Shaden was surprised to see most of the armed soldiers retreat down into the Wall while other, muscular men came up, stretching their arms, some yawning, others cracking their necks. They wore looser armor, very similar to the one the Watayurk hunter had worn when he had come to the settlement. By the crest on their chests, Shaden knew that these were Watayurk hunters, each of them brimming with power.
The prisoners (or so he guessed) were frantically unfastening the ropes on the projectiles while soldiers stationed themselves on the ballistae, loading them with the help of two other unarmored men. The Watayurk hunters stationed themselves next to the piles of spears each held one up, pointed towards the wyverns. From their aura, Shaden could tell that these were powerful people, though slightly less intense than the underground fighter he’d fought.
The Watayurks stood on guard across the top of the Wall while the soldiers aimed their ballistae, their assistants standing in preparation for a reload. Shouting could be heard everywhere, but it was not nearly as frantic as Shaden had expected it to be. The people knew what they were doing.
And he had been sent up here on his first day. Now he hated the prince more.
If the prince thought that he died, would he set Eshel and the rest free? Would the prince even keep his promise? He’d sent a child to the frontlines. Shaden wasn’t so sure.
He had to meet the one who was in charge. There had to be some kind of written document. But for now, he’d see how the residents of the Wall dealt with chaos.
Despite it being called the Wall of Arrows, there were few with bows in their hands. And they were mostly women, equipped similarly to the Watayurk men. All of them stood on guard while the bells continued to sound, and Shaden got off from his seat and walked closer to the edge to get a better view.
The bells eventually stopped ringing. The wyverns continued to grow closer, and by now, Shaden could hear their screeches filling the air. It was a terrible noise, like a thousand throats screaming at the same time.
The clear song of a single note of a bell echoed across the wall—and something was released. Shaden watched as tens of thousands of projectiles whizzed through the air towards the incoming beasts—a sideways rain of death for the wyverns.
The first volley of destruction slammed into the dark cloud of wyverns, and many began to plummet downwards, causing a cloud of dust to appear where they fell. But it was nowhere near enough.
The second note, same as the first, rang through the wall, and a second wave was released. By now, Shaden could see that besides the ballistae on the top of the wall, the entire wall was riddled with openings for weapons to be shot out of.
He wondered if the wyverns would ever reach the wall. He felt bad for thinking this, but he needed people to be injured to heal them.
The cloud had lessened, but thousands still soared towards them. Two more volleys of spears were released, and finally, the wyverns changed their course northwards.
That wasn’t so bad, after all, Shaden thought.
Everyone remained on their spots until the bells began to sound again, and it was the Watayurks who first left, followed by the soldiers who took off their helmets and wiped their sweat while they relaxed on chairs. It was the unarmed men who did the cleaning up, reorganized the projectiles, fastened them, and positioned the ballistae so they looked organized.
Would he have to do that now? He probably didn’t have any other choice, did he? The Watayurk hunter had told him that there were many injured in the Wall, but so far, he hadn’t seen any. He sighed, wondering when he would reveal himself.
Shaden waited until the soldiers that had retreated came back up to patrol, then undid his stealth and stood near the entrance where he’d come from until someone noticed him.
“You there!” the soldier called. “What are you doing here?”
“I was sent by the prince to heal people?” Shaden replied.
The soldier walked up to him and narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t a prisoner. What is a child doing here?”
“What do you mean?” Shaden asked.
“What do I mean, what?”
“You said that I’m not a prisoner. How can you tell?”
“You aren’t branded, that’s why,” he muttered, looking at him funnily. “Now, stop joking and tell me where your parents are. You’re going to get in much trouble now, coming up here.”
Shaden’s opinion of the prince became slightly better.
“I need to talk with the person in charge here,” Shaden said.
The man laughed. Then he lifted Shaden by the back of his clothes and walked to another entrance, throwing him on the ground when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Shaden rubbed his bottom and glared at the soldier.
“You don’t seem to be around here,” the man said, “and I don’t know how you got to the top, but head back down, you hear? Stay inside the Wall if you don’t want to fall to your death.”
With a grunt, the man returned back up the stairs, and Shaden looked around him, thinking, Now what?
He didn’t have to wait long, because another guard spotted him while he was looking up the stairs.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I was—”
Shaden was lifted roughly again, and he could only stay still while the man carried him through the halls, down some stairs, and across more dimly-lit paths while the people around them snorted at him, giving him pitiful glances. Some even told him to never come back up unless he wanted his hair to be shaved off, which Shaden took with lightheartedness.
This was convenient. For him, anyway. But until he completed his mission, Eshel and the rest would stay confined to Antafar for as long as he lived. He’d already wasted a few days while traveling.
As soon as he got the chance, he’d go search for the person in charge and ask him about his mission. That would speed things up.
He was eventually taken to a room filled with children being taught by a woman at the front, who looked at them when they entered. The guard dropped Shaden on his feet and saluted the woman, who nodded. Then he returned upwards.
“You naughty boy,” the woman rebuked with a fearsome scowl. “Come here.”
Shaden did, and the woman held up a stick in her hands.
“Where did you come from? The west Wall? The east?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Shaden replied.
“Where do your parents live?”
“A long way from here.”
“Stop speaking nonsense and turn around.”
Shaden flinched as the stick struck his calves with a good whack. He turned his head around, earning him another strike on the butt.
“Keep your position!” she ordered sternly. Shaden faced forward once more and stood still while the woman continued to deliver strikes to his legs—but he didn’t feel anything. He’d already covered his skin with a thin layer of his mana, softening the blows.
“Go take a seat,” the woman said when he had received ten hits. Sighing internally, he took a seat on the floor near the back next to the children, who looked at him with wide eyes.
Shaden thought about a few things while the woman continued her lecture—how he’d find the injured, how he’d return to his friends. But he didn’t feel so sure as he had initially done. Being in the room, surrounded by children, being treated as a child—it shaved away his mentality. He had things to do; it was only his first day at the Wall, but the Jakhar Kishaks would be incredibly worried. He couldn’t just sit there.
“I can’t believe you didn’t cry,” someone whispered to him.
Shaden looked sideways. It was a child that had broken his train of thought.
“Why should I?” Shaden muttered.
“Because Teacher Tilla hits like a lion,” the boy said. “What’s your name? I’m Kibra.”
“Shaden,” he replied.
“You must be from the capital since your skin is so light,” Kibra said, inching closer. “Or are your parents from the capital?”
Shaden looked over the child. He had darker skin like the Jakhar Kishaks and had short, curly hair, as well as a wide smile that showed some of his missing teeth. His eyes were bright, and he looked like a curious boy.
“Kind of,” Shaden told him. “Would you believe it if I said I was a prisoner?”
“Really?” the boy gasped. But he narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have a criminal mark.”
“I was joking,” Shaden lied. “So, what do we learn here?”
“Not much,” the boy said. “I think it’s a waste of time.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
They stopped talking when Teacher Tilla sent a glare their way. After some minutes of listening to the teacher speak, Kibra turned to Shaden to chat with him once more.
But Shaden was gone, only an empty seat where he’d been.
He was now searching through the Wall, using his senses to navigate. But the inside of the Wall was like a maze, with numerous rooms and even more numerous halls which were laid out in no apparent order. Shaden sighed. He wouldn’t be able to find anyone at this rate.
He was growing more and more impatient. But he was surrounded by strangers, people who more or less didn’t care about what happened to him.
“Oh, there you are,” Kibra said after Shaden reappeared next to him. “How did you do that?”
“Magic,” Shaden shrugged. The boy’s eyes lit up.
“That’s cool. Want to show me?”
“Boys! Must your parents hear of this?” the teacher yelled, crossing her arms.
“No, ma’am,” Kibra replied. Shaden simply stared, but the woman went back to lecturing. Something about history and Antafar.
“So, how did you come here?” Kibra asked.
“Things happened,” Shaden said. “I might have upset the prince.”
“You mean one of His Majesties? That couldn’t be.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s usually a death sentence for that, no?”
“Right.”
“You shouldn’t really speak about the Royal Family in that way,” Kibra whispered. “Even here, there might be people listening. It’s common sense. Didn’t your parents teach you? Or your teachers?”
“Not really.”
“You should know. There was this time…”
The class eventually came to a close, much to Shaden’s delight. Kibra had run out of things to say and had begun dozing, and he yelped when the teacher smacked him on the head with her stick, causing him to stumble on his back.
“Class is over,” she said with a sigh. “I know history may bore you, but without knowing it—”
“Yes, I understand,” Kibra interrupted, rubbing his head. It earned him another smack on the leg, and he ran off before the teacher could land another one.
She turned to Shaden. “You, where are your parents? You shouldn’t travel alone here. Come, I will take you to your sector.”
“I’m actually a tourist,” Shaden answered, remembering what Shaya had said long ago.
The woman frowned. “A tourist? Up here? At this season? Stop being unreasonable. This is no time for tourists. Now, stop spouting lies and tell me the truth.”
“I was sent as a reinforcement to heal people,” Shaden answered hopefully. “I need to heal people. You can take me to where the injured people are.”
The woman raised a hand and threw it towards his face. But before Shaden was struck, he let his magic wrap around the woman’s arm, completely stopping her. Showing was better than telling, after all. Annoyed, Shaden looked into her eyes, and she stared back with awe.
“I said, you can send me to the injured,” he demanded. “I’m not joking. Send me there, now.”
He undid his hold, and the woman pulled her hand back, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Well?”
“You must be a Savant,” the woman muttered. “But why are you here? Why did the guard bring you here?”
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Not even an apology. “It’s complicated. Are you going to tell me or not?”
“The injured are on the bottom floors.” She answered. “Did they not tell you? Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Her frown deepened. Then, without saying anything more, she departed down the hallways, vanishing from his sight. Shaden was left alone again, lost in the middle of nowhere.
She could have told me the way down,” he sighed, putting his hand on his face. He leaned against a wall and stared at the dimly lit crystals that lighted the place, wondering why his life had taken such a strange turn. He had been enjoying himself so well before.
Not circulating brought the melancholy back into his life. He didn’t like feeling it as Shaden, though. Shaden was supposed to be in a dream—a real world, but a dreamy fantasy for him—and it was Demund who suffered, not Shaden. This was his refuge, his life of fun and convenience. He’d never run into problems this irritating before.
He smashed his fist into the wall, but his small body did nothing to even scratch it. This was his extent without circulating. Just a normal boy. He didn’t know why he was letting himself feel this way.
Was it exasperation? He wanted to feel angrier, crueler. Then he’d have no problem ripping apart anyone who came across his path.
He began to circulate, and his emotions became his to control. He took a deep breath in and put a confident smile on his face.
He was Shaden. His power was limitless, and he could bring about anything he wanted to achieve. He couldn’t let himself feel down just because of a stranger. They were merely passersby in his life, people without any substance.
He’d find the wounded. And he’d heal ten thousand of them for certain.
Cracking his knuckles, Shaden began to make his way towards the lower floors.
⤙ ◯ ⤚
It was simple enough to find the injured. They were at the very bottom, in large rooms on mats and mattresses with bandages over their bodies. But they weren’t as numerous as he’d expected. At most, there were around twenty, and while there were bound to be other areas with patients, it wasn’t a good sign for Shaden who had to heal many more.
Even if he did manage to heal ten thousand, he wasn’t sure how he’d prove it to the prince. He didn’t know whether or not anyone here knew of the agreement. But someone had gotten the message to send him to the top of the Wall, had they not? Someone in the upper ranks, no doubt. He simply had to meet them.
But for now, he’d heal the injured. He’d thought about waiting until he had reliable witnesses, but these people were hurt, and he had the power to relieve their agony. He had to act. Besides, they’d be his witnesses.
“Here to find your father or brothers? I’m sorry, but you came to the wrong place,” a man dressed in white robes told him. It stood in contrast to the sandy ones the soldiers normally wore, and the man didn’t have armor. Shaden guessed that he was a doctor or a medic.
“That’s okay. I’m here to heal,” Shaden told the man. The man smiled weakly; his eyes were heavy, and he suddenly looked older.
“That’s wonderful,” the man told him gently, “but we have done all we could.”
“I can heal large wounds,” Shaden insisted. “Please, let me.”
“Well...come on in. But don’t experiment too much on these poor bones.”
“I won’t,” Shaden promised.
“What’s your name, child?” the man asked him. His hair, though black, had specks of gray jotting through, and his beard, cleanly shaved, was the same.
“Shaden,” Shaden answered.
“An uncommon name, but a good one,” the man said. He didn’t introduce himself but led Shaden to the injured right away, who looked up at them.
Most of them continued to stay down after they’d gotten a look of who’d entered, and others continued watching by twisting their necks. Nobody really said anything, and the heaviness of the room began to weigh down on him. But he was confident.
“Ahnel, my friend,” the doctor greeted. The man with a bandaged leg looked up. His face was haggard, but a small smile formed on his lips.
“This boy wishes to practice his healing,” the doctor told him.
“Ah. Yes, yes, do improve your magic,” the injured man offered, motioning to his leg. “But don’t make it tickle too much.”
“Before you begin,” the doctor said, “please tell me which spell you will use and say the incantation.”
“Let the blood flow and mend the body - Heal?” Shaden offered.
“That won’t do much, but it will still be good practice,” the doctor nodded. Ahnel weakly smiled again.
“People don’t volunteer much, so I am a generous one,” he chucked. “Now, do go on. Give me a moment of relief.”
“Is it okay if I remove the bandages?” Shaden asked. “I want to see the wound.”
“Hmm.” The man didn’t look happy, and he looked at his leg worriedly.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” Shaden said. “I’ll heal you now.”
Shaden put out a hand while the men watched him along with some other patients. No one looked expectant.
A warm glow of green enveloped the man’s leg, hiding the expressions of the people from Shaden due to its brightness. He hadn’t meant to use so much power, but using healing magic in a long time had made him somewhat forgetful of his output. He’d have to work on lowering the brightness if he could. It made it too obvious.
When the light subsided, everyone was looking their way now. The doctor’s eyes were wide, as well as Ahnel’s, and they looked at each other. The doctor began laughing.
“That gave me quite the scare!” he chuckled, patting Shaden on the head. “Light magic doesn’t exactly heal, my boy.”
“No...it doesn’t,” Ahnel agreed.
Then he began tearing his bandages off.
Nearly everyone watched as the man placed his perfectly clean legs on the ground. His jaw had dropped, and he looked up at the doctor.
“I—am healed,” he said dumbly.
No one said anything else, including Shaden. The doctor looked at the man, looked at his legs, looked at Shaden, then looked at the legs again, then looked at Shaden. His face was painted with intense bewilderment, and his jaw that had dropped hung open like a broken drawer. He raised a hand, paused, then dropped it, unable to say anything.
“So...can I heal everyone else?” Shaden asked.
“That wasn’t the magic you said you would use,” the doctor exclaimed, “but goodness yes! Heal them, heal them! Heal them now! Send them back to their families.”
Shaden didn’t know how serious the injury had been, but based on their actions, he’d done something incredible. He’d healed a limb before, after all.
Upon the doctor’s insistence, he proceeded to heal the patients in order, starting from the ones on the beds, ending with the ones on the floor. The doctor seemed worried that he’d run out of energy to continue, advising against using too much mana on one person, but Shaden went through all of them. The worst injury he came across was a rotting foot, which he sanitized and restored with relative ease. Not one of the men left while he was still using magic; they all got up and walked behind him, praying that the next person down the line would be healed as well.
They cried and cheered loudly after the last patient curled his now restored toes, looking at them in awe. Some of them hugged each other, and after being examined by the doctor and thanking Shaden briefly, they left. Within minutes, the whole room was empty, and Shaden and the doctor sat on one of the tables to rest.
“Could you be a Royal Savant?” the doctor finally asked, offering Shaden a drink that smelled faintly of herbs. “Or someone from the Empire?”
“Neither,” Shaden replied. “Would you believe what I’d tell you?”
The man nodded. “After what you’ve done? Of course.” He reached out a hand. “I am Koruya, and I will listen to what you have to say.”
Shaden took the hand and shook it. After letting go, he took in a deep breath.
“I am someone from far away who happened to stay in Antafar,” he explained. “But I accidentally killed Prince Salahin’s wyvern. I was sent here to pay the price by healing ten thousand people.”
“His Majesty’s wyvern!” the doctor exclaimed, rubbing his chin. “It is a dire transgression.”
“I don’t understand,” Shaden said. “They were about to kill me for it. How can an animal's life be more important than a person's?”
The doctor’s expression suddenly darkened. After motioning to Shaden to be quiet, he got up, looked out of the door, then came back in, sitting down.
“You must be a foreigner,” he said in a low voice. “Please, watch your words.”
Shaden was baffled. “Why? Are the Royalty gods? Can they do whatever they want?”
The doctor didn’t reply but sipped on his drink. Based on the way his manner had changed, Shaden didn’t want to press the matter further.
“They are a symbol of divinity in the nation,” the doctor finally said with caution. “They are the representation of Nafar itself. To mock them is to mock Nafar, and to steal from them is stealing from the citizens of Nafar.
That’s absurd, Shaden wanted to complain. But there was no joking tone in the man’s voice—only seriousness.
Did the Jakhar Kishaks think that too? Was that why they’d seemed so powerless?
Was he going against the whole nation?
The silence was suffocating to Shaden.
“I’m from Melern,” Shaden eventually said. “We have a royal family there too. But they’re not treated like deities.”
“That is because they are human,” the man told him. “His Majesty the King and his bloodline are descended from the divine, and they rule with absolute justice. They must have sent you here for a reason.”
Shaden didn’t believe it. That jerk? Divine? His mana had been weak, and his face had looked mad. It was bullshit.
He didn’t want to tell the doctor that. Did everyone think like this? The man had felt like a normal person before, but now, Shaden wasn’t so sure. The kindly man was distant now.
“Now, you know my story,” Shaden said. “I need to find people to heal.”
“Finding the injured will be simple. Finding ten thousand will be difficult.”
“I need to do it as soon as possible. Could you take me to them?”
“There will be no need,” the man said. “Are you tired?”
Shaden shook his head. “Not really.”
“Can you use more magic?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you will only have to wait,” the doctor told him. “They will hear, and they will come. It is better for you to stay put in one place so they can find you.”
Things would finally work out.
“Could I sleep here?” he asked, glancing at the beds. “I don’t really have a place to stay in.”
“Of course, of course. Do as you’d like. I will be gone for the night, but I will tell my replacement to watch over you. Tell me, have you eaten yet?”
“No.”
“You must be famished! Wait here while I bring some food for you to eat. Did no one offer you anything to eat or drink when you arrived?”
“I don’t think so.”’
The man scowled.
“Wait here,” he instructed. Then he headed out of the door.
Shaden leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes.
His connection with Grak was still active, though because of the distance, it felt like a spider’s thread rather than the ropes that had bound them together. He knew Grak was alive, but the wyvern’s emotions were too weak to determine. At least, it wasn’t dead.
How long would it be until he was able to return?
He buried his face into his hands. When he’d been with Lytha, she was the one who had planned everything, and he could simply enjoy the moments she’d prepared. He’d had a friend to ask advice from, the freedom to do whatever he wanted.
He hadn’t known that being alone would be this difficult. They were all strangers to him—even the Jakhar Kishaks. He hadn’t even known them for a month. He should have stayed at the settlement to understand them better, not go off on a fun trip to satisfy his boredom.
His thoughts were broken when one of the men who’d been healed ran in with someone in his arms. It was a child, not yet ten, and she had an empty socket—a gaping hole where the eyeball was meant to be.
“No one—no one could heal my child,” the man pleaded while Shaden tried to act confident. “She lost her eye three years ago when she fell. A thorn pierced her eye. Is it possible to heal her?”
“I will try,” Shaden told him. The man placed the small girl on the chair before him, and she looked up at Shaden with a clear eye. A hopeful eye, able to believe anything it had been told.
Was she indoctrinated too?
Shaking his thoughts away, Shaden put out a hand. An eye—he’d never restored one before. He muttered a silent word of prayer before letting his magic pour into her head, focused on the socket.
When the blinding light subsided, the girl’s eyes were closed. She was whispering a wish.
“You can open them,” Shaden softly told her.
Her father cried out in joy when she gazed at the world with both eyes, blinking with wonder and joy. Subtle tears ran down the man’s cheeks, and the girl, stupefied, began to laugh and cry at the same time, imitating her father.
“Thank you, thank you!” the man rambled, putting his daughter in his arms again. Then, without a second word, he sprinted off, leaving Shaden alone again with his thoughts.
“Ah…...glad you’re happy,” Shaden mumbled.
Kortuya returned soon after with a basket of flat, hard bread and jerky in his hands and Shaden took them with gratitude, chewing on them immediately. It was better than the gruel he’d been fed during his way here, but comparing it to the meals he’d had with Eshel…
But it was edible. Strangely tough, but edible. Really tough. It reminded him of the monster meat he’d had in his childhood—in jerky form.
“If what you told me is true, I will report it so they will know of your situation,” Kortuya offered.
Shaden nodded. “Please,” he said with a mouthful of bread. He took a swig of his drink to push it down.
“But, do tell me—where did you learn to use your magic? How has your well become so abundant? Was it through some uncommon exercise, or is it innate?”
Shaden thought about his childhood. “I think a little bit of both,” he replied, “but more innate.”
“Innate.” The doctor touched his mouth. “I haven’t traveled much. The world outside of Nafar is a mystery to me. I have read, but my knowledge is limited. Tell me—do all children of your family possess the same abilities as you?”
“I think I’m a little special,” Shaden said.
“You mentioned Melern. I am aware that it is a monarchy, like Nafar. How are children educated? How are the royalty seen there?”
“I’m not sure. But I don’t think they have all of the power. There are nobles and elected people, so—”
“Elected?!”
“Yes. So, every year, my parents would…”
Before additional patients came, the two of them conversed, each telling the other about their country’s customs that the other was not aware of. The celebrations they had, the foods they ate, the manners they learned. Shaden had received most of his knowledge from Eilae, and he was glad that she had taught him.
He had to learn more if he didn’t want to make mistakes again.
⤙ ◯ ⤚
“Did you let Father know? You must let Father know. Do Gramps and Granny know?”
Eshel strode across the room back and forth, her hands on her elbows.
“Why would he say such a thing? Why would he say that he would heal a thousand people? Does he not know his limits?”
“He does know, that is why he went, I think,” Shaya said, leaning on the table. Her arms were held together in front of her lips. “If I let Father know, there is no telling how he would react.”
“Shaden is a child!”
“He is the heir of Skotos,” Shaya replied calmly. “You know the tales.”
“You aren’t the one who talked with him every day!” Eshel forced through her teeth.
“I wish him well. If he doesn’t succeed, we will be here for a very long time.”
“Did you really do anything?” Eshel’s face was red with anger. “Why did he take the blame? Why didn’t you do anything more? I thought you held some strings!”
“Stop.”
Eshel stopped prancing and glared at her sister. But her rage loosened after seeing Shaya’s downcast posture, her eyes on the table while her hands covered her forehead.
“For now, we work with what we have,” Shaya spoke, closing her eyes. “I will send people to the Wall. And let Father know. For us, nothing changes. Yet.”
“The prince,” Eshel spat.
“Careful,” Shaya warned. “You never know who might be listening.”
Eshel stomped the ground, throwing her hands up in the air. She was about to leave when Shaya called out to her.
“If worse comes to worst, I will prepare an escape route for you and Keyga,” Shaya promised.
“You don’t trust him,” Eshel spat.
Shaya didn’t reply.
Eshel glowered at her, then stormed away, slamming the doors behind her.
She held back her tears as she headed towards her room. The way the prince had dismissed them so easily, treating them like peasants when they were one of the most powerful families in the country—it had opposed the great image she’d had of themselves.
She’d always thought that she was a kind of hard-working princess without a castle. But Royalty was scarier, crueler.
She’d never felt this powerless before.
She couldn’t do anything. That was what she hated.
“Keyga!” she yelled, seeing him playing with the bugs in the yard. He looked at her with shocked eyes.
“Yes?” he dumbly answered. Eshel hated that. Her brother was clueless about the seriousness of the situation. Just like Shaden. They could have been killed.
“Argh!” she groaned.
She headed towards her room, failing to notice the hurt that crawled into Keyga’s face.