform you about your fate.”

“I’m going to escape,” Martin sneered. “I always have.”

“Not this time,” Terk growled. “My mage is currently working on a way to permanently block your powers. He’s warned me that it might destroy your mind.”

Martin snorted. “I don’t know why you should bother.” His training kicked in. With Terk in high emotion, now would be the time to find out why he had really been kidnapped. “The Santer powers have always been Aeternan politics. Why should you care about my stronger than average powers?”

Terk gazed at him down his long nose. “I suppose I do owe you answers. Were you aware that your grandfather, King Bert, and I were friends? Good ones.” Martin nodded. He had suspected it when he saw a likeness of Terk on his grandfather’s tomb.

“He trusted me,” Terk went on, his black eyes distant as he recalled the past. “I wasn’t involved really in Aeternan politics, any politics for that matter. I was more interested in military stratagem than noble backstabbing. We were good friends because we did not share the same world. We wrote letters for years… Then toward the end of his life, he started writing about his powers… Santer powers that were getting stronger. Strong enough to affect the land…”

“That’s an Aeternan problem,” Martin pointed out.

Terk shook his head, suddenly looking like a very tired man. It was then that Martin remembered that the Mad General was nearly sixty, despite the black hair. “How is land divided, Martin Santer? Is it by lines on a map? Treaties after wars?” The general’s face darkened. “No. The land is not divided. It flows from valleys, to mountains, rivers, hills… The land is continuous.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Martin asked, getting a bit annoyed. He couldn’t tell if it was that Spirit getting annoyed or himself.

“Bert visited my estates a year before you were born,” Terk growled. “He sneezed. Just sneezed, and my entire mansion shook! He was terrified of what had happened, so far from Aeterna. He promised me that he’d find out why his powers suddenly got strong and how he might get rid of it.

“The next month I got a letter from him, explaining the Renewal Spell.” His voice got steadily louder as he explained. “It was then, Santer, that I realized that the Seven Founders didn’t merge the magic of Aeterna to your family line. They merged the magic of the land, the entire earth, to you!” Terk took a deep breath, his frame shaking with anger.

“It was wrong of them,” he hissed. “They shouldn’t have given anyone that sort of power. I vowed that I would find a way to stop the Santers from having that power ever again. I told nothing of my vow to Bert. He kept writing letters, saying how people viewed him as insane, and finally, how he might be able to rid himself of the powers. I was relieved. I thought I wouldn’t have to act out against my friend. But his solution wasn’t what I wanted…”

“No,” Martin said softly, finishing for the general. “He passed the powers to me.”

“You are a freak, Martin Santer,” Terk growled. “One that shouldn’t have powers. I knew I couldn’t outright kill you. Killing the Santer line would result in killing the land. So I merely sought out a way to stop your powers.”

“The Inhibitor,” Martin sighed, everything suddenly making sense. Terk didn’t like things rising above their places. Mortals who could affect the land, all land, fell into that category.

“So I invaded Aeterna shortly before Bert’s death and your birth, for the sole purpose of getting you. The Inhibitor was placed and I knew it had worked,” Terk said, grinning. “Sara was born without powers.” His expression darkened again, glaring at him. “But I didn’t have you in my possession, like I planned. I would have returned you, once I knew the block worked. But the pirates double crossed me and I lost you.”

“Sir,” said a solider Martin couldn’t see. “The mage would like a word.”

“Very well,” Terk said to the soldier. Turning back, the general grinned. “It’s nothing personal, Santer. I just don’t want the land to rip itself apart. Goodnight.” He slammed the door of the small window, leaving Martin in the dark.

“Huh,” Martin mused, leaning his back against the stone wall. The conversation was defiantly enlightening. He suspected that Terk had kidnapped him for a reason, and that reason wasn’t because he was the crown prince and he had just lost a war.

I should feel something, he thought, waiting for his eyes to grow adjusted to the dark. Angry, sad… something. He knew it was the Spirit. It wasn’t just holding back whatever depression he had; it was suppressing all of his emotions. He had work to do and his emotions would be getting in the way.

Once his eyes had adjusted, he reached into his pocket and got out his lock picks. They really should have frisked him when they had a chance. He made quick work of the shackles. Once he was free, he walked to the door and listened closely. There were two guards outside, judging from the conversation outside. He couldn’t quite make it out, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he knew they were there.

Martin tried to open himself to the emotions, but found nothing. Of course, he thought, kneeling down and looking at the lock from the inside, they’ve Inhibited me again. Terk probably figured that he would be lost without his powers.

He was a foolish man, thinking like that.

Martin carefully examined the lock. It was embedded in the door and just as accessible from the inside as it was from the outside. A problem that he really should address to Gerlend about later; any fool with the right tools and knowledge could get out. Using his lock picks, he carefully unlocked the door so that it didn’t click loudly once open. Sure that the guards outside noticed nothing, he stood back up. Now for the fun part.

BANG!

Martin kicked the door open. It swung hard and hit one of the guards, knocking him out cold. The other guard fumbled to get his spear into position when Martin hit the man on the neck, hitting the nerve that immediately rendered him unconscious. It was all over in less than a minute.

These men are also wearing Aeternan uniforms, Martin noticed, debating what his next move should be. He needed to get out of the mansion and the best way for that was to go unnoticed. The mansion laundry was the next floor up, he knew. Surely he could filch his own size. Leaving the men sprawled in the hall, he dashed away. He couldn’t rely on his powers to warn him of others coming, so he had done a lot of ducking into unused rooms until he finally reached the laundry.

Not even fifteen minutes after his escape, he walked out of the laundry, dressed in a blue Aeternan uniform of a lieutenant, a hat casting shadows over his face. Adopting a purposeful stride, he walked out of the mansion. There were several other false Aeternans walking post, but they paid him no notice. They figured he was just another Venter soldier, doing some errand for an officer. When he was outside, he saw that it was dark. Perhaps midnight? Later?

Sure that no one was following him, Martin walked into the small forest. He was sure that Terk would have set up some magical barrier to keep people from entering or leaving the mansion without his permission. However, there was a small Aeternan tradition most people ignored.

Martin came to the short wall that surrounded the Grelend estates. Aeternan tradition dictated that an oak tree had to be planted at least once near the outer wall of every fort, mansion, or otherwise enclosed area. It was a tradition that had been in place when Fort Marrow was magically buried. The only reason those inside were saved was because of the spy who had planted an oak tree in the courtyard. Oaks were magical trees and could resist magical attack. It was that same oak that still stood over the fort, a place the spy’s called the Tree. His home of the last eight years.

The oak he came to was no where near as large as the one standing over the Tree, perhaps only thirty years old. But that didn’t matter. It was taller than the wall, its branches reaching over the wall. Taking a deep breath, Martin climbed the oak, not daring to look down. The Spirit may be suppressing his emotions, but he didn’t think that it would be able to suppress his fear of heights. When he started to crawl on a branch over the wall, he shivered. He could feel the magic, cold and dragging, trying to keep him from moving forward. But the magic of the oak was older, stronger. He gasped in air the moment he was past the barrier.

Dropping to the ground, he glanced around the outside of the wall. There were no patrols and it seemed that he was on the edge of the town, a few large houses of merchants near by. That meant that the army was close.

Martin ran off. The sooner he warned Bentley of what happened, the sooner he could return to his depression.
***********
“What?” Terk roared, knocking over the table he was sitting at, spilling his very late dinner across the room. “What do you mean? Escaped!”

“I’m afraid so, my lord,” said the sorry looking soldier, bowing his head. “When we went to change the guards, they were knocked unconscious. A search has been issued, but no news yet.”

Terk went to hit the unfortunate soldier, but managed to keep his hand back. He instead whipped around to the mage, a short stocky man with limp dull hair. He too had been enjoying the meal until just now.

“Can you still block him?” Terk demanded to know. “Can you make that block permanent without him?”

“Yes,” the mage replied, flinching. “But it will take longer. A week at the least without the prince here.”

Terk turned his back on both of them, fuming. “Very well,” he hissed, looking out into the night. “If he wants to play games, then let’s play. Inform everyone to keep searching for the prince. If they find him, bring him in, any force necessary short of killing him. He can’t get out of the grounds with the barrier up. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The soldier left, no doubt feeling lucky that he had got away without any punishment. Terk could only smirk. He would save his anger for the prince. That one deserved a beating.
************
Commander Jim Bentley was sleeping peacefully when his aid woke him up. It took him a moment to get bearing of his surroundings. It was a tent, not his usual room at the mansion. There had been troubles in the outer army about how they felt neglected. He had decided to spend a few days among these men, learning of their moral and how to fix it.

“What is it?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. He shivered a bit in the night air; it had started getting colder at night. A sign of fall coming.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” his aid said, fidgeting. The young man was still dressed in his nightshirt. “But someone is here to see you.”

“What’s wrong with seeing me in the morning?” Bentley snapped, half tempted to crawl back into bed. “It’s after midnight! Tell whoever it is that it will just have to wait until morning.” His eyes were already closing with sleep.

“I tried to tell him that, but he insisted,” the aid sighed. “He said you’d like to talk to him. Said his name is Martin Stevens…”

Jim blotted out of bed, wide awake. The Alex, here? What for? Last he knew was that Martin had been taking Sara to the outpost on the other side of Raven Pass. He wasn’t supposed to be here until afternoon. The spy wouldn’t be here without a good reason, however, and Jim refused to repeat his father’s mistake.

Outside his tent stood the spy, dressed in an Aeternan uniform and holding a hat in his hands. For the most part, the Alex looked fine, at least he didn’t look injured in any way. Even his military stance didn’t speak of any danger, but… This was the Alex, trained to be calm and dismissed. He could probably be dying from a gut wound and they wouldn’t know it.

“Ghost Stevens,” Bentley said formally, even though the Alex wore an Aeternan uniform of lieutenant ranking. “This is a surprise.”

“My appearance here is not the surprise,” the Alex said in a dull tone, as if he were giving the most boring report in the world. “Terk has taken the mansion over and is currently holding everyone inside hostage.”

Bentley blinked. “What?” Surely he heard wrong.

“Terk and a small arms have taken over the mansion,” he repeated, still in that unconcerned tone. “I suspect that they took over with the changing of the guards today.”

“I ordered no such change.”

Martin shrugged. “That does not matter. There was a change of guards. Your guards have been replaced by the enemy and they are currently holding everyone inside captive.”

Bentley started pacing, fighting to keep his panic down. There would only be one reason why Terk would take the mansion. The Mad General was after the prince. He froze.

“The prince?” he asked, hesitantly. “Did he find the prince?” The only reason why Terk would invade was if he knew how to find the prince.

“The prince is safe for the moment,” the Alex said, flinching. “But I don’t know how long that safety will last.”

“Hubert!” Bentley snapped. His aid came to attention, saluting.

“Yes sir!”

“Rouse the commanders,” he ordered. “Get the war tent ready. We’ve got to plan an invasion.”

“What should I tell them that we’re invading?” the aid asked, shooting a curious glance at the Alex. He was probably wondering what this “lieutenant” had reported.

“The mansion, Hubert. We’re invading the mansion.”
*************
The pale morning light of the sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon and the commanders were still arguing about how to invade the mansion. Bentley wanted to scream in frustration. While he was in charge of security of the mansion, outside he had very little authority. He was, as the older commanders kept calling him, a newbie. Did it matter to them that he had learned under some of the greatest military minds of their armies? No. Did it matter that he had already fought several battles in this war? No. He was the newbie who needed to be told how to invade a single mansion. Besides, the enemy took the mansion under his watch. Obviously he didn’t know anything.

When they had been gathered, the Alex introduced himself, getting many shocked looks. He explained the situation at the mansion and the strength of the enemy. When it was asked how he managed to escape, he was a bit vague on the details.

“It doesn’t matter how I escaped,” he said. “It will not be helpful to you.”

Now, having spent half the night arguing, they still had no plan to take the mansion back. Yawning, Jim accepted the piece of toast the camp kitchen had sent over. There were three other commanders, older men who had fought under King Bret. Each man was a bit different on how they thought to take over the mansion. Each idea, he could see, had its benefits, but none of them really could work. One plan forgot about the magic barrier. Another placed the hostages in danger. The last involved the most bloodshed.

You’d think that they would know how to work with each other, Bentley thought, munching on his toast. While these men weren’t the greatest of Aeterna’s military minds, they were still good commanders and followed after the great generals. Rolling his eyes as they brought up another topic that they had once dismissed, he glanced around the command tent and spotted the Alex sitting by himself.

The poor man was asked to stay, to answer any questions that he might have missed in his report. He looked dead to their arguing, yawning as he also accepted a piece of toast from the kitchen helper. Shaking his head, Bentley stood up and walked over to the spy. The other commanders wouldn’t notice if he had a quiet conversation with the Alex. The spy didn’t look up when he approached and knelt down next to him.

“When was the last time you slept?” Bentley asked, noticing the bags under the spy’s eyes.

“Um,” he said, the first hesitance he had seen in the spy since meeting him. “I, uh, woke up yesterday morning… Terk had me knocked out for a little bit, but I don’t think that’d count as a restful sleep.”

Bentley frowned. The Alex had failed to mention that he had an encounter with the Mad General. “Then go get some rest,” he said, smiling a bit. No doubt the spy would do whatever it took to free those in the mansion. Bravery and loyalty had a time and place, but there were limits. “You need some rest. I don’t think they’ll miss you if you go take a nap.”

“I can’t go to sleep,” the Alex sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Of course you can,” Bentley tried to encourage. “You deserve a nap. Besides, you can’t help us if you’re half asleep when we are ready to attack.”

“No,” Martin said, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. I can’t fall asleep.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.

The Alex sighed. “If I fall asleep I will be of no use to you.” He held up a hand when he was going to protest. “I am sure that you’ll wake me up if you need me, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He took a deep breath. “I should be so thoroughly depressed right now that I shouldn’t be able to function, little alone have escaped and warned you. But they’re,” this word he spat out, “keeping my depression back and I get it back the moment I fall asleep. And they won’t let me sleep until I see this through. I’m glad that you’re concerned for me, but I just can’t sleep now.” He bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “They won’t let me.”

“They?” Bentley asked, suddenly more worried. Taking a closer look at the spy, he realized there was something wrong. Something in his eyes, his eyes were as dead as any man could get without being dead. It made him shiver; he had seen too many men with that look before giving up. “Were you poisoned? A new poison that’s the opposite of Nightmare Dust? It keeps you awake during your nightmares?”

Martin chuckled, the first emotion he had seen in the spy since arriving. “No. I’m not poisoned. And the enemy has nothing to do with my lack of sleep. You’ll understand when we get the mansion back.”

“That wasn’t a vague answer at all,” Bentley snorted. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Martin glanced at the arguing commanders. “You’ll know later, I promise. After we take the mansion back.”
**************
After they take the mansion back. Now doesn’t that sound ominous? I hope I’ve shaken everyone up with the last post, by the way. What seemed like a plot moving right along has suddenly taken an unexpected turn. Where is the new direction going to take Martin? Well, you’re just going to have to keep on reading.

Until next week, enjoy the journey!