In Her Valley

Now that the fundamentals have been explained (for the most part), it is time to again jump into action. This is a longer post than normal, which will be explained at the end of the post. But now, we’ll go to a valley that I based on all of the beautiful parts of Idaho (hey, I think Idaho is beautiful!). However, Martin is going to be in trouble.
************
The introduction the next morning went well enough, Jonathan thought. The troops were excited to have Ghosts as their commanders, and his Ghosts took the respect with a degree of humility and dignity that make the king nearly burst with pride. Even Martin, who had to give a speech, did well. In fact, despite his protest at never having given a public speech before, Martin demonstrated that he could talk to a crowd. Jon had high hopes for his son as a politician.

Once dismissed, the troops began to break camp. The time had come for goodbyes.

Someday, Jon thought as he approached Martin as he was saddling Rowan. Someday I won’t have to say goodbye to him this much. But it was time to step back and give the prince a chance to shine from his own light. He couldn’t do that if the Ghost General was standing over his shoulder.

“Are you ready?” he asked. Martin turned around, sagging a bit against his horse.

“I hope so,” he muttered. “To be honest, I’d rather not be doing this, but there’s nothing I can do to change this.”

Jon nodded sympathetically. He felt the same way after he was crowned. “We can only go forward,” he agreed. He sighed deeply. “I’ve got to go now.”

Martin nodded. He had been expecting it. It cut Jonathan to know just how much his son had been left alone to fend on his own. But it was the only way he learned, the only path he knew. The king would be doing him a disfavor by trying to teach him any other way.

“Good luck where you’re going,” Martin said, holding a hand out to shake goodbye.

Jon stared at the hand for a moment before brushing it aside and grabbing his son in a hug. Martin immediately stiffened, like he always did when someone got too close. But he slowly relaxed, tentatively returning the hug. It had been years since Jon really hugged his boy. The last time had been when he had to leave his wife and two year old son at home for the war. Martin probably didn’t remember it.

“I wish you luck,” he whispered, fighting the tears that were coming. “May Aeterna guide you.”

Martin held for a moment before burying his face in the king’s shoulder. “I’m so scared, Fred,” he whispered, the fear painfully obvious in his voice.

Jon knew he was one of the very few people who heard such words from his son. People often saw Martin as brave and fearless, but that was only what he let them see. The prince was just as human as everyone else, subject to his own fears and pain.

“I know,” he whispered back. He could stop a smile from creeping onto his face. “But that won’t stop you, now will it?”

Martin laughed, finally pulling himself out of the hug. “Not a bit.”

Jon held Martin by the shoulders, at arms length, smiling. “That’s my boy.” He finally let go. “You’ll be fine. You’ve never disappointed me.”

Martin actually smiled at that and Jon felt as if he had won a battle.
**************
According to reports, the nearest Venter army had its sights set on Jewel Valley. Martin and the other Ghosts agreed that their first official act as commanders of this army was to protect the valley. It was called Jewel Valley because of the high concentration of jewels found there. Jewelers from around the world paid high prices for the colorful rocks that came from the valley. No doubt that the Venter army thought to cut in on that income by taking the valley over. It wouldn’t the first time the enemy tried to conquer the valley, but it was a first that the Venter army hadn’t been intervened by an Aeternans.

Thankfully, their army was closer still and they arrived to the valley just a week after picking up their Ghost commanders.

Martin was on the top of the main pass into the valley, gazing down into it. It was a beautiful valley. The large valley was surrounded by mountains towering over the valley, covered in thick pinewood forests with aspen trees scattered throughout. There was still snow on the mountains, making the mountains a deep blue. The valley itself was covered in muddy fields. Due to the wet spring, the farmers hadn’t yet planted their crops in fear of getting their fields wiped out by the rain. He imagined that it was even more beautiful in the fall, when the fields were golden with harvest and the aspen trees turning red and orange.

In the direct center of the valley stood the village, Ashton, where most of the farmers and miners lived. Martin knew that the mines were up in the mountains, so evidence of their digging could not be seen by the casual observer. A benefit, really. The valley was too beautiful to destroy.

But as he gazed down at the beautiful valley, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. And not because it was his first official act as Ghost Captain Eighty-One.

“We’re going to have to explain to Count McGregger why we’ve suddenly taken interest in his valley,” Art said, riding up to him. The rest of the army was marching over the pass; at least half were already marching down into the valley.

“McGregger is a good man,” Martin said distractedly, unable to quall his uneasiness. “He’s good with his people and hardly ever presses his authority.”

“But have you met his youngest son?” Clary asked, joining them. “The kid’s a brat. It’s a good thing that he isn’t inheriting. The people wouldn’t stand him.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “You from here?”

Clary shook his head. “No. My grandparents were from here, and we used to visit every couple years or so until they died. That’s how I know about the youngest.”

“Fascinating talk we’re having,” Dixon cut in, “but don’t you think we should ride down now? I think the people would appreciate knowing who the leaders of the invading army are. Even if we are all Aeternans.”

Martin shrugged and signaled Rowan to descend from the pass. Dixon had a point. These people needed to know why an army was settling down in their valley. They needed to know the threat against them.

I just hope word never reaches her.

The prince had a feeling that if she heard news that he had been in her home valley, she would be absolutely furious. If there was one thing he did not want, it was for the pretty researcher to be angrier at him than she already was.
***************
Gregory Merette stood with the other members of Ashton’s Town Council, watching as six men rode ahead of the approaching army. While Count McGregger may have official noble rule over the valley, he permitted a town council for the people to govern themselves. The only reason the townspeople would visit the noble on the hill was if they needed funding, a final decision, and a complaint they couldn’t fix.

But small town politics faded into the backs of the people’s minds that morning when they saw an army with Aeternan colors and flags descending from Targhee Pass. A messenger had been sent ahead, informing them that it was indeed an Aeternan army and that its commanders would be arriving shortly to discuss their reason for coming.

“The messenger wasn’t lying,” a council member muttered, squinting to see the six who were riding toward them. “This army is under the command of Ghosts.”

Ghosts. Gregory had never met a Ghost, but he knew what they were. Everyone knew what Ghosts were. They were the elite, the best of Aeternan forces. These legendary heroes, their conquests often celebrated in song and stories. The war had already made a few heroes that even a small village like theirs had heard of.

Only five of the men wore the dark blue and silver ropes of Ghosts. The sixth man wore just a regular Aeternan blue uniform. This man, Gregory supposed, was the army’s commander.

“Welcome to Ashton,” Gregory said, stepping forward and greeting the Ghosts after they dismounted. “We are honored by your presence.”

“The honor is ours to be here,” said one of the Ghosts with a deep voice, a captain by the stripes on his shoulders. Gregory stared a bit at the young man. Surely he wasn’t more than twenty and already a captain?

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he went on, “we would like to discuss our presence in a less public place.”

A diplomatic way of saying private. “Of course,” Gregory agreed, pointing to the courthouse. “We can meet there.” The Ghosts and commander left their horses with the boys who came running to see real soldiers. They then followed the council into the courthouse. Once inside, they made introductions, starting with Commander Bentley. The Ghosts were all very humble when they first introduced themselves by their numbers then their names. Gregory and the rest knew that Ghosts didn’t train under their names, but rather under numbers. This promoted the thought that Ghosts were part of a whole working together for the benefit of Aeterna, rather than individuals. But there were a few Ghosts too famous to use just their number.

Like their captain.

“Ghost Captain Eighty-One,” the first Ghost said, bowing slightly as he finally introduced himself, the last one to do so.

The council went silent, exchanging shocked looks with each other.

“Eighty-One?” Merick repeated, his eyes wide. “As in…”

The young man sighed. “Yes,” he resigned himself. “As in the Ghost who ‘saved’ Evan’s Stand. Truth be known, I just helped. The Stand saved itself.”

“Modest as always,” Ghost Art Suit teased. “You should tell them how you were so much a pain to the Seacats that they tried to capture you.”

Ghost Eighty-One gave Suit a sharp look, making the Ghost flinch a bit. Gregory wasn’t surprised. That gaze was… powerful.

“I thought they did capture him,” Ghost Perry Irvin mused thoughtfully.

“They did,” Ghost Trevor Dixon confirm. “But he managed to escape.”

“With the help of the Stand’s citizens who came to my rescue,” Eighty-One pointed out, his firm tone ending the story, much to the disappointment of the council. Rumors of what had happened at the Stand were exaggerated and it was nice to hear a true tale.

“We have come here for a reason,” the captain went on before the other Ghosts could continue their teasing. “There is a Venter army coming, apparently to commandeer your mines. We’re here to help prevent that.”

There was a collective sigh of relief among the council, Gregory included. They had been fortunate enough to avoid battles this war, but they all knew it was a matter of time before the enemy to come for their valley and their treasure. To have an army already there, lead by Ghosts no less, was a great comfort to them all.

“We’ll need to inform Count McGregger of our arrival and our propose,” Ghost Wayne Clary added.

“His manor is farther up in the valley,” Gregory told them. He turned to the rest of the council. “I propose that we send half the council with the army up to the mansion while the other half stays here and warn the people. All in favor, raise your hands.” Three-fourths raised their hands.

“Majority rules,” Gregory concluded. He then walked straight through the council, dividing them into two groups. “This half,” he pointed to his right, “will join myself and the army to McGregger Manor.” He then pointed to his left. “This half will stay and regulate messengers to and from the manor. Keep the town calm but prepare to move out. Understood?”

There was a chorus of agreement and the council dispersed to their duties. Gregory felt immensely satisfied. Theirs might be a small community when compared with large cities like Nacre and Evan’s Stand, but he doubted those cities had their efficiency.

“I’m impressed.”

Gregory jumped and spun around, shocked that the Ghost captain had snuck up on him. The young Ghost gazed at the retreating council, his hazel eyes thoughtful. “Not many councils I’ve seen would organize themselves so quickly,” he went on. “Or without arguments.”

“Oh, don’t give us too much credit,” Gregory chuckled. “We weren’t idle as you came down into our valley. We spent the morning arguing about what we’d do when you arrived. To be honest, we just finished our arguing when you rode into town.”

“I wondered…” The captain shook his head and did not voice what he wondered. “If you don’t mind, my team and I will go ahead meet with the count. Commander Bentley will stay to help move the army along.”

“I see no problem with that,” Gregory said. Satisfied, the captain went to his team. Gregory was about to leave when Ghost Art Suit caught him.

“You said your name was Merette,” the Ghost asked. “Right?”

Gregory raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” he answered slowly.

“Do you happen to know a Sona Merette?”

Gregory smiled despite himself. “Yes,” he chuckled. “She’s my daughter. Do you know her?” It wouldn’t surprise him if she knew a Ghost. She was a research spy for the Aeternan government. She had been on adventures he could only dream of.

“It’s been a while,” Ghost Suit laughed. “We were both at the Tree before I left for the Ghosts.”

“Spying too tamed?” Gregory asked, a bit surprised. Sona had joined the spies, against their wishes, for the adventures that profession held.

“Not to my tastes,” Ghost Suit corrected. “Everyone has their notch, and mine wasn’t there.” He glanced briefly at the other Ghosts. “She probably knows our captain better.”

“Oh?”

“He was in the network longer than me,” Suit explained. “But he also became a Ghost when the network wasn’t working out so well for him.”

“I’ll need to ask her,” Gregory muttered to himself. “You’re Art Suit. Who’s he? He didn’t give us his name.”

“It’s Martin Stevens,” Suit answered. “She probably does know him. I mean, after all, he is the Hero of the Stand.”

Gregory chuckled. That was a truth. If there was anything in the news, his Sona would know it.

“Art!” the captain called out. “We need to go!”

“Yes, estimable captain!” Suit saluted, somehow making the gesture mocking. “I will follow you to the ends of the earth!”

“Or where your next meal will be,” Stevens snorted.

“He has a point,” Clary said seriously. “We need to get our next meal!”

“Which is at the manor!” Irvin gasped in mock shock. “We must leave at once!”

Dixon, the only one not joining in the joking, sighed and turned to Gregory. “I promise you,” he said, “we’re serious when it comes to this valley’s safety.”

“But we will poke fun at each other,” Suit clarified. “So don’t look so shocked.”

Gregory chuckled weakly. “You Ghosts aren’t what I expected.”

“I should hope not,” Irvin chuckled. “We should always break expectations.”
***************
“I’m home!”

“Thank the Seven Founders!” Irene Merette sighed, leaving the table and walking quickly out the door. “Your father is home. Maybe we’ll get some answers about that army!”

Sona Merette wasn’t as fast to follow her mother to find out news about the army. Finding out information was her job and she was on vacation. She felt that there was no reason for her to break her neck to find out why an army was suddenly marching in their valley.

That did not mean, however, that she wasn’t curious. Just not in a rush like her mother. Sona finished peeling her vegetable before leaving the kitchen. She slowly wandered to the front door, only to find the front room abandoned. Wondering where her parents went, Sona climbed the steps to the second floor. Theirs was a modest farm house, with two stories and lots of room for children. Not that all the rooms were filled. Sona’s oldest brother, Jacob, and his wife lived in the smaller farm house across the yard with their three children. As she came to the top of the stairs, she ran into one of her little brothers, Taylor.

“Have you seen Mom and Dad?” she asked him. The sixteen year old shrugged.

“Dad was in a bit of a hurry,” he said. “I think they’re in their room.”

Sona frowned. Now why would her parents be there? Neither her father nor mother were much for lounging about. They were of farmer stock, true and sure. Both of them worked hard around the house and farm. If they were in their room that meant work was being done there.

Sona walked passed the room of her youngest brother, Timothy, to reach her parent’s room. The door was open and she immediately saw what they were doing.

That was to say, what her dad was trying to do and her mother to undo.

“This is foolishness,” her mother was saying, grabbing the shirt her father had just thrown into a sack. “You can’t just up and leave us!”

“Leave?” Sona asked, stepping into the room. “What do you mean?”

Her father sighed as he paused long enough in his packing, and giving mother enough time to put more things away, to look at her. “There’s a Venter army coming our way. The army outside is going to help us fend them off.”

“And your father volunteered to go to the manor to help the Ghosts,” Irene huffed. “I can’t believe you actually volunteered! Planting is coming up and we need you here.”

“I believe all of you can plant the fields without me,” Gregory rebutted. “Besides, Sona is here to help you.”

“Ha!” Irene laughed. “Our daughter isn’t going to be on vacation forever. She has to go back to work!”

Back to work… Sona didn’t want to think about going back to work. Her last assignment had left her emotions raw and her anger hiked. The queen had also said that she wanted her back in Nacre, to do a special project. Sona had a sinking feeling that she knew what that project was.

“I could stay a while longer,” Sona offered.

At this both her parents sighed.

“No,” Gregory muttered. “As much as we love you, and love to have you here, you can’t run away from your responsibilities.”

Sona stiffened. She wasn’t running away. She just needed time for her heart to heal from the recent wound.

“And you don’t want to keep the queen waiting, do you?” her mother asked, smiling a bit. Of course her family burst with pride when they heard of Sona’s close relationship with the queen. They all suspected why she had such a relationship with her majesty but Sona was very clear. That information, that project, was still classified. Even if she could talk about it, she wouldn’t share the details with her family. It was still too painful.

“I’m sure she can do without me,” Sona sighed. “I’m needed here. I’ve always been needed here.” She shook her head, ashamed. “I probably shouldn’t have gone to work for the spies.”

“Don’t start talking like that,” Gregory said firmly. “Yes, we were disappointed when you picked such a dangerous profession, but how could we say no? And besides, look at what you’ve done! You’ve worked with the queen of Aeterna.”
“Found critical information our spies and soldiers needed,” her mother added.

“Been to Nacre.”

“Seen a lot more of Aeterna than any of us, for that matter.”

“And you’ve made us proud,” her father finished, smiling gently at his only daughter. “You have exceeded our expectations.”

Sona blushed a bit at the praise, though she was immensely pleased that they finally accepted her choices, even to the point of being proud of what she had done.

“Now if you’ll only get married,” her father teased.

Sona immediately glared. That topic had always been sore with her, more now so after this last fall. She was nearly twenty, an old maid when compared with other girls who often married in their mid-teens. Most of her childhood friends already had children.

“You meet all sorts of young men,” Gregory went on, smirking. “Some of them are very handsome and worthy… I’m surprised you haven’t snatched one yet.”

She had “snatched” one. But she was mad at him and he had disappeared without saying goodbye. She was bitter.

“Take the Ghosts,” her father said. “A couple of them you may know.”

Sona frowned. “Who?” she asked, suddenly tense. If it were that one Ghost…

“Art Suit?”

“Ah,” Sona said, relaxing. “Yes. I know him. He was living at the Tree for my first couple of years there. I wouldn’t date him though. He’s too carefree for my liking.”

“And the other Ghost?” Irene asked, interested.

“Get this,” her father dragged out, visibly shaking with excitement. “Ghost Captain Eighty-One! The Hero of the Stand, Martin Stevens.”

Sona froze. “Martin?” she whispered. Unbidden, the scene from fall came to the front of her mind, when the mansion had been captured and she finally put together the truth.

“We are too many to escape,” Martin mused. “If one of us could get out and warn Bentley what has happened…”

“You should go,” Luke immediately said, his face grim. “You have the best chance. I mean…” He paled, realizing something. “Did you manage to tell the queen…?”

Martin cringed. “She knows.”

Sona frowned, looking at both of them. “She knows what?”

Martin sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed resigned about something.

“Knows what?” Sona insisted, now looking at him. There was guilt on his face. Why was he guilty, it wasn’t as if he were lying…Sona gasped. She finally figured it out. All the clues she had painstakingly gathered over the last year clicked together and the truth was as plain as he stood before her. Martin was the crown prince of Aeterna. Taking a step back, she shook her head. “You’re…” She shook, anger slowly taking her. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“Sona,” he tried say, regret in his voice. He tried to take her hands, but she slapped his hands away.

“When, Martin?” she snapped.

“Today,” he said softly, his shoulders slumping. “I swear! I was going to tell you today after I talked with the queen.” She shook her head. Disbelief, anger, and pain raced through her mind as she took another step back.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes.

“A long story,” he sighed. “Now is not the time to relate it…”

He never did tell her the long story.

“Do you mind if I come with?” she suddenly asked, interrupting her parents’ excited chatter about having a war hero help protect their valley. “To the manor, I mean?”

“We’ll be talking war,” Gregory warned.

“And Larry will be there,” Irene added. “You hate the man.”

Yes, Larry, Count McGregger’s youngest son. He always had a liking for the pretty girls in the valley and courted them shamelessly. Sona was the only pretty girl who didn’t fall for his charms. Part of her reason for joining the spies was to get away from the insistent young lord.

But as much as she didn’t like Larry, she wanted answers from him. She had to face him. She had to know why he lied.

“I’ve some unfinished business with Captain Stevens,” she said, somehow managing to keep the malice out of her tone. “He owes me some information.”

Her parents exchanged glances, not catching the danger for the captain in her voice.

“She’ll keep you out of trouble,” her mother finally said.

“And make life interesting,” her father agreed. He turned to her. “Alright, you can come. Be ready to go in half an hour.”

Sona nodded sharply and left, finally letting the anger show on her face. Yes, Martin owed her an explanation and she expected to be given it.
*************
Count McGregger was like half minor lords Martin knew. Humbled by their station and a bit too eager to help. Once they had explained the approaching danger, the count was soon offering all his resources. Even the other Ghosts were a bit alarmed by how generous the count was willing to give.

“No really,” Martin was saying after the count offered for a fifth time the full use of his treasury to fund the army now camped in his valley. “We’re getting the money we need from Nacre. Just pay your taxes. That’s how you’ll pay us.”

“Are you sure?” McGregger asked, looking up with big brown eyes. He was a much shorter man, white hair with age, and a slightly vague disposition.

“Father,” McGregger’s youngest son sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “The Ghost captain is not going to change his mind. Just do as he says.”

Martin eyed Larry McGregger. Unlike his father, the youngest son reminded the prince of the other half of minor lords. Arrogant about their station and an air that they were too important for petty details, though he was good a sucking up to those of perceived higher station. Apparently Larry considered Ghosts of higher station. Both were going to be a bother during their stay.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” the count asked. Martin briefly wondered if McGregger used the wide eyed tactic to appeal to their willingness to let him help.

“Just what we said,” Dixon said carefully and slowly. “We need the cooperation of you and your people. If we do need something, we will ask for it.”

“A meal wouldn’t hurt about now,” Art said lazily.

“I’ll get my cooks working!” the count exclaimed happily. He grabbed his youngest by the arm, much to Larry’s distaste. “Come son! We have heroes to feed!”

Martin waited for the nobles to be out of hearing before turning to Art. “What was that?” he asked, folding his arms.

Art shrugged. “He was getting to be too helpful. If I didn’t tell him that we needed something, he’d be bugging us all day.” His stomach growled. Pressing a hand to his stomach, he grinned innocently. “And I am hungry.” The other Ghosts chimed in their hunger and started talking about what sort of food the count was likely to serve them.

Martin let the matter drop and looked around the manor. It was a beautiful manor, set in the hill side and overlooked the entire valley. The front of the manor was almost all windows, to take advantage of the view.

How could she have left such a beautiful place, he wondered, staring out the window. It was nearing evening and the sun was setting past Targhee pass.

“Someone is coming.”

Martin frowned. Normally the Spirit didn’t talk with him unless he was in danger or it felt the need to bug him. It was just a power, the magic of the land and its people. Its control over the world was limited to him. And it was often him who had to choose how to use that power. But when the Spirit told him something, he knew to listen and obey.

Who’s coming? he silently asked.

The Spirit didn’t favor him with a response.

Curious, he opened himself up to the emotions of those around him. He could tell the Ghosts were indeed hungry.

Then raging hate hit him.

“Heithery,” he swore, startling the Ghosts into staring at him. They hardly ever heard him swear. Before they could ask him what was wrong, Martin spun around.

“Sona!” he cried. Right behind him was the pretty researcher. She was as beautiful as ever, with long brown hair caught up in a bun, mischievous green eyes, and delicate features. At that moment, however, her delicate features were covered with rage.

“Wait!” he said, holding up clasped hands before her as she opened her mouth to no doubt yell. “Please! Before you unleash the full fury of the ultimatum you’ve prepared to give me, which I most completely deserve to have every hateful and vile thing you will call me, I just ask one thing.”

“What?” she growled through gritted teeth. The Ghosts took a step back. Martin didn’t blame them. Her tone promised an explosion.

“That you give your awesome terrible ultimatum to me in private.” He held his breath as she glared at him, searching his face for something. Something must have met her approval, for she folded her arms tight around her slim figure, as if to physically hold herself from bursting out.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Where’s the closest unoccupied room?”

Martin flinched. With the exception of Fred, Sona probably knew more about his powers than anyone else. She knew that he would know which rooms weren’t being used. He hesitantly pointed to a room to his right.

Nodding sharply, she turned on her heel, walked to the door, and yanked it open. She gestured angrily inside and stomped in. Martin flinched again. He was in trouble.

Irvin whistled low and turned to him. “What did you do?” he asked. The other Ghosts also turned to him, expecting an answer.

“I lied to her,” he said softly.

“Captain!” they heard her yell with a snap to it.

Martin shivered and hurried into the room. This was not going to go well.
**********
Sona stood facing the window, her back to the door. She counted slowly to ten as she tried to take deep breaths. She had been planning this confrontation for months, been wanting this confrontation for months. Now the moment had arrived, though not in the place she had in mind. It had always been at the Tree or Nacre. Not here, not in her home valley.

She heard the door softly close. Turning around, she finally faced the crown prince. However his back was to her, his head on the door.

“Aren’t you even going to face me?” she asked, trying to keep from shaking with anger.

Martin took a deep breath and turned around, standing at military attention. The last five months hadn’t changed him physically. He was still average height and build, the same dark brown hair cut unfashionably short, the same hazel eyes. The only difference really was his clothes. He was dressed as a Ghost in dark blue with silver ropes.

And he wore his Connection.

How long had he been hiding that? she wondered. She put that matter aside. She would get her answers. Later. This moment was meant to beat him down.

“You’re a jerk,” she said, not bothering to keep the venom out of her voice. He flinched and he didn’t argue.

Curse it! She had been hoping he would argue. Then again, it gave her liberty to unleash her furry.

She went at it, held nothing back as she lashed her tongue at him. Martin flinched with each blow, his posture slumping and his expression pained with each barb she threw at him. She told him he was the scum of the earth, the worst type of violator of trust there was, an idiot who deserved his fate, and a few other choice insults that even made him turn red. But he said nothing for his defense, shrinking against her insults. Nearing the end she began yelling mindlessly, not caring if anyone outside heard what she called him. Realizing she had started repeating the insults, she stopped, breathing heavily and satisfied by how thoroughly cowed he was.

For a long minute, he didn’t say anything, just looked at his feet. Sona thought of a couple more insults and was about to unleash them when he finally spoke.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “I deserve everything you’ve called me.” He almost smiled. “Especially the violator of trust. You have every reason to hate me.”

“I have more than enough,” she growled, folding her arms and fighting back her tears. He should have never led her along. “You’re a proper rotten prince, your highness. You should be in Nacre, where you belong, with all the other backstabbing politicians and two faced liars.”

“Proper rotten prince,” Martin repeated softly. “I’ll agree with rotten, but I’m far from a proper prince.”

She snorted. “And how’s that? You lied about who you were, made others worry sick when you rode off, and now you’re imposing your authority over my valley! How is that not a proper prince?”

“I don’t have a reflection.”

Whatever rebuttal she had froze on her tongue. He didn’t have a reflection? “What’s that to mean?” she asked, wondering why his reflection had anything to do with the conversation. Instead of answering, he just pointed to the window. It was getting dark outside and most of the light in the room came from the candles. At first she thought nothing was wrong. Her reflection was in the window, but as her eyes flickered to where his should have been…

She gasped in shock. There was nothing. The door behind him was reflected, but nothing indicated that a person stood there. She whipped back at him, her eyes wide.

“I’ve been missing my reflection for about a year and a half now,” he explained, his head bowed. Sighing, he glanced at the window. “No one knows how unnerving it is to walk past a mirror or window and not seeing anything there. They assume I’ve gotten used to it, but… It’s only a reminder of what I’m not.”

He took a deep breath then finally looked her in the eyes. “I didn’t know I was the prince when my Connection was discovered. And as punishment for not believing that I was the prince, I lost my reflection and I understand now why. You say I need to go to Nacre and be the prince. The problem is that I can’t. I can’t be a traditional prince in any sense. Not with how I grew up.” He nodded at the strangely blank window. “I’m supposed to figure out who I am. I’m not Prince Henry, but I can’t be Spy Alex either.

“I ran away because Fred reminded me that I wasn’t ready. They’re going to expect things from me, things I know I can’t be. The only way I can return to Nacre is when I am not Prince Henry, not Spy Alex, but me. Martin Santer. I’m trying to find myself, Sona. Please I just need you to understand that.”

Sona stared at him. He needed her to understand that? Suddenly she realized what he was going to ask her. “They don’t know,” she whispered. That was why he wanted to talk to her in private. “The count, the council… They don’t know you’re the prince.” She should have realized that, when her father said that Stevens, not Santer, was leading the army.

The prince shook his head. “I’m trying to build up a reputation for myself,” he said weakly. “I can’t live off the reputation of Spy Alex or Prince Henry. No. With the exception of the Ghosts and Bentley, no one here knows.”

“And you want me to keep your identity a secret?” she demanded to know. “You remember what happened last time you kept it a secret?”

“Yes,” he said sharply, the first defense she had heard in his voice. “I am painfully aware of what happened last time! I still grieve for Luke!” There was a moment of awkward silence before he looked away, as if ashamed of his out burst or ashamed of revealing his feelings.

Sona took a step back, shocked at the new sound of pain in his voice. Or had that pain always been there and they hadn’t noticed it? He was just so good at hiding his feelings…

“Then why are you still hiding?” she asked softly. She wasn’t sure why she asked, but she needed to know. There was so much she needed to know.

He took a deep breath, raising his head to look at her. “I said it before. I’m not Prince Henry and I can’t live as Spy Alex. I am someone different from both persons. I have to find out who I am. And that’s a journey that can only be made alone. I’m hiding because I still don’t know who I really am yet.”

I just told you what sort of jerk you are… Sona thought, but she didn’t say it aloud.

“Sona,” he said softly, suddenly straightening. “I am asking you, no, pleading with you to keep my identity a secret a while longer.” When she didn’t answer, he seemed chest fallen. “Please?”

The plea in his eyes tugged at her heart, and for a brief moment, Sona remembered back to when they were courting and the way he trusted her with the emotions he hid from everyone else. For that brief moment, her anger melted and the feelings she had tried to suppress all winter almost overtook her. Stupid idiot prince! she thought, banishing the memories. He had betrayed her!

“I do understand,” she said, forcing coldness into her voice. Martin flinched at her tone. “And I will do as you ask and not say anything.” She paused, then jabbed a finger at him. “However, if you put yourself in any unnecessary danger, a danger someone else can put themselves in for you, I will go to the count and tell him who you are. Am I understood?”

Martin flinched. “I understand,” he sighed. Sona snorted with satisfaction. She walked briskly past him when he grabbed her arm. “Sona,” he said, “I know you hate me, and I deserve it, but…” He sighed, letting go of her. “But thank you, for understanding why I’m still lying.”

Sona stared at him. That emotionless mask was gone, and his feelings shown on his face. There was a familiar look in his eyes as he gazed at her, one she saw with her brother and his wife, her parents, and others. It shook her to see it in him now, after what she had said to him and threatened to do to him. What she saw in his expression made her breath catch in her throat.

He still loved her.

That, more than anything, terrified her.

Slap!

Martin recoiled from her palm, the expression of pain on his face was more emotional than it was physical. Sona didn’t stop to think and ran from the room, too scared of what his feelings were towards her… And too scared of her feelings for him.
*****************
For the rest of the book, Sona will refer to Martin as the stupid idiot prince. It’s going to be entertaining.

Now I’d like to explain why this post is longer than normal. First, I wanted you to read that confrontation between Sona and Martin because… you’re not getting more story until later. Second, we’ve reached the point when I stopped writing because I was seriously depressed. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to get back into the mood of writing. Third, finals. My last finals. Enough said!

And fourth, now that I’m getting back into the writing mood, classes are done, and a new laptop, I’d like to spend May catching up on my writing. Yep, I want to do a Camp NaNoWriMo during May. But I’ll need your help. Since NaNo won’t be tracking my progress, you will need to. I propose that every Friday I have to post what my writing count is. I’d appreciate encouragement when I do. Here’s what to track:

May 4: 6,668 words
May 11: 18,337 words
May 18: 30,006 words
May 25: 41,675 words
May 31: 51,677 words

If I do this Camp NaNo during May, then I’ll have something to post this summer without having to worry about writing during camp (yes, I’m going back to Girl Scout camp, Trefoil Ranch). Hopefully this will break my ugly habit of not posting during the summer.

I think that’s it. Thanks for reading and enjoy the journey!

The Army

I’m so excited that I’m no longer riding the bus! That doesn’t mean that I’m done with school (I have two finals) or that I won’t be going to Pocatello again (the dietetics department is having a graduation dinner for us graduating), but I am done with the bus. Thank goodness! I’ve been trying six years to stop riding it and now I finally am.

However, this blog isn’t about my exciting news. It’s about what I’ve written in stories. Today we continue with Aeterna’s Heir. This is kind of a boring section because I spend most of it explaining things already known. But hey, that’s what you get when you start a new book. To the story!
**************
Dixon wished the general would summon him earlier in the day, or perhaps tomorrow morning. But no, the general wanted to see him now, late into the night while everyone else was getting ready for bed. However, Dixon wasn’t going to disobey an order. Even if that meant missing out on their nightly card game.

General Chief used his room as both his sleeping quarter and temporary office. It was less space they had to clean up, which in Dixon’s opinion, was good. During the first week of their stay, everyone pitched in to help clean up the rooms. By the end, everyone was dirty and tired. Even he had the thought to ask the prince to use his powers to clean the rooms.

“Sir,” he said, knocking on the open door. “You summoned me?”

Chief was writing something at his desk. He put the pen down and stood up. “Yes, I did,” he said, gesturing him into the room. Once Dixon was inside, the general closed the door. “I’m sorry for calling on you so late. I know you enjoy the card game.”

“I need to get out once in a while,” Dixon said respectfully. His duty to Aeterna came first.

“I’ll try to keep this meeting short,” Chief promised. “You are second in command in this team.”

Dixon somehow managed to keep his feelings from his face. He should have been put in command four months ago, when Hillard was forced to retire from the Ghosts. It should have been him promoted to captain. Not that upstart prince.

“Thank you, sir,” he said slowly.

Chief raised an eyebrow. Why was it that the Ghost general could see through lies? “Something the matter?”

Dixon struggled within himself. There were so many things he wanted to rant and rave about how unfair it was when the prince joined them. The prince’s sudden promotion just so he could have a reputation, the way he was favored in most tasks, his own arrogance, his disappearance acts. There was very little Dixon liked about Martin Santer.

“Sir,” he said instead. “I respectfully request a change of post.” Chief frowned, but said nothing. Dixon cringed. He knew what the silence meant. He had to explain.

“Sir, you know I hate nobles.” The general nodded. Of course he understood. Dixon was a little ashamed to admit it, but during his training he had often picked fights with noble hotheads, getting both him and the noble in trouble. It had gotten to be such a problem that the Ghost general had to be involved.

“You’re asking me to be in second command to the height of nobility,” Dixon pointed out bitterly. “I’ve put up with him this winter, because you asked us to help him control his powers. I’ve bitten my tongue so much that I have sores. While I appreciate the opportunity to become a Ghost legend by leading an army, I don’t want to do it by riding on the fame of a prince.”

The general shifted on his feet, though it wasn’t for embarrassment. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, limping to his chair. “Actually, it’s not a matter if you mind.” Groaning softly, he sat down, rubbing that aching knee. Dixon felt a bit ashamed at himself, watching the general. Chief was one of the most brilliant, courageous, and loyal Aeternan Dixon knew. Part of the reason he joined the Ghosts was because he wanted to be like this man. He should have been more conscious of the general’s pain.

“I know you don’t like nobles,” Chief said. Even when sitting, the man seemed to be towering over him with authority. “But I didn’t pick this team just because Martin needed a reputation. Part of my reason was because you are in it.”

Dixon blinked, shocked. “Sir!” he started to exclaim. Chief held up a hand, silencing him.

“What do you know about Martin’s life? Before I forced him into the team?”

Dixon frowned. “He was the Alex,” he said. “Aeterna’s top spy. He lied about being a Santer for over a year. His best friend was killed because of it.”

“Anything else?”

The Ghost gaped at the general. “What else is there?” he asked. “He’s a cocky, arrogant, selfish upstart.”

Chief chuckled. “I would argue with all of those labels. But I’m not surprised you really know nothing about Martin’s life and it is not my place to enlighten you about how much he struggled. But I will tell you this. You are not the first to think Martin is worthless. When he first joined the spies, he was viewed as a thief and a liar. It took him four years to become Suit’s apprentice then another three before he became the Alex. He’s been beaten, cursed at, betrayed, and abandoned.” The general leaned forward, his expression serious.

“While most people would become bitter and see themselves as worthless if they’re treated like that, Martin thrives on it. If no one is fighting against him, he feels as if something is wrong. He needs opposition to grow. I picked this team, knowing you hated nobles, because that hate you have is exactly what he needs.”

Dixon took a step back, shocked. He had been picked because of his hate?

“If you truly feel that you cannot continue working with him, then I will reassign you,” Chief said. “However, I want you to consider why I picked you. I don’t want you to like him. I want you to hate him, make his life difficult. It is also why I’m putting you in second of command. While it would be preferred that you don’t argue with him in public, I do want you to argue with him. Don’t bite your tongue around him. Speak your mind. Martin will appreciate it.”

Dixon sat down on the bed, stunned. Was he really having this conversation? It was like four months before, when Chief ordered them to throw as many snow balls at the prince as possible. He was ordering him to treat the prince with disrespect.

“Do you accept?” Chief asked.

Dixon took a minute before answering. “How can I say no?” he whispered. Hadn’t he dreamed of berating nobles? Arguing with them? Showing them that they weren’t the boss? He wouldn’t just be punching a cocky minor noble in the nose like during his training. He would literally be a stumbling block for the prince of Aeterna. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Chief said briskly, as if he were expecting that to be his answer all along. “There are a couple of things about being second in command that I do want you to be aware of. You already know that you are to argue with the prince. The second you’re going to have to keep secret from Martin.”

This peaked his interest. What could the general have in mind that he didn’t want the prince to know?

“If Martin is ever incapacitated, your main duty is to keep him safe.” Chief looked wearied now and, somehow, pained. “There have been a lot of mistakes where Martin is concerned. And one of them is his safety. Oh, yes, I have no doubt that he can take care of himself in a fight, but that doesn’t mean that a blow to the head won’t land. Accidents happen and not even he can prevent that. If it does happen, and Martin can’t give orders, your job is to keep him safe, above everything else. I hate to say this, but if you have to pick from protecting a town and protecting Martin, you are ordered to pick Martin. Towns can be rebuilt. But we only have one prince, and he’s been through enough. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Dixon did understand. It was one of the reasons why he hated nobles. They felt entitled to protection and considered themselves more important than the lives of others. However, Chief wanted him to keep this a secret from the prince. Did that mean that Martin considered others of more importance than himself? Dixon wasn’t sure what to think about that.

“Good,” Chief said, now just looking tired. “You are dismissed for the night. We have an early start tomorrow. I know everyone is looking forward to leaving this place.”

Dixon finally chuckled, completely in agreement. Everyone was getting tired of these abandoned walls. Standing up and saluting, he left the general, heading back to his room. It had been a short meeting. Perhaps he wouldn’t miss the card game after all. He hummed to himself as he found the game still in progress. The near future looked a lot better than it had this morning.
**************
His Rowan was ready to leave, nearly more so than he was. Martin patted the elven horse’s neck, feeling the tense, excited muscles in the powerful neck.

“Patience, Rowan,” he chuckled, sitting back up in his saddle. “We need to wait for everyone else.” It wasn’t much of a surprise when Martin was the first one in his saddle and rode out the door. He had less to pack on Rowan’s back than the others. Martin doubted that aspect of his life was going to change. No matter what he owned, he knew it could be replaced by something else. There was no need to form attachment to things he knew he was going to loose anyway.

The next one to ride out of the gates was Art Suit. Art looked a lot like his father, though he didn’t have a mustache and he had his hair grow out ridiculously long. While Martin knew it was the current fashion for men to have their hair like that, he couldn’t bring himself to let his hair grow that long. It was getting too long for his liking now, the dark brown hair nearly constantly falling into his eyes. One of the first things he was going to do when they joined the army was to cut it short again.

“A beautiful day,” Art laughed, smiling up at the sunshine. “Isn’t it?”

“Fresh air,” Martin agreed, grinning, “new views. Any day is beautiful if we’re leaving this place.”

“Ha!” Irvin laughed, hearing the comment as he rode out. “Couldn’t agree more. No offense to you, Martin, but I’d rather join society again.”

“Can’t wait to shave your head again,” Clary teased, following after Irvin. “Why you couldn’t use one of the razors we already had…”

“I explained it!” Irvin sighed dramatically. “Face razors are different from head razors!”

“To you, maybe,” Art chuckled. “Is Dixon and Chief ever going to come out?”

“Be patient,” Dixon said as he and the general rode through the gates, leading the two pack horses. “We’ll leave just as soon as the general tells us so.”

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Fred chuckled. “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to lock it up?” Clary asked, turning back to the abandoned mansion that had been their home for the last four months.

“Why?” Fred asked, frowning as he too looked at it. “No one is using it besides wild animals. If we leave the door open, then they won’t break in. Come on, there are some supplies in town I want to pick up before we head out.”

The ride to town wasn’t long. Martin had been a little surprised that they hadn’t visited the town during the winter. It had only been midwinter when he and the others learned why. The town had no idea they were there and Fred intended to keep it that way. The easiest way to hide someone, himself in this case, was simply to not let people know where they were. Terk was no doubt trying to find him this winter. It would have been hard to find him because no one knew where he was with the exception of the Ghosts who were staying with him.

Now I’m going to be out in the open again, Martin thought, as he and the others waited for Fred to come back from the town. They waited out in the forest for the general. No need for the town to realize just who had been staying in their abandoned mansion all winter.

He actually felt excited that he wasn’t hiding anymore. It was almost a relief, a burden off his shoulders, to be among people who knew he was. While he still felt that Fred was going a bit extreme to give him a reputation, he was glad that he was finally doing something other than dodging snowballs.

Fred’s trip into town wasn’t long and he was soon back with the two pack animals with new provisions, and he carried a limp brown package.

“Here,” he said, riding up to Martin and handing him the package. “This is for you.”

Martin frowned. The last gift he received from Fred was the elven horse he was riding. “What is it?” he asked, ripping the brown paper off. The other Ghosts surrounded him, frowning in confusion as he pulled out a glove.

“That’s to make your Connection less noticeable,” Fred said, nodding briefly to the other glove that was looped through the prince’s belt. Martin also glanced at it. It hardly ever left his persons anymore. It was his Connection, a magical focus that kept the magic of the land, and his command over that power, under tight control. As long as he had his Connection nearby, he wasn’t likely to cause as much damage without it.

“I get it,” Art said. “That’s an extra glove. Martin’s Connection is just the one glove. If he walked around with just one glove people would wonder what happened to the other one.”

Martin pulled his Connection out and compared the two gloves. They were nearly identical. Both made of brown leather with dark green trim on the end. He put them both on, nearly reaching his elbows, and held them out. He hardly wore his Connection because it did look strange with just one glove on. With this new glove, he could wear his Connection without too much attention.

“Thanks,” he said, moving his fingers to make sure the gloves were comfortable to wear. The Connection felt as if it were made for his hand, while the other, though still comfortable, felt like a generic glove. “I’m a bit amazed you got it to look so close to my Connection.”

Fred shrugged. “The tanner in town is one of the best undiscovered artists in Aeterna. I gave him the best description I had and produced it nearly perfectly. Though,” Fred said in almost an afterthought, “he did take a couple of tries to get it near perfect.”

“I hope you paid him well,” Martin said, taking hold of his reigns.

“Of course,” Fred snorted. “I’m not about to cheat out talent. Now that we have that out of our way, let’s ride.”

No one needed to be told twice. Their journey took them out of the forest. The other Ghosts joked and laughed as the forest slowly cleared and more farmlands started to appear. Martin didn’t join in much with the joking, unless his name cropped up. Instead, he rode mostly in silence, constantly glancing down at his hands.

His Connection had always been part of his life, though in his street days, it had just been a lucky charm. Things just happened better if he had it. As he had grown up, moved to Aeterna, and became a spy, he kept the glove, a small part of him still believing it was magic. He had no idea it was magic. But once the Inhibitor was turned off, his Connection returned to its full potential and he to his true powers.

His true powers.

Martin closed his eyes, a habit Fred had been trying to break him of. But every time he wanted to use his powers, the prince wanted to blot everything out to focus on those powers.

The Seven Founders were the reason for his powers. They, over a thousand years before, merged the magic of the land, a young nation called Aeterna, to its rulers, the Santers. The result in that spell made the Santers masters over the land. Martin could feel the land now. If he focused enough, he could tell every tiny detail of Aeterna. That Evan’s Stand, much farther south, was suffering from a harsh spring storm. Nacre, the capital, was currently enjoying a brief break in the weather. The Tree, home of the spies, felt as old as it was. Around him, as they traveled, he could feel the young forest, the life in it.

And that was only the tip of his powers.

Martin knew he had to be careful with his powers. He had already made a volcano go off and affected the weather whenever he was hurt or depressed. The others were a bit scared of his powers, but they didn’t know he was probably more scared than they. Which was why he had the Connection. The Connection helped him keep his control over the magic of the land. It even prevented the land from reacting whenever he was hurt. Martin could tell the difference between the raw power and the control the Connection gave him. He knew, now, that he would never go without his Connection again.

His sixth sense, his powers, tingled. Someone was coming.

“Martin?”

The prince opened his eyes to find that Fred had rode up beside him. Another gift from his powers. He knew when people were around him and if he focused, he could tell the emotions of those around him. In truth, he could tell what most Aeternans felt. Thankfully, he couldn’t alter those emotions. That, he felt, would be too much power.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Fred asked.

Martin chuckled. Fred Chief was one of the few people who could tell when something was bothering him. “I’m just thinking about my powers,” he honestly said. There was really no use lying to Fred. The Ghost general was one of the even fewer people he trusted. “What were the Seven Founders thinking when they merged the Santers to the magic of the land?”

Fred didn’t answer right away, stroking his beard. “I think,” he said slowly. “Think, mind you, that they wanted leaders who knew what best to do for the people. Can’t do that if the leaders don’t know the people, now can they?”

“Point,” Martin agreed, smiling a bit. “But don’t you think there might be an easier way?”

Fred shrugged. “I suppose so, but I doubt we’ll ever know, now will we?”

Martin didn’t reply to that response. No, the Seven Founders made sure of it. They knew, after they had laid the spell and gave the Santers Connections, that their spell would not last through the generations. They created the Renewal Spell, a way to renew their original spell in the Santers every four hundred years.

King Bert, Martin’s grandfather, was supposed to bear the burden of the Renewal Spell, but his increased powers had terrified him and no one believed him when he said he was getting stronger. Instead of taking on the responsibility, however, Bert passed the Renewal Spell to his unborn grandchild. Bert had only lived long enough to crown his heir as king and to see his grandson, Henry, born with the Renewal Spell. The only clue he left about his deeds was a letter, apologizing to his grandchild about the burden he placed on him.

It had only been within the last couple of years that the pieces of the past began to be put together. When his Connection was unblocked and the queen saw it. Other troubling details were soon to follow. How Terk, the Mad General of Venter, had learned of the Renewal Spell through Bert and vowed to sever the Santers from the land. How Terk ordered the young two year old prince kidnapped and his face magically altered. How the Inhibitor was placed, thus creating a block between the Santers and the land. Martin’s little sister, Princess Sara, had been born without powers because of it.

It all really comes down to Terk, Martin thought bitterly. If he just kept his nose out of Aeternan affairs, this mess wouldn’t have happened. However, Terk had intervened and now Martin Santer, not Prince Henry, had to clean it up.

“You’re having dark thoughts,” Fred pointed out.

Martin let out a deep, frustrated breath. “Just thinking about Terk now. My life would be so much easier if he hadn’t come meddling in it.”

Fred snorted, shifting in his saddle. “Everyone’s life would be simpler without him.”

“Including yours?” Martin asked, smirking at his guardian.

“Especially mine,” he grumbled. He reached down to rub his knee. “Do you realize I wouldn’t be dealing with this knee if he hadn’t invaded Aeterna?”

The general had a point. However, by mentioning the attack on Fort Bree Fred reminded the prince of someone else who had been at that battle.

“What was my father’s Connection?”

Fred blinked in surprise at the question. In truth, Martin was a bit surprised he asked it himself. He had wanted to know more of his father, but he refrained because it was painful for him to think about. For years he had wanted a father, though he did consider Fred close enough to a father, but the moment he knew he was part of a family, he had to deal with the loss of his father.

“It’s a little embarrassing,” Fred admitted, his cheeks coloring a bit.

“Embarrassing?” Martin asked, confused. “How can it be embarrassing?”

“Well,” Fred coughed, looking reluctant. “It was… a belt.”

Martin tried to stifle his laughter. “A belt?” he repeated, struggling to keep from laughing. “Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fred said softly, though now smiling a bit himself. “The Seven Founders tried to make the Connections as wear-friendly as possible. They didn’t make shirts or pants because people would question why the Santers didn’t change, but they instead tried to keep them everyday wear that people wouldn’t question.”

That made sense. Martin’s Connection was a glove, the queen’s a necklace, Sara’s a bracelet, and Bert’s a war medal. A belt didn’t seem too out of place. Still… A belt?

“The Seven Founders must have been scrapping the bottom of the barrel for Connections on that choice,” Martin snickered.

“Probably,” Fred sighed. “However, the Connections are reused. I can think of a dozen Santers in the past who had a glove as their Connection.”

“Hey!” Art called out. Martin and Fred turned around to see the rest of the Ghosts had lagged behind. “Are we going to call a break for lunch? Or are you two too busy?”

“We should feed them,” Fred commented quietly to him. “Otherwise they’ll be bugging us all the way to the army.”

Martin chuckled and rode back to the other Ghosts. “An empty stomach is a complaining stomach.”
*************
They reached the army when the sun was nearly behind the horizon. As Martin and the other Ghosts knew, there were no generals to greet them. After all, they were supposed to be the head of this army. However, there was someone there to greet them. As they dismounted, the man with commander strips came forward and shook each of their hands.

“Commander Bentley,” Martin said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“No more than I am to see you,” Jim Bentley said, his eyes flickering briefly at the gloved hand he was shaking. “I’ve been informed of your promotion. Congratulations.”

“You two know each other?” Art asked, the next in line to shake hands with the commander.

“I was the commander at the Grelend Estates,” Bentley explained, again glancing at the prince. “I got to know Ghost… Stevens here while we worked there together.”

A vague answer that even Martin could appreciate. In all reality, Bentley knew exactly who he had been, who he had been pretending to be, and who he actually was. Martin spared an enquiring glance at the Ghost general.

“Yes,” Fred sighed quietly. “He was picked because of what he knows.” In an even softer tone so no one could hear, he went on. “He also knows that you’re supposed to continue under the name Stevens instead of Santer.”

Martin just sighed. Yes, he was out in the open again, but he still had to go under his cover name, Stevens. Not that he was exactly anxious to let the general public know he was a Santer, but enough people knew that Martin Stevens was actually Martin Santer. Including General Terk.

“It is my pleasure to meet each of you,” Bentley was saying to the Ghosts, trying his hardest to not to bring much attention to Martin. “I’m sure that you would like to freshen up and get some rest tonight before addressing the troops tomorrow morning.”

“You bet I want to freshen up!” Irvin said, rubbing a hand over the fuzz on his head. “I’d like to get this off. I feel too warm with this mop on my head.”

“A hot meal wouldn’t hurt,” Dixon chimed in.

“Perhaps something to drink,” Clary sighed.

“I’d to change out of these muddy clothes,” Art added, picking at his pants.

“Very well,” Bentley said, holding his hand out. “Your tents are this way.”

“I will miss the real beds though,” Clary remarked to Martin as they followed the commander. “That was nice.” Martin just shrugged. There were very few places he couldn’t sleep.

Bentley left them at their tents to arrange for dinner and to allow them time to freshen up. As they suspected, Irvin went in search for the barber. Martin went along with the Ghost, wanting to get his hair finally cut. Oddly enough, Fred also followed them.

The barber wasn’t far from their tents and wasn’t at all annoyed that they interrupted his dinner. The man took his duty seriously and had Irvin down in a chair for a shave before either Ghost could apologize for their disturbance. Martin was a little nervous at how fast the man worked, but in a short time, Irvin hoped out of the chair with a clean shaven head without any cuts.

“Your turn captain,” the barber said, grabbing Martin’s arm and practically shoving him into the chair. “A clean shave or just a chop?”

“Chop,” Martin said, “I don’t want it in my eyes.”

The man went to work, cutting and snipping. Martin sat completely still. This was far from his first haircut from someone else, but this man was still going a bit too fast for his liking. The barber didn’t even try to entice a conversation out of him, like other barbers.

“There,” the barber said, snorting in satisfaction. He handed Martin a mirror. “What do you think?”

Martin gazed down at the mirror, feeling his stomach drop.

There was no reflection.

Shortly after the discovery of his Connection, Martin had stubbornly refused that he was the prince. The magic of the land, known as the Spirit of Aeterna, had taken actions it thought that would remedy that and had taken away his reflection in consequence. The Ghosts still teased him about how long it took him to shave.

“Captain?” the barber asked again, insistently. “Do you like it?”

“It looks good, Martin,” Fred said. Now the prince knew why the general came along. His guardian knew he couldn’t see his reflection. “A bit longer than you normally keep it, but a good cut.”

“Yes,” Martin said, relieved that Fred had described the new cut to him. He gave the mirror back to the barber. “You do good work. A bit fast, but good.”

“I have to be fast,” the barber snorted. “I’m the only barber in this unit. If I didn’t work fast, I’d still have a line long into the night.”

“Thank you again,” Martin said, sliding out of the chair. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of Irvin. He likes a bald head.”

“You should try it, Captain,” Irvin teased, rubbing his now smooth head. “I don’t have to worry about bed head like the rest of you.”

Martin didn’t give a response and headed back to their tents. When they arrived, Commander Bentley had returned with dinner. The command tent was converted into a dinning tent. Privates acted as servers, lighting candles, pouring drinks, and setting the table.

“Is this necessary?” Martin asked Bentley as he and the other Ghosts waited for the actual dinner to arrive.

Bentley raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Don’t you like being served on?”

“Like?” Clary laughed, clapping the prince’s shoulder. “He’s likely to disappear on you than let you serve him.”

“A self-sufficient man, our captain,” Art agreed, accepting a drink from one of the privates. He held his hand out to stop the private from offering Martin a drink. “He doesn’t want one,” Art told the young man. “Best never to offer him something other than water to drink.”

Martin sighed, wishing Art hadn’t put it out so bluntly. “I’m allergic,” he clarified, the hesitant look from the private revealing the young man’s unease about a possible drunker as one of his commanders. “I get violently sick.”

That had been an experiment early during the winter. Chief had recovered some records that said one of the side effects of the Renewal Spell was the inability to get drunk. Of course, the other Ghosts wanted to see if that were true, so they didn’t tell the prince that they had slipped alcohol into his drink. Martin spent the night sitting by the privy, throwing up everything in his stomach and then some. The next morning Chief, after chewing the Ghosts out for their prank, clarified what he had said. Because of Martin’s connection with the land, the magic wouldn’t allow him to do anything self destructive, including getting drunk. The only way to not get drunk was to simply not drink. The magic of the land did that by making the prince suffer if he did drink. Martin figured he could just tell people he was allergic to alcohol.

The private visibly relaxed and circulated his drinks around the other Ghosts before retrieving a glass of water for him.

“Dinner is served,” said one private, who had been standing by the tent entrance. Other privates rolled in a roasted goose and began to cut to plate. Martin and the others sat down. Martin stiffened a little as one of the privates placed the plate of food in front of him. No matter how much Fred kept telling him to relax around servants, Martin just couldn’t. He had spent too long serving to be comfortable around those who did the work for him.

“You are dismissed for the rest of the evening,” Bentley told the privates, who stood at attention. “Thank you.” The privates saluted and left, much to Martin’s relief.

“To business?” Fred asked, casually waving at the tent. Martin knew the signal and what it meant. Taking a deep breath, he opened himself to the emotions of the camp. He knew there was no one around their tent. To make sure it stayed that way, he focused on the tent itself, making the fabric sound proof. The only way someone could listen in was if they were inside the tent itself. This anti-listening trick was another aspect to his powers he learned over the winter. He rather liked it.

“Your letters explained everything,” Bentley said. “The Ghosts are to lead, with Captain Stevens as the final say in things.” Bentley once again glanced at the prince. Martin thought he knew the source of the commander’s unease. He had seen first hand the prince’s power and just how dangerous he could be.

“There are a few other details,” Fred corrected. “One. Martin is a horrible fencer. We’ve been working with him all winter to improve his skill, but he’s not there yet. The Ghosts will continue on with those lessons.”

Martin scowled. He wasn’t that bad; most would consider him an average fencer. He just wasn’t as good as the other Ghosts; but he was good at other forms of fighting. However, Fred pointed out that most nobles favored fencing, instead of fist fighting and knife fights.

“Second,” the general went on, ignoring Martin’s scowl. “Everyone in this tent knows that Martin is the prince. I mention this now because you’re going to help him get used to be served on.”

Martin groaned at this, planting his head in his hands. He had hoped Fred would forget that detail.

“You got to learn,” Art teased. The Ghosts had an entertaining winter trying to serve a prince who had a habit of disappearing when they did.

“And thirdly,” Fred said louder, cutting the teasing short. “Martin’s main purpose being here is to gain a reputation as a Ghost. Try to give him credit for things, unless of course someone else deserves that credit. But try to put him in situations where he’s going to get the credit.”

“No problem,” Irvin laughed. “We’ve just got to keep him in sight long enough to do something heroic.” He turned to the commander, smirking. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our prince likes doing good deeds when no one is looking.”

“That’s our main problem,” Dixon added dryly. “His Highness doesn’t like attention.”

“Can you blame me?” Martin muttered. “A spy doesn’t like attention.”

“But you’re not a spy anymore,” Fred pointed out, jabbing his fork in the prince’s direction. “You have years of spy training to overcome before you can be a prince. We’re trying to help you.”

Martin stared at his plate, feeling a bit ashamed. They were only trying to help him. It was just… He sighed. Life used to be easy.

“Tomorrow morning,” Fred went on, seeing that he wasn’t going to reply, “we’ll assemble the troops, introduce their new commanders, and head out. Sitting here isn’t doing anyone any good.”
**************
Snicker. Next week’s post is going to be entertaining. Enjoy the journey!

Aeterna’s Heir: A Name

Well, we’ve come at last to the beginning of the final book in Martin’s story, Aeterna’s Heir. I’m still in a bit of a stupor as I think about it. Martin has been a part of my life for ten long years. Am I really ready to write this final book I’ve been planning for so long? Is Martin ready for it? Is this really “The End”? I don’t think that I’ll ever get Martin out of my head though. I mean, I am planning on writing a Child From Loman, and possibly a number of shorts about his life after this book. But right now… I’m coming to the close of a very important chapter in both Martin’s and my life. Still getting used to it.

And a reminder: this is the beginning of a new book. I have to go through the whole explaining the last two books. Again. Reminds me of the Alcatraz books by Brandon Sanderson (and if you haven’t read them, I highly recommend it. They’re hilarious!)

But enough with reminiscing! To Aeterna’s Heir!
************
General Terk, the Mad General of Venter, leaned back in his chair, his feet on the desk, sipping from his drink as he watched the rain beat against the window. It was spring and it seemed that it was going to be a wet one at that. While farmers may like a wet spring, wet seasons were bad for wars. Troop movements bogged down with mud, food supplies spoiled, moral low. Rain was never good for war.

Absently he took an arrowhead out of his vest pocket and fingered it. He could still remember the pain of having it removed from his arm; his Healers assured him that he would heal in time, but Terk still felt an ache in his arm.

“Curse that brat,” Terk whispered, that simmer of hate nearly always boiling now. Nearly five months since he had that young man under his control. Nearly five months ago he was about to finally fulfill his vow and sever the Santer line from the magic of the land, a magic they never should have had in the first place.

But that brat had escaped and managed to foil his plans. Again.

“Nothing?” he suddenly asked.

Behind him, he knew the Tracker was squirming. Not much made the top Venter spy nervous, but Terk knew that his reputation for brutality made even the Tracker shiver.

“I’m sorry to report,” Tracker mumbled.

Terk rolled the arrowhead between his fingers. “He’s a Ghost. They’re celebrated war heroes here. Surely you could find some whisper about where Ghost Eighty-One is.”

“I suspect,” Tracker said slowly, “that once he was discovered, he was taken into deep hiding. And I highly suspect that the Alex had a hand in it.”

Terk frowned. The Alex was Aeterna’s top spy, more myth than a man because of the long line of spies who held the title over the centuries. The current one was still a mystery because Suit finally named a new one within the last couple of years. All they really knew of the new Alex was his great fighting abilities and his disappearance acts.

Standing up, Terk walked over to the window. Despite the rain, he could see the farm his army had ruined by setting their tents up in the fields. The family who owned this house were quick to move out once they found out who was coming onto their lands. There was no reason to fear. Terk would have only held them hostage until they moved out again and then released them back to their ruined farm.

“We’re just going to have to gloat him out,” Terk finally said.

“General?” Tracker asked.

The general gently bounced the arrowhead in his palm. “You weren’t there. He didn’t step up until after I murdered his friend and threatened to kill everyone else. He cares about the people. He’ll do what he can to protect them.”

He tossed the arrowhead into the air and caught it, holding it tight in his fist. “Send the orders out tomorrow. We’re changing tactics.” He suspected that Tracker bowed before he left, closing the door softly after him.

“You’ll come out,” Terk said, slowly grinning. “Then we’ll finish this.”
***************
Abigail Santer, the Queen of Aeterna, sat before a fire, reading a book and glancing at the rain pattering on the window. She was thankful for the rain. Not only was it going to be helping the farmers this year, but it slowed the war down. Not that winter hadn’t done that already. It seemed like a long winter, with snows falling before fall was even done, bringing the war to a near halt. Now with all the rain, the war was off to a slow start.

Of course, there was another reason why the winter was long.

There was a polite knock. Sighing, the queen put a mark into her book. “Come in.”

Her personal assistant, Brent Shay, walked in. As usual, he was carrying a large stack of papers in his arms.

“Forgiveness, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing successfully without spilling one paper. “But the reports you’ve requested.”

Abigail sighed. She had been ruling Aeterna all through this war and she had requested that the generals send her regular reports on their war efforts. Some days the reports were downright depressing. Thanks to the long winter and wet spring, however, the reports were mostly complaints about lack of troops, food, clothes, and other supplies. While she tired to accommodate where she could, she knew Aeterna just did not have all the resources her generals wanted.

“Bring them here,” she said, resigning herself to another afternoon of reading complaints. Shay, with one arm still filled with papers, managed to pull a stack of letters out and placed them on the table beside her.

“Anything else?” she asked, picking up the top most letter and opening it.

“No,” Shay said, smiling a bit. “I must say… Your daughter has done a great deal to help you this winter. She’s grown so since you sent her to a manner school.”

Abigail chuckled. Everyone had thought she had sent her headstrong teenager to a manner school. Very few people knew the truth. Terk was planning on kidnapping the princess and Abigail, rather than have that happen, sent her daughter into the spy network, under her Spy Master, Doug Suit. The year the princess had spent there had changed Sara from a spoiled brat to a proper princess.

“I’m glad she’s helping,” she admitted, quickly scanning the letter. “I don’t think I could have done everything by myself.”

“I’m sure you would have found a way,” her assistant tried to assure her. Abigail just rolled her eyes. Everyone knew she was strained, especially since the news of her son came to light.

Speaking of my son, she thought, recognizing the next letter in the pile.

“Could you send for Sara?” she asked, pretending to be casual as she opened the letter. “I’d like to talk to her about a certain young man who’s trying to court her.”

Shay bowed and left. Abigail waited for a few moments to make sure he was gone when she pulled three letters from the envelop. One was addressed to Sara. The other two for her. She quickly opened the one with her husband’s handwriting.

Dear Abby,

I trust this letter has found you in good health. If not, well, I want you to go to a healer as fast as possible. Abigail chuckled. That was her husband, always looking after her but teasing her at the same time.

Joking aside, things have been doing well here. The snow is starting to clear out with all the rain we’ve been getting. I keep asking our son if he had anything to do with it and he assures me that he has not. I believe him. In the short time that we’ve been here, he has mastered his powers and nearly always carries his Connection with him.

The queen sighed in relief. It had been shocking when she had learned just how powerful her son was, almost terrifying. One of the reasons why he hadn’t come to Nacre was because of his abilities. Now she wondered….

However, he is not yet ready to come home. Abigail frowned. Perhaps not. I will soon be sending him out with his team. I cannot tell you where I am sending him, for his safety, but I want to assure you that he will not be in Terk’s path.

There was another polite knock on her door. Abigail quickly hid the letter from her husband in her coat. It had been three and a half years since the war started, when everyone assumed her husband had been killed in the invasion. The king, however, had just been injured and lied about his name when the enemy searched the dead. It was only because of his deception that he was alive. There were very few people privy to that information.

“Come in,” she ordered, tugging on her coat so it didn’t looked messed with.

The door swung open then slammed shut. Her fourteen year old daughter, Princess Sara, looked as if she were out of breath. The girl must have run the moment she heard she had been summoned. Abigail waited patiently for Sara to catch her breath. The older the princess got, the more she looked like her mother. They shared the same slim frame, grey eyes, and blonde hair. The only thing Sara had of her father was his desire to spend some days other than a Santer.

“Mother,” Sara finally gasped out, curtsying then rushing to sit down in the chair next to her. “I want to set the rumors at rest. I have no intentions toward Lord Ta’lurd. No matter what he says, I do not want anything to do with him!”

Abigail blinked at the stream of words out of her daughter’s mouth. “The summons about a young man was just to get you here,” she said, giving Sara a stern look. “But now that you’ve blurted it out, I would like to hear it.”

Sara blushed, sinking back in her chair. No doubt she was embarrassed that she had revealed something that she had been keeping secret. “Well,” she said in a quiet voice. “You know the Ta’lurd family?”

“The Dukes of Harilne,” the queen noted.

“Well, their oldest son, Nickolas.” She stopped, holding her hands out as if she wanted to strangle something. “He’s a jerk! I’ve been trying to get the court ready for my brother’s return, and Lord Nick keeps getting in the way! He says that my brother is actually dead and that we should stop the foolish search for him.

“Then to top that all off,” Sara growled, pounding the chair’s arm with her fists. “He wants to court me! He wants to be king and he thinks that marrying me will get him the throne! Urgh! I hate him!”

Abigail rubbed her eyebrow, fighting the smile and laughter. It was a serious matter, one that should be taken seriously, but seeing her daughter’s frustration was… funny.

“We’ll talk later about what we can do about Lord Ta’lurd,” the queen promised. “If you don’t want anything to do with him, then I’ll help you where I can.” Sara blinked, then blushed again. The princess still wasn’t used to getting help with her problems from her mother. Abigail blessed again the year the princess had spent at the Tree. Her girl was no longer a spoiled brat that liked to argue about everything.

“Why did you summon me?” Sara asked, quickly changing the subject.

Abigail held out the letter addressed to the princess. “A letter from your favorite Ghost…” Before she finished, Sara snatched the letter and opened it, reading eagerly. Abigail smiled. Sara had taken a liking to her older brother immediately.

The queen picked up the other letter addressed to her, the one from her son. Settling back in her chair, she read it, briefly wondering when her family would be together once more.
***************
Martin Santer, the Crown Prince of Aeterna, sat on a balcony bench, enjoying both the sun and book he was reading. Despite the isolated castle he and the others had spent the winter, he had to search for a quite place to be by himself. This balcony was perfect for it. He was out of sight from both inside and outside the castle. The only way a person could find him is if they came out onto the balcony itself. That was fine by him. At least no one was throwing snowballs at him.

Thinking of snowballs, he looked up from his book and the surrounding forest beyond the balcony. Spring arrived none too soon after a long winter. The rain had melted most of the snow, but there were still piles of snow scattered around the castle. Martin had to be very careful of snowballs in the last couple of weeks, since the others had started dunking the balls in water and making them ice balls. A painful hit he rather not have.

Still, no one had yet to find his hiding place here. He returned to reading his book. It was one of the few books he owned, a fiction tale of a bold adventurer, his faithful companion, the trouble they sought, the women they wooed, their tragedies, and their victories.

After he finished a chapter, he closed the book, leaning back against the stone wall, not really seeing the forest. He knew people who didn’t like fiction because some of the stories were just too unbelievable. While he agreed that some of the parts were a bit difficult to swallow, he wondered just how many people would swallow his own history….

The back of his neck prickled.

Whoosh!

Martin felt the snowball in the air before he could see it. A single thought from him stopped it in midair. He had been pummeled with enough snowballs during the winter that he could stop them before they hit him and send the snowball back to the person who threw it. However, this time he did not send it back. With another thought, the snowball dropped as a puddle of water.

“Dang,” said Perry Irvin, Ghost Twenty-Three, who stepped out onto the balcony. “You’ve gotten good.”

Martin snorted. “I should. I’ve only spent the last four months dodging them. How did you find me?” The prince knew that he had left no tracks leading to this balcony. A fairly difficult task considering the three decades worth of dirt and debris that covered nearly every inch of the castle.

“It’s the only place we hadn’t checked,” Irvin said, rubbing the soft fuzz on his head. The black man was itching to get out of the castle and back to civilization so he could have someone shave the hair off his head again. “Chief has called a meeting. He won’t start without you.”

Martin nodded and stood up. They walked back into the castle and the large room the balcony was attached to. It was in much condition as the rest of the castle, with broken furniture, dirt and leaves blown in over the years, evidence of animals taking home inside the abandoned walls. No one had lived in it for years.

Which was why they were there.

It had only been within the last year and a half that Martin had discovered who he really was and what he could do. Before he had been the Spy Alex, the top spy in Aeterna, a title he had worked hard for. But that life, one he still thought of wistfully, was now beyond his grasp. No, he was the heir to the throne with powers that he needed to learn to control.

He could still remember the day he found that Inhibitor in a Venter war camp. At the time he just thought it was something of value to the Santers. He had no idea that, after the Inhibitor had been turned off, it would jerk him out of the life he had planned to a future that he still didn’t know. Since then he had been faced with adventures that would rival those in his book. Fighting the enemy, struggling to understand his sudden powers, betrayals, confusion, fear, just how far loyalties went, and the price for lying.

His stomach dropped, like it always did when he thought of his friend Luke Ander and the sacrifice he gave to protect his friend and prince.

“Why the long face?” Irvin asked as they descended a grand staircase. “I’m thinking that Chief is finally going to let us out of this place.”

Martin forced his thoughts back to the present. It had been nearly five months since his friend died and he was still dwelling on it. “Just thinking about something else,” he answered, not really wanting to tell Irvin the truth.

“Still can’t decide,” Irvin said, smoothing his mustache, the only hair he allowed on his head. “Did Chief teach you to give vague answers or if you’re naturally like that.”

Martin shrugged. “I think maybe it’s a bit of both.”

“Ha!” the black man laughed, slapping his thigh. “Another vague answer!”

They came to a small dinning room, one that was meant for servants. However, there were only six of them currently living in the abandoned mansion and they didn’t feel like cleaning out any more space than they needed. Art Suit, Ghost One Thirty, and Trevor Dixon, Ghost One Sixty-Two, were already there.

“You found him!” Art exclaimed, bounding out of his chair. “Where did you find him?”

“You know that balcony on the second floor? The one attached to what we think used to be a study?”

Dixon frowned, looking a bit annoyed. Of course, the large black man was generally always annoyed with Martin. “But I looked into that room! There were no tracks.”

“I don’t leave tracks,” Martin pointed out. “Not when I don’t want found.”

The Ghosts shifted uncomfortably, including Art. While the Spy Master’s son was more relaxed around him, the younger Suit wasn’t all that relaxed whenever Martin talked about his powers. “You mean…” he hesitated, no doubt remembering the first day they were there and he convinced the prince to use his powers to clean up. Both of them ended up on the floor with that experiment. “You used…”

“No,” Martin said. He had learned his lesson that first day. He didn’t use his powers for minimal tasks. “I’ve just been trained to not leave tracks.”

Art visibly relaxed, but he was the only one. The other Ghosts were still a bit nervous when they thought about just how much training their prince had in espionage. It reminded them of just how dangerous he really was.

“Where’s Fred and Clary?” Martin asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Looking for you,” Dixon snorted. “We were supposed to come back here every ten minutes to see if one of us finally found you. They should be here soon…”

“You found him!”

Wayne Clary, Ghost Seventy-Nine, leaned against the doorframe, making him seem at least the same height as Martin. The rest of the Ghosts, Fred included, were all taller than him, though Clary was just a half head taller than him. None of the Ghosts realized just how small Martin felt whenever he stood among them.

“He was using his spying talents to keep hidden,” Irvin snorted. He turned to the prince. “You know, you’re going have guards one of these days and they won’t be too happy if you disappear on them.”

This time Martin snorted. “Do you think guards will be able to protect me?”

Irvin frowned, thinking it over. “I guess not. You’re a one man army.”

“Well, he’s going to need another.”

This new voice belonged to Fred Chief, General of Ghosts, and Martin’s guardian. The general did a quick head count as he walked into the room. He was a taller man with a strong build. But that wasn’t what made Fred an impressive figure. It was the way he held himself, the way he acted. Chief knew how to hold himself up with power. No one could mistake him as one who followed, but as one who led.

“I’m guessing that we’re to leave this speck of dirt?” Clary asked, casually waving at their surroundings. “Finally?”

Fred chuckled. “Yes, finally. Please sit.” They sat around the table, Fred limping his way across the room. Martin sat down next to him, eyeing his guardian’s injured knee. It had been three and a half years since he received that injury, back when General Terk invaded Fort Bree and Aeterna. Fred had been at that battle.

The same battle that killed my father.

Martin shook that thought out of his head. He had once accepted that he was an orphan, never destined to be part of a family. It was easier to deal with the pain if he remembered that acceptance when he thought of a father he was never going to know.

“I know all of you have been rather tired of these walls,” Fred was saying, getting looks of excitement from the Ghosts. “Now that Martin has managed to control his powers, thanks to all of your help, I have decided that it is time for our prince to begin to create a reputation as Ghost Eighty-One.”

“He already has a reputation,” Art joked, smirking at the prince. “He’s the Hero of the Stand, remember?”

“I know,” Fred said in a stern tone, telling Art to keep the teasing down. “But he technically wasn’t a Ghost at the time. His story was that he was on leave. And not many knew he was actually there as the Alex.” He gave Martin a fond, though exasperated, look. The prince gave his most insincere innocent smile in return. He had used Fred’s Ghost number without permission when he realized he had to tell the people of the Stand something about how he could fight so well. He wasn’t going to tell them he was the Alex.

“So he needs official victories,” Clary summarized. “Are we going to have help with that?”

“Yes,” Fred said. “In two days, all of you as a team will be the head of a small army.”

The Ghosts exchanged looks of surprise. While it wasn’t unheard of a Ghost team to take leadership of an army, it generally just happened when the head of the army was incapacitated and leadership was needed. The only other reason why Ghosts would take leadership was if they were considered better than a general. Fred was proposing that they be claimed as some of the greatest Ghosts of their time.

“Isn’t that going a bit far?” Dixon asked, worried. “I mean, not to belittle our skills, but won’t it be better for us to be consultants in an army? Instead of their leaders?”

The general shook his head. “No. Martin doesn’t have time to build up a reputation. That could take years. Years I’m afraid we don’t have.”

The Ghosts nodded in understanding. Wars didn’t last more than five to seven years. Their current war was only going to last a couple more years at most. Fred’s original plan for the prince was to train in him in his magic until he could control it and then have him work as a Ghost until the war was over. Apparently he needed to tweak that plan a bit.

“You have information that this war is going to be shorter than longer?” Martin asked. He knew that the general had been sending and receiving a lot of letters during the winter. One of them had been from Spy Master Doug Suit.

Fred froze a moment, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’ve been reading my mail?” It almost wasn’t a question.

Martin shrugged. “I’ve got to keep in practice.” He held up a hand before his guardian could lecture him. “No, I did not read your mail. I restrained myself. However, I do recognize Suit’s unmarked letters.”

“That’s my Da,” Art sighed, looking a bit glum. The Spy Master and his son were not on the best of terms. “He could get any letter to anyone without writing a single word on the envelop.”

“We’re veering from the point of this meeting,” Fred pointed out. “You will all lead the army; however, Martin is your captain and will have the final say on things. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Fred nodded sharply at the answer, as if he wasn’t expecting anything but their obedience. “Very well. We will leave tomorrow morning. There is an army waiting for us a day’s ride from here. You are dismissed to pack.”
*************
It was a calculated risk, putting Martin in a position as a Ghost leader of an army, but it was a risk that he had to make. The queen, in her letters, expressed how she would like to have her family back together again, as soon as possible. He would have fought against that, but he felt the same way.

Jonathan Santer, King of Aeterna, was packing up his things, thinking wistfully of the days when he had servants to do this meaningless task for him. But he didn’t have servants. He was playing a part, an act that had to be kept so the enemy wouldn’t search for him.

Not many knew of his secret identity, Fred Chief the Ghost General. At first, Fred was just a name he came up with as a child, when he needed to escape the responsibilities of being the only heir to the throne. As he grew older, he kept the persona, a way to escape the burdens of the throne. Now the act had him trapped in the part. It was either be Fred Chief, just another Aeternan general, or have Terk hunt down the injured King of Aeterna.

His knee was aching. Again. Groaning, he took a break from packing, sitting down on his cot and rubbing his knee. It was a problem with getting old, the aches and pains of injuries that wouldn’t heal.

“You need to retire.”

Jonathan jumped; he didn’t hear anyone come into his room. Looking up, he saw Martin leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded, eyeing the injured knee. The king let out a slow breath, letting his heartbeat slow back down from his scare. His son had an annoying habit of not knocking on doors to announce his entrance. This, he supposed, was because of his training under the spy masters. A spy wasn’t supposed to announce their presence.

“Retire?” Jon snorted, still rubbing his knee. “I’ll retire when I can pass on the family business.”

Martin frowned. “Isn’t your daughter a little young to lead the Ghosts?”

That’s not what I mean, Martin. Though he couldn’t tell his son that. Martin only knew him as Fred Chief, the man who took him off the streets of Loman. The prince had no idea his father still lived and had been watching over him for nearly ten years.

“You packed?” he asked, casually changing the subject.

Martin’s only response was a flat stare.

“Right,” Jon sighed. “Stupid question.” Martin had grown up as a street urchin, eating garbage, sleeping under bridges, and hardly ever considered things worth saving because others urchins and teens would take things away from him. The prince would causally toss most things aside, never caring much for it. The only possessions he did have any sentimentality for could be put in a shoulder pack. “How about a not-so-stupid question. Is there something I can do for you?”

“You won’t be joining us,” Martin said bluntly. “Will you?” Though he asked, the king could see that his son already knew the answer.

“No,” he said softly. “I won’t. You’ve mastered your powers. I wouldn’t have believed it done in three short months, but you did it. The time has now come for you to take up a leadership role.”

“And the best way for that is to drop me into it?”

Jon chuckled, remembering when he was crowned king. He had been a tender nineteen, almost twenty, when his father suddenly advocated and he had to take up the throne. Come to think of it, Martin was about the same age he was when he became king. There must be a good omen in that.

“The best way to learn to swim is to just jump in the water,” Jon quoted a famous adage. “You’ll be fine. I’ve trained you in leadership, Suit has, and you took excellent charge at the Stand. I have every confidence in you.”

Martin blushed a bit, embarrassed and caught off guard by the complement. Jon just smiled, hoping none of his pain came through the expression.

It had taken him eight years after his son’s kidnapping to finally succumb to the Spirit’s prompting to go to Loman, a thieving port of no nation. Once there, he found a street urchin stealing food out of the Aeternan Embassy. He knew that he had to save the child then, though he didn’t know why. Not until nearly nine and a half years later, when Commander Gillian wrote that letter explaining the irony about the child from Loman.

So many clues, Jon thought, giving his son a chance to recover. So many clues that proved Martin is the prince. And I didn’t see any of them.

There wasn’t much he could do to change the past, but he could help Martin shape his future.

“I’m still unsure,” Martin admitted quietly, slumping against the doorframe.

“Good,” Jon snorted. He stood up and crossed the small room to clap his son’s shoulder. “None of us are sure when we first take the leadership role. You’ll be fine. You’ll have your team to lean on, along with some other army commanders to help. If all else fails, you can write me a letter and I can help.”

Martin smiled weakly. “I know how long it takes for letters to get to you.” It was nearly impossible for a letter to reach the king quickly because he was almost always on the move as the Ghost General.

“Then you won’t need to worry,” Jon laughed. “You won’t have to write me a letter. Anything else?”

The prince sighed. “I guess not. I just came to make sure that you know what you’re doing.”

Jon nodded sympathetically. Martin was just so used to working for himself, determining his own path, and relying on only himself, that to have him to accept the king’s help probably made him nervous. The prince had come a long way from that mistrusting street urchin.

That reminded the king of something.

“Sit down, Martin,” he said, steering the reluctant prince to sit on the bed. While Martin was settling down, Jon thumbed through a stack of letters, ones from his wife. It was time to give something to their son that was long over due.

“As you probably figured out,” Jon said, “the queen and I have been corresponding this winter.”

“About me, no doubt,” Martin said dully.

The answer was actually no, but Jon felt that his son didn’t need to know he was still alive yet. Martin had gone through a very difficult couple of years and the king knew that Fred was one of the few solid aspects to the prince’s life. No need to upset that until his son’s life settled down again.

Jon just chuckled, reminded again of the irony of the situation. “We both care about you. And we both felt that you should get something from both of us.” Martin looked perplexed, but said nothing. “What do you know about noble names?”

Martin frowned, now obviously confused. “They’re long and drawn out. Sara has three middle names. Thomas has four.” Jon wasn’t surprised that Martin mentioned his fellow former spy, the now Duke of Dawson. The two had been friends from the moment they met.

“Those names are long because the parents what to remind their children of who they want them to be like,” Jon explained, finally finding the letter he was looking for. “Your sister’s name, for example, is Sara Rose Marie Annette Santer. Sara, after the queen’s mother, Rose after a second cousin, Marie for a friend of the family, and Annette after a famous Aeternan poet. Her name is essentially what her parents wanted her to turn out like.

“You, however,” the king went on, pointing at his son, “are different from any noble who has possibly ever lived. Kidnapped before you could remember, your face magically altered, forced to work hard to gain the things and the respect you have. To be honest, you’ve developed into a young man without any influence to your character. You are a fine young man, one both of us are proud of. We agreed that you shouldn’t get a name that defines who we think you should be, but reflects who you already are.”

“But I have a name,” Martin pointed out. “Henry Nickolas Eric Yates Santer.” He chuckled to himself. “Though I doubt that I’m going to answer to Henry any more.”

Jon shook his head. “No,” he disagreed. “That was the name your parents gave you when you were young, when you had potential to grow in character. I’ll say it again. You need a name that reflects who you already are.” He pulled the paper out and handed it to Martin. “Henry is gone. There is no bringing him back. This is your name. On every official document, on every record, for the rest of your life, this is your name.”

Martin took the letter with a slightly unsteady hand. Unfolding it, he read the only words on the page. He chuckled softly, his posture relaxing as he read it again.

“Well?” Jon asked, suddenly nervous. This was the second time he had named his son. The first time had been when he held a newborn in his arms, standing before the court but staring into the eyes that were so similar to his own deep blue. But this time was different. Now, he looked at a young man with common hazel eyes, alone in an abandoned mansion. There was no ceremony, no cheering crowds, but this moment felt more important, more meaningful, than the first.

There were tears in Martin’s eyes, a half smile slowly growing into a grin. The street urchin who didn’t have a proper name had one of his own, one that only he could claim.

“Martin,” the prince read slowly, laughter in his tone, “Henry Alex Santer.” He looked up. Jon saw true happiness in that common face, a rare display and one that always made the king swell with pride. “Martin Henry Alex Santer,” his son laughed out loud. “I have a name!”

Jon smiled so wide that it hurt. But he couldn’t stop smiling. “Yes,” he whispered, “you have a name.”
*************
A bit sappy, yes, but remember Martin has never had an actual name before. This is an amazing gift to him and he’s ridiculously happy about it.

An interesting thing about that name though. I came up with it long before I decided that his original name was Henry or his spying name was Alex. Funny how things work out that way, huh? I’m quite pleased with the results. (Though I’m not pleased with the original name. If someone can come up with better name than Henry Nickolas Eric Yates Santer, I’ll replace it).

I hope you’ve enjoyed the beginning of Aeterna’s Heir. Now off to Fort Hall for a class assignment. Until next week, enjoy the journey