The Wall

Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom, Chapter 14

Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom is a serialised, young adult, fantasy novel about an overconfident bookworm who finds himself in a parallel world where words are weapons, ideologies form fortresses, and intelligence without integrity may just cost you everything. If you’re new here, you can start from the beginning or check out the index.

RECAP: Having decided against Aslan’s offer to join the Moonlamps, Keon began scheming for a way to escape and rescue the others. Aslan’s twin sister, Asya, sneaks into his room and offers to set them all free in exchange for taking her with them to learn Mirror Mastery. As she leaves his room, she runs right into her brother . . .

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Aslan stood stiff in front of Asya, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. On either side, he was flanked by two burly Moonlamps, their faces obscured by their head wraps. Even so, Asya recognised them instantly. Ruslan (who’d been joined at the hip with Aslan since birth) and Baris (whose name meant ‘calm’ but was anything but).

“What’re you doing here, Asya?”

Don’t panic, she thought. Don’t react. If there was one thing she could do, it was think on her feet.

She crossed her arms, staring up at her brother from beneath her brow.

“Baba thought he needed a less ‘clumsy’ touch. His words, not mine.”

“So why’d you dismiss the guards?”

She shrugged a solitary shoulder.

“To give him a false sense of security. I think he likes me.”

Aslan seemed to shudder with frustration, clenching and unclenching his fists as he shuffled; unsure of where to go. She didn’t relish the idea of weaponising their father against him, but right now she had no other choice. She gently clasped his hands until he stopped shaking and his shoulders relaxed. He exhaled and sat down on one of the crimson chairs lining the hall, rubbing his temples. She knelt beside him, nodding to Ruslan and Baris who continued down the hall.

“He treats me like I’m flippin’ useless, Asya. If he could, he’d give my inheritance to a goat.”

“Or an amazingly charismatic sister.”

He looked at her, aghast and she playfully shoved him. He shook his head.

“He probably would, you know. If Almuluk allowed it.”

She shrugged with a smile.

“I guess the world will never know.”

He finally let out a grin.

She took a firmer grip of his hands, placing a palm on top.

“You’re strong. You’re bold. And most of all, you’re dedicated to Almuluk. All the people can see that, even if Baba can’t,” she said.

He tenderly touched his forehead to hers, eyes closed.

“I couldn’t survive this place without you, you know.”

She pinched his arm.

“I know.”

But you’ll have to, she thought, at least until I can come back for you.

Night had long since fallen across Midnah-Dogu. Cosmic lights danced over the horizon. Keon waited alongside the tall cedar door squeezed into the corner of his room. Suddenly, the bolt squeaked its way through the latch, and the door creeped opened. He flung an arm around Asya, covered her mouth and held a finger to his lips. Popping his head into the hallway, he scanned both ends of the corridor. The coast was clear. Asya pushed his arm off and gently closed the door behind her.

“The hell was that all about? I said I’d get rid of the guards.”

He shuffled on the spot, suddenly feeling quite silly.

“Sorry. Just making sure.”

“You watch way too much T.V.” she muttered.

She approached the window, looking briefly from side to side. Two guards stood directly underneath the window on the grounds below.

“Are you ready with this plan of yours?” she said, pulling up the hem of her shift.

“More or less.”

She stopped, glancing back at him.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“What, and you have?”

“Only for fun,” she grinned.

She slid the window up inch-by-inch, which made far more noise than she would have liked. She’d snuck out like this a million times before, but never from this wing of the palace.

“And you know your way to the barracks from here?”

“Yeaaah,” she scoffed, audaciously.

She rolled over her mental image of the grounds, rehearsing the route they would need to take. It would be slow going. They would have to make their way around the outer fringes of the roof so as not to make too much noise. That thing echoed like crazy. Then they could drop down into the northern gardens and cross the colonnades towards the barracks.

With only a few inches to go, the window made one last squeak. Asya froze. The guards below hadn’t noticed.

Dipping her head beneath the open window, she stepped out onto the precariously thin ledge, clawing for the window frame to steady herself. She slowly rose and began shuffling sideways, back pressed against the wall.

It was Keon’s turn. He took one look out, backed off cursing inwardly, then returned to the window. Turning sideways, he reluctantly stuck one foot out onto the window ledge. Then, swinging his left shoulder beneath the open window, he rose—and banged the other into the window frame. The guards turned and looked right up at him.

“Asya!” one yelled, going for the latches on his Kodeks.

The palace bell suddenly pealed across the air, ripping the attention of the guards away from Keon and Asya. Keon followed their line of sight towards the sky. A pillar of glowing, red smoke was rising beyond the southern wall.

It was him; it had to be. Aslan’s first instinct was to dash for the guest quarters, but something drew his attention to the towering windows filling the wall adjacent to his four-poster bed. Marble Mynds streamed along the western wall towards the outer courtyard. Several of his comrades were dashing south across the grounds. Then he saw it, the pillar of red smoke billowing over the southern wall.

There was no time for his fatigues. He’d have to take the satchel. It’d been years since he’d carried it into combat, but Emir’s drills were still fresh in his memory. Harness or not, there was no faster forger in all of Underland.

He slid into his black kameez, kicked on his sandals and left the apartment.

Shem peered through the bars of the subterranean prison. He could just about make out a carpet of green grass and the feet thundering across it. He shuffled in vain from side to side, straining to get a better view. Kai and Avana crowded behind him.

“Something’s going on. Can’t see a bloody thing!”

“Told you,” said Avana. “He has a plan.”

Jonas leant against a tree, picking the grime out of his fingernails. A pyre of Codex parchments burned nearby sending plumes of thick, crimson smoke up into the air. The flicker of the flames cast dancing shadows across the darkness. He could hear them already, stalking through the forest. The Mynds would come first, followed closely by the first wave of Moonlamps. Their plan was to enclose him in a ring formation. Smart but pointless.

He stepped away from the trees and pulled back his shawl. Tugging on the harness, he swung out his Codex. A flick of the wrist sent the pages flapping. He tore two sheets from the book, brought the pages together between his palms and folded. There was no waste in his movements. Nothing grandiose, each bend a meticulously calculated piece of art.

His weapon forged, he flicked it to full size, gripped the hilt and tore it down the middle, splitting it in two. In each hand, he held a jagged, right-angled trumbash. The words ‘Light made firm – You established the light and the sun’ ran in interlocking lines along the entire surface like repetitious chains. He tore a small strip of paper off the edges of both handles, holding them between his finger and thumbs.

Spear tips clawed through the clearing in the trees on all sides, like spokes on a wheel closing in on an axle. The shafts of the spears, driven by porcelain hands, were followed closely by the furrowed brows of alabaster faces. Unflinching, Jonas’ glowering gaze swept across the ring of Marble Mynds. Slowly, he raised one trumbash above his head, the other below his waist, then flicked the first strip of paper dead straight into the pyre. It erupted in a sparkling pillar of blinding white light that consumed the forest. The flash suddenly vaporised into a thick, white mist that filled every space the light had touched.

The heads of the Marble Mynds sailed like ships through the surface of the mist in search of the masked Torchbearer.

Perched in the trees, Jonas dropped, spinning like a windmill and cleaved the heads off two Mynds one after the other. Twisting mid-air, he landed flawlessly then launched himself back up into the trees. Dropping down several feet away, he decapitated two more before shooting up again. Rolling down onto the ground in front of the next two, he severed a leg each. Their gleaming forms teetered then toppled beneath the mist. The ring of sliced marble echoed through the trees then, suddenly, the mist began to clear.

The remaining Mynds circled round the tree trunks, certain the masked Torchbearer was somewhere up in the boughs. A solitary ivory warrior stopped, scrutinising a fleeting hint of movement in the pillars of darkness. Arms whipped out like unfolding scissors and sliced through its midriff, dropping in two pieces to the ground. Jonas crept over the fragmenting body and back into the shadows.

Zahara ever so slowly made her way downstream, a forged paper snorkel bobbing in and out of the surface. Jonas had offered to do this part but no. She wanted to be the one to reach her friends; to reach Keon, though she was starting to regret that decision. The stuff flowing down this river could scarcely be called water.

The lack of foliage by the river made her an open target if things went south, but there was little reason to worry. Once he’d lost sight of her, Jonas had lit the signal fire to attract the guards. With that distraction, it would be child’s play to slip into the palace, assuming the drain didn’t have a grill. If it did—well—she had a backup plan, but it involved making far more noise than she’d like.

Dive!

She shot beneath the surface, inadvertently swallowing water through the snorkel. A Marble Mynd was scanning the river. Whatever it thought it saw had quickly vanished. Zahara chastised herself inwardly then waited a few moments before re-emerging, spitting water that didn’t taste like water out in a bubbling splutter. This should’ve been Jonas.

The drain finally came into view. And there was the grill.

Damn.

“Was this part of the plan?” said Asya.

The duo stood on the narrow ledge outside Keon’s window, staring across the palace grounds towards the pillar of red smoke rising beyond the walls. The two guards had taken off and the rest of the palace was alive with activity.

“Yeah—I mean—no, but—basically.”

She popped a shrug.

“Nice work.”

“Don’t think I can take all the credit!”

They continued shimmying along the window ledge. Asya signalled for Keon to duck as they passed the next window. The light was on, and muffled voices were funnelling through the room. This was easier said than done. Not only was their footing precariously thin, it was hard enough to shift across the ledge standing up, let alone crouched down. Keon pressed his back against the bricks, praying that sheer force of will would make him to stick to the wall. Empty space beckoned him just an inch or two to his left.

As they reached the end, Asya gripped the corner of the wall and swung around it like a gymnast. Keon stared befuddled for a second then decided he wouldn’t bother trying. Clasping the corner like a baby Koala, he inched his body around, feeling with his feet for the ledge.

Their destination came into view. The ledge led straight onto the sloped roof of the lower level. From the peak they could reach the upper roof. It was a bit of a leap, but Keon fancied his chances. Heck, if Asya could reach it, he was pretty sure he could.

But again, this was easier said than done. The roofing tiles were extremely well polished. Thankfully this part of the roof didn’t echo like the rest; the Moonlamps probably would have heard him slipping, sliding and cursing as he went. Wiping his clammy hands on his shawl, he removed his boots, tied them together, then slung them around his neck. He inched his way up on all fours like a timid cat.

Reaching the top, he swung round in triumph and nearly threw himself over the opposite side. Scrambling to steady himself—he dropped a boot in the process. He could only watch as it slid down the roof, bounced off the edge and fell to the grounds below.

Zahara bobbed beneath the arch of the drain, running her hands over the brickwork until she found what she was looking for; a flowing, cursive script etched into every inch of the palace walls. She’d need the right text to counteract it. Thankfully, a small ledge on either side allowed her to prop herself up whilst she rummaged for her Codex. It’d been wrapped in a piece of parchment over which the word ‘wax’ had been written. Glistening globules of water slid off the surface as she unwrapped it.

She placed it on the ledge, slipped out the graphite pencil and flipped through the pages towards ‘Truth.’ Her fingers ran down the text and along the pages until she found what she was looking for:

A wise person can scale the city of the mighty and bring down the stronghold in which they trust.

Tearing out the passage, she folded it, flicked it to full page size and began scrawling over the text in big, black letters:

Slow Burn, Big Bang

She screwed the parchment up into a ball and stuffed it into a gap in the grill. With the ball set, she took her kindling kit, sparked flames over the edge of the ball and swam out in the opposite direction. Clear of the river, she took off alongside the wall, careful to stick as close to the shadows as possible.

Once she was a good distance away, she knelt down, plugged her fingers in her ears and waited. And waited—and—waited.

Until—

The middle of the western wall BOOMED outwards like an enflamed mushroom, sending bricks, stone and pieces of Marble Mynds soaring through the air. The blast thundered through the palace, shattered windows and ignited the cobalt sky like a thousand fireworks.

Aslan skidded to a halt as a blast of heat hit the back of his neck. Instinctively he ducked and the ground beneath him shuddered. Tufts of coal black hair rippled from the rush of air cascading across his head. Twisting to the west, he saw columns of smoke and flame rising from the wall. Boulders and stones fell to the ground, plastering the grasslands beyond the palace. His fellow Masabih, who’d been rushing to the gate, stopped and turned to face the west; then, as one, they looked to him.

He hesitated; the words of the Rayiys echoing in his mind. The next few moments would either define or discredit him. He fingered the chain on his right hand. The Wall. That which distinguished the Masabih from the Hainlerin; the traitors. That which defined them as the faithful of Almuluk; the Last Who Would Remain to march at the forefront of his armies.

“GO!” he waved. “THE SOUTH WALL WAS A DISTRACTION!”

As he raced towards the inner gate, something whistled overhead. Silhouetted against the mini-cosmos, an object—no—a man soared across the sky towards the inner courtyard. He put on an extra burst of speed.

Zahara stood to her feet, ash and dust settling over her head. The blast not only knocked her flat but left her in a daze. Further down, a smoking, smouldering cleft had been blown out of the wall.

“Maybe I should’ve put ‘Big-ish’?” she panted.

Leaning against the brickwork for support, she hobbled her way towards the breach. She could hear them already. Shouts from the Moonlamps. The thud of marble feet atop the wall. Crap. She wasn’t going to make it. They’d spot her before she had a chance to get through the breach. Shake it off, she thought. Snap out of it. Her legs felt like lead, but she yanked them out the ground anyway, pushing them to move faster than they wanted. They weren’t in control; she was. Looking up, she saw the sparkle of the river’s surface, alight with the blaze of burning rubble. Just one last push! She made a dash for the river and dived, just as the first Mynds made it to the breach.

Keon and Asya scrambled unsteadily to their feet. They’d been lucky. If that shockwave had come from any other direction, it would have knocked them clean off the roof. Instead, they’d been blown off the outer fringes onto the sloping tiles.

“The hell was that?!” said Asya.

“That wasn’t part of the plan!”

“Come on!”

There was no need to keep quiet now. No one would notice their footsteps thundering across the roof. They cleared the distance to the north wing in record time, taking a moment to shimmy down to the lower levels. It was a short a jog to the edge of the building, then they could drop into the gardens.

Asya halted as she peered over the edge. All was clear. Swinging her legs over, she dropped down behind a bush. The shifting auroras and wispy nebulae lit the grounds, but there was still enough darkness to cloak them. Keon shortly followed, tripping and falling to a heap when he didn’t quite stick the landing. Asya peered back and shook her head.

They kept low to the ground, moving between the bushes, freezing at the rustle of foliage several feet in front of them. Up ahead, a soldier and a maid (who clearly weren’t supposed to be there), held hands, staring dreamily into each other’s pupils. He whispered poetic, sweet-nothings and she giggled like a child. Asya rolled her eyes with exasperation. Not these two again!

Stepping back a few paces, she slipped out her Kodeks and gently gripped the corner of a page. Similar to Shem’s, it read from right to left, with a deep-green leather cover embossed in gold. The same insignia emblazoned its cover; a crescent moon bursting with light. Easy. Easy.

Rrrrip!

The couple stood alert, heads whipping round. They must’ve chalked it up to the wind in the leaves because they went right back to business. Taking out what looked like a stylus, Asya scrawled something onto the paper and scrunched it up into a ball. She had to time this just right.

Malik had timed this just right. Things hadn’t gone exactly as he’d planned, but they may have worked out for the better. With all the calamity, everyone was distracted, and this wing of the palace was empty. It was perfect! The trees arching over their heads like a glorious crown. The lights shimmering on the blanket of an indigo sky. And Faiza was radiant. The cool blue bathed her features in ethereal light. Her skin was smooth as porcelain. Yes. Tonight, was the night. Their families probably wouldn’t approve, but who cared? They would run away if they had to or snatch these moments together in Underland. Whatever they had to do, they would make it work.

His back bristled. He thought he’d heard something—not another guard, surely! Suddenly, a wad of smoking paper rolled across the grass between them. What was that godawful smell? Why did the air suddenly feel so thick? And why was the sky disappearing?

The couple hit the grass and Asya made a dash for the maid, pulling her hood across her mouth to protect herself from the fumes. She dragged the prone form further into the bushes. Keon could only watch in disbelief.

“Trust me, I’m doing them a favour,” she said.

“What was that? What did you write?”

“Sleep,” she replied. “Come on.”

Jonas didn’t like this. At the sound of the explosion, the rest of the Mynds had immediately withdrawn towards the palace. Zahara would be overwhelmed. He needed to buy her some time. Suddenly, his Codex rippled from back to front. Pulling it out, he flipped rapidly to the Appendix. An elegant golden script was weaving its way across the page.

Jump the wall.

Jonas’ eyes twitched as he read, comprehension dawning. Slamming the book shut, he holstered it, drew a deep breath and took off through the trees. He glanced down in disbelief as he rapidly picked up speed. Five metres per second. Ten. Twenty. Forty! And then he leapt. The air seemed to swell around him like a cushion, lifting him high into the air and over the palace walls. He soared clear past the outer courtyard towards a line of trees near the river.

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