Chapter Nineteen

Secrat Copé ran. The further he went and the more distance he had between himself and the city of Italina, the more the strength and presence of the Aeonian began to diminish. He still saw glimpses of its power – residual splotches on the lenses of his eyes that showed the color with such gumption. The blades of sickly grass beneath his feet were even starting to look healthy with the lively hue imposed on them. He felt an emptiness at the pit of his stomach and a heaviness in chest. Regardless, he still ran.

The Italina knights had their carriages and horses, and if the King made the order, they would surely be after him. Thankfully, however, the Aeonian would not be. Although details were hard to come by when it came to each Aeonian, it was said that they didn’t venture beyond their town’s walls. It was a rule that Secrat doubted would be broken for a insignificant thief, nor one as special and important as he was.

Secrat ran without direction, the only thing he had going through his mind was being away from that damn, blasted city. This must have been how the woman felt, running aimlessly from her kidnappers. Copé couldn’t remember a time when he had been more intimidated or scared than how he felt now.

Secrat ran. They wouldn’t look for him all night, not outside the walls, and not when the city was so densely populated. It was too dangerous and a waste of resources, Secrat assured. The wagon was gone, it had been confiscated according to The Aeonian’s words. It, or they, the authorities must have been noticed by the woman. She must have run over to them and informed them of Brutus’ attempted murder and of Secrat and Brutus’ successful steal. From there, they must have done a sweep across the vicinity and found Taison nearby, carrying an item that exactly matched the description of the statue.

Copé felt something beneath his feet, but before he could do anything about it, he tripped. This seemed as good a place to hide as any, he supposed. He fell hard onto the ground, his own momentum sending him rolling forward. The feeling of his knees driving against the unforgiving dirt floor was enough to make him yell out. The way he landed, he leaned against a very large, very dead tree. The Italina walls were still very visible to him. He realized now that he might very well have been at the exact opposite standpoint of where Taison and the wagon were. Or once were. His legs ached, his back was sore, and his knees were more bruised than a prostitute from The Hills, and, to top it off, his hand was throbbing again. The chilly air made his body shiver. He was not accustomed to such a cold climate, especially not at night. His clothing being drenched with sweat also offered him little assistance with his discomfort.

Unless Taison was able to outrun the knights, he would have been captured. In other words, he was captured.

Marc Sero, Lukas Lewis, and Samuel Syi’s whereabouts were up in the air as well. Of course, he knew for sure that Brutus Ess was taken. And if, empty handed and without Brutus Ess would have upset Father Veras, then coming back alone would surely have spelled out The Thief’s demise. A small moment, a trickling of thought, found itself roaming in Secrat’s mind, the thought of screaming “Fuck it!” to the heavens and leaving The Red Flux occurred to him. It would have been so much easier than dealing with the situation before him. Unfortunately, he knew it wasn’t an option for him. The Whispey Deserts were hot and trying to live among the people of Maharris had never been favorable for him. The Red Flux was all he had ever known and he was well accustomed to being a member of the troupe.

Secrat reached down and felt the pouch of his leggings and found some tobacco, it was dampened down and moistened by his sweat. He lit it up with a pine stick. The small flame had a haphazard hue until Copé’s eyes were allowed to settle. He had seen nothing but what the stars allotted him to for so long that the Aeonian still messed with his vision. He assumed it would frequent his psyche for awhile before it finally wore off. On the bright side, it made certain figures and outlines easier to distinguish, but, ultimately, he wanted nothing more than it to leave him altogether. He brought one end of the cigarette to his lips, welcoming the smoke into his lungs. He watched the small flame shake and realized that he, himself, was the cause of it. The fear had still yet to fully bid its farewell from him. It was either come back with the rest of The Red Flux or don’t come back at all, those were his options. He took a puff of the cigarette. God, I hate this, Secrat found himself thinking.

He had hoped they would calm his nerves but as the emerald smoke escaped from his lips, he felt on the brink of a full blown panic attack. All of the items they had went through the trouble of stealing were taken, gone, and confiscated. Even the very statue that had gotten him in this predicament was now nothing more than a story to tell. The whole of The Aer Festival heist was now a complete, total failure. They took everything! That meant Secrat knew he would have to return. He would have to act in some way to mend fences. He would have to penetrate the prisons in Italina and rescue his brethren. He knew not at all how to do that, however. He hadn’t even the faintest idea or assumption for how to go about it. Had it been a fable or a storybook, the good guy could find the answer to his or her dilemma in an unrealistic, unexpected location. Unfortunately, Secrat wasn’t the good guy in his story or any story, for that matter. Secrat was a thief meaning to rob innocent common folk of Italina and a reoccurring murderer of those very same innocent common folk. However, as he flicked his cigarette out from between his fingers over to the ground in front of him, he saw that fate didn’t concern itself with such technicalities.

He now saw what he had tripped over and saw that the Italinian knights had, in fact, not taken everything from them. It was a coincidence, the same as in the storybooks, and it made all the difference for him. It was a coincidence that operated as special happenstance to let him carry on in his misadventure. The type of coincidence that would let him, The Hero, carry forth and save his Red Flux brethren. With an outline of green around it, Secrat saw the Itallinian knight’s armor stolen by Marc Sero, buried partly in the dirt.

2.

The silver was a difficult fit around Secrat. It was heavier than he anticipated, the suit, not Secrat, and he knew he would be unable to ascend the castle walls while donning it. If push came to shove, chances were that he wouldn’t have been able to do it again anyways, armor or no armor. His body was so beaten and battered, and without the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the injuries and hardships he had endured had finally started to catch up to him. He limped his way to the other side of Italina, trying to find a stance that at least somewhat resembled how the knights of Italina carried themselves. Unfortunately, I don’t think I will be able to get my thumb that far up my ass, Secrat thought. In the end, he supposed they walked, more or less, like a normal person trying to walk with pride, always looking forced and tense.

It wasn’t at all like Livius Reid, who was the real deal, or would what Secrat saw have been Livius Reid’s ghost? The fables and myths assigned certain credentials, but Copé had no true, assured idea for what an Aeonian actually was.

Getting through the gates led to no confrontation. New guards were in the rotation. Had it been a different day, a composite sketch would have already spelled out Secrat Copé’s capture and demise, but with The Aer Festival making everything so busy, hectic, and cluttered, everything landed in The Thief’s favor. An array of unique thieves would lurk inside the town for the night – The Red Flux hopefully being the biggest among them, but there was ultimately no weight to that claim. Secrat had to assume that the only reason Livius had been summoned was because a knight had been murdered and it forced the city’s hand. But, then again, the claim had little weight – he had no way of knowing how it all worked, not for certain.

The guards did stop him, and with cautious faces.

“Officer,” a knight said in such a formal tone Secrat thought he might as well have been talking to King Harries himself, “State your business.”

Secrat smiled. He would have laughed in the face of the knight had it been a different circumstance.

“I was in pursuit of the thief that escaped from over Italina’s walls. I almost had him, but he escaped,” Copé said, his voice deepened as to create a false sense of professionalism and poise.

“The troupe!? You were in pursuit of that man by yourself?” The knight’s face seemed taken aghast by his claim.

It was so easy to forget that, beneath all the fancy armor, they were mostly just untrained cowards who played their role for appearances only. Secrat fanned him off with his hand.

“Nay, I lost track of the carriage and I had to walk all the way back on foot.”

“What carriage? There had been no carriage put out in his pursuit.”

“No, but, uh, there had been carriages of knights stationed all around the outskirts of the wilderness. It looks like King Harries must have anticipated them.”

Copé could feel his heart starting to beat faster. Anyone of normal intelligence would have been able to see through his lie. If it were a knight of any know how or significance, his lie would fail.

“Odd, the other knights made it seem like he didn’t want any men posted outside the walls, like he thought it would be too risky because the savages that show up for the festival,” the knight said, sounding befuddled.

It was not that he disagreed with Secrat, but that he was genuinely confused. The savages that show up for the festival, Secrat repeated to himself. What savages? Where are all these savages? Did King Harries lie to his men to actively make even his knights fearful of the Unprotected Wilderness? The other two knights gave no input. They were young and inexperienced, as was the knight who spoke. Chances were that all King Harries’ best men were standing guard near him as he delivered his speech.

“Clearly, that is what the King wanted everyone to think,” Copé said back, and began to walk forward, saying nothing else, putting his back to the knights.

“Then again, from what the woman who escaped the thieves said, the remaining thief was far from the most skillful in the operation.” One of the knights speculated.

Secrat bit his lips as the gate into Italina came open, waving goodbye to the fuck-faced knight.

3.

Secrat ventured forth to Italina, his eyes surveying the marble walkways with intent. What that intent was, he couldn’t say for certain. There was some truth to the idea that he never actually thought he would reach as far as he had. In this moment, especially, he realized he hadn’t the faintest idea of where The Red Flux may have been taken to. Every district in Italina had, at least, some kind of prison. They had smaller ones, little buildings with simple cell bars and a handful of knights standing guard over the prisoners. Secrat knew this firsthand from the handful of times he had been locked up in the lower district. Would they have been taken to one of them? Secrat shook his head in disagreement with himself. Not if they were deemed enough of a security risk to call forth their Aeonian. The simpler jails were meant for drunkards and petty thieves, but a rag-tag group of murderers would require somewhere of higher security. That somewhere would be the dungeons at Castle Lomeer – it wasn’t the castle of Italina’s King Harries, but, rather, a castle headed by Lord Hayter.

In the simplest of terms, Lord Hayter’s castle served as the grand jury for Italina. Lord Hayter was responsible for interpreting the laws written by Italina’s legislative branch, which Secrat knew absolutely nothing about. The only reason he knew of Lord Hayter was through word of mouth. Being a lowly peasant in Italina, often deemed a burden or a rapscallion, and that was putting it kindly, Secrat was familiar with the ‘threat” of Castle Lomir. “If we catch you stealing bread again, you’ll find your ass in Castle Lomeer,” or “You’ll be rotting your days away in Castle Lomeer in no time,” Secrat had heard it all before. That was where The Red Flux members would be taken, he was certain of it.

Castle Lamir was deeper into Italina, far deeper than Secrat would ideally prefer to go – all the way in the Jasmine district. The only upside to its location was how it went exactly away from King Harries’ castle and the Tower of Sanchi, which were located in the capital district of Joorbeck. Secrat could only hope that meant it would be heavily guarded.

The Thief whistled down a coachman who was kind enough to stop for him, offering an escort by horse to the castle. Part of Secrat felt inclined to off the man and steal his small buggy, but he thought better of it. He even considered trying to pull rank and demand a free means of transportation, but thought better of that as well. He couldn’t risk drawing any undue attention to himself. He couldn’t afford to rock the boat any harder than he already had. By the end, the ride cost him nearly all the coin he had nicked from the Heavy Man at the Bells Brother’s Pub, money he considered well spent only having walked a short distance in the heavy armor.

The steps leading up to the castle looked like they were without end and to the left and right of them were decorative props, including a water fountain that had been made to look like some type of flower, the water sprayed out from the center and dribbled down the petals. It was likely about the closest anyone in Italina had come to seeing an actual living plant. The other side had a large granite sign, one that looked like it used the same stone that had been used for the walls surrounding the greater city. Carved in elegant letters, the sign decreed all the various rules Italina citizens were expected to abide by. At the bottom of the sign was a signature – Livius Reid’s signature.

Secrat Copé began his way up the steps and could feel an immediate fatigue start to weigh him down. They may very well have been useless messenger boys for King Harries, but the knights deserved credit for being able to navigate steps like this on a regular basis. After marching forth for what felt like an endless period, he felt relief when he looked up and wasn’t met by more steps. With all the sweating he had done, it was a wonder how his armor didn’t look more bronze than silver. Along with relief, he also felt thankful for the emerald colors instilled in his eyes by The Aeonian. They offered him an ability that, once terrified him, and still terrified him on some level, but had proved to be rather useful, allowing him to more clearly make out figures that otherwise would have been hidden in the night.

Lined with a squeaky clean, shiny pristine flooring, Copé had expected nothing less from a Lord in Italina. Similar to the streets, the floors shined without blemish, unscathed by dirt or grime. However, as Copé continued to walk on the snow white porcelain flooring, he found that the footprints left behind by him were clearly visible, as if to say that they cleaned it that often. His face shined on the floor, and through his reflection, he was able to see all the dried mud and blood, a gash on his cheek he hadn’t even noticed, and how the bags under his eyes told the tale of sleep deprivation and exhaustion.

Castle Lomeer was a gargantuan size and consisted of far more than simply a courtroom and a row of prisons. The walls were a painted glass, depicting hooded men, obviously The Aeonians, and they were standing on a mountain. This was obviously the Mountain of Jalint. As the story went, it was on the Mountain of Jalint they ascended to the sky and created the veils over each major city. Along with them, he saw art depicting knights and swordsmen, as well as other noblemen that Italina natives would surely have been able to identify, but were lost on Secrat. It was all very immaculate but Copé did do his best not to be distracted by the scenery. He did notice though, that of the five hooded figures on the mountain. one of them had a painted emerald aura. Copé rubbed his eyes. In the night, he could still see green figures and the works, but it wasn’t nearly as potent in the well lit scenery of the castle.

There was a dark red rug that started up, stylized by little gold frills at the end of each side. To Copé’s left and his right, he saw staircases, doorways that led up and down, but neither of which showed signs answering where they led. The prisons would be downstairs, that was at least by Copé’s thought process. They would be downstairs in a dungeon of some kind. That would be where all of his Red Flux companions would be kept. Secrat ventured through one of the doorways, the one on the left hand side, which was, in turn, the one of the two that went down.

He had found a lie – an excuse, one that would work if the situation demanded it. ‘The King has ordered me to interrogate our prisoners.’ That way if he was stopped by another knight, he could ask them to accompany and lead him. The Thief went down the stairs, moving methodically, slowly out of pain and necessity. The stuffy smell of nothingness began to fill his nostrils. That was different. Other than here, the constant scents of the richer districts had been suffocating and unbearable, but here he met by the smell of stilled air and dust. The end of the stairs assured that he was on their right track, or, at least, a right track of some sorts.

A large door was concealed at the end of the stairs, cracked open ever slightly, The Thief brought it open the rest of the way. It wasn’t the prisons, but rather, it was a room of a different sort.

“Their trophy room,” Secrat whispered beneath his breath.

The Statue of Livius Reid was the first thing to catch his eyes, but there was more than that, much more than that. He saw rivers of coin and gold assorted in neat, tidy stacks. Was this all coin that had been confiscated over time? His mouth was watery by the sight of it, but Secrat swallowed his spit. None of this could be his. He turned himself one way in the room and found himself face to face with a fellow knight.

“What brings you down here?” The voice sounded familiar, but it could have just been his formal tone.

But, at the same time as Secrat, the knight recognized him, while twirling his mustache between his fingers.

“It’s you!” The knight cried out, unsheathing the sword from its sheath.

With the room so brightly lit, illuminating by candles on either corner of the room, there was no mistaking it, this was, indeed, the knight from back at the Italina gates.

“Ah, fuck,” Secrat said at once, looking around the room with some empty hope for a weapon.

His knives were beneath his armor, and nothing else he could see about the room looked to offer him any assistance. He backed away slowly, keeping eye contact with the knight.

“Stop moving or, so help me, I will have no choice but to make you a puddle in this immaculate and historic castle.” The knight had his sword readied on his shoulder for a swipe attack.

“And, I wouldn’t want that,” Copé said, still looking around the room.

Then, at a last whim, he snatched a handful of coin and threw the gold at the knight. It did nothing, clinging against his armor. True to his word, the knight swung his sword fast. It narrowly missed Copé, who cowered to the floor. The sword slashed into a pile of the coin, bringing it down on the knight, who quickly readjusted.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Secrat mumbled over and over again, capitalizing on the distraction, he fought to his feet and ran deeper into the room, but could clearly hear the knight following behind him.

The armor slowed him down, and with it, he would not be able to escape the castle.

“Stop!” The knight yelled.

Copé obliged to his request, albeit, only because he was turning the corner to hide behind a large vase. The knight stopped on the other side of the vase; it came up to about his chest. He beamed at Secrat, who, on the other end, was ready to run at any moment.

“You people are all the scum of Maharris, you know that!?” The knight yelled, cornering the vase to the other side.

Secrat did the same, practically switching places with the knight.

“The King ordered me to interrogate the prisoners!” Copé yelled, breathing heavily.

“Oh, you will be seeing them shortly, I can assure you,” The knight yelled, swing his blade over the vase.

He missed Secrat again, swinging and hitting the statue of Livius Reid.

“Terribly sorry, please forgive,” The knight said, patting the statue on the back as he continued his pursuit of The Thief.

Secrat ran back to the stairs, throwing chunks of gold and chalices in his opposition’s direction. They never seemed to slow him down, however. Then, at once, The Thief heard the thud of something falling behind him. It was the knight, having tripped over his two left feet.

Secrat laughed at the sight, but when his eyes turned back to what was in front of him, the smile left from his face. There were three knights, their swords drawn, staring back at him. The Thief let a breath escape him, his body was drenched with sweat. He took one last glance at the fallen guard, then back at the others.

“Thank God that you are here! This hoodlum was just found by me trying to steal!” Secrat said seriously, then, in a whisper, he added: “I think he might be the thief who escaped our grasps earlier.”

One knee to the stomach later, Secrat next found himself thrown to the ground and placed in handcuffs.