Aydan Murdoch

He choked on the mud as he woke up. He was face down and couldn’t turn due to a great weight on his back. He scrambled to find purchase on the ground so he could push himself up; drowning in a puddle sounded like a stupid way to die. He clawed again and again at the mud until a jagged edge scrapped his hand, solid. With his arm leveraged underneath him he pushed the weight off his back and out from the pile of corpses. The body that was on top of him had been Sven he thought, he was the only one who could’ve weighed that much. The rain wipes the mud from his eyes as it beats down on him, cooling his bruises. With another hacking cough the mud is cleared from his airways and he could breathe again.

Samuel’s head rang like a bell as he tried to calm himself down. He stood amongst a pile of bodies, humans, people he once knew. He breathed in, vowing to never take air for granted again, and slowly breathed out. A putrid smell greeted him as he did so, though it wasn’t the bodies of his friends around him that caused it. He refused to stare at the pile around him long enough for his brain to catch up with reality, so he looked up. Gangly trees stretched over him, arms that reached out from the ground as though to cradle a newborn. He lowered his eyes just enough to see his surroundings and identify what the smell that assaulted his every breath was.

His senses seemed to turn on one by one as he looked around. How had he not noticed the loud toads croaking in the distance? The gentle bleating that formed from all the insects buzzing in tune, the soft rippling of the brown bog water that formed in small pools around him, the tufts of grass that sprouted like hair from a sickly animal. It came to him bit by bit as he unraveled his own memories. He remembered the throne room, the royal guards who bore the lion face of the king, The Lion himself seated upon a throne of gloomy crystal, and a wretched bird who spoke of a terrible prophecy and ordered their execution. After that it was all a blur, and Samuel finally looked down.

Terrible shapes surrounded him, bits of memory floated upon them. A glimpse of a Herod’s face still intact seemed to laugh at him just like he used to. He saw the limp hand of Abella sticking out from under someone unidentifiable. He thought he saw the broad shoulders of his dad, and stopped looking. With eyes closed he trudged out from the pile, determined to not step on anyone he knew. He pretended that he succeeded and finally trudged free of the mud and felt for a tree. Once he no longer could feel the rain splashing on his face he opened his eyes again and tried to search for a way out of the swamp.

He still wore his ceremonial clothes that didn’t fit around the shoulders and he fished around in its various pockets for anything of use. His iron-wood knife was still tucked away in his belt and the crumpled letter of invitation, or demand, from the king. He slid the former into his pocket and left the latter in the mud. He wasn’t lost in the swamp, it wasn’t possible to get lost in the Land of Dust, but it certainly could be a treacherous journey out. The Palace of Stone wouldn’t be too far away and the guards will no doubt be back. The pile was big, but it wasn’t the hundred and fifty that left Un-Haven. Samuel didn’t believe in any prophecy, especially not one spouted by a two headed crow. Why would his people ever want to tear down the wall? He wasn’t involved enough in the politics of the Stone Court to have any idea why the king would command the death of every able-bodied human, but Samuel doubted that the order would end at just them. He needed to get back to Un-Haven, back to the One-Way Wall.

A thwack woke him from his contemplation as pain shot through his shoulder. He felt a shallow bite as the arrow dug into him, and without thinking broke into a run. Shouts sounded behind him as torch light bloomed into the gangly forest and reflected across the wet mud like the walls of a cave. The soldiers had arrived quicker than he thought they would. He cursed his own stupidity under his breath over and over as he hopped over tree roots and tried to avoid places where the bog got too deep. Rain hit his head and shoulders harder and harder as he ran, he couldn’t tell if the weather had gotten worse or if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He swore he caught glimpses of lion faced helmets in the darkness around him. “Come on Sam, run faster.”

Another volley of arrows shot towards him, a single part of his brain noticed they were blunted as they fell into the water around him, only ankle deep. Every step was agony as his beaten body reminded him that only a few hours ago he had the backend of a spear driven into his stomach. His muscles burned as the adrenaline finally began to wake him from his trauma. Mourning can come later. The guards were slow in their armor and Samuel was gaining ground, but it couldn’t last forever. He needed to escape before any mages arrived. Magic might not be able to hurt humans, but it certainly can find them. The sound of moving water ahead of him lit a fire in Samuel as he pushed his body to its ragged limits. He could escape via a river, float away in the darkness of the night and make his way back home. The ground beneath him became more stable as the river grew louder and louder. The trees broke around him and he ground himself to a halt to stop himself from falling in.

A small clearing surrounded him that gave way to a short cliff that fell into the churning water below. The river was moving quickly and would sweep him out to sea if he wasn’t careful. His head was pounding but he put enough of himself together to walk back towards the forest, towards the shouts and distant torch light. There were always dead trees in the Wraewood and sure enough a broken and bug eaten log sat close by. He could no longer tell if the soldiers were getting closer, the roar of the river drowning out almost all other sound. The log was heavy, but with one final effort he dragged it to the cliff’s edge and tried to steady his breathing. Figures broke out of the treeline, short and squat mole-folk who were donned in wood and stone armor bearing a lion’s visage upon the faceplate. They held halberds carved from iron-wood out at him and began to shout commands, but he couldn’t hear them. Samuel counted down in his head as his ears filled with the roar… – the roar of the engine of The Victorian starting made Elysia scribble the next word, carving up some of the line above it in the process. She tried not to flinch as the ground quacked beneath her and her stomach churned with the rapidly rising altitude. She closed her notebook and tucked it into her small bag, anything larger wouldn’t be proper, much to her chagrin. Her eyes scanned the other passengers around her to make sure no one spotted her discomfort. She pulled out the only other thing that could fit in her bag, a small makeup kit, and quickly pretended to apply the umpteenth layer of paint that was caked over her face. She dared not scratch an itch.

Soon, the airship settled into a comfortable altitude and a buzzing voice sounded across the dining cabin, “You may now rise from your seats and continue your activities, The Victorian welcomes you to her 50th annual voyage above our glorious city of Elysium!” A small trumpet fanfare finished out the message and a few of the more patriotic guests aboard clapped a tight applause. Elysia undid her belt and stood, making sure to not be the first to do so. She then hung around the dining cabin, making faces at various foods like the aristocrats and high-born ladies around her. Each of them gossipped in the exact same tone that sounded much like the screeching of a record player, or perhaps a wounded cat. She avoided the windows, knowing that she would not be able to stop herself from gawking at the sight of Elysium from above, though vowing to check out the view when she had some privacy. She would allow herself that much today.

She was tempted to busy herself by continuing in her notebook, but she figured she had put Samuel through enough hardship today. Soon enough though, a few guests began to leave the dining cabin and make their way towards their individually assigned rooms. Once she gauged enough had left that she would not draw any suspicion, she departed as well. The floor sounded hollow beneath her heels as they clacked with every step, making her wince and wish she had worn flatter shoes. The hallways were just as immaculate as the dining room, the walls a golden-brass filled with murals of Elysium’s many triumphs and none of her great failings. With another few clacks she found her way to room 3208 which hissed open as she pressed the key to the locking mechanism.

She almost threw up at the sight of her room. The bed and cabinets were lined with gold and hung with fine white silk and made of wood. Wood! Of all the vanity they could conjure they decided some of the last trees should be cut up and brought on board this deathtrap. Elysia calmed herself, the day had just started. It wouldn’t be long before the passengers would be called to the Great Hall to begin the anniversary celebrations.

“Welcome, our most esteemed guests aboard The Victorian! If all could please proceed to the Great Hall, the opening ceremony is about to begin!” the speaker hidden in the ceiling of her room barked out, the voice scratchy.

“Right on time,” Elysia muttered to herself, quickly making her way to the gold edged standing mirror to ensure no hair was out of place. She wore a three layered gown made of a light blue fabric contrasted against studded dark leather. Her hair was done up high and ornamented with thin brass chains that were threaded through it. The upper part of her dress became a buttoned jacket that was far tighter than she liked and a brass rose was stuck to her lapel. She tried not to think that she looked good. Not dwelling on her own thoughts and daring not conjure up any childhood memories Elysia quickly left the room.

The Great Hall was crowded with chattering people who funneled into pre-assigned seats around large circular tables that dotted the room. A grand stage flanked by orchestras preparing their instruments dominated one side of the room. Red velvet spilled from the ceiling as the hosts prepared for the ceremony. Elysia was seated between a man and a woman who seemed to be in the business of making her day worse.

“I just love your brooch darling, tell me, please tell me, where you got it?” the woman cooed over her shoulder.

“I believe I picked it up from a small shop in the Lower Ward, Annabelle’s Bells or something like that. They sculpt plants from various metals.” Elysia replied.

“The Lower Ward! My oh my, dear, don’t tell me you went there alone?” The man interrupted.

“I like to support small business,” Eylsia said, trying to be kind, but not invite the man into a conversation that was already too long.

“A philanthropist then! You have the look of one. I saw you earlier in the dining hall scribbling in that book of-” the woman was cut off as the trumpets began. The orchestra had started playing.

The lights across the room dimmed, even the fake candle at the center of Elysia’s table was brought to a simmer, as the music triumphed over any conversation within the room. Spotlights shone across the red curtain in dizzying patterns that drew the eye to center stage right as the music began to crescendo. The curtain pulled apart with a final bang of the tambourines and a small crowd stood upon it. A lone violin began to play.

“Welcome all to the 50th anniversary voyage of The Victorian!” the man at center stage said. He was dressed in a fine peacoat of navy blue with tight gold rimmed spectacles sitting upon his nose. His hair was brown, though spotted with bits of gray and he had a fanciful mustache that sprung out from his face like a pair of wings, complimenting his goatee. “Every year The Victorian makes a celebratory flight to commemorate the anniversary of its maiden voyage, and the day Elysium took the sky into her hands,” he continued, the crowd roaring with applause after every sentence.

“But today is a most special occasion. Today marks half a century since mankind took her first steps into the air! It was off the hard work of tens of thousands of people that we stand here today,” the crowd roared once again. Elysia grimly thought of the thousands of workers whose deaths were covered up, so as to not lose funding for the project.

“Once upon a time, I would stand here and make a grand speech about the greatness that we have accomplished together, but I’m afraid at my age I simply do not have it in me any longer. And, it is with great sadness that I announce my retirement as director of Entirium Air,” the crowd gasped as the violinist continued into melancholy chords. Elysia’s mind raced, that wasn’t what he was supposed to say.

“I will not be leaving my empire empty handed though, as here today, I am announcing that my son, Elis Entirium will be taking over my position,” the orchestra kicked back up as the crowd gasped once more. A young man shuffled his way out of the darkness and into the spotlights beside his father. His clothes mirrored his dad’s, though much more muted. His dewy eyes screamed his discomfort at the situation, and Elysia could see him sweating. She was too. This was not supposed to happen. A litany of curses that would make the lady next to her faint ran through her mind as she scrambled to readjust her plan. Her hand drifted uncomfortably to the dread weight in her jacket pocket. Her brother was not supposed to be here.