Two Things

Sleep came in fragments that night.

I was too tired to stay awake and too full of tomorrow to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the same thoughts circled back: the ledger, the Descent, Bald Hawk’s smile, Luca’s Tournament, the palace hanging above the lake and our promise below it.

Near dawn, I woke with a start.

For one stupid, breathless moment, I thought I had slept through the horns. That the Descent had come and gone. That my one chance at freedom had passed while no one cared enough to shake me awake.

But the barracks were still dark. Snores sounded around me. The straw beneath my cheek smelled of sweat and dust.

I considered going back to sleep briefly, but settled for counting the knots in the roof boards instead. I was about halfway through when, from somewhere beyond the walls, the morning horn sounded. The Descent was upon us.

Within minutes we all assembled in front of the barracks, where Bald Hawk was waiting for us. He led us past the kitchens into the wash yard, a fenced-off section of the camp I had never set foot in. It was the first Descent I would be attending.

As we entered, we were made to strip in the chilly pre-dawn air, stuffing our clothes into the wicker baskets laid out at the front. Then we lined up shoulder to shoulder. Luca gave me a nod as he took his place beside me.

“Remind me why we wanted a better view again,” he whispered.

I suppressed a grin as Bald Hawk shot us dark looks.

The guards handed each of us a wooden bucket filled with water, a rag and a tiny square of lye soap. We were to scrub ourselves properly, Bald Hawk told us, or he would do it himself until the skin was raw. None of us felt like finding out whether he meant it.

After the wash, an old camp servant worked down the line with a razor for those of us with hair on our chins. I did not need one, but Luca had grown a light stubble he was proud of, and I watched amused at the dismay on his face as it was nicked clean. We pulled on tunics laundered stiff and unfamiliar against the skin and filed to the mess for breakfast. It was a shame we only had a few minutes for it, because Descent porridge came with two miracles: heat and meat.

The sun had finally edged over the ridge by the time guards summoned us back for final inspection and headcount. Bald Hawk found nothing to object to, though not for lack of looking. They formed us into rows with guards on every side, Frederic among them, near the rear. Then marched us through the main gate and onto the southern cart road. Aldmere lay half an hour below us.

It was a small town that sat on the valley floor and lived off the mine. Cartwrights, rope-makers, stables, storehouses, taverns and shops for guards with coin to spend. The kind of place a passing traveler might lodge at for the night, while headed to somewhere more important. The royal circuit ordinarily passed through the seats from which each district was governed. Ours was the one exception. Of all the valley towns, Aldmere lay nearest the palace’s shadow, and so, once every four years, the district’s representatives came here to meet the King instead.

We were almost halfway down the road when the thought struck me, absurdly late for something so obvious. This would be my first time in Aldmere.

My first time anywhere besides the camp and the lake, in fact. Luca had been sent to the town on occasion to run errands. I never had reason or trust enough to be sent. I had heard only stories.

And if I did not win the quota today, that was all the world beyond the fence would become again - stories. Stories to live on for at least another four years. My hands jittered at my sides. Whether it was anticipation, fear, or only the morning cold, I could not tell.

All of it was forgotten, though, as we rounded a bend and Aldmere came into view. Smaller than the descriptions had made it seem and larger than anything I had ever seen. Smoke rose from the chimneys in winding, gray threads and people moved between buildings in a bustle of activity. It was the central square, though, that caught my attention.

“I’ve never seen this many people in one place before,” said Luca in a low voice beside me, mirroring my thoughts.

There were at least ten times as many people as in our camp, including all the guards and servants, packed below a large raised stone platform to the north of the square. All waiting for the ceremony.

The murmurs from the crowd grew louder as we neared the town itself, and by the time the road became a street, they had risen into a cacophony of voices.

Luca pointed out the Restless Goblet, his most frequent stop where Bald Hawk sent him for his bottles. And the market stall where an old woman had once let him have the oranges we’d shared. I still dreamed of those sometimes.

We reached the square far too quickly.

“My apologies, ladies and gents. Slaves passing through,” Bald Hawk announced.

The noise thinned around us. Some people averted their eyes, others stared, and all gave us a wide berth as we were herded around the edge of the square to the southern end, farthest from the platform.

Once we were put, for the most part, out of sight and mind, the clamor swallowed us again.

I had almost gotten used to it when the gong rang. Then as if caught mid-sigh, all sound ceased as everyone craned their necks to look at the sky. At first I thought a section of the palace had broken loose. But the shapes were too small, and there were several. Long bars of blue light, descending through the morning sky. Lattice cages packed with chunks of levite. Below each hung something like a boat, narrow and suspended by a fan of rigging.

There were five of them, with what looked to be about ten men in each vessel. All seated in careful silence, except for one, who stood amid a rack of cords and brass stopcocks, pulling them in sequence. Blue sparks hissed upward from the spar. Levite shot - the same fines we swept from the gallery ceilings, netted toward quota.

One vessel led the fleet, larger and more richly gilded than the rest. Its banners bore the symbol of the Crown: a simple white triangle without a base, against a light blue background.

But it was what the vessel lacked that made it striking.

It had no spar and no rigging. No man at the cords. No hiss of rising levite shot. No visible law holding it in the air at all.

Only the hull itself, pale and luminous, drifting down like a paper lantern.

At its helm stood the King.

He wore a fur-lined cloak, white as cloud, fastened over a coat of blue so dark it was nearly black. Gold thread traced the seams in thin, severe lines. A simple circlet rested on his brow.

As the fleet neared the platform, he walked to the very edge of his vessel, then took a single step forward.

Onto nothing.

A collective gasp broke from the crowd. But he did not fall. For a second, he stood still atop the empty air, as though it had hardened beneath his boots. Then he descended the last few feet, his cloak settling softly around him as he alighted upon the platform.

Moments later the vessel he had been on touched ground, alongside the rest of the fleet. A man in a tabard emblazoned with the Crown’s white triangle stepped out, hurrying to the edge of the platform ahead of the King.

“Fair people of Aldmere, all kneel to your King, the Lord of Heaven, Sovereign of All Beneath the Sky, His Most High Majesty: Augustus of House Caelian.”

The low thump of a thousand knees touching the ground reverberated through the square.

I hadn’t given it much thought before, but if Luca and I did succeed in becoming part of the royal guard and making it to the palace, this was the man we would serve. I suddenly had an irrational desire to see what kind of face he wore as he looked down at us. Would it hold satisfaction or humility? Or would it be one of detachment or just weariness? Surely none would notice a single slave boy in the back amid so many, glancing up for an instant.

But I could not do it. The weight of the moment was too heavy.

“Rise.” The voice came deep and sonorous, like a wave washing the hush away.

And we did.

The King took the stone throne waiting upon the platform as his retinue disembarked and assumed their places around him - royal guards in coats of blue beneath polished breastplates, spearheads catching the morning light. My eyes kept finding them.

The herald planted the Crown’s standard beside the throne, then struck the butt of his staff against the stone three times and proclaimed the King’s peace over the square.

With that, the ceremony was underway.

First came the governor of our district and his family. I recognized them only because one of the older boys had pointed them out while we were being herded into the square.

They walked up to the platform, two guards ahead of them carrying chests of coin: the official tribute of the district, gathered from its towns and villages in accordance with the Crown’s assessed levy.

At the foot of the platform, they bowed deeply to the King and royal guards came forward to take custody of the tribute.

“The Crown accepts the offering from Altus District, and renews its charter until the day of the next Descent,” announced the herald after it had been inspected.

The governor and his family took three steps backward, head still low, before turning back.

Next were the merchants who offered chests filled with rare spices, dyes, wine. They were followed in short order by the weavers who had brought bolts of fine cloth and the smiths, who had wagons full of steel tools and weapons. They all received similar renewals of their charters and exclusive rights within the district.

After that, it all became a blur to me. I looked at our own tribute, held securely in Bald Hawk’s hands. A netted basket of the largest raw pieces of levite from the year. One of those I had mined myself. It was presentation more than payment; the Crown already owned all the levite from the mine. And it owned all of us.

The gnawing in my stomach, forgotten in the excitement of seeing Aldmere for the first time, returned twice as strong as our turn drew closer.

So lost was I in my thoughts that it took a firm kick in the shin from Luca for me to notice that the rows ahead of me had started to move. It was time.

The crowd parted before us like a curtain as Bald Hawk led us to the front. With all eyes on us, it felt longer than the walk from camp to Aldmere itself. We still reached the platform entirely too soon.

“For the last offering from Altus this Descent,” said the herald, “the Crown calls forth the overseer of the royal mine to announce whose labor over the past year the Crown shall honor.”

Bald Hawk took his sweet time climbing the steps, then slowed even further as he crossed to the center of the platform. I could tell he was savoring the attention upon him. I would have rolled my eyes if I hadn’t been busy remembering how to breathe.

He turned to face the crowd and produced the ledger with a flourish. He made a show of going through it but his gaze didn’t appear to move.

I caught Luca’s eye then and he gave me a warm smile. I can’t remember whether I smiled back.

Then: “The Crown’s grace this Descent falls to-”

Bald Hawk looked directly at me.

“Luca.”

My first thought was that Bald Hawk must have mixed up our names. The two of us were always together after all.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to say. If I could say.

“Sir, did you mean Alaric?”

I stared stunned at Luca. There were sharp intakes of breath around us.

“Luca,” repeated Bald Hawk.

No mixup, then. But the weights couldn’t lie, and I had heard every cart of mine under my own name. There was no way. Yet there he stood, calm as morning.

He turned towards the King and bowed deep. “I apologize for the transgression, Your Majesty. He doesn’t-”

“This must be some mistake, Your Majesty. The quota is not mine. I cannot accept it.” Luca had stepped out of the row.

Almost before the words had left his lips, two royal guards were there, their spears pointed at his throat. Luca did not flinch.

The King held up a hand and the tips were lowered.

There was a second of terrifying silence before he spoke. “Many an oddity I have seen on the surface, but a slave refusing his freedom has not been one of them.” He paused as he studied Luca’s face. “Speak then, boy. What makes you think there is a mistake?”

“Your Majesty is gracious,” said Luca, kneeling. “The reason I am certain is this, Your Majesty - I know what I mined this year. I watched Alaric outwork me every day of it. His tally should stand above mine.”

It unfolded before me as though it were happening to someone else. I had played this moment out a hundred times over. My name being called, or another’s. Never this.

I wanted to tell Luca to stop. If I spoke now, if I said he was only being loyal to a friend - he could still take it. Still walk free.

But I simply stood there still, my mouth dry and my hands cold and the opportunity passed as the King spoke again.

“Then let us take a look at the ledger, boy, and if it is as you say,” he said, turning to look at Bald Hawk.

I searched Bald Hawk’s face then, for any sign of panic or worry that the lie might be discovered. There was neither.

“At once, Your Majesty,” he said calmly, as he handed over the document to the King.

The King took the ledger and examined it. But I had a sinking feeling there would be no discrepancy to find.

“The record answers, boy. Your name holds the highest number,” he declared.

Luca said nothing, his head still bowed.

“Well?” the King asked. “What is it to be?”

For a second, Luca did not move. Then he raised his head.

“I apologize, Your Majesty, but the record is mistaken. As I said, I know what I mined.”

The silence held for one heartbeat before the crack tore through it. I stared at Luca, flat against the stone, his form not quite right.

Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. All was still.

I don’t know how long it lasted. But it was long enough that the King’s voice, when it sounded over my head, felt like it belonged to a different day. Words from a language I did not understand. To the… ledger?

Sounds of scratching filled the air. The scratching I heard after every cart at camp. I heard it, but couldn’t make it mean anything as Luca lay there, unmoving.

Then I saw the tiny wisps at his mouth, shallow and quick, and his lips moving, ever so slightly. Slowly. The words did not reach me, soft enough to be carried away by the icy air. But I caught one of them from the shape, familiar on his mouth.

Al.

I broke out of the row, moving towards Luca, before I knew what I was doing. Halfway through it occurred to me what the consequences might be, but they were already irrelevant.

The guards by Luca’s side tensed, then stepped back as I reached him, and no one challenged me. At the time I thought it was because even the King who had struck down a slave for refusing him, would not keep a friend from mourning. Later I would wonder whether anyone in the square even cared enough.

I knelt by Luca’s side. His skin was ashen, his lips tinged a faint blue. Dimly, I was aware words were being exchanged above us. The King, then Bald Hawk’s voice, panicked. None of it mattered then.

“I’m here, Luca,” I said, though it seemed to be coming from someone else. “I’m here.”

His eyes flickered open, searching, then settling on mine.

“Al-” he said, the word barely more than a whisper. Every breath came too fast and caught wet.

“Why, Luca?” I said hoarsely. “Why didn’t you just take it? You could have bought me out later.”

I hated myself immediately for the way it sounded.

His lips edged slightly upward.

“Ten th-” Bright red blood welled at his lips as he spasmed weakly. He swallowed.

“Ten thousand talents.”

“What? Luca, why-”

“Al.”

There was froth on his mouth.

“Listen.”

“I’m listening, Luca.”

“A lifetime’s wages… wouldn’t touch it. This-” he winced, eyes shut. Then opened them, slowly, finding me again. “-was your only door.”

His words hadn’t yet settled within me when a different voice spoke from above. Too loud to ignore.

“The Crown finds false entry against its record. Osric Haraldson, overseer of the royal mine, is stripped of the Crown’s service, and remanded to the Crown’s justice.”

A murmur ran through the square, then died as the voice came again.

“By the Crown’s grace this Descent, for the highest labor of the year, the Crown hereby grants pardon and freedom to-”

But I had stopped listening as Luca’s lips had started moving again, forming the shape.

Al.

He wore the most brilliant smile I had ever seen.

“-two things,” he said, more breath than word. The gray of his skin had gone white. I grasped his hand. Cold.

It took several seconds before he spoke again, and I didn’t dare open my mouth for fear of missing what he had to say.

”Don’t give yourself away, Al. And-”

A longer gap.

“Tell me… what it feels like to be at the top.”

His eyes were losing their focus, the lids coming down.

“Don’t go,” I whispered.

His smile wavered. His chin trembled and whatever he had been holding up for me came down.

“I… I don’t want to go, Al,” he said, his tears silent as they ran sideways, cheek to stone.

“I… want to… stay.”

The wisps escaped his mouth, fleeting as they rose. Then there were no more.

I could never properly recall what happened after that.

I remember feeling heat. Low at first, spreading through me.

As it reached somewhere deep within me, without warning, it seared through. Like a white hot poker pressed against every inch of my insides. My lungs burned and I could not breathe. My bones felt like they were melting. I folded to the ground and Luca’s eyes were on me, still wet.

The poker was gone, replaced by a gentle warmth, stitching the tears back. Lasting just long enough for me to inhale. Then the poker was back, ripping me apart from inside again. The cycle repeated, over and over.

I remember thinking maybe Luca and I wouldn’t be apart after all. Then all went black.