Meeting at the Tree

Here's the second post for the week. I know it's not my regular Thursday edition, but I had my Spring Break goal to consider. I have watched all the Batman movies in the house (that's six, count 'em, six Batman movies). Finished yesterday, so today, I'll keep my other promises. Reviewing last post: The object Martin stole from the Venter camp is an Inhibitor, something used to suppress magic. Connecting it to the Santers, he believes it is suppressing the Aeternan ruler's powers. Then we get a bit of Martin's background, how he was a street urchin at Loman, brought to Aeterna by Fred Chief (and yes, we'll hear a lot more from this character), and how he's had to work at everything to prove himself to others. We also learn that Martin has a lucky charm which is a lone glove. The twist comes when the Inhibitor and his lucky glove touch and Martin starts having nightmares.

Are we done with the reviews yet? Yes. Now, I think it's time for characters to meet.
*************
They had been traveling for two weeks. Sara wondered if she would ever get used to riding a horse astride. She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, wincing as she settled her sore bottom back down.

“Adventures aren’t all you thought they were, are they?” Abigail snickered. Sara shot an angry look at the queen. How had her mother managed to go all this way and still look as relaxed as if they were still in the palace?

“I guess there are a lot of things I never knew about Mother,” she thought, shifting to a somewhat less painful position. It was a realization she did not want to confront. Of all the people who controlled her life, the queen was the worst. She said no more often than yes. Sara had a sneaking suspicion that her mother made certain she knew where she was at all times. Often, Sara wondered just how many spies Abigail employed to watch over her.

This trip didn’t help with their relationship either. The queen had shown great experience in the trip, like knowing how to barter and flirt. That last one nearly shocked her out of her normal act around her mother. She knew the flirting wasn’t serious, everyone knew how much her parents had loved each other; Abigail had refused to marry again. But there was her mother, flirting with the innkeeper so they could get their rooms at a lower price! Most surprising of all was that it worked.

“Why didn’t she share these things with me?” she thought indigently. It was a mother’s duty to teach her daughter everything she thought important enough for her to know before going out into the world. Did her mother honestly think that she shouldn’t know how to deal with people like that? Or was she too ashamed to admit she knew more than a noblewoman should?

“How much longer until we get to the Tree?” she asked, determined to not allow the pain to show on her face.

“Oh,” the queen said, shading her eyes with a hand as she regarded the sun high in the sky. “I’d say we’ll get there before the sun sets.”

“Really?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

Queen Abigail chuckled. “Yes. Let’s pick up our pace. I’d rather be there sooner than that.” She tapped her horse with her heels to speed the horse up. Sara was quick to follow.

Two days after they left Nacre, her mother finally told her where they were going. Sara tired to remember everything she had heard about the Tree, a place once called Fort Marrow. Back when Aeterna was still a young nation, fighting for their rights as such, a fort had been built. The greatest magicians and architects had designed it to be the most defensible outpost in history. For hundred of years it lived up to it reputation until a large group of magicians finally came up with a plan to defeat it. They had been unable to attack it strait on, so they found another way.

They buried it under the ground, people and all.

She had thought that was the end of the story until her mother told her otherwise. A spy apparently found out and had planted an oak tree, the most magical of trees, in the courtyard of the fort. While the fort was sunk, the oak kept above ground and thus a link for the buried people to the world above.

“Now the unbreakable fort is the sanctuary for spies. How fitting. No one knows about the fort, just how they make their living.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in silence. Sara was just fine with that. With each passing mile, she grew more excited. At first she was a bit uneasy with the idea of hiding among people who spent their lives outside acceptable social morals. But it grew on her. These were people who could break the rules and get away with it. Perhaps she could learn a few things.

They had entered the forest earlier the day and it had grown thicker the longer they traveled. “It’s said this is one of the largest forests in the world. They say it takes a month to pass through it.” It was also said that even the best of trackers could get lost in the vast woods.

“And I believe it.” She shivered, glancing toward the setting sun. Ah hour earlier, her mother had steered off the road and didn’t seem to be following any sort of path. Sara wished she knew where they were going.

“There it is,” Abigail suddenly said, stopping her horse. “The Tree, home of our spies.”

Sara gasped at the sight before her. It was the largest tree she had ever seen in her life. It reached high into the darkening sky, the leaves rustling more loudly than any one tree should. Her mother clicked her horse forward and rode between two massive roots. Sara followed after, gaping as she stared at the roots taller than her. Turning with the bend, she noticed the large doors with iron handles embedded in the trunk.

“Don’t gape, dear,” her mother said, nodding to someone above. Sara was startled to see people hiding in the roots above them. “You’re a princess of Aeterna. Try to act the part.”

Sara took in a deep breath. There her mother went again. But she finally managed to school her face. Time to enter her new home.

********

“It’s your own fault, Luke,” Martin yawned, leaning back in his chair. “You shouldn’t have gone around dressed like your dad and teaching his classes.”

Thomas laughed at their friend’s expense. Luke scowled at the both of them. “Hey,” he said, “it’s our duty to impersonate people. I was just practicing.”

Martin chuckled, glancing at his two friends. For the trouble makers they were, Luke and Thomas were the two people he never had to prove himself.

Thomas was the sloppiest young man he ever knew, his black hair would have reached his shoulders if he bothered to brush it. The clothes he wore looked as if he slept in them for a week. At times, it smelt that way too. He also dressed in clothes two sizes too big, making him seem extra short. Despite his unclean appearance, he was the lightest fingered thief he had ever met, including those from off the streets. Not too bad for a runaway.

Luke, on the other hand, was taller and clean. His strait sandy hair kept falling into his light blue eyes. He was more like Martin, in many ways, with a plain face and accent, but his height put him at a disadvantage. But he used his height well in what he specialized in. Assassination. Luke could use any weapon with deadly accuracy and knew most poisons by smell. Martin reasoned that was because Luke had more spies in his family history than any other family in the world.

“Still,” he teased, closing his eyes and leaning his head farther back. “You got caught impersonating an officer. I’m surprised you got such light duty for your punishment.”

Luke snorted, glaring at their surroundings. “I hate traffic duty.” One of the few rooms above ground was the stables where all spies came in and out of. Several people dashed around the stables, feeding animals, shoveling away dung, and repairing harnesses and carts. They lounged by the large oak doors leading outside, waiting for anyone who needed to pass through the doors.

“I don’t like all this spare time,” Luke grumbled, flipping the pages of the log of the comings and goings. “I feel useless doing this. Think of all the things I could be doing if I didn’t have to wait here for someone to show up.”

“I think that was the idea in the first place,” Thomas snickered, dealing out the cards. “Another round, Martin? I’ve only won three out of five games.”

“No thanks. I’d rather keep my well earned coin a bit longer.” Normally, he gladly took the chance to try to catch Thomas cheating, but other things occupied his mind.

“Hey,” Luke suddenly said, frowning. “Is something the matter? You’ve been sort of out of it since you got back last night.”

Martin didn’t argue on that point. It had taken merchant caravan a week to get back to the Firth. During those nights on the road, he was plagued with nightmares. Each time he closed his eyes, he found himself remembering things he rather not. Being beaten near to death each time a gang found him. Watching as others suffer in the harsh underworld. He watched each disappointment, each tragedy, each miserable moment of his life.

It had to do with the Inhibitor. The Santer Magic was freed and he suspected he was suffering from side effects of being close to the magic. The vague power of the Aeternan Rulers was ancient, as old as Aeterna itself. It was also powerful. He gladly gave up the Inhibitor to Suit the moment he got back, hoping that the distance between him and it would lessen the dreams.

He was wrong, the nightmares only got worse. Last night, he barely got any restful sleep.

“There’s got to be more about this,” he thought, rubbing his nose and considering what he was going to tell his friends. At least he hadn’t talked with the man in the mirror again.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he finally told his friends.

“Any reason why?” Thomas asked, putting his deck away.

Martin shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He paused. He could at least be somewhat honest with them. “I just have this feeling that something is going to happen. I don’t know what, just…. Something.”

His friends frowned; they knew the importance of what he said. One of the other strange things about him was that he knew things. It was small things, he knew when someone was sneaking up on him or if someone was lying. At times, he could tell if something big would happen, either to himself or others.

“Do you suppose,” Luke said slowly, “that we’re going to get in some sort of trouble?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “It’s a strange feeling. It’s both good and bad.”

“How can something be good and bad?” Thomas asked.

“As I said,” he said with another shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

There was a firm knock on the oak doors, startling them out of their strange conversation. Luke grumbled as he slid the door window open to talk to the person outside.

“Yes?” he asked, a suspicious look on his face. “May I help you?”

“You will open the door,” commanded a strong female voice. “Now. We’ve come a long way and we want a rest.”

“Forgive me,” Luke snorted, “But I’m going to need your names before I let you in.”

“I am Abigail Santer, Queen of Aeterna. And also my daughter. Princess Sara. Now, young man, are you going to let your rulers stay out here all night or are you going to let us in?”

Luke moved fast to open the door. Martin and Thomas sprang to their feet as the queen swept in. Martin had seen her on a few occasions and found her more impressive up close. Her light hair was tied in a loose bun, her slender figure was more commanding than frail, and her gray eyes told everyone that she demanded respect. Her powerful presence almost overshadowed the young girl who followed.

The young girl was a younger version of the queen, although the girl had a sour expression instead of a commanding one. Martin had to cover his laugh, looking at the princess. She moved stiffly, no doubt from her journey. The princess must have had a rough time of coming.

“Your Majesty,” Luke said, bowing respectfully. “It is an honor.”

“Where is Commander Suit?” she asked, handing her horse to the stable hand that had come running. The princess also gave the reigns to the man. She looked rather annoyed about something.

“He’s in his office,” Thomas answered. “Going over reports.”

“Good.” The queen looked around the stables and gave a satisfied nod.

“Would you like me to escort you to his office?” Luke offered, his grin obvious about his intentions to abandon his punishment.

“Luke,” he cut in, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to stay here. Think of what Suit would assign to you if you leave.” Luke scowled. Martin bowed to the queen.

“It would be my honor to escort you to Suit’s office.”

“Very well,” she replied, nodding her head gracefully. “Lead the way.”

**********
Though Abigail already knew the way to the Spy Master’s office, she let the young man led the way. Glancing back, she felt like smiling at Sara’s amazed expression.

“Not what you expected?” she quietly asked her daughter. No doubt the young spy they were following would listen in on their conversation.

“Not really,” Sara admitted, her eyes wide as she took in the soft gray stones of the old fort. She frowned to see the moss growing on the walls and floor. “I guess I was expecting more…” She floundered with her words.

“More people who look like thieves and cutthroats?” the young man suggested, glancing back. “Trust me, most of us are. It’s just that Suit expects us to be on best behavior while we’re under his post.” He smirked at her surprised face before looking back to where they were going.

“You’d better get used to those with good ears,” Abigail whispered in her daughter’s ear. “If you thought you didn’t have privacy in the palace, after two weeks here, you’re going to realize just how private it was.”

“And I’m going to be safe here?” she hissed back.

“Under Suit’s command,” she explained, “these troublemakers are more trusted than those at court. These people try to be as honest as possible. I suspect that’s because they find they lie too much in their jobs already.”

Sara thought about that, gazing intently at their guide’s back. “Do you know who he is?” She nodded at the young man.

“I suspect he’s Suit’s apprentice, Martin.” She also eyed the young spy. She had heard enough of the promising student to point him out. His plain appearance and quick wit was something Suit had been proud of, though she knew the Spy Master had nothing to do with either. He was just swollen with pride that he managed to grab the gifted young man before anyone else could.

“Here we are,” the young spy suddenly said, opening a door for them. He bowed respectfully as they swept past him and into the room. A short chubby man with balding hair sat behind a desk. Martin closed the door behind him, walked over to the desk, and tapped on the large pile of papers.

“Keeping busy, eh, Robby?”

Robby looked up from the paperwork, scrunching his round features. “Of course I’m busy,” he snapped, putting his pen down with a snap. “Something I’ve noticed you don’t do unless ordered.” Martin shrugged. “Suit wants all the information he can get about the possible kidnapping plot of Sara Santer before anything happens to her.”

“Don’t bother.” The young spy grinned impishly. “She’s already here.”

Robby finally noticed them, his eyes growing wide. Fumbling, he hurried out of his chair and bowed. “Your Majesty, Your Highness, it’s an honor.”

“We will see Suit now,” Abigail commanded, putting her hands on her hips. “Unless the Spy Master is doing anything important…” She left it hanging.

“I’ll announce you,” Robby stuttered. In three short steps, he was at the other door, knocking softly. He cringed at the bellowing from the other side.

“What is it?”

“Important guests, sir.”

“Don’t they know how busy I am? Never mind. Show them in.”

With an apologetic face, Robby opened the door and allowed them to enter. Both he and the young man cringed as the Spy Master bellowed another order. “Robby, get someone to send for Martin.”

“Already here, sir,” Martin replied, stepping into the office before them. “But perhaps I should come at another time. Your guests…”

Abigail rolled her eyes. Suit was sometimes too narrow minded for his own good. “Suit,” she said, sweeping into the office, “I refuse to wait any longer.”

The office was the type she liked; functional. A single desk for work, chairs for guest, and the walls covered with books. Behind the oak desk was the Spy Master. Lean and already gray hair, Suit was not what one expected. Despite his old appearance, he was fitter than most men half his age.

“Your Majesty,” the Spy Master said, standing immediately. The shocked expression on his face was priceless. “I was not expecting you.” He frowned when he noticed Sara behind her. “Or Her Highness for that matter. How did you get out of Nacre with no one noticing?”

Abigail chuckled. “My advisors are telling everyone that we went off for a mother-daughter vacation.”

“Ah,” he replied, his expression thoughtful. “That makes sense. Please sit.” Nodding their thanks, they went to sit. Martin, however, went for the door. “You stay, Martin,” Suit commanded. The young man flinched slightly before taking his seat. Suit sat back down and smoothed his short mustache. “Now, Your Excellency, may I ask why we are favored with your surprise visit?”

“We got your word about the kidnapping plot. Rather than risk her being taken before you got all the information, I decided it would be safer for her to be here where you and your spies could keep an eye on her.”

“I see,” Suit replied, leaning back in his chair, still stroking his goatee. “But what of when you return to Nacre without Her Highness?”

“A partial truth.” She smiled smugly. “After a lengthy vacation, I decided that she needed some instructions about manners. The story will go that I enrolled her in a private finishing school, and for purposes of security, I won’t reveal which school I sent her to.”

Suit laughed. “Oh, that’s good!” He took a moment to recover himself. He smiled wickedly as he addressed her daughter. “You will no doubt learn some manners here. We’re quite good at teaching such things. Take Martin here, for example. He was just a regular street thief when he came here. Now he’s almost a respectable citizen.”

“Almost respectable?” Sara asked, eyeing the young spy who was trying not to smile.

“If he were respectable,” Suit pointed out with a chuckle. “Then he wouldn’t be the spy he is. Speaking of my apprentice, there is a reason why I asked him to stay. Martin, please tell Her Majesty about your last mission.”

Martin frowned before addressing her. “About three weeks ago, we received intelligence that Terk had something of worth to the Santer family. We were able to get its location and I stole it back.”

“That’s all?” Sara asked before she could respond.

“Spying is almost never glamorous,” the young spy replied.

Suit opened one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a bag and handed it to the queen. Abigail frowned as she pulled out the silver ball. “And this is?” she asked.

“It’s an Inhibitor,” Suit explained. “We believe it may be suppressing some Santer magic…” But the queen wasn’t listening. There was something else in the bag. Reaching in, she pulled out a glove.

To the casual eye, it was just a regular nobleman’s riding glove. It was made of soft brown leather trimmed with dark green. It had no partner, but she knew that it did not have one. She gasped, shocked to see it. To her eye, she could see the magic. The same magic of her locket.

“Mother?” Sara asked, frowning at the glove. “What is it?”

“He’s alive,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she felt the leather under her fingers.

“My son is alive!”
************
Dots are starting to connect, though some will not believe it. Next week I should be back on track.

The Inhibitor

As I promised, I'm doing two posts this week. (And if you're wondering, Food Service Management test went well. A&P, cough, could have been better). As for review of a couple of weeks ago, Martin made his entrance by getting caught by the Venter army, snuck into their command tent, and stole back something that has a connection to the Santers. I also promised that things will get sticky for those who roll their eyes at predictable story lines.
Now, Martin's life is about to take a drastic turn. Enjoy!
******
The crowded streets of Dettis were the kind of place Martin found prefect for hiding from soldiers. Unfortunately, the soldiers looking for him were a week behind. He would rather have passed through the town instead of sitting outside a pawn shop, waiting for the owner to finally admit him.

Sitting outside the shop, Martin whittled at a flute while he waited. Gently blowing away the shavings, he looked down the length of the flute. He had started on the carving over a month ago, using any spare time to finishing it. Now he was close. Granted, he could already play a tune with it, but he was busy with the details. The whole length of the flute was covered in birds. Rubbing one of them depicted in flight, he carefully pressed the edge of his knife into the wood to create the illusion of feathers.

The street in front of the pawn shop was busy in noonday market. Merchants tried to attract customers with appealing offers, the customers themselves either ignoring or considering. Children ran between legs, laughing as they played their games. Cats curled on window sills while the dogs ran with the kids. Even though their lives went on as normal, there were signs of war. Food and cloth prices were up, people argued more, Aeternan soldiers patrolled the street, looking for trouble and new recruits; there was a sense of tension in the air.

All this Martin knew without looking up from his carved flute. It was the same scene everywhere else in Aeterna. The memories of sixteen years before still haunted the minds of the Aeternan people.

A scene flashed, of Aeterna soldiers dying on some battlement he didn’t know. Venter soldiers finally took the top.

Martin shook his head, ridding the image from his mind. He hated when that happened. He had no idea where the visions came from, but he couldn’t waste his time worrying about them. The visions only lasted a few moments, some gone before he could even see the scene. They were also rare, coming only once every few months or so. He once went a year without seeing one. But they were unimportant, he learned that when he was a street urchin.

“Oh,” complained a nasally voice, “it’s you.”

Martin glanced up from where he sat. The door of the pawn shop was open and the owner staring down at him. The owner was Justin Piro, a man notorious for his bartering skills. Martin had gotten the better of the man twice. Though Piro would never admit it, he was jealous and a bit excited about having a worthy opponent.

“So,” Piro said, folding his arms on top of his oversized gut, “what does Alex want from me this time? A priceless jewel, perhaps? Or do you simply enjoy causing me pain by showing me your smug smirk?”

Martin snorted a laugh. “Nothing so mundane, trust me.” He stuffed his flute in his pack and stood up. “If I could join you inside, I’d like to talk about it.”

Piro looked the length of him, taking in his travel worn clothes and mud covered boots. The merchant was well aware of the half dozen knives he kept on his person. “Fine,” Piro said with a snort and waving him inside. “I doubt I would get any peace until I do.”

Martin followed the merchant inside. The filthy windows muted the bright sunlight from outside, giving the musky shop an unkempt look. Tables with junk piled on top of them filled the room, with only enough space to squeeze between them. Martin tried to not disturb the mess as Piro wove through the maze to his back office. Piro was one of those different sort of merchants, buying and selling anything that came across his path. He suspected the fat man liked never knowing exactly his store has to offer.

“Take yourself a seat,” Piro said, sitting down behind the only neat table in the shop. Martin took one of the more modest chairs. Piro had claimed he could tell much about a person by what chair they picked when they did business.

“Let’s get to business then,” he said, taking out a sheet of paper and grabbing a quill pen.

“I’m not here to sell anything,” Martin replied. “I want to buy some information.”

“Oh,” Piro grumbled, putting his quill back. “One of those transactions. What makes you think I’d have any information to sell?”

“You’re one of the few people I know who can tell me about rare artifacts,” he explained, rummaging through his pack. He found the object he had stolen from the Venter camp. Pulling it out, he showed it to the merchant, who took it. The object was a strange ball, made of what looked like silver. It was cast so there were no seams visible, completely flawless with the exception of the writing. The detail markings on it were in an old language, though the object itself shone brightly as if made the day before.

“Interesting,” Piro said, taking out a pair of magnifying glasses from a drawer and placing it on his face. He held it close to the magnifier, muttering to himself. The merchant examined the strange silver ball for ten minutes before taking his glasses off, giving the young spy a very serious look.

“This,” he said, waving it, “this is big. Where did you find it?”

“That’s for me to know.”

Piro snorted. “As expected from you.” He leaned forward. “If you’re not going to answer my questions, I require payment.”

“As I knew you would,” Martin replied. Reaching back into his bag, he pulled out the flute he was working on. “This should cover the cost.”

“That thing?” Piro asked, offended. “I saw you working on it outside! What use would that be for me?”

Martin gave Piro the smirk he hated. “Sell it. I know my skills are good. You can get a very good price for this.”

Piro frowned before snatching the flute from his outstretched hand. “Alright,” he said, holding the ball out. “I’ll tell you what this is. It’s an Inhibitor.”

It was his turn to frown. “Inhibitor?”

“Don’t they teach you spies anything about magic?” Piro asked, snorting. “An Inhibitor is used to inhibit magic, obviously. They can be in any shape or form, cast in some sort of metal. The different shapes and metals affect the magic in different ways, I don’t know all the small details of it. But this is an Inhibitor.”

“So, what is it supposed to inhibit?”

“It is inhibiting,” the merchant said, waving the ball again. “It’s already working. As to what it’s suppressing, I don’t know. Give me a few months and I could figure it out. My only guess right now would be that it’s linked to some other magical object.”

“Another magical object,” Martin muttered, thinking. This Inhibitor was linked somehow to the Santers. It was rumored the Aeternan rulers had something to help them control the magic of the land. Could the silver ball be suppressing that?

“How long will it take to make it stop inhibiting?” he asked. If a Santer was unable to use their magic, it was his duty to do what he could to return the magic.

“About ten seconds,” Piro answered. With swift movements, he turned the ball over in his hands, until it clicked. “There,” he said, handing the ball back. “It’s off. But I must warn you, the other magical object still won’t work. Not until they touch and then the magic can flow back. It could take months to find that other object. I can still find it for you.”

Martin stuffed the Inhibitor back into his pack and stood. “No thanks,” he answered with a smile. “We’ll be able to find it on our own. Good day.” Bowing slightly, he left the shop, while Piro examined his new flute.

**********
The young spy bought another unfinished flute on his way back to the inn he was staying at. Absently whittling at it, he pondered about the Inhibitor and the implications of it. It was somehow connected to the Santers, he knew, but how?

“Hey, kid,” a cart driver said, trying to barrel pass, “get out of the way!” Martin quickly stepped to the side, glaring at the back of the hurried driver.

“Got to get home. Rachel is in labor… my firstborn.”

The voice of the driver in his head shocked Martin. Shaking his head of the words, he told himself it was nothing. He was imaging things. There was no possible way he had heard that man’s thoughts.

“I need a vacation,” he muttered to himself. Since the war had begun, he rarely had a chance to slow down and relax. Not that he could complain. He loved his job. He loved serving Aeterna. Aeterna had given him a chance to live.

On the streets of Loman, a sea port that did not belong to any nation, he had lived as a street urchin, a child with no parents to watch over him. He couldn’t even remember his parents’ faces, or the fire that took their lives. He hadn’t been accepted by the Street Gangs; they viewed him as a possible traitor. There was nothing to connect him to them; they thought he would sell their secrets for food or shelter. Thinking back on it, Martin realized they were probably right.

He had learned early on not to be seen or he risked the chance of getting beaten. He learned how to sneak and steal without anyone noticing, how to use shadows and crowds to mask his escapes. He learned how to take chances and risks. It was the only way to survive on the streets in the position he was in.

Then his life changed. The change came about as he made his most daring steal. The thief gangs always complained how the merchants ate while they starved. By that point, he had grown more bold than was wise. He made the mistake of stealing from a merchant who was more than he seemed to be. The merchant was actually a general of Aeterna, there at Loman for official business. Fred Chief had caught him trying to sneak out of the embassy with a shirt full of stolen food. Martin smiled as he thought about it. General Chief knew talent when he saw it. Anyone who could sneak in and steal food from one of the most powerful embassies had to be good.

The general had let him go, on one condition. He gave the young street urchin a proposition. Return to Aeterna with him and become a spy or remain at Loman, where he would be hated and despised for the rest of his life. Martin didn’t answer Chief, but ran away instead. It wasn’t until he made it back to the hovel he called home did he realize the future Chief had offered him. The next morning before Chief sailed back for Aeterna, Martin had his few belongings packed and boarded the ship.

Now, eight years later, he never looked back. Aeterna had given him a chance to strive for something other than just living. The gangs did not give him a chance to prove himself; the spies did. After five years of regular training, he was given his first mission. He was told to steal something back from a Venter spy. He had stolen it, but lost it when he jumped into the bay during his escape. He had thought he failed when he went to the authorities with empty hands.

Doug Suit, however, thought differently. He told Martin that success did not mean just doing a job and giving up at the first signs of trouble, but to keep trying until the job was done. Getting the box was not the important thing; it was making sure it did not remain in the enemy’s hand. It was only later that Martin learned that the Spy Master had been eyeing him for a year before naming him his apprentice. He hadn’t realized just how much he impressed his teachers with his quick learning and skills.

“Now, I’m leading my own missions and obeying my own orders.” He could not regret his decision. Martin blew the wood shaves from his stick, still walking to the inn. He had everything he had ever wanted; except knowing his family.

He sighed deeply. Why did he do this to himself? Thinking about finding the impossible? No one on the streets had known Martin’s parents very well; they had just moved to Loman when the fire took their lives. He couldn’t even find their names.

“If only I had a last name, maybe then my life wouldn’t had been so bad.” But such thoughts were useless to him and he came to terms with never getting his answers. He was a respected spy and a fulfilling life ahead of him. But it would have been nice.

Arriving to the inn, he sat down at in a corner booth of the common room. Inspecting the modifications he made to his flute, he felt satisfied, with both his life and his creation. He brought it to his lips and began playing a cheerful tune. What was life without at least a few mysteries?

“That’s a nice bit of playing there, young man,” said a traveling merchant, sitting down at his table. Martin smiled, putting the flute down.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied. He nodded at the two other men who were with the merchant. “I suppose you’re looking for hands?”

The merchant frowned. “How did you know that?”

Martin shrugged. “I just do. So, where are you headed?”

“Firth,” the merchant answered. “You look as if you need work. You could even play that flute of yours at night, keep us entertained.”

“Firth,” the spy muttered. The town was a few days from the Tree. He shrugged. “Alright. When do you leave?”

“First thing in the morning.” The merchant smiled, revealing crooked teeth. “Meet me here an hour after sunrise.”

Martin agreed. They chatted during a dinner the merchant bought, general talk of goods and how the war was going. After nightfall, he claimed exhaustion and retired to his rented room. The small one bed room was near the back of the inn. Martin suspected it used to be a broom closet. Sighing deeply, he tossed his pack on the bed as he locked his door.

The strap of his pack broke open, littering his things across the bed. He rolled his eyes; he had to get another bag soon. This was the third time that week. As he began stuffing his things back in, he picked up his lucky charm. He held it for a moment, trying once again to remember where he had picked up the lone glove, but as always couldn’t.

He was suspicious as a street urchin and believed this regular brown glove with dark green trim had magical properties. Whenever he had this glove, it always seemed that things went right. Someone would turn away and not see him, a lock left open, finding food that wasn’t rotten in the garbage. He had the glove on him when Chief caught him in the kitchen. Even now, as a trained spy, he carried it around, a small part of him still believing it was lucky.

And no one knew about it. It still amazed him that as many times as he had been searched no one had found it. The glove was one of the few things that connected him with his past and he didn’t want anyone else to know of it.

Shaking his head at his childishness, he placed it on top of everything else. Turning to put his pack away, he noticed the Inhibitor had rolled across the room. He retrieved it, tossing it in the air a few times. It was his job to get this back to Suit. The Spy Master would know what to do about it. He threw it casually on top of his pack. It landed neatly on top of his glove.

The Inhibitor suddenly began to glow. Martin frowned as the soft light became brighter. He turned his head away from the blinding light. There then was a whirling sound, a rushing noise that was nearly as deafening as the light was blinding.

It stopped.

Martin gazed down at the Inhibitor, confused. What was that? Taking out one of his knives, he tapped the silver ball. It did nothing. He poked it with a finger. Still nothing. Frowning, he picked it up. He was surprised by how cold it felt. Something flashed in the corner of his eye. Looking down at his pack, his surprise furthered. His glove was glowing. He picked it up.

Pain seared through his body and screaming filled his ears. Yelping, he dropped the glove. The pain didn’t lessen any nor did the screaming. Martin dropped to his knees, covering his ears, his vision becoming blurred. Through the pain, he thought he heard something. Before he could understand, he blacked out from the pain.

************
He cried out as the man struck him across the face.

“Stay quiet, you brat!” But he couldn’t stop crying. The loud noises were frightening. Then these men, dressed in black, took him from his bed. Their expressions were hard.

“I said, be quiet!” The man slapped him again. He couldn’t take any more of it. He bit hard on the arm that carried him. The man yelled and dropped him. The young child tried to run away, but another man picked him up.

“You know what’s going to happen if they catch us with him?” the man asked, swinging the child under his arm, careful to avoid his small mouth.

“Then let’s use the magic,” growled another man. “Change the brat’s face.” The man dumped green-sickly water on the child. The child screamed, trying to wipe the burning water from his face. He blacked out moments later….

He was hiding behind a pile of garbage, flinching each time there was a sound. It was only a matter of time before they discovered that he went missing. He prayed they wouldn’t find him. Not this time. He couldn’t stand anymore beatings.

A horn blared into the dark night.

He flinched. They knew he ran away again. He had to find a safer place. Anything was better than the hell they kept him. He started running away from the sound of horns.

BANG!

Thrown to the ground, he looked up just in time to see the building he was running from become a plume of smoke and fire. He glared at it as it burned. Serves them right….

“What do we have here?” Martin was seized by the back of his shirt and hauled back up from the garbage shoot. He tried to fight his way out of the strong man’s grip. “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said, holding the struggling boy up. Martin glared at the Aeternan stranger. People always told him that before they betrayed him….

Martin sat quietly out of the way, watching the sailors going around doing their duties. He tugged at the collar of the shirt General Chief had given him, still uncomfortable with its stiffness. The general had some rules if he was going to stay with them. He had to look at least respectable. He thought he could live with the new clothes, but he doubted he would ever get used to someone else cutting his hair….

The four other spying students ignored him while they worked on their project. Don Ander had said a spy needed to learn to work with others. Martin understood that, but the others didn’t want him in their group. He was a former thief, they weren’t even sure he was Aeternan, even with Chief saying he was.

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Mike exclaimed, throwing down a wrench. “How is this thing supposed to work?”

“You need five people,” Martin explained. He stepped toward them. “Let me help!”

“Get back, No Name,” Andrew snapped, pushing him away. “We don’t need any help from a thief like you!”

“That does it!” Martin shoved back, pushing Andrew away. “I’m just as loyal as any of you! Now, let me help!” He didn’t see Mike come up from behind until too late. Thrown to the ground, the other students started kicking him. Martin gritted his teeth. Why didn’t they trust him? Without thinking, he fought back, until the four other boys were groaning on the ground. He wiped the blood from his mouth.

“We have to work together,” he spat at them. “It’s the only way it’ll work. Now, are you going to help or not?” The students grumbled, but finally worked with him. They never bothered him after that….

“Well, aren’t you a sorry sight.” Martin reluctantly sat back up, expecting a harsh lecture. He froze when he saw the man standing before him, his arms folded across his chest. He was an older man, with a short beard and hair graying with age. But Martin knew this man by reputation. He was Doug Suit, the Spy Master.

“Sir,” he said, scrambling to his feet and saluting. “It’s an honor.” He bowed his head in defeat. “I’m sorry.” He felt his stomach drop at what he had to tell the Spy Master. “I failed.”

Suit snorted. “Failed?”

“Yes.” Martin wished he could be anywhere but here admitting his failure. And to the Spy Master himself! “I lost the box.”

“No, Martin,” he said firmly. “You did not fail.”

He finally looked up, confused. “Sir?”

“Your orders were that it was not to be left in their hands,” Suit explained. “You did just that. It is lost, no one will use it. If I had my way, that’s what should have happened to it in the first place.”

Martin blinked in surprise. The Spy Master would not have a casual conversation with any fresh spy. Something else was going on here.

“Come,” Suit said, sharply turning away and walking down the road. Martin followed with a frown. What was happening?

“Where are we going, sir?” he finally managed to ask.

“To begin your training,” the older man said with a grin. “Oh, not the normal training. Something more. You’ve proven yourself here, Martin. You’re a quick thinker when the plan went wrong. You need something more to match your skills. From this day on, your training will be mine alone.”

Martin stopped in his tracks, stunned. No. More than stunned. Shocked. Suit’s grin only widened at the reaction.

“You’ve proven yourself,” he repeated. “Success does not mean just doing a job and giving up at the first signs of trouble, it means doing everything you can to do get the job done. You have great potential and I’m going to make sure you reach it. Come, you have a lot to learn before I’m done with you.” ….

Martin found himself walking down a long hallway. Turning while he walked, he tired to find the light source that led his way, but couldn’t find one. Frowning, he continued walking the lighted path. Where was he going?

At the end of the path was a strange mirror. It was twice as tall as him, but was thinner than his arm span. The tarnished silver of the frame was covered with designs of ivy veins and what appeared to be serpents. He approached it carefully; this thing was old. And somehow, he knew it was powerful.

He frowned as he got close. Why didn’t it show his reflection? He froze as the mirror began to fog up then clear away. There was someone standing in the mirror, but it wasn’t him. The man in the mirror stood tall, staring at everything with icy blue eyes. His light hair was cut in the current Nacre style, long hair just long enough to be tied in a tail. The man looked like a noble, judging by his sharp tailored suit and strong nose. He was just the opposite of Martin. He glanced down at his own clothes, tanned trousers and red cotton shirt. The man in the mirror attracted the attention of men. Martin could blend into a crowd without trying.

“Who are you?” the man asked, glaring down his strong nose at him. Martin flinched; he could have sworn the image used his voice.

“A better question is who are you?” he snapped.

The man snorted, his eyes narrowing. “So, this is what I have become.” He turned his head aside, frowning. “Then I am the image. I’m the one who doesn’t exist.”

“You look real to me,” Martin muttered. He gasped in surprise as the man brought out the glove, the same lucky glove he kept, and put it on. He tugged at it until it reached his elbow.

“We share this,” the man said, gazing at his gloved hand. “The same background, the same responsibility, the same power.” He stared down at Martin again. “But you’ve finally been freed from your restraints. You still don’t understand.”

The man stepped out of the mirror and started for the spy. Martin whipped the daggers from his sleeves, prepared for a fight. The image stopped, his gaze fixed on the daggers.

“You don’t trust me?” he asked softly. “You want to fight against who you are?”

“I’m a spy,” Martin snapped. “What’s to fight against that?” The image snorted, but stepped back into the mirror.

“Have it your way then,” he said, looking back as he walked farther into the mirror. “But you’ll regret not believing me.”

Martin stared at his retreating back, confused. What did he mean by that? The pain suddenly returned. Gasping in shock, he fell to his knees again, the pain overtaking him again….

*********
“Hey, Alex,” someone said as they knocked on his door again. “It’s sunrise. You getting up?”

Martin woke up, gasping. What was going on? Shaking his head, the man at the door knocked again. “Alex? You in there?”

“I’m here,” he answered to his spying name. “Just give me a minute.”

“We leave in an hour,” the merchant called through the door, the sound of his boots retreating.

Martin groaned, rolling off his back and getting up on his hands and knees. He gasped for breath. Those dreams. They felt so real! He took in a sharp breath. Lifting his left arm, he saw that sometime during the night, he had managed to put the glove on. He stared at it, remembering the image and what it said.

“What did he mean?” he whispered, staring at his gloved hand. What did it all mean? He shook his head. He didn’t have time to find those answers. He had to get back to the Tree and return the Inhibitor.

“I have a job to do,” he reminded himself. He slowly got to his feet, taking the glove off and stuffing it back in his bag. This was a mystery that had to wait.
*********
Things are getting interesting. Until the next post!

Martin's Entrance

As promised, it is time for Martin to make his entrance into his book. I suppose some of you may have connected some dots already (and if not, I won't spoil it), but I ask you to wait before you judge the storyline too harshly. I promise it will get more sticky before too much longer.

Enjoy!
************
Martin gazed down into the valley in the fading light of day, unconcerned about the large enemy army that had decided to camp there.

The wind had picked up, but the only sign of him noticing it was grabbing his hat before it blew off his head. While he was unconcerned about the army itself, his attention was at the center of the camp where the command tent was. Using his free hand, he pulled out the letter he received that morning.

The Venter army in your area has something that can be used against the Santers. It is not to be left in their hands.

Suit’s short message made the young spy snort. In the three years since he had become the Aeternan Spy Master’s apprentice he had come to realize that Suit could be described in three words. Prideful old man. The Spy Master had no time for excuses or plans. He expected his orders to be done.

“Not to be left in their hands,” Martin muttered, recognizing the phrase. Suit always used that statement when he didn’t care if the object was returned to them or destroyed.

“It must be something dangerous,” he thought as he tore the note into pieces and tossed it into the wind. If Suit didn’t care if it were destroyed, that usually meant the Spy Master thought whatever it was too dangerous for anyone to use. Watching the pieces scatter, he thought about how he was going to go about getting this “something.” He had no idea how large it could be or where they had hidden it, but he was fairly certain it could be carried by one person. At least, there weren’t any extra guards hanging around a single tent. That left the command tent, where there were always guards.

The trick, though, was to get to the tent and discover what the something was. Martin slid the hat from his dark brown hair and stuffed it into the bag at his feet, thinking of what he could do. He had been trained in poisons; he could make the entire camp sick and sneak in. Shaking his head, he dismissed the idea. It could take weeks to gather enough ingredients and then wait for it to take effect. He didn’t have the time, he was due back at the Tree in two weeks.

Glancing back down toward the army and the command tent, he smirked. Yes, his first plan was the way to go. Others might consider him a reckless eighteen year old for it, but their opinions didn’t count. It was his call, his judgment. And they weren’t there to stop him. Just the way he liked it.

Kicking away the dead leaves at the trunk of a tree, Martin dropped his bag in the impromptu hole and covered it back with the leaves. Satisfied his things were covered, he strolled down into the valley, whistling a merry tune.
*******************

Martin grunted in pain as he was bodily thrown on the ground. The Venter soldiers shackled his wrists in iron and lashed the chain around a thick tree.

“There,” a corporal said disgustedly as he kicked some dirt on Martin. “We’ll deal with you in the morning, Aeternan rat!”

“Spy,” another one spat on his face. Martin glared after the men as they left, wiping the spit off of his face.

“Stage one done.” He sat up and leaned against the trunk. “Now that the easy part’s done…” Martin slowly reached for his boots and took off the heel. Inside the heel was his set of lock picks.

“Idiots.” He began working on the shackles. Didn’t they know anything? The first thing you always do to a captured spy is strip him of everything, just in case he had any tricks up his sleeve, or in his case, his boots.

Others might worry about letting himself to be captured by the Venterians, but it was the best way to get inside the camp quickly. Besides, those others didn’t treat him like a spy anyway. They figure he was too young to be a spy.

“Too bad for them.” Everywhere he went, Martin was always greeted with speculation. No one thought an orphan could do much, even Suit thought he would only be a mediocre spy at best.

“I’ve proven them wrong,” he thought as one shackle then the other fell from his wrists. “And I’ll keep doing it until I get the respect I deserve.” He worked hard all his life to overcome the stereotype of orphans. He was close to his goal.

“Stop thinking about the past,” he firmly told himself. “You have a job to do.” He checked his surroundings, making sure there weren’t anyone to witness his escape. Satisfied no one could see him in the shadows of the tree, he stole off deeper into the camp.

Before he went in search of the command tent where the package was being held, he went in search of the laundry. If he was going to roam around the camp all night, he should at least look like he belongs.

“Don’t try to knock out a soldier and take his clothes,” Suit’s lecture came to him. “Missing men tend to sound the alarm when they aren’t where they’re supposed to be. No, go to the laundry. A missing uniform isn’t anything someone would call a warning for.”

Martin agreed with the Master on that as he flinched a uniform his size. Not only was a missing uniform nothing too serious to fret about, but he found his size easier when someone wasn’t wearing it. He quickly changed from his dull commoner clothes into the Venter uniform of dark gray. To make extra sure no one saw his face, he also stole a hat to cast his features into shadow; there weren’t many Venters with his hazel eyes. Satisfied with his disguise, he finally went in search of the command tent.

He roamed around the enemy camp; his bearing looked as if he belonged. Walking along the shabby sleeping tents of regular soldiers, he could see the men gathering around large fires and sharing drinks. He shook his head as they began singing about women and death.

“The two things soldiers know,” he reasoned, flinching slightly at the lyrics of a particularly bad song. “What a boring life.”

He thought back on his own life. He knew it was anything but boring. A former street urchin turned spy, he had seen and done things most hadn’t dreamed of. He had lived to survive when he was at the mercy of the Street Order of Loman then worked hard to prove to the spy masters that he could do anything they threw at him.

“Speaking of working…” He had a job to do. Shaking his head again at the drunken soldiers, he made his way leisurely to the command tent. It was early enough in the evening for the leaders to still be meeting. Best get there after they finish their business.

Martin passed through the camp kitchen. He wrinkled his nose at the smell from whatever was boiling in the pot closest to him.

“Hey, kid,” the cook said in a thick Venter accent. He spat on the ground. “Don’t like the smell of my stew?”

“No, sir,” he quickly said, adopting his voice to take the same accent. “I just ate something and its not agreeing with me.”

“Then scat!” The cook waved his hands sharply. “Get going!”

“Yes, sir!” Martin left, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Venterians tended to be a proud people. At times, they came across as rude, but Martin knew better. They just didn’t take insults very well, especially when it came to their work.

After another half hour roaming around, he figured he had stalled long enough. Still, he took his time to get there. This late at night, no one went anywhere in a great hurry unless it was an emergency.

He made his way to the center of the camp; all war camps were the same. The leaders put as many men between them and the enemy as possible. Martin could only think of a handful of men who deserved that protection.

The command tent was still lit when he arrived. Martin frowned. Why were they still awake? His frowned deepened when he realized there were only two guards at the tent door; neither of which looked as if they were going to walk around the tent. Martin just shrugged. That just made his job easier to listen in. He glanced around before moving into the shadows of the tent. Stepping carefully, he moved close to the canvas wall. He stopped when he heard voices.

“Why is this thing so important?” asked a whinny voice

“How am I supposed to know?” snapped an authoritative man. “All I know it that Terk wants us to keep it safe until he decides what to do with it.”

“What would he use it for?” sneered a third man. “It’s worthless!”

“No,” the commander said. “It’s not. Terk said something about it having some importance to the Santers. Now, whether our General decides to ransom it or use it against the Aeternans, we must keep it safe. No more debate. Is that understood?”

There was a chorus of “yes, sir.” Martin slid back from the tent and into another as they left the command tent. He waited until the command tent was dark and the generals were long gone before sneaking into the tent by sliding under the canvas at the back. The two guards were quietly complaining about their duty. They would never know he was there.

Inside was the typical command tent. The center was filled with a large table and chairs surrounding it. But Martin’s eyes were drawn to the locked chests lining one side of the tent. He knelt down to the first one and picked the lock. It was full of papers, his hands itched to go through them and read, but he held back. He was to get the package, not figure out their movements. The second chest held more papers. He opened the third chest; it was filled packages, of all different shapes and sizes.

“Finally.” He grinned as he rummaged though the parcels, giving a quick glance to the tags identifying what it was. His smile widened when he found the one marked “Dangerous: Santer Artifact.” Suit hadn’t known what it was; just it had some connection to the Santers. Martin wondered what it could be as he turned it over in his hand, itching to tear open the paper wrapper. Whatever it was, it was about the size of his fist and not much heavier than an apple. He figured that it could be hollow as he lightly tossed it in the air and caught it.

“Well,” he thought, pocketing the object, “this is not the time or place to open it.” He was still in the mist of a large Venter army and he knew what would happen if they caught him again. No, he had to leave before he could begin to understand what it could be. Quietly locking the chests back up, he left under the same back canvas wall.

Just as he had not rushed before, he continued his slow walk out of the camp. “A spy never attracts attention to himself. He is more silent than an owl on the wing and as difficult to trace as a shadow.”

It was who he was, someone who spent his life making others believe he was no one important. During his life on the streets, he had prayed that he could be someone, anyone just so he could be accepted. Now, after seven years as a spy, he no longer felt the need to find that acceptance. He had come to terms that if he wanted respect, he had better earn it.

He finally passed the last few shabby tents of soldiers. Glancing around, he was surprised that no patrols were out. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. In a camp this large, it was foolish not to have guards patrolling around to make sure no one got in or out. “What am I missing?”

He studied his surroundings, looking for clues. Shivering as a cold breeze sprang up, he glanced out to the trees just outside and froze. The leaves weren’t moving despite the strong breeze.

“Magic,” he muttered to himself, thinking back on what he knew of it. The magic placed on the camp could be any number of spells. It could be as complex and delicate as a painting or it could be as dull as a rock.

“Let’s test it.” Picking up a small rock, he threw it at the magical barrier. It flew true until suddenly it stopped in mid air and hung there. Martin glanced around to see if anyone noticed. The closest drunken soldiers were still singing by the camp fire.

So, the magic was simple enough. It simply stopped anything from moving past it. Martin frowned. That’s why there were no guards taking rounds, anyone who was caught trying to leave or enter would be caught in the magic and picked up at their convenience. It also put a crimp in his plans. If the spell had been more complicated, then he could have found a loophole. Simple spells, however, were harder to trick. They had one function, no exceptions. The only way the spell would be broken was by someone with the authority to do so.

“Well then,” he said to himself. “I guess I’ll just have to spring the trap.” He looked around again, trying to find anything he could set in the trap. He had no intentions of getting caught himself. A cart with horses still hitched to it caught his eye.

Casually, he made his way over to the cart and peeked inside. He smiled wickedly to see it full of weapons. Swords, bows, arrows, javelins, spears, even a few noise makers. He picked one of the noise makers up, tossed it lightly before jamming it under the driver’s seat. Most soldiers found that the small grenade made great distractions. He was inclined to agree. He pulled the pin from the grenade and hurried away.

BANG!

The loud noise scared the horses. With wide wild eyes, the horses reared and bolted, taking the cart load of weapons with them. They ran strait for the magical barrier. The horses became more frantic the moment they realized they were stuck. Martin smiled at the noise they were creating. Soldiers ran to the source, most of them swaying with drink.

“My horses!” a man exclaimed from the tent nearest to where he had been watching. He hurried over to the terrified beasts and tried to yank them out of the magic. He got caught.

“What’s this?” a commanding officer said, arriving to the funny scene. Martin joined the small crowd that had formed around the ‘accident.’

“One of the noise makers must have gone off,” the owner of the cart snapped, trying to yank his hand out of the magic. “My horses got scared and got suck in this trap of yours. I demand our release!”

“Can’t be done,” the officer said with a humph. “Regulations say the magic goes up at dark and isn’t allowed down until after sunrise.”

“Oh, sure,” the man bellowed. “You’re suggesting I stay here all night! Get your superior! I will not be left here! And if he says I stay, then the next time I have weapons to sell, I’ll go to the Aeternans!”

“Alright,” the officer said, suddenly ready to please the arms man. “I’ll see if I can’t get you out.” He hurried back into the camp. Many of the soldiers mingled around, waiting for the magician. Martin controlled his face to outward interest, though inside he was excited his plan was working.

The officer was more eager to keep the arms dealer than Martin thought. Just as men began leaving for the fire, he came back with a magician in his wake. The magician was a man in his late forties, his hair already completely gray. He had a sour look on his face as he regarded the scene. Muttering darkly, he bent down and fiddled with what Martin had thought was a rock. Walking on the other side of the cart, he started to fiddle with a tree stump.

“Ah,” Martin thought. “So they breakup the barrier up so they can cancel just one section of the magic instead of exposing the rest of the army.”

The moment the magic fell, the horses, still terrified, bolted into the woods beyond. “Don’t let them get away!” the owner said, dashing after.

“You heard him!” the officer said to the lagging soldiers, pointing after the cart. “Get it!”

Martin joined in the sudden rush. In the confusion of calming the frightened horses, he slipped away. No one noticed him. Just as well, they didn’t stand a chance when he wanted to disappear.
***********
I must make an apology now. Next week I won't be able to post something from this story. I have two exams that just conveniently show up right before spring break (and I literally mean right before. Both are Friday morning). I need Thursday to study for both. So, I'll either do two posts the week after or post something from another story line. (And if you're wondering, since I've already written the story, why I don't just post what I have. Answer: the next part needs some serious revising before I'm letting it see the light of day. So there!) Anyway, if you care either way, please let me know. If not.... Until next time!

After the kidnapping

It's Thursday, and we know what this means... It's time to continue the story! For those of you who are reading, if you feel like commenting on what's been posted, you can now do it on this site. Thanks Todd for letting me know it wasn't allowing comments before. I appreciate comments (just as long as you don't completely and totally degrade everything I've writen) Now to review from last week, Prince Henry has been kidnapped (that's all you really need to know. Oh, and need to remember the Connection, but not until later in the story. Just know Henry's gone). Now, let's fast forward (The years I skip are boring anyway).
**************
Sixteen years later

“I HATE YOU!”

The door slammed, the frame shaking from the force of the thirteen year old. Abigail sighed deeply as she sank back into her chair. These arguments with her daughter always ended with that line. A part of her believed that the princess did not really mean it; another part knew she deserved that hate.

She shook her head. It was no use thinking such thoughts. Sara would eventually calm down and come apologize. Until then, the queen had a nation to run.

“Shay,” she called out, knowing her aid to be listening in. “You can come in now.”

The door opened again and Brent Shay shuffled into the room, holding a stack of paper close to his chest. The pile in his arms was as large as the pile already on her desk. She suppressed the desire to sigh again.

“Where did all this come from?” she asked as he carefully laid the stack next to the other one.

“The generals, Your Majesty,” Shay said with a bow. “Forgive me for saying this, but it is your own fault. You asked for the reports.”

Abigail scowled but said nothing. The aid was right, she did ask for regular reports from all the generals. “I didn’t recall all of this during the last war.”

Shay’s sorrowful eyes became more downcast. “I ask forgiveness again. Last time, you had your husband.”

It was true. Abigail leaned back in her chair, thinking about a year before. For fifteen years, King Jonathan had been able to enforce their treaty with General Terk. They thought they were safe. That safety was a lie. Last year, while doing a regular inspection of Fort Bree, an out posting on the Aeternan-Venter boarder, her husband was caught in the sudden invasion Terk led. She choked back her tears, still able to hear the messenger with the terrible news. Her husband was dead.

He died leaving Aeterna without a king and her the only ruler. Sara was too young to inherit the throne, so the responsibility of saving Aeterna fell onto her shoulders. “And I will not fail!” She shoved her sorrows down and sat back up. Jonathan did everything he could for Aeterna, and she would do no less than her own best.

“Alright, Shay,” she said, enfolding herself in her position. She was the queen of Aeterna and nothing would deter her from her duty. “Thank you. You are dismissed.” Her aid bowed respectfully then shuffled back to his own office.

Taking a longing look through the large bay windows across her office, the queen sighed and resigned herself to the pile of work. She started by shifting through her letters, placing them in piles of importance. Finding a letter from Duke Pinsamen, she snorted. The duke had been petitioning the same thing since the war began. He wanted exempt from the taxes used for the war.

“The war involves all of us,” she thought angrily, tossing the duke’s unopened letter into the garbage. “Just because he’s not at the front doesn’t mean he can’t help.” She was about to begin sorting again when she saw the unmarked letter uncovered by Pinsamen’s discarded one.

“Now, what does that old man want?” she muttered, tearing it open. Only Doug Suit, her Aeternan Spy Master, could have gotten an unmarked letter past Shay. Snorting softly at the arrogant old man, she began to read the short message.

Urgent. Plot to kidnap Princess Sara. More details to follow.

The blood seemed to freeze within her. Taking gasping breaths, she tried to think, but the memory of her son overwhelmed her mind.

“No,” she breathed, holding her head in her hands, trying to get a grip of herself. “Sara won’t be like Henry. I won’t allow it!”

*********************

Queen Abigail tired not to walk quickly down the halls of the palace, but rather at a calm and cool pace. It was harder than it should have been.

The afternoon had been spent in secret reclusion as she planned her only child’s safety. Aeterna had been unable to rescue her son. She vowed to not let the same thing happen to her daughter.

The plan was simple enough, though she wished it hadn’t involved so much risk. The only safe place she knew Sara could hide was under Suit’s command. A nest of thieves, assassins, and spies. The Tree was where Suit had gathered together the largest group of dishonorable people in Aeterna. If it wasn’t enough that she thought Sara was safest among these cutthroats, she planned to smuggle her there.

“If I can get her to agree,” the queen thought bitterly as she arrived at her daughter’s rooms. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

“Sara?” she asked, bracing herself for the inevitable fight to come. “May I come in?”

“Do I have a choice?” the princess answered back with a snap. “Don’t I get any privacy anymore?”

“Sara,” the queen said, taking a firm tone. “I need to speak with you.”

“Fine. Come in.”

Abigail rubbed her temple as she opened the door and stepped inside. She always had a headache when dealing with her daughter. Closing the door, the queen saw the scrawny princess leaning far out of her window, looking up to the clear blue sky.

“Sara!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing the world from a different angle, Mother,” the princess said, frowning as she slid back into the room. “I get bored with these same four walls.”

Abigail eyed her thirteen year old headstrong daughter. Sara was anything but a pretty princess. Oh, yes, her face promised that she would become a beauty but how she presented herself was far from it. Her dress was smeared with the dirt of the window, her light brown hair was snarled, and her gray eyes were defiant. She had spirit, a desire to have adventure and make a difference in the world. If only she would apply that in her duty as the only Santer heir!

“So,” the queen said, an idea forming in her mind to excite her daughter. “You want to see the world from a different angle? Alright.”

Sara froze as she was dusting off her skirts. “Alright? What do you mean ‘alright’?”

“You want adventure,” she replied, folding her arms. “How’s this. Someone wants to kidnap you. How do you propose that you not get kidnapped?”

“Kidnap?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “No one would dare try to kidnap me. I don’t think any other princess in the world has as many guards as I do.”

“We thought the same thing about your brother,” the queen thought sadly, but she said nothing. Sara had never been told about the crown prince.

“It’s amazing what a person can do when they’re determined to,” she said instead, walking over to the fireplace and warming her hands. “Now, assume they have a way to get past the guards. If you knew what they were going to do, what would you do?”

“Well,” Sara said slowly, sitting down in her favorite chair. For being from one of the richest families in the world, the princess just had to attach herself to a large fluffed chair her father had bought her on one of their whim trips into the city. “I guess… I shouldn’t be where I’m supposed to be. Make them look in the wrong places for me.”

“Exactly.” She smiled proudly. Sara had a mind sharper than most nobles. “And that’s what is going to happen.”

“Wait!” Abigail turned around to see her daughter standing again, her face shocked. “You mean there is someone who’s planning on kidnapping me? And you really think they could succeed?”

“There’s a possibility of it,” she answered softly. “I have decided, that for your own safety, you are going to disappear. No one will think about finding you where I’m sending you.”

**********************

Princess Sara Santer waited in the palace stables, pacing nervously. She paused long enough to straiten her riding skirts. A real adventure! She had arrived to the stables a half hour earlier to saddle a horse for herself and escort; she couldn’t be any more excited! Finally to get out of Nacre and away from all the expectations of her. She knew her responsibilities of being the heir to the throne. That’s what she really rebelled from.

“I’m as real as person as any of them,” she thought bitterly. “Why can’t anyone see that?” As long as she could remember, the adults who ruled her life tried to protect her from the world. They didn’t let her do the same things as other kids; they didn’t let her ride horses through the forests around Nacre or swim in the bay. Instead, they had her studying politics, cultures, histories, and other princess-like things.

In a sense, she felt robbed of her childhood. Her father had told her of all the things he had gotten away with when he was the crown prince. “What had changed? I’m always told that Santers were never raised like normal royalty. Why am I the exception?”

She bit back a sob at the thought of her father. The princess missed him so much. Her father always knew what to say to her; he was one of the few people she respected. He was one of those unique kings, someone who didn’t wear jewels or crowns to remind people of his power. His power was in his stance and bearing; no one question her dad when he gave an order. Sara quickened her pacing.

“If you want to look calm,” Cornel Petra said as he and her mother entered the stable, “then I suggest that you stop wearing a hole in the floor.”

Sara almost smiled. Although she hated adults who protected her, the cornel at least tried to make it easier on her when he protected her. She wished her mother would just hurry up and promote the man to the head of security already.

Then her eyes found her mother. “Huh?” she asked. Her mother was not dressed in her normal simple noblewoman’s outfit of fine cloth and trimming, but rather dusty riding skirts and faded blouse. Her hair was also worn down, not tied up in a bun. “You going somewhere?”

“Yes,” her mother said, picking one of the two horses saddled and ready to go. “I’m going with you.” Sara opened her mouth to object. “And there’s no arguing on this point. You’re my only daughter. I’m going to make sure you get there safe!”

Sara turned to Cornel Petra, hoping he would help her. He knew how much the two of them fought. Wasn’t he there to escort her? That should have been the only reason he had come.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he said, nearly smiling himself. “Her Majesty is right. She knows what she’s doing.”

“But!” she stared to protest.

He chuckled, steering her towards her horse and helping her up into the saddle. The princess wished she could take her own horse, but Fenny was a fine breed horse and would stand out. “It’s been decided. The queen is better than any guards for seeing you safely there. And,” he said as she opened her mouth, “I am in complete agreement. I’m just here to lock the door behind you.”

Sara muttered darkly under her breath, eyeing her mother as she sat atop her horse. This was going to be a long trip. Suddenly, she realized something. “Where are we going?”

Abigail smirked. “The only place where cutthroats can do an honest living. Come on, my girl, we have a long way to go.”

Sara’s excitement suddenly dropped. When her mother said she was going into hiding, she hadn’t mentioned cutthroats.

“Good bye, my Ladies,” Petra called after them as they left. “And good luck!”
**************
(Again, you may be wondering where Martin is. Well, tune in next week when Martin finally makes his entrance!)