RE: Monarch

Precept Jorra led the small group of pre-adolescent infernals into the sanctum. He watched them obsessively as they passed by the halfway point. When there was no vomiting, or excessive crying, or combination of the two, he felt himself relax. Other than the requisite groaning and clutching of stomachs, this batch was more or less solid.

Still, as he watched them struggling along, tiny hands clinging tightly to the two long spans of rope desperately as they navigated the winding cave passages, he couldn’t help but feel as if the council was making a mistake. With the news of an imminent attack from the humans, the administration had voted to evacuate all children with a rudimentary grasp of magic into the sanctum. Considering the parallels with the dimension gate decades before, the decision was as controversial as one might expect.

Even barring the worst-case scenario, there were logistical issues. Too many scared and barely off-the-teat young ones with not nearly enough elders and precepts to care for them.

There had only been one casualty thus far. A sensitive voidling who wandered off and bled out internally before anyone realized the extent of her acclimation sickness, the precepts were held to a far higher standard than before the mandate was reduced.

That hadn’t been on his watch. Still, the idea alone haunted him. And the sense of responsibility was only growing stronger. Jorra himself had already been assigned the care of fifteen children, yet still held the duty of escorting more from the grand lift to the tunnels and sanctum beyond.

The journey had been somewhat improved through the addition of an assortment of earth mages—only taking a handful of hours instead of the previous half-day’s journey.

But Jorra was still worried. There had always been a certain inherent savageness in sending teenagers to the sanctum. While there were many elders near the entrance and clearly mapped out highways, it is within a child’s nature to stray from the path. This was further aggravated by the host of legends that had cropped up after Cairn’s death a few years prior.

Every curious child wanted to find the so-called bearer of the sacred flame.

Which naturally lured them to dark places off the beaten path in the Sanctum that even Jorra—an accomplished water mage in his own right, on the verge of graduation—would not dare to tread.

A painful image flashed through Jorra’s mind. Cairn, lying with his back in the dirt, bloody and ripped open. Bellarex dealing the final blow. The definitive death rattle that followed.

There was a time when he had hoped. That the human boy had something up his sleeve, some sleight of hand or trick he’d held back from them until the final moment. Over time, Jorra had begun to recognize that hope for what it was. Denial.

No one came back from that. Not even Cairn.

Again, he found his gaze drawn to young ones faces. They were young, far too young. Barely older than Agarin, his younger brother. And was that girl in the back sucking her thumb?

“How much longer?” A tiny violet infernal at the front asked.

“Not long,” Jorra repeated the answer for the hundredth time, though it was the first for this particular infernal.

“And we’ll be assigned to someone when we get there?” He pressed.

Jorra glanced away, eyes tracing the dancing shadows on the cave wall, cast by a burbling stream. “We’ll arrive at the heart, where one of the elders will help you adjust to being in the sanctum.”

“I miss my mom.” One of the smaller boys towards the back said. His announcement was met with a mix of derision from his fellows and a few quiet notes of agreement. There was a despondent air that festered among this particular group ever since they’d gathered at the elevator. They were scared. And they had every reason to be.

Jorra closed his eyes for a moment, struggling with what to say. He wanted to help them. To give them hope.

Not for the first time, he wondered what Cairn would say. He always seemed to know exactly what to do to encourage and push those around him.

Jorra halted the group. He undid his pack and handed out rations—a simple meal of fish and bread. Once the children had begun to eat, he stood before them, arms locked behind his back, his stance wide. He took a deep breath and began to speak. “Our way of life is in peril. Even as these words leave my lips, your parents are doing everything they can to fortify and defend our home.”

“They can’t win.” A dry, sarcastic voice spoke up, as if there was no point in trying. . Jorra tried to pick out the source of the voice, but couldn’t quite isolate it.

“There are no absolutes in life.” Jorra deflected. “Whatever the outcome, they cannot succeed if their focus is split. Which is why your mission here today is so important.”

“What mission? We’re just running away.” The same voice jeered. Jorra picked him out this time, a plump red infernal towards the back, wearing an eternal scowl.

“Maybe it feels that way. But in reality, you are supporting your parents. Allowing them to fight without worry of what will happen if the enclave is breached. Their strength is in your safety. So if you want to help, stay strong, to listen to the elders and precepts, and be vigilant.”

The red child was still scowling, but Jorra noticed that the air among the group had lightened somewhat. He’d reached them. Not all. But some.

Cairn was gone. Like many in the Enclave, Jorra would never forget his sacrifice, and the way he’d fought until he had nothing left to give. He would do his best to live up to the memory. Lead by example, as a paragon of what an infernal should be.

Without another word, Jorra levitated the guiding ropes and strode further down the tunnel, the caravan following behind him.

Nearly an hour later, they emerged from the tunnel without incident. The bright ambient light of the Sanctum was blinding as always, after so long in the tunnels, and Jorra rubbed his eyes.

Then, confused, he rubbed them again.

Normally, there was a small regiment of guards waiting to welcome the new arrivals and escort them to the elders. Instead,dozens of people gathered around the mouth of the tunnel, crowding to get a better look at something deeper in.

On a second look, the crowd numbered in the hundreds.

It was as if the entire population of the Sanctum had gathered around the entrance. For a moment, his heart pounded. Something must have gone terribly wrong on the surface.

But that wasn’t quite right. No one looked scared, or afraid. They looked almost reverent. Several held their hands palms-up, one on top of the other, in the traditional gesture of gratitude and supplication. A few elders spied his arrival, and tore themselves away from whatever they were gawking at to take the guiding ropes from his hands. One of the elders was humming in excitement.

“What’s… happening?” Jorra asked, as he scanned the crowd.

But the elder was too preoccupied to even acknowledge his question, speaking gleefully to the children. “Come, now. You’ll return to your families soon enough.”

Jorra balked. The precepts were specifically instructed not to give the children any false hope or answer questions about the conflict. Largely because no one knew how long it would take. How could the elder even promise that? Even on the near impossible chance they succeeded in repelling the invading army, there was no way of knowing how long the conflict would drag out.

“I wasn’t aware that Elder’s were capable of humming. Or smiling, for that matter.”

“Truer words were never spoken—“ Jorra stopped. There was a familiarity to the voice that froze his heart in his chest. He turned slowly to search for the source.

Pink skin. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Older, but they were all older now. Jorra watched, utterly beside himself, as he found Cairn, leaning on the rock wall next to the tunnel’s entrance.

“Would have made the trek back to the enclave myself, but I’ve been informed they’ve tightened security.” Cairn reached out an arm, and when Jorra didn’t respond, changed course and embraced him. “It’s wonderful to see you, brother.”

Something caught in Jorra’s throat. He struggled against the emotion ruthlessly, mentally cataloging all the nights he’d cried himself to sleep and the endless days he’d spent running through the events of that first venture into the Sanctum in his mind. His months-long and ultimately fruitless search for Infaris, intending to beseech the goddess for his companion’s life.

Before Jorra even realized what was happening, he’d already pulled back a fist, and, with all his strength behind it, launched it directly into Cairn’s jaw. His fingers popped from the impact. There was a chorus of alarmed voices from the gathered throng as Cairn spun like a top, wobbling on his feet.

“Precept Jorra!” One of the elders shouted.

“It’s fine.” Cairn called towards the crowd. He worked his jaw and winced. “I probably deserved that.”

/////

“You’re a bastard.” Jorra said, fuming as he walked at high speed through the caverns.

“Considering who my father is? Probably.” I answered. I’d expected him to be angry at first, but it’d been over an hour and Jorra was still positively seething.

“You’re such a bastard.” Jorra repeated.

“So you’ve said.” I tugged on the rope that tethered him to me. “Is this, uh, really necessary?”

“Why yes,” Jorra continued to walk at an uncomfortably quick pace. “It’s now a regulation for all children entering or leaving the sanctum. I imagine that rule extends to children who fake their deaths.”

“What makes you so convinced I faked my death? A couple of kids I ran into seemed convinced that the human prince could fight his way out of the hells. Barring that, maybe Infaris brought me back.”

Jorra gave me a level-stare. That was progress, at least. It was the first time he’d looked at me since he’d almost put my lights out. “We lived in the same house for years, not even counting the time we spent as a group. At least do me the marginal courtesy of not insulting my intelligence.”

“That’s fair.” I touched my throbbing jaw and grunted. “I’m sorry, Jorra.”

Jorra stopped. There was a pregnant silence in the cave, interrupted only by the scattered sound of intermittent dripping.

“I tried to look for another way.”

“Do you have any idea what that was like? Watching your closest friend, struck down by a person you loved?” Jorra looked up at the ceiling.

My mouth dropped open. “You and Bellarex—“

“No.” Jorra said, then hedged. “It was nothing more than a crush. Stupid childish feelings. But when she came back, after we thought that Thoth had captured or killed her, I had to say something.”

“Did she, uh, reciprocate?”

“Does it matter?” Jorra held his arms wide. “I spent every day after she killed you feeling like an idiot. Wondering if I was just a terrible judge of character. And then when the letter that revealed that Bellarex acted at your behest finally started making the rounds, I didn’t know what to think.”

I paused for a moment. “So she didn’t reciprocate.”

Jorra blew air through his teeth. “She wanted to wait until we were older, asshole.”

“Ah. Could’ve been worse.”

“Really?” A vein stood out in his forehead, and for a moment, I thought he might punch me again.

“Then again, given the context, maybe not.”

We wound our way through the tunnels for some time before Jorra spoke again.

“I understand why you did it. Thoth watched us for a long time.”

“You saw her?” I asked, suddenly alarmed.

“No. Used augury, similar to when she was chasing us through the Sanctum. Kept it up for nearly half a year. Multiple times a day. It would have been hard to keep up the act if we knew.”

“Sorry,” I said again, coming up short on anything else.

“Save the apologies.” Jorra gave me a knowing look. “Losing you was hells. But she took it way harder than I did.”

He didn’t have to say anything more. I dreaded seeing Maya, nearly as much as I looked forward to it. I’d spent hours thinking of what to say, how to explain myself, and eventually came to the conclusion this was something I couldn’t talk my way out of. It was entirely up to her, and whatever she decided.”

My anxiety must have shown because, for the first time since our reunion, Jorra laughed. Even if it was at my expense. “I don’t envy you. But even if she never wants to see you again, you’ll always be my brother.”

A warmth and appreciation for Jorra ran through me. A final acceptance of how much I missed them.

“Precept looks good on you. Very mature.”

“Shut up.”

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