Amyra Ore Alerin | 73rd day of Sprout season
They planned the operation to get inside the secret academy away from the gathering of the northerners, in Wylmon's house, a single-floored noble house standing in pure contrast with the rest of the buildings in the eighth borough.
Amyra had understood Wylmon had broken into the house as they mounted the stairs leading to the upper floor. Portraits of nobles, probably dead and burned hundreds of years ago hung on the wall. No fiery head, freckles, clear eyes, or brown skin were present among their regal features. All had the typical nut-brown skin of most nobles, with fuel-dark hair.
"Welcome to my quarters." Wylmon's attitude had completely changed. From the adversity he had shown toward Bjon, to a cheerful demeanor. Of course, Amyra thought. You have forty silvers on the bag and the promise to leave Ceres for a country up north.
On the other hand, Bjon was less joyous. He didn't lose time, tackling the task at hand right away. "Here's what we have." He spread a wide map over the couch. After scanning the rooftops beyond the windows for a moment, he ordered, "Amyra, pull the curtains shut and light a lantern."
While Amyra executed his order, Wylmon approached Bjon and scanned the map intently. You could at least wait for me. She didn't voice her frustration, quickly lit a lantern, pulled all curtains shut, and approached the men. By then the white light was burning bright.
It had been a moment since Wylmon hadn't spoken. He was reading the geometric shapes on the map like one would a scroll, moving his fingers along lines and muttering things to himself.
"The academy doesn't appear on this map," Wylmon said. "But that was to be expected." He pointed to the entrance of the first borough. "That is where the barricade around the borough starts." His finger ran along a wide straight line that departed from the southernmost point of the ramparts of the borough. "This avenue starts in the second borough and keeps the same name once it crosses over to the first one. About five hundred gallops ahead." He stopped at a roundabout. "Three other avenues depart from here." His finger drifted rightward. His brows furrowed. A moment of hesitation? "I am not sure."
"With all the silver you cost me, sure you can allow yourself to be unsure," Bjon huffed.
The comment didn't seem to faze Wylmon who paced to his drawers, to retrieve a pencil. He drew a square that covered about twenty edifices. Bjon whistled. Amyra noticed Wylmon's brows were twitching.
"This is where the academy should be."
"Right," Bjon said flatly. "We'll go over each of the edifices?"
Now Wylmon was nibbling at his lower lip, one brow still twitching. "Most of the edifices here aren't real," he said.
"This is the most updated version of the noble boroughs," Bjon argued.
" There's a reason why the academy remains a secret. There's an entrance somewhere from the avenue of the first borough. I am unsure where. But it won't matter since we are going to get into the academy through the sewage canals underground. You'll have a better chance if you break into it using explosives. There's a room where they keep the beasts and Gulgra animals. That's where you should enter and unleash the animals to create a distraction."
Bjon shrugged. "I can only trust you."
Wylmon's gaze drifted from the map to Bjon's face and he said, "Then do. Stop questioning me."
"You're coming with us into the first borough. I'm only paying you if you guide us to the right spot."
"If you wish so. But I am not getting inside the school. In any case, you're right that the perimeter around the target is too wide for now. It's been four years since I left the academy. I'll be there tonight to get a more precise view so that we know where you should place the explosives underground."
"I'm coming with you," Amyra said.
"Amyra, you're wanted. It's dangerous."
"So is Wylmon. If anything happens—"
"It's considerate of you, but you don't need to worry about me," Wylmon said.
"I not doing this out of worry for you. You are our only chance to get into that forsaken academy. If we can both get the information we need, we will be minimizing the risks." Amyra turned to Bjon. "It will also spare you additional costs on the mission if I know where the academy is located." Amyra watched Bjon's resolve dissolve. "We never know."
Now Wylmon had his hands on his waist and was watching Amyra as if had expected for a cat where he'd found a lion.
Bjon finally nodded. Keeping his money safe from the demands of his informant trumped his concerns over Amyra possibly being caught by the guard. "All right," he said, defeated. "Remember you're not opponents. We're all in this together and up against the same enemy. When you are done, come back as soon as you can. I must go now. I'll be on guard in the royal domain for the next week."
The silence Bjon left behind him after his leave lingered for a long moment. "Well," Wylmon attempted. "You're pretty brave then. To come to the capital for your sister, manipulate the heir to the monarchy and almost hand him to Anya..." He started folding the map.
"I'm not proud of having done that."
"You aren't?" he asked, still busy with his task. "Care for some meatbread and liquor?" He tucked the map into one corner of the couch and patted the surface. "Seat's free to take."
"Yes, please."
He went to his drawers and came forward with the thick loaf. "Pork meat seasoned with yellow pepper and herbs."
"I'm not asking you for fine black pigeon meat."
"You can. You'll stay wanting, though." He filled the cups, cut generous slices, and brought the whole to Amyra on a wooden platter. "Thank the Ancients you didn't deliver him to Anya."
"You met him?"
"Under Bjon's orders."
"I gathered you won't be doing it anymore. Seeing him, I mean."
"Right," Wylmon said, started eating, and Amyra was shocked that someone could eat more obnoxiously than Bjon.
She hesitated after asking the question she was dying to let out since they met. "And—" she managed, "how is he? Heron."
Wylmon shrugged. "I hope he is well. Usually, the men I meet pour their hearts out to me by the time I've finished showing them my room. But noble ones are cagier. You want to redeem yourself in his eyes, you?"
"I'm not sure that's possible. I just want him to know I didn't do it for hatred toward him in particular." And that I am sorry. If he asked why Amyra needed that she wouldn't know what to say.
"He won't understand," Wylmon said. "If you think about it, what difference does it make?"
Amyra knew he was right. But hoping he wasn't, she feigned agreement. "I know. Still, I want him to know."
"I'm probably never meeting him again if you're asking me to deliver the message. If everything turns out as planned, I'm leaving Ceres soon."
It's a foolish idea anyway, Amyra admitted. They ate the rest of the meal in silence. Then Wylmon handed Amyra a hooded cloak of pure matte leather that seemed fresh out of a market for noble clothing. He dressed himself in the like.
He explained his tactics only once they were riding to the first borough, up two saddled black breeds from the south lent from the public stables. No need for a fee or to show any identification. There seemed to be an unexplained contract between Wylmon and the stable keeper. The old man asked no questions, handing them the horses as easily as one would fruit.
They galloped abreast.
"We'll enter the domain by the eastern side since there aren't guards there," Wylmon said. "In the borough, we keep our cloaks but remove our hoods, otherwise we'll look suspicious to the rich folks."
"I don't remember a bridge in the eastern side of the first domain."
"Because there isn't any."
Amyra turned to Wylmon inquisitively, but Wylmon didn't look her way. How was he planning on traversing the water rapids of the Eyrees River as it descended to its plains? "How we'll be crossing the river?"
"Wait and see." The sight of the grey glint of his eyes reminded her that he was Gulgrarii.
As they galloped inside the eastern part of forest Scura, a sparse cluster of tall pines, Amyra worried Wylmon could be planning to leave her behind. If that was the case, she would fight back, but she was almost certain to lose. Still, she listened to everything he said—no trace of dirt was to get on her garment as their blending in with the noble folk depended on it. And she followed his guidance, as Wylmon seemed to know that portion of the forest as if they were corridors of his quarters.
As the slant of the terrains steeped, they galloped slowly to the edge of a forest. About three paces downward, a stream of rushing water hissed. The body of black water splashed white where it struck the rocks that dotted it. The river stretched about twenty gallops up to the opposite bank where a three-men-high, slick wall stood.
"The first borough is behind the wall," Wylmon said. Tethering his horse to a three. Amyra did the same. "There are no guards here, to keep non-nobles from entering the borough. The rapids do the job. If they don't, they tire you enough to keep you from climbing the barricade."
"And how are we traversing?"
Wylmon stretched his limbs. "Stay close to me." All of a sudden, Wylmon's eyes turned black, his brown skin a moon-like grey, and black emanations, like smoke that faded into thin air, stemmed from him. It was as if he was burning from within.
A rush of suffering voices sounded around them. Amyra turned around, quickly searching for the dagger under her coat. But there was no one there. Wylmon grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her forward. She realized now that the screams, snarls, and voices calling for help were coming from Wylmon.
She could ask herself how that was possible. But then she needed to ask as well how a simple grasp on the ground made the earth shake, to their right the edge of the banks began to erode, sending detached chunks of terrain to be decimated by the rapids of water. When the terrains were weak enough from the forced erosion, two pines tipped down and fell.
Wylmon's focus now shifted forward, his hands moving as if he was hefting boulders off the ground, a dozen rocks pricked through the river like plants sprouting, propelling water upward, blocking the trees that floated down the river, as trunks crushed onto them. Wylmon repeated his fit, and brought a new set of rocks to the surface, to steady the trees on both sides.
Only when the makeshift bridge was immobile, did they traverse, walking on the rough trunks and using the newly surfaced rocks and branches to steady themselves. At this point, Wylmon's skin had turned normal, and his eyes regained their unnatural grey color. He was panting, visibly tired, and stopped in his tracks too often. Fearing Wylmon had no resources left to help them climb the wall, Amyra took the leading position. "Take my hand," she offered. Wylmon did not hesitate and she pushed him forward, up to the wall.
This time he didn't have to adopt his sinister look to bring about his unnatural knack. He touched the mossy, humid wall, and its blocks crumbled, carving a hole at their waist height. Tired as he was, Amyra mounted first and helped Wylmon up. He closed the opened hole and then spread himself on the ground. "Ancients, I'm out of shape," he sighed, panting. "Bat's arse! What I am even doing here?"
"You're not giving up?"
"Of course, not," he said. "We have until sun-up to get to the avenue of the New Monarch and get back here. These cloaks won't council our low blood in broad daylight." Unexpectedly, he stood. He limped his way into the bushes that stretched in front of them, with an assurance of one in his best shape. Useless when you're catching trees to keep your balance, dummy.
Amyra only realized they had been inside a city garden once they were out of it. They tackled the roads immediately. They evaded sentinel guards that roamed about, running inside smaller roads and alleys as soon as they spotted them, even from a fairly safe distance. "You're never too careful, right?" Wylmon asked as they squeezed themselves out of a particularly narrow alley that took them a few hundred gallops from their objective, according to him.
"We'll be out of here soon enough." It wasn't true, as the alley stretched a great length along a straight line of buildings with elaborated facades and lit in white.
"Are you sure you even know the city?" Amyra asked when they finally found a main road, where trotted several carriages, with noble folks staring at them as they passed. They rushed back inside the alley.
Wylmon shrugged, face flushed under a lamp of white crystal dust hooked on the wall. He finally produced the map Bjon had given them. It took him a long time of observation to admit it. "I don't know where we are."
"Sir, Lady," A gruff voice echoed. "You are lost?"
No! Yes! —their answers came out at the same time, while they looked at each other to figure out what was the best way to respond, the sentinel's face creased with confusion. "Yes!" we are Amyra repeated. "We're from the northern portion of the borough, and not used to this part. My—"
"Lover!" Wylmon chimed in a tone comically trying to imitate a noble, wrapping a trembling hand around Amyra's waist. "Promised, actually. We will be married soon, if the Ancients allow, in their magnificent grace."
"Yes, my promised accompanied me here as we left an important gathering essential for our financial prospects as we project our future lives and—"
"This is the northern portion of the borough, Lady," the guard said. "Avenue of the Great Fountain." Ancients be praised, they were close to their objective, but now how to make their lie credible? "Which are your respective family names?"
"Hum—" Wylmon. "Well, hum—" The hand wrapped around Amyra's waist, and moved to rest over the dagger beneath two layers of fabric. Wylmon muttered his apology first, "Sorry." The blade's pommel pressed against Amyra's waist as the blade straightened horizontally, ripping the fabric of her dress and then her cloak to finish in Wylmon's hand. The dagger leaped across the empty air and struck the guard pommel-first in the middle of his forehead. The guard cried out. "Poison, he's not out."
The guard attacked Wylmon first, sending him to the ground with a brutal headbutt. Amyra lunged for the blade on the ground but the guard's hand shot for her throat, anchoring her to strike her back against the wall. "Intruders!" He hollered. Amyra fell to her knees, disoriented. "Intr—Ahh!" The guard cried out.
She did hear the rattling of the blade against the paved road beforehand. But she only realized the blade wasn't on the ground anymore when she looked at the guard sunk in his knees, with the blade deep into his thigh.
"Intruders," he shouted again. "Ahh! Help!"
"I'm sorry," Wylmon said. "We mean no harm."
Amyra stood. Kneed the man on his stomach, and elbowed him his upper back. She ripped off the blade from his thigh, cutting flesh and pooling her hand with blood. She stubbed his nape, blade cutting through bone. The guard gargled. His lips were pressed against the dagger, and blood spilled incessantly, flooding everything. He fell. Face down. Choking and agonizing.
She couldn't stop shaking. Her legs wouldn't move. Wylmon shook her out of her trance. "Let's go before another guard comes. Wrap your arms around my shoulders, tightly." Wylmon had to do it for her. She never took her eyes off the man she had just killed. "It's going to hurt," Wylmon warned. The ground pressed upward against their feet, propelling them into the air. A brief whoosh of wind echoed in her ears then they slumped sloppily onto a roof, belly-first. "We're not far from the academy," Wylmon managed amid his pain.
"Yes." Amyra was glad she was feeling pain now.
Wylmon helped her stand. "We should go."
She could hear hooves striking the ground and carriages were gathering on the road below. They moved, following the building that lined the avenue of the Great Fountain, then those along the avenue of the First Monarch until they found a radius where the academy was. Wylmon expression turned grave, his paces were precise but stiff, and the more they approached their target, the more he seemed distraught until he stopped and sighed.
"You're well?" Amyra asked.
"No."
"I'm sorry I have to bring you back here."
"I would have died if I'd remained in the academy," Wylmon said. "I'd sworn to myself I would never return. Anya reduces anyone she touches into objects." That much I know, Amyra thought.
"She promised me power and treated me like a child and an ally. But she was ready to kill me when she found I was better dead. I was promoted to the guard of the main entrance of the academy. By pure accident, I overheard her and another teacher saying that they wiped out the memories of the children in the academy. If it wasn't for a friend at the time who could read into her thoughts, I would be dead now. I wasn't supposed to know."
Amyra realized he was sobbing. If he cried, she would, too. She did her best to stop it. "No, please." She hugged him.
"I had to kill another student to escape, a fellow guard. I begged him to let me leave peacefully, but he refused. I stabbed him."
Amyra didn't say anything. Fear, regret, anger, missing her sister, losing hope. How long was it all going to last? All of it came out with tears and Amyra realized she was being comforted by Wylmon as much as she was confronting him.
The rest of their mission happened in the silence characteristic of shed dry tears. The academy didn't have a façade giving to the avenue. The building visible from the avenue merged somewhere with the academy, Wylmon couldn't tell where exactly. Amyra noted it.
The reality wasn't faithful to the maps. Where were supposed to stand five buildings, stood one massive box without walls or doors. Wylmon charted the shape. And when all observations were done, they left. Backtracking on their arriving path to leave the first borough of the city.