Fault & Fealty

Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom, Chapter 31

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.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: So, a funny thing happened when coming to write the next chapter of Underland; I realised I had a bit of a major plot-hole. Namely, how did Aslan know about Asya’s Mirror? For those who are new readers, this won’t actually be an issue, but for those who have been reading from the start, this has required that I go back and remove the end of Chapter 26, change a line of dialogue there and also remove a line from Chapter 29. These changes don’t majorly affect the story so far, but they are significant for the climax. Anywho, if you don’t want to go back and re-read, just pretend the end of Chapter 26 didn't happen! Enjoy.

RECAP: Ever since Aslan’s twin sister, Asya, helped the Torchbearers escape, he has been on the hunt with two of his companions. Their plan: to hunt down Keon’s Mirror and hold it for ransom. However, things did not go according to plan. Not only was Aslan beaten in battle when Keon’s Mirror overpowered his own, but Keon somehow escaped, vanishing into thin air. Returning to Midnah-Dogu in shame and defeat, he must now face his father the Rayiys.

< Previous Chapter | Index | Next Chapter >

Aslan’s weary eyes, tired from days of ceaseless travel, stared up at the glistening marble walls of Midnah-Dogu. Logic told him the Marble Mynds had their gazes fixed on the horizon, looking for any sign of an assault. But he felt every one of their cold, chiselled eyes leering deep into his soul. There, they’d find that snivelling twelve-year-old kid, curled up in a ball on the floor of his subconscious, too afraid to even lift his head. His thoughts flashed back to the night he left, triumphant at the public besting of his father. But now, what did he have to show for it? Two of his best soldiers dismembered by Mysts. His defeat at the hands of an Unlit Torchbearer. And no Asya. How could he even face this without Asya? He dug his feet into the dust in hope that the ground would devour him.

Ruslan’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Come on, As,” he said, urging him forward.

He and Baris shuffled ahead, leaving their reluctant Kaptan in their wake.

Aslan held his stare as they passed through the colossal flanking towers of the Golden Gate. He once welcomed their embrace, but now he longed for the corridor to stretch into eternity. The arabesque patterns lining the walls and ceiling had always welcomed him with wonder. Now, they leered over him in judgement. As they passed into the marketplace, he dipped his head, the hood shielding him from the searing daylight. His stomach rumbled at the scent of grilled meat and fresh bread dancing in the air. Perfumes and spices blew his mind back to soft, crimson pillows, luxurious bathing rooms and the laughter of his anne as he and Asya played in the palace.

The market stools grew quiet as he passed, the only sound the tiny, twinkling mirrors, clinking together on strands of twine. Word had clearly spread; how the son of the Rayiys, the Kaptan of the Walls, had defied his father, vowing to bring back his wayward sister. Now, the stillness of their stares closed in around him like suffocating walls. Nausea bubbled in his throat, threatening to overflow and soil him in what little pride he had left.

The overcrowded market finally gave way to the open square of immaculately cut grass filling the central courtyard. At least the shade of the palm trees offered some welcome respite. Then he lifted his eyes and he saw the great fountain in the midst of the square. He stopped, staring at the waters trickling down the central spread of the stone book, their path lined with a strip of gold. His gaze swept to the far-left side of the square where the gate to the Bedesten broke through the wall like a long throat falling into a deep void.

Baris and Ruslan suddenly drew to a halt. The path out of the square was blocked by eight Masabih holding ceremonial spears.

“Kaptan Koyun!” one of them said, stepping forward. “By order of the Rayiys, I am to escort you to the palace. He requests an audience with you immediately.”

Aslan swallowed; his mouth clamped shut. Then, he looked ahead and walked towards his escort.

Aslan entered the opulent marble portico of the palace pavilion. Remarkably, little sign of the Torchbearer incursion remained. The breach to the Western Wall had long since been repaired. The grass in front of the palace, however, still bore the scars of the explosion that had marred it. Inside, his attendant stood in front of the giant cedar council doors, a black kameez folded over his arm. Aslan shook his head silently. He would face the Rayiys in full regalia.

As he approached the doors, he went to push them open when they were yanked forward, almost causing him to stumble. Slowly, the doors pulled apart to reveal the crystal chandelier, and the Rayiys seated beneath it. Once again, the council formed a foreboding semi-circle around the central couch, and once again the top soldiers of the Wall Guard lined the edges of the chamber. Deniz, Kadir, Emin and Murat glanced in their direction. They hadn’t expected to see them, let alone empty handed.

“Ruslan. Baris. Please join your brothers in arms,” drawled the Rayiys.

They left Aslan alone in the centre of the chamber, chins low as they stood amongst the Wall Guard. The Rayiys tapped the armrest, cocked his head to one side, then blew a long, heavy breath through his nose.

“When last we stood in this hall, you…insisted that you would not only send me word once you had recovered my daughter, but that you would punish those who breached our walls…I received no word and I have no daughter.”

Aslan said nothing, his whole body trembling with a bubbling mixture of shame and rage. He stared ahead, through the Rayiys, through his father’s disappointment.

“Am I to presume our enemies did not meet their end either?”

How could he even explain? Where would he begin?

“My lord Bashi…” Aslan began.

“Ah! He speaks!” said the Rayiys, clapping his hands together with mocking joy.

Aslan licked his lips, mind scrambling.

“We tracked the location of the Unlit’s Mirror…but…he escaped.”

“ESCAPED?”

Several of the courtiers leaned into one another’s ears, whispering. How Aslan wished he could rip their insufferable tongues out.

“If I may, my lord Bashi,” Ruslan saluted, stepping forward. “We successfully tracked the Mirror, but we were outnumbered. They had reinforcements.”

Aslan fought to not show his relief, his cheeks twitching. The Rayiys rapped the armrest with his fingertips, his eyes roaming over Aslan with scrutiny.

“Did you think you could defy the Order of Almuluk and still have him grant you his favour?”

He looked around the room at his courtiers, as though one of them could provide the answer.

 Aslan blinked, glancing down, then raised his gaze.

“Almuluk says that his mercy prevails over his wrath. That he is most forgiving and merciful,” Aslan replied.

“Indeed,” the Rayiys nodded. “Indeed, he does and indeed he is…but what does he say to those who would turn their backs?”

A deathly hush settled over the room.

Aslan’s grey eyes focused in on his father.

“Was this part of a strategy? Did you come back to join another company and return to battle? Didn’t you encourage your brothers to stand firm in adversity with patience, knowing the King’s arm is behind you?”

He raised both hands in expectation, then let them fall to his knees.

“Tell me, my firstborn, what would you have me do with such a Kaptan?”

No one stirred and no words were spoken. For the first time, Aslan allowed his chin to fall.

“Lift—your head,” said the Rayiys, spitting each syllable.

Aslan grimaced as his eyes met his fathers.

“They should be stripped of their rank,” he whispered.

The Rayiys clapped his hands once.

“It is done! For this offence…I can no longer permit you to wear the rank of Kaptan of the Walls!”

Aslan stood still, even as he felt two Masabih approach from either side. His shoulders jolted as they wrenched off the pads of rank.

“Your title will be stripped and given to another!” said the Rayiys.

At this, Deniz stepped forward, coming to stop parallel to Aslan. Aslan gawped at his friend as the pads of rank were strapped to Deniz’s shoulders. This had all been planned—they already knew he was being replaced!

“Hence forth, the Eight are disbanded pending their reassignment. Return to your dwellings and await further instruction. This council is adjourned.”

Aslan stood clenching, fresh indentations digging into his palms. For all his rage, he felt powerless. He was powerless even to move as the court began to file out around him. His brothers in arms, what remained of the Eight, were some of the last to leave, lingering behind as long as they reasonably could. Finally, the courtiers left the chamber.

No one paid Aslan any mind, and after a few minutes he found himself alone. Then, he looked up and saw that he was not in fact alone. The Rayiys had remained. He stood in front of the couch, all pomp and ceremony seeming to have left him. For the first time in what felt like an age, it was as though Aslan was only seeing his father.

He removed his skullcap, fiddling with its rim.

“Come,” he said, waving Aslan forward.

He hesitated, then stepped towards his father.

The Rayiys didn’t look at him, toying instead with the cap.

“You understand why I have had to do this. Mmm?”

Aslan said nothing.

“You were the youngest to ever be named Kaptan of the Walls. Your anne and I were incredibly proud. You showed such promise. A mastery of Forging that Emir had not seen in a generation. And your ingenuity with Mirror-work…”

The Rayiys shook his head, his thoughts trailing off in wonder.

“It was a risk, but one I was willing to take…for you were going to be the crown jewel of the House of Safya. Not only a scholar in waiting, but a warrior…a leader.”

His father glanced down again at the cap, turning it between his fingers like steering a wheel.

“But your actions have placed our tribe in a compromising position…and as a result, difficult decisions must be made. I hope you know that I take no pleasure in this. Learn this lesson well, my son, for one day—if I have anything to say about it—you will be where I am, and you may well have to teach this lesson to your own son.”

He folded the cap behind his back and walked past Aslan, pausing to speak one last time.

“Your mother would like you to join us for dinner tonight. Try not to disappoint her also.”

And with that, the Rayiys left, and Aslan was truly alone.

He waited.

Waited until he was absolutely certain—and then he screamed. He screamed until every muscle in his stomach hurt and his back ached from being bent over in anguish. Screamed until his jaw clicked like it would drop off; until every sound in his gut was spent. But he wouldn’t shed a tear. That he wouldn’t do.

Aslan walked the crimson carpeted hall towards his apartment. He stopped at the door, turning towards the one opposite. Asya’s room. For a moment he pondered breaking into it. After everything that had happened, no one had thought to search her quarters. Surely there were clues in there that could lead to her whereabouts. But he was no longer Kaptan of the Walls. Breaking into her room would be frowned upon and he could no longer rely on his rank to protect him. Heck, even his status in the House of Safya was on shaky ground.

Though it could be passed down by heredity, the title of Rayiys was not dynastic. It depended on the status of the House of Safya among the other tribal houses of Midnah-Dogu. His ineptitude had placed the whole tribe at risk. There were others chomping at the heel, ready to supplant them at a moment’s notice. His father needed to show strength in the face of the other tribes. Most of their heads sat on the council as his courtiers. And Deniz. That one stung but it also made sense. He came from a noble, though minor house. His appointment would raise the status of the House of Kara and ensure their loyalty to the House of Safya for generations.

Gosh, why did he always do this? Why did he always feel the need to justify his father’s actions, no matter how illogical or uncharitable or downright immoral? He shook his head, turning away from Asya’s apartment. He raised a fist to pound on the wall but stopped. The corner of a piece of parchment was sticking out of the bottom of his door. Looking left to right, he bent down, slid it out and unfolded the contents.

It was nightfall by the time he made it to the square. He hated coming out here this late at night. Even with the nebulae illuminating the sky, light seemed to scarcely penetrate the infinite black of the Bedesten. It didn’t take long for him to find Emin; hood up, arms folded and leaning against a palm tree.

At Aslan’s approach, Emin saluted with a slap to his chest. Aslan returned the salute and they embraced, patting each other’s backs.

“Listen, whatever happened out there, we have your back. Always,” said Emin.

“Thank you.”

Emin nodded in acknowledgement.

“So, what’s this about? What do you have for me?” said Aslan.

Emin leaned in close, arms still folded.

“Whatever you’ve been feeding them, it must’ve been good ‘cause they sought me out.”

“What?” said Aslan, drawing closer.

“They said they had information they knew you’d want, and that you had to come here to get it…that it has something to do with your sister.”

Aslan had always had a fascination with outer space, particularly black holes. Imagine: cosmic objects with a mass so dense that even light could not escape. They were as terrifying as they were intriguing. At times, he’d tried to imagine staring into the dark abyss of the event horizon. He pictured a blackness blacker than black. Complete and unyielding. Gargantuan and foreboding. As he stood in the archway of the Bedesten, something of that abject terror gripped his chest. He had to lean a hand against the archway to steady himself. It was like staring over the edge of a tall, vertical drop. It pulled at him, almost taunting him to jump or throw himself over.

Finely cut limestone steps led down into the depths. One. Two. Three, and then they vanished; light stolen by the gravity of whatever lay beyond. Emin drew beside him and nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder. He led the way and Aslan followed.

By the time they reached the third step, he could judge the placement of the next few easily enough. To think Emin did this on a regular basis. He counted fourteen steps in all before they finally reached the end. As they’d made their descent, light had started to bleed into view, illuminating the way. It was a subtle, dim blue at first, growing brighter the deeper they descended into the depths. Aslan guessed the hall was long and wide, with a high, arched ceiling. The brickwork rose on either side, curving inward before vanishing into a darkness so thick you could almost touch it. On either side, market stools emerged from the shadows laden with stacks, and stacks of documents. Scrolls, books, manuscripts. Behind the tables sat living plumes of humanoid cloud, rippling, and swirling like self-contained storms. Rather than the violent flashes typical of Mysts, a gentle glow illuminated their torsos, granting light to the Bedesten.

In the distance, somewhere beyond the darkness, he could hear the clink of manacles. If he strained, he could catch glimpses of gleaming white pupils sparkling out of the gloom.

Aslan stopped by the third table on his left. This Myst had two eyes floating amid what would have been its head; big and round as if they’d been plucked from a skull. The eye on the left was brown whilst the other had a blue-green hue. His gaze fell to the arms, human and fleshy though shrouded in tendrils of cloud, like strings attached to the limbs of a marionette. The left arm was dark brown and toned whilst the one on the right appeared short, fair skinned and scrawny. Aslan shuddered at the thought of how these appendages had been procured. Was there a Myst walking around somewhere brandishing Taner’s mouth and Ayaz’s arm? This one seemed to know the purpose for their visit, for it looked Aslan in the eye and signalled with its frothing head towards the back end of the hall.

He took his time, step by gentle step until another stall emerged from the gloom. It was wider, clearly extended to support the city of pillared documents resting upon it. There were so many, in fact, that he couldn’t see who or what was manning the table. Something was there though. He could hear it rifling through papers. As he and Emin drew near, a hand emerged between the paper skyscrapers—and another—and another—and another. Six limbs in all slid the paper columns out of the way, one by one. Each arm differed from the other, multiple hues of brown and beige, long nails and short ones; toned, chubby and slim.

The cloudy monstrosity pulled itself forward, a myriad of eyes rolling in the vapours of its otherwise featureless head. Its head seem to angle to one side (Aslan could only tell because of how the eyes bent over) and it leaned towards them, pursing lips that weren’t its own.

“Aslan of the Eight,” it said with crisp trebles of enunciation. “Long have I desired to meet with you. This is most fortuitous.”

“What is?” said Aslan, an eyebrow raised.

“That time and chance would permit us to confer.”

Aslan swallowed, glancing down at its many limbs, then back up at the mess of eyes. It was like staring at some kind of freaky smoke-spider.

“You have information for me,” he said, matter-of-factly, trying to sound as though he wasn’t freaked out of his mind.

The Myst slid a stack of sheets across the table. Removing a piece here, a parchment there, it swapped them around like a magician trying to hide the coin in a cup. After a moment, it withdrew a document that had been folded into the shape of an origami crescent moon. The Myst held it up between a finger and thumb until it almost eclipsed the glow in its torso.

“I wonder,” it croaked. “Will you be able to afford it?”

Without looking, Aslan flicked the clips on his Kodeks. It fell open and he rifled through the pages.

“Two names,” he said, extracting the sheet. He slipped out the graphite pencil and began to scrawl, leaning on the edge of the table. “Selin…and Burak.”

He lifted the slip, folded it and held it out to the Myst. Two of its many eyes glanced at the sheet, then back at him. It offered the folded crescent and the two of them exchanged. The Myst’s arms moved swift as a scuttling spider, papers moving from place to place. In a moment, Aslan could no longer see his slip; filed, and tucked away.

“As always, a pleasure doing business with you Kaptan, especially in person.”

Aslan shook his head.

“I’m not Kaptan anymore.”

The eyes locked on him again.

“That is a matter of perspective, for our sources see beyond time and space…”

Aslan’s trembling hand almost crushed the paper crescent.

“Might I suggest you move swiftly. The murmurings say this one is highly prized. We would not want you paying double unnecessarily.”

He turned and walked away towards the stairs, Emin following close behind.

“Seriously Emin, how do you do that?” said Aslan as they emerged from the Bedesten into the cool night. He could finally breathe, and he never wanted to go down there again. Stepping off to the side of the entrance, he leant against the wall and unfolded the parchment. It was almost a shame, to unravel such a fine piece of art. Who would have thought Mysts appreciated such things? His eyes scraped across the page, and as they did his elation turned cold as his countenance grew grim.

“What is it?” Emin pressed.

“This…it doesn’t make sense…”

Aslan folded the paper back and slipped it in his pouch. His fingers clenched and a grimace clamped his lips shut.

“We need to leave tonight,” he said. “We need a back door.”

Emin nodded.

“That ain’t a problem, bro.”

“We do this,” he said, turning to Emin. “My dad might expel us from the Wall Guard.”

Emin smiled.

“What else is new?”

Aslan pushed himself off the wall, taking a few steps forward. He wiped his face with his palm.

“Asya’s Mirror’s been sighted in the wild.”

“What?!” Emin said. “How’s that possible?”

“I dunno, I…unless,” he said pacing. “She kept talking about our Mirrors…asking all these questions…going on about how our Mirrors might be a threat. That we weren’t in control. When she saw what I could do, she got scared. She…what if she tried to break the Chain?”

“Why would she do that?”

Aslan stopped, his eyes searching.

“The Myth of the Perfect Mirror. She wants to see if it’s true. That’s why she went with them. She’s gonna try and control her Mirror without a Chain!”

“Is she mad? Almuluk’s wrath will be swift, bro!”

He couldn’t let her. He wouldn’t allow her to make such a foolish mistake.

“So, where are we goin’?” said Emin. “Where’d they spot her Mirror?”

“Home,” said Aslan, turning to face him. “New Hame, Loegria.”

---