THE FORSAKEN LAND OF GENèSE | LOST KINGDOM

  600

  “I…” the shepherd began, denial poised on his tongue.

  But it was splintered by a sudden coughing fit.

  He doubled over, palm to his mouth, tasting iron and sick bark in his bloody mucus.

  Saint frowned slightly, making a conscious effort not to show the mercenary further weakness by offering assistance. Albus, by contrast, looked delighted.

  When Solvanel straightened, the words he'd meant to say had scattered. Denial—that old, reliable defence, resigned for overuse. He wiped his mouth, eyes still burning. “What are you talking about, pig?”

  "I'm gettin' to it. I'm gettin' to it," the lesser giant responded lazily.

  Albus eased himself down, dangling his legs over the edge of the roof. Exposing his back in a show of dominance that bordered on folly, but was fueled by an uncanny understanding of the boy’s personality.

  Like any Dunreach native, he knew that the kid's imagination was the bane of him—stir his curiosity, and you had a shield so long as you withheld some irresistible tidbit. However, the mercenary clearly had no qualms about dropping the shield. And like Jonah, he'd do it at his own leisure. "Alright. Once upon a time, there was a boy who fell in love with a girl." He leaned back on his palms. "Now, this girl, she wasn't no regular girl. And this boy—" A slow grin crept across his face. "Oh! He wasn't no regular boy.

  “First thing you need to know about this girl is that she had it rough. Born in the middle of a famine, her ma, whoever she was, used the last of her breath pushin’ her out. And her dad, well... whoever he was.”

  The ex-villager scratched the side of his neck, eyes scanning the horizon like he could still see the village from here. “So she got taken in by the neighbours. The ones who happened to be next door to this boy. Which, if you ask me, wasn’t much better than being alone. And that boy—bein'’ her best friend, you know how it goes—he loved her more than anything. She loved him more than anything. So really,” he chuckled, “he never stood a chance.”

  “She fell deeply in love with a mute little son of one, not much unlike her best friend. Except he was, in every other way. This man had the looks, he had the natural talent, and he had the legacy to back it up.”

  He glanced at Solvanel, basking in the heat of the shepherd’s yearning ignorance. “You see, Oedipus came from a long line of nobodies. Only thing notable about his blood was that the women always shot ’em out in twos.” He snorted. “And it’s not like his other half was gonna be much help in this war of love.

  “’Cause the other man was village royalty—fixin’ up from birth to take over from his old man.” Albus’s grin sharpened. “That man’s name was Ashmoiré Solano Ffang.”

  A beat.

  “The next chief of Dunreach village.”

  The lesser giant lifted a hand, hushing the building reaction of his intentional mislead.

  “Relax, kiddo. This ain’t the story of your birth. Ashmoiré couldn’t give two shits about that little missy and her knight in peepin’ armour.”

  Solvanel copied whatever expression he thought Saint would be making, resolute to prove them wrong about his immaturity. Still, the name sat in his mind, rolling off a tongue that didn't care whether others were listening.

  Hearing.

  Albus went on reciting that year’s village gossip.

  “By that time, this other boy, still ugly as sin, by the way, had built himself a reputation. Folks called him a freak of nature on account of his looks and him not needing any sleep.” A short, humourless huff. “So your grandmother put him on barrier duty.

  “To let her and the hunters in and out,” Albus added, “and to watch the plains for any shades gettin’ too close.”

  No. Not just hearing. Regrettable as it was, he was already caught by the mercenary's trap. He was enthralled.

  “But eventually, they grew up,” Albus continued, tone drifting into mock nostalgia. “And she was gettin’ ready to move past your daddy, maybe find somebody else.”

  But unlike before, he was composing himself.

  “And who better to be next in line than loyal Ody, right? Imagine his surprise when that somebody else didn’t just turn out to be someone else, but none other than his bestest friend in the whole wide world, Zeus.”

  “So, you know what good old Oedipus did?” Albus let the moment sit, then leaned forward slightly, voice dropping just enough to make the space between them feel smaller. “Using the catalyst entrusted to him by your grandmother, he studied the fence barrier. Spent weeks picking it apart, quiet-like. Until one day, he figured out how to make one of his own.”

  Composing himself.

  “Of course, it wasn’t as big as our Lightbringer’s—that damn monster,” Albus continued, his tongue clicking as he shook his head. “But Oedipus was way past caring about being lesser. Knowing he'd kill himself trying to cut down the fence-barrier, he got clever. Pulled all the heavy hitters out with a false alarm.”

  Composing himself.

  He jabbed a thumb into his own chest. “That was back when the Hunting Dogs were still in their prime. Me, Wilhelm, Murdock, Sula, your old man, his old man, and a man who used to follow your father around, a poor little dwarf named Aspen.”

  Clenching his jaw as he was drip-fed the extra pieces of a childhood puzzle the adults had ripped away.

  That name. It was somewhere in the back of his mind. But why, of all people, did he have to hear this truth from him?

  Albus scratched behind his ear. “That hunt, a troupe of stem-cutters picked up our trail and chased us out of the forest, coming closer to the village borders than they'd ever been. We'd barely made it past the barrier with our hides. N' of course, with your father standing closest to the fence, Aspen was standing even closer, still, right by his side. That's when the whole damn thing flickered. Not for long—barely a second. But that was enough. One of them stem-cutters was at the edge. Sucked Aspen clean over to the other side.”

  There it was. The fog of memory lifted all at once, revealing a bloody scene, hazed through teary eyes and bloody miasma.

  It was the night his father brought him to that room. The blood. The smell. The ache in his knees from being forced down. That mangled man…

  The wheeze in his father’s voice. [Can you heal him?]

  The young shepherd swallowed hard as the mercenary went on, unaware—or pretending to be—of a gulp that was heard all across the world. “When you failed, we all went our separate ways. Back to our families for a well-earned rest. Those of us who still had ’em. But not before handin’ little Aspen over to Zeus, knowin’ the he wouldn’t rest ‘til that man was good as new.”

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  He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Took your grandmother showin’ up the next morning to realise somethin’ was off. Oedpius was missing, and her barrier was weaker than usual. So she followed the circuitry and found a second, smaller one set up in the middle of the village. Right over the home of the good doctor himself.”

  Something coiled inside his gut, images igniting in his head, far too vivid to come from hearing a story for the first time.

  How there was a shimmering translucent dome was set up over the new home near the swamp. He’d seen it with a child’s awe. Sound waves rippling against the barrier, desperate to be set free. To find help for the people locked in.

  He had reached for it. Played with its rippling surface, envisioning the wonders that could be inside. Like any child would, upon discovering such strange marvels.

  And no one believed him when he said the doctor’s house was breathing.

  “By the time we got into it, the damage was already done. Every last one of ’em,” Albus said, voice low and too steady. “All the little ones’ bodies in a pile, and their heads lined up like they’d been made to watch it happen. Clean line. No panic in the placement.”

  He gave a small shrug, as if even now, he couldn’t quite believe it. “And the girl—she was shiverin’ in the ashes of a cold, unlit fireplace. Just sittin’ there without a peep. Like the heat might come back if she stayed still long enough.

  “From the way she was—you could tell he took his time makin’ her suffer. Wasn’t some wild fit. Wasn’t rage. Nah. It was… deliberate.” Albus clicked his tongue. “Me and Willy had to drag her out by the ankles. Couldn’t walk. Could barely speak.”

  Saint’s hand went to his neck, knuckles tight. Solvanel’s fingers twitched at his side, but he didn’t interrupt.

  “And when we saw her face?” Albus let out a soft, humourless whistle. “Fucked it up so bad, you wouldn’t’ve even recognised the look of her. Not unless you knew the eyes. And as one of those lucky miracles myself, I know the eyes. Plus, if anything, now they looked more identical than ever.”

  A pause.

  “And that’s when it hit me.” He turned, finally facing Solvanel directly. “Oedpius. Odette. That poor broad was fucked from the beginning. She was his twin. 'Can't say why her original family shipped her out, but I could bet you bloody hell he knew it.”

  "Let me tell you something, kid. There's a lot of creepy crawlies in this world, and I only ever been scared of one thing. And that's because..." He shook his head with exaggerated solemnity. "That's because..." Albus gulped. "That's because... I fear not the man who can stab his sister in the back, but the one who can look himself in the eye… and slide the tip in.”

  Albus checked to see if the words had landed. They had.

  Solvanel made a strangled sound—something between breath and refusal, his throat betraying him before his lips could catch up.

  Albus grinned. “Brings back memories, don’t it?”

  Then, the lesser giant laughed.

  “I know I’ll never forget it." He stretched his arms behind his head, spine cracking with lazy satisfaction. "How we caught the freak with his pants down. The whole village wanted to choke him with his own cock. But good ol’ Fang?” Albus snorted. “Weak bastard couldn’t bring himself to do it. Just kicked Oedipus out like he was sendin’ a dog away from the dinner table.

  “That’s when we lost faith in the village. Me, Wilhelm, Sula—and your father, too. Each of us chose to believe in something different.”

  He pushed himself up from the edge of the roof and rolled his shoulders. “Me? I learned the only thing you can depend on in this world is money.” A crooked smile followed. “And once I realised what kind of man your grandfather really was… well. He didn’t deserve that Steel Man armour.

  "So me, Willy, and Albane took it. Found out we were gonna be exiled to ‘keep the peace,’ and figured we might as well settle accounts first.” He laughed under his breath. “Stripped it right outta his house while everyone slept.”

  ? Paral— ? Solvanel started.

  "Finish that word, and I'll knock you out myself," Saint said, clearly on guard from the last time Solvanel froze him up.

  "You wouldn't."

  "Try me."

  The mercenary yawned, scratching his belly. "Eh, I'm tired of it. Let's get back to business before the beast catches our scent. Here's how this works, Sainty-boy. You help us get past the barrier, I take the silver, and I give you the antidote. Everyone's happy."

  "Fine," Saint said immediately.

  "What?" Solvanel twisted in his grip. "You can't be serious."

  "I'm dead serious."

  "They killed her! They killed—"

  "And you'll be next if you don't shut your mouth and think for once in your life," Saint snapped. "You really wanna get killed over pride?’

  "It's not about pride!" gasped the shepherd.

  "Then what is it about? Justice? Revenge?" Saint's laugh was bitter. "You want to die for a corpse?"

  Solvanel went still, face flushing red.

  Albus watched them both with growing delight, as if the tension was a meal he’d been waiting to eat. He clapped his hands once, slow and loud enough to echo against the rooftops.

  “Oh, this is perfect,” he said, voice bright with amusement. “Tell you what, Sainty-boy, since everyone’s all riled up, I’ll sweeten the deal.

  “About what I said earlier—your little missy?” He waved a hand lazily. “I was kiddin’. Ain’t my taste anyway. Always been more of a broad-and-buxom kind of guy—unless there’s coin in that kind of business.”

  Leaning forward slightly, voice dropping as if confiding a secret.

  “The same goes for Goodhall. Sula. Jonah, obviously. Even Albane—that one don’t even know what his dick’s good for yet.”

  Solvanel didn’t breathe.

  Albus’s grin remained.

  “So that’s five of us you can rule out. We never touched her.”

  He let the words settle for a second, then tilted his head, mock-thoughtful.

  “Oedipus, though?” He gave a low whistle. “Yeah. He had his time. Took it, too. Real slow. Real quiet. And your missy?” He shrugged. “She didn’t scream long.”

  Solvanel’s jaw tightened.

  Saint’s fingers flexed at his side.

  “But he didn’t kill her,” Albus added casually with the tone of a scholar correcting a misquote. “That part? It was someone else.”

  A pause.

  “That Wilhelm... "he always wanted to try out your grandfather's gauntlets on a little girl.”

  The words hit like iron dropped into water. No echo. Just weight.

  Solvanel’s breath came fast, shallow, sharp.

  Saint turned, saw the boy’s shoulders coil.

  “Don’t,” he said, stepping closer. “Not now.”

  “Let go.”

  “Sol==-”

  But Solvanel wrenched free with sudden violence, bolting toward the rooftop’s edge.

  “SOLVANEL!” Saint lunged too late.

  Solvanel's bare feet dug into the stone, thin strands of gold supplying him a fresh reserve of power. And the means to enact his revenge.

  With a running start, he launched across the gap to the next rooftop, clearing the edge. Tiles cracked beneath his landing, but he didn’t break stride.

  “Solvanel!” Saint shouted again, rushing to the ledge.

  But the boy was already gone, leaping to the next roof, then the next, his figure shrinking with each bound, like a golden comet trailing above the lifeless city.

  "Damn it!" Saint kissed his teeth, torn between reason and futility.

  “Well now,” Albus said. “Let’s see what the sheep does when he finally meets the butcher.”