Kudisha Departure Episode 1 Journey to Rehnor series Page 4

  Again, Karukan looked up, bewilderment stretched across his furrowed brow.

  “Well…no. It appears they are advancing only meters at a time.”

  “Ach well, we have nothing to fear,” Wooter proclaimed.

  “Certainly, we do,” Karukan protested. “For we are watching the wrong place, monitoring the wrong thing.”

  In order to demonstrate his meaning to the now bewildered Wooter, Karukan produced a chess set from the drawer beneath his desk.

  “Who do you play with all alone up here?” Wooter asked, as the prince set the pieces upon the board.

  “My…my…myself.”

  Wooter noted the hesitation in the prince’s voice, as if he fully expected the other to recognize this as a lie.

  “Now, you see,” the prince continued. “Hahr’s army is like this group of pawns. Our’s are here and here, for my brother is hesitant in his moves. In the meantime, Kalila has set a bishop here, and a rook over there. Another move and he’ll have my brother trapped.” Then, he shook his head and made a tsking noise between his teeth.

  Wooter had never played chess, and while he couldn’t say whether or not it equated to the armies in real life, it gave the two men something to do, for lack of anything else. The prince was happy to teach him the game, and thereafter, they played incessantly, as their duties required little effort. In fact, most nights one or the other chose to stay and compete, forgoing sleep, which in this assignment, was hardly required.

  When Karukan was called back to the Kudisha to assume the throne newly vacated by his dead brother, he insisted Wooter join him there.

  “You are my greatest friend,” Karukan declared. “And, I believe your counsel will be wise.”

  Wooter didn’t know why the King thought that, as no one else had ever professed any confidence in his wisdom. However, leaving the frigid north to stand behind the new king’s throne was inarguably the smartest thing he had ever done.

  All these years later, as Wooter made his way back to the palace, to his solitary room, he didn’t regret his actions for a minute. Soon, very soon, he would be one of only a handful left alive.

  Chapter 6

  Lynda had a choice to make and it wouldn’t depend on who she loved best. Frankly, she didn’t love either of them, not Wooter, and certainly, not Kalila’s man, Yurt. They were both assholes, and she was being kind when she said that.

  Her option was this: she could stay, and Yurt would find her a safe hole in a dome. That’s essentially what it would be, and no amount of knick knicks or paintings would improve the décor. It would be a windowless, claustrophobic closet deep beneath the ground, a living coffin where she would remain until she died.

  Lynda could probably marry Yurt. She knew he wanted to, and then, they’d have kids who would be born and raised in this underground city. Like their neighbors the moles and cockroaches, and the handful of other people who managed to stay alive, Lynda’s sole job would be a mother, responsible for Hahr’s regeneration.

  “It won’t be so bad,” Yurt had insisted, when he took her on tour of a facility, specifically the one to which King Markiis Kalila and his loyal lieutenants were all assigned. “It’s actually quite grand. You’ll see. It’ll be just like living outside as we are now. You’ll get used to it. If our King and Saint decrees we must, we will get used to anything.”

  He pinched her then, in that annoying way he did, possessively, and a bit sadistically, to show her who was boss. It was hard enough to hurt a little, and also indicative that he could do much worse. If he wanted to. If she didn’t stay in line, and follow his orders.

  Yurt could break her wrist, or twist her arm until it bruised. Once, he punched her in the face and knocked out three teeth. Lynda told Wooter she had fallen down the stairs. They were covered with snow, and she was wearing heels because she always wanted to look her best for him. There had been doubt in Wooter’s eyes, but he didn’t ask or push for further explanation. Lynda was a whore, and these things happened.

  Now, as she gazed up at the false blue sky, interrupted only occasionally by a lazy cloud, Lynda wondered which option was the better of two evils.

  “What do you think?” Yurt asked, as she stared off in the distance at the green mountains rising majestically above the Red Ocean and pink sand beaches. It was just like outside, just like it really was, but not for long.

  The problem with the visage before them, Lynda thought, although she didn’t say, was that it was all fake, synthetic, an illusion. In reality, instead of those scattered clouds, metal struts held up a leaden roof, which was intended to protect them from nuclear isotopes swirling in the air.

  “How long would we have to live in here?”

  Yurt shrugged and reached for her arm. He pulled her tightly against his side, running a hand across her buttocks. Yurt was forever ready, forever wanting, forever taking, even when she hurt. To be with Wooter was a relief, despite his frustration.

  “Forever. At least, it would be forever for us, and our children for several generations hence. But, our people will live. Hahr will recover. Our King and Saint’s descendants will still reign in a thousand years, when Karukan the Infidel, and the name de Kudisha is long forgotten.”

  Yurt new about the Karupta spacecraft. Lynda had told him. That was her job. He laughed at it, scorned the Karut’s for imagining they could escape.

  Wooter, on the other hand, mocked the domes Hahr was constructing.

  “We’ll see how well they hold up after we drop one hundred megatons upon their heads.”

  Therein lay Lynda’s choice for Wooter had asked the same of her.

  “Come with me. I shall marry you and bring you as my wife. You may be a nanny to the little prince, Behrat. He is not very demanding, and really quite a nice little lad, and it shall give you practice mothering the children we shall have. The Queen will be glad of the company, too. Another woman to chat with, with whom to complain about us men.” Wooter reached for Lynda’s hands, and gallantly kissed each one upon the palm.

  Lynda couldn’t decide, as flying off into space, assuming the ship didn’t explode, was about as enticing as committing herself forever to the hole in the ground.

  “What are the chances we’ll survive?” she asked. “That we’ll actually get to that planet, whatever it’s called.”

  Wooter laughed, and waved her question away, refusing to answer. Then, they had gone to his room, and despite the visions of that spacecraft looming in her head, she had diligently tried to bring him some relief. The spacecraft must have been preoccupying him as well, for it was clear almost from the start that tonight would be no more successful than usual. At least, he didn’t hit her. At least, he thanked her with a handful of coins. Maybe, Wooter and his spacecraft would be the winner.

  It was the disputed island chain that set it all off. Lynda knew this because that was her job.

  “Our King and Saint intends to keep it,” Yurt informed her. “See what the Infidel plans to do.”

  “The islands are rich in oil and gas deposits. There are minerals practically upon the surface just for the taking. These islands have always been independent lands. We can’t allow Hahr’s aggression to go unabated.” Wooter murmured this as he lay back upon his pillow, another long night of failure stretching ahead.

  “What do you think Ruka intends to do?” Lynda asked, referring to the King by the name which Wooter affectionately used. She knew he didn’t mean it disrespectfully. Wooter was unfailingly loyal to his king, so much so he would have killed her in an instant if he knew where and with whom else she spent her time.

  “That depends on what your Saint does,” Wooter responded.

  “Not my Saint. How many times have I told you that?” Lynda rolled her eyes dramatically, and shook her head with flourish.

  Wooter watched her, studied her really, his own eyes narrowing the tiniest bit.

  He suspects, Lynda thought, although she would deny it no matter how he pressed.

  “Have you made a d
ecision yet?” Wooter asked instead.

  “Do I need to?” Now, Lynda laughed. Despite everything she knew, part of her had thought it would never come to that. The domes, the spacecraft, they were all for show. It was merely a psychological war playing out. One king was simply calling the other’s bluff. See how I shall survive if you do this.

  Wooter didn’t answer. His phone rang, and he turned his back. Lynda understood this to be her cue to to leave, and so wrapping her robe around her body, she disappeared into the bathroom.

  Turning on the shower, Lynda crept back to the door, cracking it open slightly and pressing her ear into that space.

  “Yes, Sir,” Wooter was saying. “I understand, Sir.”

  “What?” Lynda whispered to herself. “What do you understand? What is happening?”

  “I am so sorry to hear it has come to that, Sir.”

  “What has it come to?” Lynda hissed, just as the door swung open. Wooter stared at her, before inclining his head toward the shower. “I…I…”

  “Yes?” Wooter eyes had grown cold. With his arms crossed in front of his chest, he glared down at Lynda.

  “I…I…” Lynda began again. “I’ve made a decision. I’m going to come with you.”

  Maybe, that wasn’t actually what she wanted to say. On the spur of the moment, with clouds of steam rising from the empty shower, Lynda’s mouth opened, and that was what had come out. It disarmed Wooter, though. Maybe, it even saved her life. Or, maybe, it set her up to die.

  Chapter 7

  Behrat was thirteen when it happened. He was still a little boy. His voice didn’t even crack. His brother, Kirat had just turned fifteen, and was pretty much already a man with a few wisps of black facial hair growing above his upper lip.

  Not that it would have made a difference. Being old enough to grow a tiny mustache wouldn’t have made the situation any less horrific, or easier to withstand. In fact, in some ways Behrat was handling it better. He didn’t feel pressured to try to change a course that was already set in stone. It would be like trying to resuscitate a body that was already dead, and just waiting to be buried.

  Behrat’s biggest issue was what to take with him. Space was limited. Weight was a concern, and time was of the essence. He was too old to bring along toys, other than a game system, which would be useless as soon as the batteries died. Behrat wasn’t much of a reader, so he didn’t want a tablet or a bunch of books. He could haul some of his clothes, but pretty soon they’d be useless too. Everyone said it wouldn’t be long until he had his growth spurt, and then, he’d need all new everything, even underwear. All the clothes he brought now would be useless, as there was no one smaller than him coming along. These fine silks and woolens things that his mother said were so nice would probably be ripped up to use as rags.

  Briefly, Behrat wondered who would sew him all his new larger stuff when he needed them, since the palace seamstresses were remaining back on the planet. Not his mother. She always said she couldn’t sew on a button. Who would make him a pair of shoes when his feet were size thirteen? Like his brother’s. Everyone had said, Behrat was going to be just as big.

  He supposed he could always wear his brother’s old things, especially if he didn’t have anything else. Maybe it was okay for the second prince to wear hand me down clothes? After all, he was the spare heir, the guy who was born just in case. Like insurance. He was needed only if the real heir died.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Kirat always said, punching Behrat in the arm. “I’m not going anywhere. But, if I do, I’m taking you with me, so you had better not be plotting my death.”

  That was fine, actually. Behrat never wanted to be king. Not for a minute. No way. That was Kirat’s job, and he could have it. All Behrat wanted was to play games, or watch movies, and play ball. That’s why he decided to bring his soccer ball along. That was it. That was the only thing he packed in his small bag.

  The day before, Kirat had told him their father was spending the entire day and night at the Holy Temple prostrate in prayer. That meant it was the last day, unless some miracle happened to stop it.

  “He wanted me to come with him,” the elder prince had said casually, as if this whole event was just a boring interruption to his routine. “But, I told him I couldn’t. I need to pack. I need to organize my stuff. If I’m leaving forever tomorrow, I need some time to get ready.”

  “And he accepted that?” Behrat asked, looking up from his game system. The very game system he had decided to leave behind.

  Kirat shrugged, and walked away.

  “Who cares what he thinks. He’s going to be king of nothing.”

  “He’s still our dad.”

  Behrat smiled, even laughed a little because that was the kind of reaction Kirat wanted. Behrat would have gone to the Temple, though. Considering the circumstances, praying was probably something everyone ought to do. The King didn’t request his presence because Behrat was still a little boy without any facial hair, and a voice that didn’t crack.

  Instead, the younger prince lay upon his bed on top of his heavy quilt, wondering what sort of bed he’d have on the spacecraft tomorrow. Maybe, he’d have to sleep in chair, strapped in tightly, and confined in a heavy space suit. When he needed to use the bathroom, he’d have to ask Kirat to help him take it off.

  Probably, Kirat wouldn’t help. The Crown Prince was always too cool for that. Even if all Behrat wanted was for his brother to reach down something from a higher shelf, Kirat would summon a servant with a wave of his finger. Sometimes, he’d snap and point.

  “Please assist my brother, the Royal Prince,” he’d say in a clipped and affected voice, sounding like a Prince of Hahr than the more casual royal house of Karupatani.

  “When I am King,” Kirat always said. “I shall sit on my throne receiving petitions all through the day, just like they did in the old days when the king’s word was the law.”

  “What about Parliament?” Behrat had asked. “What about the Chief Justice and everybody else?”

  “They’ll have to listen to me, because they’ll know I am the smartest. If they don’t, I’ll cut off their heads. I have no patience for politicians and other ingrates.”

  “With all that sitting, I think you’ll be the fattest,” Behrat had replied, prompting his brother to swing a fist in his direction. Behrat ducked, and mostly, it missed, barely grazing his cheek, not hurting at all, although he decided, when his brother was King, he’d keep his distance, and his head.

  So, the soccer ball was it. Behrat really couldn’t think of anything else to bring.

  “I’ll get new stuff when I’m there,” he told himself, encouragingly. “It won’t be so terrible. I might like it. Maybe, I’ll have super powers there. Maybe, I’ll just jump in the air, and hold out my arms, and then, I’ll fly.”

  Sometimes, when Behrat talked to himself like this, it was almost as if someone else was speaking to him. Behrat imagined a boy, not unlike himself, perched in the window box, over there, his nose pressed against the window, also trapped inside.

  “Don’t be afraid,” this friend said. “I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m watching over you. I am always right here, behind your shoulder.”

  The young prince knew this was silly and childish, to imagine a friend and speak to him as if he were really there. Sometimes, though, when Behrat moved his head quickly, just so, in the corner of his eye, he could almost see that boy.

  Behrat’s father, the King, also had a friend. Everyone knew that, and everyone called his father mad.

  “Maybe, I’ve got the same brain disease,” Behrat whispered to the air. “Maybe, it’s something that runs in families. But, Kirat doesn’t have a friend. Does he?”

  “He doesn’t deserve one,” the boy said, which oddly, made Behrat feel a little special. Perhaps, having an invisible friend was an entitlement reserved for only the spare heir. After all, his father had been a spare before he was called into service.

  Beyond this strange and po
ssibly imaginary figment, Behrat’s only other friend was Viscount Torim de Shrotru, although he was really Kirat’s friend, because they were the same age. Behrat was allowed to hang around with the older boys, and had since they were all quite young, which was why Behrat was as good as either of them when it came to playing Heroes & Conquerers.

  The Viscount’s little sister, Lady Reva was Behrat’s intended bride. That had been arranged by the Queen when Behrat was only five years old. Reva was four at the time, and after becoming betrothed, he recalled taking her hand and playing chase outside in the garden maze. That was fun. They both had ended up giggling wildly.

  Now, as if he didn’t have enough problems, the idea of marrying Lady Reva twisted Behrat’s stomach into knots. Frankly, the idea of marrying anyone made the bile rise in his throat, but knowing that he would be stuck with Reva made him want to puke.

  Reva was twelve now, and her hair was brown and frizzy, just like his mother’s poodle dogs. Reva also had red spots on her face, and her eyes and lips were far too big. Her chest was completely flat. In fact, her whole body looked like that of a boy.

  “Wooter has bigger boobs,” Kirat had smirked, prompting Behrat to launch a kick.

  “She’ll be beautiful someday,” the Queen insisted, turning an icy gaze on the two princes.

  “In about a million years, if you live that long,” Kirat whispered, eyeing his own future bride, Lady Elise de Kirkut. Even though she was still fourteen, she was tall and elegant, with straight, blonde hair, ruby lips, and best of all, boobs.

  This was at the last Holiday Ball, when all the people were paying their respects to the Royal Family. That’s before everything fell apart, and they were still celebrating life.

  After which, Behrat hid behind the curtains, so his mother wouldn’t make him dance with his future bride. Reva was standing by the dessert table trying not to eat any of the cakes, looking ridiculous is a blue dress with nothing filling up the front.