The Mask & the Moonlamp
Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom, Chapter 15
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: As Keon and Asya begin their bid to escape, Jonas and Zahara make their move. Jonas creates a diversion outside the palace whilst Zahara blows a hole in the wall. When the palace forces draw back to investigate, Jonas is instructed to jump over the wall . . . which he does effortlessly.
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Zahara had forgotten the snorkel and she desperately needed to come up for air. She wasn’t sure how far she’d swam or how many Mynds or Moonlamps could be waiting for her if she resurfaced. Still, she ploughed on; her arms cutting through the waters. Maybe she could come up slowly and poke her mouth out; just enough to swallow some air. She had to chance it. She’d be dead either way.
On her first attempt, she swallowed water and almost choked. It took all her willpower just to stop herself thrashing in the water; if you could call that water. Her vision was clouding. Mind growing foggy. Her muscles burned. Lights rippled through the surface, casting a specular shower across her face. She wondered fleetingly whether she would shortly meet the lights, then waved the thoughts away with the water. She would put everything she had into one last push—she had to.
She let her feet touch the gravely river bottom. Allowed herself to sink further. Bent her knees. And then, she pushed. With everything she had, she pushed—and emerged perfectly, her cheeks just breaking the surface enough for her to inhale, open her eyes and sink back down.
It wasn’t quite enough. She was still dangerously close to drowning, but she’d learnt one thing—there was a wall, atop which sat a tall, wrought iron fence guarding the length of the river. Even if she was discovered, they wouldn’t be able to reach her without passing through the elaborate, thirty-five-foot gate further down the river. She sprung for the surface again, grabbing on to the bank. The wall was tall enough to shield her momentarily whilst she caught her breath. She could feel her eyelids growing heavy. Just a moment. That’s all she needed.
Jonas wound his way cautiously through the trees towards the river; the one that cut through the entire palace. He would have to cross it to reach what looked like the main palace complex on the other side; a sweeping neo-baroque edifice made of gleaming white marble. Both sides of the river were lined with a matching wrought iron fence. Scanning the fence for an opening, he saw two tall gates facing each other on either side of the river. It didn’t look like it carried any regular traffic, so he could probably swim across without any issues.
As he neared the clearing in the trees, he spotted a figure breaking the surface of the water on the other side. Zahara! She’d made it, but—she wasn’t moving. Was she injured? He made to rush to her aid but stopped. Someone was coming. He pulled himself into the bushes, blending back into the shadows.
A lone Moonlamp, no older than Keon, marched into the clearing dressed in nothing but a black kameez. It was him; the one who’d led the Moonlamps. He was a runt, but size mattered little in Underland. Someone’s strength of heart and will was enough to make them a mountain.
The young Moonlamp was moving along the fence scanning the area. Any second now, he’d spot Zahara and raise the alarm. Jonas couldn’t chance it. Without another thought, he barraged through the trees making as much noise as he could.
Aslan whipped round at the snap of twigs coming from the forest. He stood ready, palm on his satchel. A shadow of a man emerged from the trees; tall, broad shouldered and athletically built. This one wasn’t wet behind the ears like the others down in the dungeon. Though he could only see his eyes, they blazed with the flames of one weathered by warfare. Unruly tufts of brown hair poked out the top of the mask covering the bottom half his face; a look, no doubt, calculated to radiate with intimidation—but wasted on Aslan.
“You lost, hain?”
The man said nothing.
As Aslan started to pace, he mirrored his movements. This guy was wise. He was sussing him out. He knew better than to charge in, assuming his size would overwhelm someone like Aslan. This would be a good fight—if the Torchbearer actually put one up. They were notorious for avoiding physical conflict; a weakness Aslan didn’t understand. If they were more willing to get their hands dirty, they would have made further strides in Underland instead of skulking through fields and bushes like tramps.
Aslan shifted direction and the man followed, mirroring him perfectly. That’s when he realised it. He was watching him but glancing over his shoulder at something. He was trying to keep him distracted! Aslan turned to look when—
“Oi!”
He slowly turned back.
“Ye might wan’ t’keep yer eyes on me, laddie!”
Zahara flinched and dropped into the water, her eyes just above the surface. Stupid! She’d actually dosed off, half sprawled on the side of the riverbank! Turning towards the source of the noise, she saw two figures standing on the other side of the river. One had his back turned, but she recognised the other. Jonas!—How in the blazes had he made it over the wall so quickly?—That was a Moonlamp sizing him up. Either he was brave to take on Jonas alone, or he didn’t know what he was getting himself into.
She wanted to stay and watch, but had a feeling Jonas was trying to buy her time. She dared not waste it. Looking back the way she came, she could see the Mynds and Moonlamps investigating the breach. It would only be a matter of time before they turned their attention further upstream.
Moving away from the bank, she took a deep breath and dove towards the river gate.
The young Moonlamp stood, feet shoulder width apart and knees bent. His hand hovered over the satchel containing his Codex. Moonlamps were unnaturally strong, a by-product of their grit and tenacity. Fast—but predictable. Jonas eyed the boy’s twitching palm. He would try and disarm him first by striking at his harness, then rain blows upon his head—assuming he could reach it. All Moonlamps followed the same pattern, having been taught meticulously how to disarm and defeat Torchbearers from youth—but this wouldn’t be the first one Jonas Kersey had fought.
The kameez told him the boy was rich by Underland’s standards. The sandals meant he was pampered. Some kind of royalty perhaps, if Moonlamps had such a thing. He’d probably been trained from the moment he could walk. The way his hand lingered over that satchel—it hadn’t seen use in ages. He was more attuned to the chained harnesses they wore across their chests, allowing them to forge free-handed. He was doubting himself, but still dangerous; of that Jonas was sure. Even so, it would give him the edge. All he needed was an inch to take the mile.
He moved his hand towards his harness and the boy’s stance shifted, bent prone like a cat.
“Easy,” said Aslan.
Jonas’ eyes widened. The runt had already unclipped the shawl and pinched the spine of his Codex. He hadn’t even seen him move.
“You’re not gonna slip one past me, hain,”
The runt let the book slip back into place. Then, there was a piercing ring of metal, a glint of gold between his fists and his Mirror came hurtling through the air towards him; teeth bared and eyes wild. There was no time to react when the runt himself suddenly soared through the Mirror and kicked Jonas square in the chest. He barrelled backwards across the grass, heels flying over his head, but managed to roll onto his hands and knees. The boy moved faster than he’d thought possible. He’d used his Mirror like a slingshot to propel him through the air. Ingenius.
The brief respite was all Aslan needed. He bore down upon Jonas, swinging a paper scimitar over his head. Jonas jerked his harness with his left hand, flinging his Codex through the air. With the other, he grasped it, flicked and slammed it onto the ground. It swelled to the size of a suitcase, stopping Aslan’s scimitar dead in its tracks.
He shoved the young Moonlamp off, sending him stumbling backwards. Grabbing the side of the enlarged Codex, he tore off a strip and spun it into a staff. Slamming his fist on the book, it contracted and snapped back to its normal size, bouncing into the air. He slung his arm through a buckled strap used to seal the cover, attaching it to his forearm like a shield.
Aslan faltered. He’d never seen anyone use a Codex like that before!
“Ye like that, laddie? That’s the full force o’ mah Codex. Mah belief. Everything ah hold t’be true.”
Aslan shook to his senses.
“Then I feel sorry for you!”
He swung the scimitar. Jonas parried with staff and shield. Aslan danced across the dirt twirling the blade. Then he sprung, twisting into a somersault before bringing the sword slamming down towards Jonas’ head again. He bent down on one knee, bracing his staff against the shuddering impact. As their weapons collided, thousands of paper fragments fluttered through the air, spiralling around them like cherry blossoms. They battled through the beige blizzard, faster than time itself seemed to be turning. Their weapons swung simultaneously, cleaving a path through the parchment particles. On collision, they shattered.
For a moment, both wavered; unsure of what to do. Then they drew back, grabbed their codices and flipped through the pages. They folded. They turned. They twisted. Then, they clashed. The Mask with twin knives. The Moonlamp with a single yatagan.
Zahara pulled herself onto the riverbank, up the marble steps and through the towering gate. She stopped to glance back down the river. Jonas was engaging the Moonlamp. But she couldn’t linger. She kept low to the ground and scuppered across the grass towards the palace. Suddenly, something to the left caught her eye, protruding from around the corner of the building. She checked both directions, then ducked across the paved path towards the palace. It was a solitary boot sticking out between some rose bushes. Keon’s boot! She’d recognise it anywhere. He’d tried folding down the sides, ‘To make them look more like Converses’ he’d said. She looked up at the walls, surmising the path it must have taken down the sloping roof—and the route Keon must have taken to escape. A smile crossed her lips.
Crossing the colonnades had been simple enough. Keon and Asya slipped between the pillars just in case there were any guards still lingering around this part of the grounds. Where the pillars failed to shield them, the lush gardens more than made up for it. Asya grasped the last pillar, Keon beside her, and nodded towards a beautiful, twisted black tree beside a small wooden bridge. It looked as though it had grown horizontally towards some unseen light before changing course and arching towards the sky. If they hadn’t been running for their lives, Keon would have loved to have sat on its trunk to admire the night.
“Across the bridge and to the left. That leads to the barracks.”
He nodded.
“You ready?” she said.
“Yeah.”
They waited another heartbeat, then angled for the black tree.
“What do we do if it’s guarded?” hissed Keon.
“It will be guarded. Just hang back and let me handle it.”
Asya rounded the edge of some bushes and strode towards the barracks, her back straightened with regal authority. Arms clasped behind her and chin held high, she approached the Moonlamps guarding both sides of the spiral staircase leading up to the barracks porch. Keon hung back (as instructed) peering through a bush near the bridge. Asya was twiddling something between her palm, hidden from the guards. An insurance policy in case her plan didn’t work. The Moonlamps stood to attention when they caught sight of her.
“Aydin, Cemil!”
“Sister Asya! We heard the bell, then an explosion,” said Cemil.
“My brother’s requesting reinforcements at the South Wall! Outsiders have breached the courtyard!”
“He told us to guard the prisoners…no matter what…,” said Aydin, an eyebrow raised.
Even this far away, Keon could see her grip tighten around the paper contraption.
“They won’t get past me,” she replied with a smile.
The Moonlamps exchanged looks, then took off towards the bridge. Keon flinched, ducking down as they bounded past. Once they were out of sight, he allowed himself to breathe again and emerged from the bushes.
“Bloody hell, that was close! You must know everybody’s name here.”
“Of course. They’re like family,” she replied, contemplative.
“Listen, you don’t have to do this if…”
“Wait here. There’ll be another two inside.”
She signalled for him to hide by the side of the building then ran up the stairs before he could say anything. Sure enough, two more Moonlamps stood guarding a flight of stairs leading down into the depths of the barracks.
“The Western Wall’s been breached! Aslan’s calling for reinforcements!”
“But the Marble Mynds…”
“Most of them were destroyed in the explosion.”
“Explosion?!”
“The Western Wall burns and it could spread to the palace! He needs you now!”
Keon couldn’t help but chuckle as the Moonlamps scrambled down the steps, practically tripping over one another as they each tried to reach the bridge first. She was good.
“You sent them off in different directions,” he said with a grin.
“Can’t have them running into each other now, can we?”
They stooped by the railing-less stairs that sank deep into the wood panelled floor. At the bottom step was a solid oak door, blackened with age and bolted with thick pillars of padlocked metal.
“Alright, you’re up,” said Asya.
Clearing two steps at a time, Keon hopped down, rummaging for his satchel. He flipped the Codex to an empty page, slipped out the graphite pencil and began to write.
15 seconds. Boom!
Tearing out the page, he slid it beneath the gap at the bottom of the door, then took out his flint and steel kit and fanned sparks over the parchment. It caught almost immediately, and he scrambled back up the stairs.
“We need to clear the building!” he said, signalling toward the porch.
“What? Why?”
“This close, the shockwave might burst your eardrums.”
Outside the building, Keon grasped her hand and tore across the grass towards the bridge.
“Just how big did you make the explosion?!” she asked.
“Er…I dunno…”
The resulting blast blew the front third of the building and the entirety of the porch off the barracks. Keon and Asya were thrown flat onto the grass. Through the dust, fire and smoke, Keon caught sight of the blackened oak door somersaulting through the air and clear over the trees. Asya stared at him, aghast.
Aslan strained against Jonas, his teeth bared and clenched. All those piercing eyes did was stare back at him, calm and unwavering. He wanted to gouge them out. To bruise and blacken them. He tried shifting his weight to the side, feigning to left. Nothing. There was only one thing for it. He released one hand from the hilt of his blade, felt the push of Jonas’ weight bearing down upon him; then, with the free hand, gripped the invisible chain that hung from the other wrist and pulled.
A thick, whirling shadow twisted around them. Jonas caught the fleeting glimmer of reflective eyes and spun round to meet the Mirror as Aslan wriggled away. He parried a strike and skipped back. The Mirror stalked towards him, flickering wildly, threatening to explode or burst out of coherent existence. Still, its eyes held firm, gleaming like headlights through the darkness. Aslan’s breathing was heavy and rattled; Jonas could see it in the Mirror. With each breath Aslan took, its form shuddered. He was fighting to regain his composure.
“D’ye need a minute?”
“Shut up!”
The Mirror flared as they circled each other.
“Ye have a lot riding on this, don’t ye?”
“What do you know?”
“A wee bit ah reckon. Ah know a bairn tryin’ t’bide up t’someone’s expectations when ah see one.”
“A barn?”
“A weans.”
“What?!”
“You, laddie. A boy.”
Aslan blinked and his Mirror twisted into a howling rage.
“Aslan!”
It was Baris and Ruslan, running at the head of about twenty Moonlamps.
“GET BACK!” Aslan seethed, “HE’S MINE!”
They halted and holstered their codices.
“Yer sportin’ ye heart on yer sleeve there,” he said, motioning to Aslan’s Mirror. “Tis yer old man, ah bet. Ah know whit’s like t’have a bahookie for a father.”
Jonas wondered whether he’d gone too far when a guttural roar ricocheted back and forth between Aslan and the Mirror—then the night sky lit up to the north and a deep boom rumbled across the grounds. A plume of flame mushroomed over the gardens.
Aslan froze. Not another one! What the hell was going on?!
It was all the distraction Jonas needed. He flung the blades. The first slashed across Aslan’s wrist. The second nipped his Mirror’s ankle. They both collapsed in an agonised heap, writhing in the grass as Jonas pelted for the gate and dived into the river as several paper throwing knives whizzed past him.
Zahara steadied herself against the edge of the sloping roof as the explosion rocked the grounds. Her jaw dropped at the blackened door hurtling through the air before coming to crash somewhere in the forests to the east of the complex. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she galloped across the roof in the direction of the explosion.
“Were you trying to kill them?!” said Asya as they stomped through what little was left of the barracks entrance.
Again, the night space was rent by the incessant peal of the palace bell. Everyone would be drawn to their location. All that remained of the main hall and entrance was slope of rubble. Splintered panels of wood jutted out at odd and dangerous angles.
“Course not! But my theory was right...”
“What theory?”
“Kai—one of the guys—got me to light this smoke signal earlier. Told me to write ‘blue’ on a piece of paper and set it alight. I figured that when you burn pages from a Codex, the paper inherits the properties of whatever’s written on it. Then I saw you put those two to sleep the same way. That confirmed it,” he halted, panting with his hands on his waist. “Just didn’t think to specify the size of the explosion.”
Asya eyed him with admiration. Despite his little blunder, he was good.
“You have to be specific in Underland. Words have power.”
The main hall of the barracks, that had once gleamed with polished wooden floors, crystal chandeliers and elaborate golden filigree, was now blackened with soot; the remains of the roof scattered across the boards in heaps of smouldering rubble.
The entrance to the dungeons was obscured by smoke. Keon and Asya strained to look through it, as though, by bobbing their heads from side-to-side, the smoke would somehow get the hint and dissipate. Realising this was a fruitless endeavour, Keon pulled the corner of his hood over his face and began tracing his steps down. Asya hesitated then followed, tugging her own hood across her nose and mouth.
He drew to a halt a few feet from the billowing doorway. Something was moving. A shadow amidst the smoke. Suddenly, it blew apart and a burly figure emerged, fists raised over its head. Keon flinched and shrunk back when they stopped and lowered their arms.
“Bloody hell…Keon?!”
Kai, Dawit and Avana materialised around the figure, the smoke wafting away to reveal Shem’s fierce countenance.
Whew! Needless to say, this is one of my favourite chapters. Why? Jonas vs Aslan! If you share my enthusiasm, I’d love to hear from you.
On that note, I have exciting news to share: You can now read Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom in the new Substack app for iPhone.
With the app, you’ll have a dedicated Inbox for the novel and any others Substacks you subscribe to. New posts will never get lost in your email filters, or stuck in spam. Longer posts will never get cut-off by your email app. Comments and rich media will all work seamlessly. Overall, it’s a big upgrade to the reading experience.
The Substack app is currently available for iOS. If you don’t have an Apple device, you can join the Android waitlist here.
P.S. If you’re interested in finding other Substacks that might peak your interest, click here.