Chapter Five

“So, can you help get her out of Argonia?” Arktos asked, never one to relax when something needed accomplished. “It is too dangerous for her to stay.”

“Yes, I can,” Philos admitted, a frown across his face. He had not so much had time to set Arktos down before the wounded warrior had hurried the three of them to the entertaining room and closed the wooden screen behind. The young girl sat at the table despondent from the horror of the day’s earlier events. “But I’ll have to be quick about it. As a member of the Divine Guard, if they discovered I was involved...” Philos’ wandering gaze fell upon Kaleia who upon hearing the earlier commotion had wandered into the room in the midst of Arktos’ relating the day’s ordeal. She now focused all her attention on wrapping Arktos’ shoulder in strips of newly spun wool.

Arktos nodded. “Good. The quicker the better.”

Sula, barely conscious, heard a quaver of nervousness in her father’s voice that frightened her. She had never known him to be afraid before and could not make sense of it. The thought brought a lump to her throat that quickly escaped in a muffled sob. Then came another. This one she could not muffle. And with that one free, her walls had been breached. Before she knew it, she was overwhelmed by her own hysterics.

Finishing with Arktos’ wrappings, Kaleia moved quickly to the child and pulled her into her shoulder. Sula’s sobs grew quieter, lost in the silk of Kaleia’s robe. The mother felt them echo against her heart like a mallet tapping against glass.

“Will anywhere be safe for her?” Arktos asked more to himself than his brother. He gripped the sides of the table so hard that his knuckles turned as white as the underbelly of a fanged deer. Despite Sula’s cries, he kept his eyes locked on Philos. He knew if he entertained his daughter’s pain for even a moment his own passions would overwhelm him. Now was not the time for such recklessness.

Philos considered for a moment where might be safe for her. “We could send her north to the Kingdom of Pallos,” he offered. “I have a number of allies there who could keep her safe.”

Arktos dismissed it with a shake of his head. “No, Pallos is too friendly with the Empire. If the King of Pallos learned your allies were harboring a fugitive, he would turn her over immediately.”

“Then perhaps to Mesovasileos?” Philos said. “They would certainly not turn her over to Argonia.”

“No, but I will not have her in a land so ravaged by war that a new Emperor arises with each fortnight. What if she went south?”

Philos’ mouth fell open. “South? The Southern Kingdoms would never accept an Argonian refugee. Fugitive or otherwise. If they ever discovered her birthplace, she would be slaughtered.”

“Not the Southern Kingdoms south. What about Koilaska? She could live with Phrouros. He owes me a favor.”

“Aye, that he does Brother, but would she be safe there? It is still within the Empire.”

Arktos’ gaze drifted before falling upon a bird cage in the corner of the room. Inside a furious iridescent-magpie pecked with all his might against the golden bars that bound him. It was to no avail. The bottom of the cage was littered with piles of beautiful, azure feathers.

“Yes,” Arktos admitted. “Still within the eyes of Argonia, but far enough from the fangs that she should be safe. I fear it is the best that we can do for her.”

Philos nodded in agreement.

“Then, it’s settled.” Arktos pushed his hair back from his eyes. Philos knew the sign well. Arktos’ would no longer be swayed. With the one simple motion, his fate had been carved into jade. Not even the gods could alter it. Philos had seen enemies by the thousands fall to Arktos strategies decided upon in the same fashion. So, to not fight against the crashing tides of Arktos’ will, Philos leapt to his feet and followed his brother to the stable.

Despite Arktos’ limp, Sula and Kaleia still could not match the speed of the men as they dashed across the courtyard, nor were they close enough to hear the particulars of the plan they discussed. They did manage to catch up outside the residence’s gate. When they reached Arktos, he had finished fumbling around with a horse’s saddle and gave the leather strap one last tug to ensure it would not loosen. A sudden desperation overcame the cub as her muddled mind returned to her.

“Do you have to go, Papa?” she called to him.

The question hung in the air so long it made Sula wonder if he had heard it at all. She started to ask again, but before she could, the snap of the strap falling interrupted her. Arktos faced his daughter, who stood beneath the entry gate’s winged archway. She stared him down without wavering. How brave and mature his cub looked, staring him down without wavering from beneath the entry gate’s winged archway. If she still felt any fear from the day’s horrors, he could find no trace of it in her now. He wondered how long had it been since she had been small enough to tuck into his elbow and rock to sleep? Not that long, he wagered. Not long enough, he decided.

“I’m sorry, cub,” Arktos started, “but there is something I must do.”

“And when will you be back?” She demanded.

“Sooner than you know,” the father promised and hazarded a step toward her. “And when I am, I swear I’ll never leave again.”

Before Arktos could take another step, his cub was on him, lurching forward and binding him in a hug. She buried her face in his stomach to hide the tears. Patting the top of her head, he put his lips to her crown and whispered, “Goodbye, my love. I only hope that one day I get to see the wonderful woman you will become. Until then, please try to stay safe. Promise me you will always tread a step away from trouble, for your Papa’s peace of mind.”

With another kiss on her forehead, he finished his farewell and broke away. Sula could not even muster a nod. The best she could do was cover her eyes with one hand and clench her teeth. But, try as she might to hide the pain, her stifled sobs betrayed her. Finding her obstruction fruitless, she dropped her hand to rub the itch that had grown at the corner of one of her teary eyes. The pools around her ashy gray irises had grown red with irritation, Still, they reminded Arktos of her mother and he had to turn to hide his own tears. So, a pace between them, the father and daughter hid their streaming tears and worried for one another’s future.

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Then, like a flash of lightning in the sky or the crunch of a twig underfoot, the moment passed. Arktos mounted his horse without another look at his daughter, afraid even one more might break the both of them for good. With a whistle, the cub’s father rode off down the road. Sula stared after him, hoping to remember the image forever. Even when he disappeared into the distance, she refused to budge. Only when Kaleia wrapped an arm around her shoulder, did Sula follow her back through the estate’s gateway.

It was not long until Arktos reached the hidden river that he had so often frequented as a child, the same river where he had met Diantha. Though after her death a haze of futility had shrouded his world, its mists were never quite as thick as they seemed now. Nothing felt real anymore. During the earlier events, he had a chance to consider what it meant that the Water Goddess’ annual offering was just a monster’s yearly delicacy. Now, sat upon the banks of this nostalgic stream, he could not help but feel the weight of what he had learned. How many people had walked to the same temple hoping their loved one would get the chance to join the Goddess in paradise? Nine. Arktos answered for himself. The festival began the same year as the Goddess blessed his wife with her fertility. Nine sacrifices to that horror.

What kind of fool does it take to believe a lie so blatant. Argonia, its Goddess, the Divine Family, they were all a mirage and Arktos had fallen for them completely. But had he ever really believed? Certainly, he was aware of the Divine Family’s bad habit of stretching the truth, but he could never have guessed how deep their subterfuge ran. No, he did realize the extent, but he had so desperately wanted the mirage—the peace and prosperity they provided—to be real that he had willed a lie into truth.

He let his legs dangle from the Khaita’s muddy banks and gazed out across it, wondering if he reached out whether he could feel the current against his fingers or if it too was a fabrication meant to keep him in line.

He was the only person in a position to stop the Argus Family had fallen for their lies and let them control his people. Diantha’s pregnancy with Sula had never been the reason that he retreated into hiding after the war. It was another of the many lies he had come to believe, though worse for he told it to himself. Hundreds of rulers had rebuilt kingdoms while caring for sons and daughters aplenty. The truth was he had been too afraid of his land, his people, falling. The thought that he would be no longer be remembered as Arktos the hero of Argonia, but instead as Arktos the failure mortified him.

But his fears had come true regardless. So long as his people praised that monstrous Goddess and the Argus family sat on the throne, he had failed them. With every passing moment of his inaction, he led them deeper and deeper into suffering. He had to act. He had to free his people from their bonds.

Eyes still fixed to the current, Arktos noticed something rather strange. Before him, the very waters seemed to flee as if to punish his traitorous thoughts. He shook the image from his head, thinking it another mirage, but when he looked up again, he found the sinking current diminishing and diminishing and diminishing until all that was left was the muddy shoal beneath. Forgetting his earlier wounds, Arktos climbed from the bank in his moment of wonder and lowered himself into the river, or rather where the river had been. As he walked up and down its bed, he searched for some explanation for its draining. His thoughts again raced. Perhaps, the beast was a god after all and his blasphemy had drawn her wrath and doomed his people further. No, that was impossible, he thought, there must be something else.

Whether divine intervention or a mortal conspiracy, Arktos found no sign of what might have caused the sinking waters. Finding his search fruitless, he tried to leap back up the crest of the mud wall and escape the river, but in doing so the wrap on his splint came loose. Unable to support his weight, his leg gave out beneath him and the wounded warrior toppled down to the riverbed below, landing flat on his back. He lifted his head slightly and cursed the bank.

Then he saw it. Hidden beneath the muck of the mud, the bank was lined with hundreds of slits. Arktos crawled closer to investigate. Sticking a finger into one and plunging through about three inches of soil, he began to feel the grittiness of sandstone. He tried to peer inside hoping to confirm his findings but could see nothing past the mud’s damp brown. Still, it was not hard to assume that the water had retreated through these same cracks.

For so long, the Argus Family had pled with the people of Argonia to honor the Water Goddess properly or she would punish them with drought and for so long their predictions were proven true. But these tragedies were no acts of God. They were the sick machinations of tyrants punishing their subjects for stepping out of line. So, the draining of the Khaita must be the punishment for his act of defiance, he concluded. This time, the drought would be severe.

Trying a second time, Arktos hoisted himself from the riverbed and made it back onto the bank. His exhaustion finally caught up with him. Struggling to catch his breath, he thought it might be nice to rest for a moment here. He laid himself out across the grass. Despite the shade of the many trees around him, the sun shone bright above Arktos, stinging his eyes. He closed them to escape their rays. Before he could open them again, he slipped off to sleep.

A rustling in the foliage behind him shook Arktos awake. He made to rise, but before he could stand from his knees, a hand seized his shoulder and his body tensed.

“I figured I might find you here,” Philos announced. “You always were drawn to this spot.”

Arktos muscles relaxed and he let his arms fall to his sides. He stood, rising slow against the weight of Philos, and turned to find his dear friend before him. It was an awful sight.

Philos donning the red cape and armor of the Divine Guard stood before at least thirty men dressed in the same uniform. Arktos took a step back from his friend.

“Arktos, son of Atreos, for your crimes of desecrating the Divine Leader, of acting against the will of the Water Goddess, of damning all of Argonia with drought, and of aiding a criminal, you are being called to trial,” Philos delivered his official decree.

Arktos did not blame Philos and did not question his actions. Though the two were the best of friends, Arktos knew he needed to protect his family. If Philos disobeyed a direct order to arrest a fugitive that he was so close to, the Prince may think him an accessory. The best thing for his loved ones would be to clear any suspicion by being the one to capture Arktos. But, for just a brief moment, a panic flashed in Arktos. Had Philos had done the same to Sula?

“And what of this so called ‘criminal’? Is it known where she is?” Arktos asked, hoping to dispel the fear.

“She was apprehended earlier today,” one of the soldiers behind Philos barked. “And killed by the leader of the Divine Guard, Philos, himself!”

Arktos grew red. All of the air inside of his belly compacted into something heavy, something dangerous, that threatened to rip from his abdomen and tear through all around him.

Philos stood, unflinching and unwavering in the face of such a traitorous confession. Arktos clenched his jaw and tried to loose the sword from his belt, but found it missing and remembered he had lost it in his battle against the serpent. But his anger was not so easily dissuaded. He lurched forward and tackled Philos to the ground. The crowd of soldiers converged as the two wrestled.

Shoulder across Philos’ chest, Arktos slammed his fists against any portion of his friend’s face that he could reach, but Philos’ armor obstructed most of the blows. A sharpness shot through Arktos shoulder as Philos put pressure against it. Arktos nearly fainted from pain. The warrior’s body fell limp for just a second, but the second of weakness was enough for Philos to flip Arktos to his back and pin him to the ground.

“Stay back! I can handle this wild beast myself!” Philos ordered, as a few eager guards had begun to kick at Arktos’ side. With his shoulders pinned, Arktos tried to bite at Philos, but hi teeth came nowhere near him. He continued biting at nothing, while frantically struggling against the weight of Philos and his armor.

Philos, ready for such an uncouth display to be ended, slammed his helmet against Arktos’ forehead, drawing a river of blood that trickled down his nose. Arktos was disoriented and with one more bash, the fugitive’s struggling was ended. Philos dragged the broken man to his feet and tied his hands behind his back.

Having taken Arktos into custody, Philos led him through the foliage. Coming to his horse, Philos tied a rag across Arktos’ eyes to blind him. The Divine Guardsman propped his former ally up on the saddle then mounted. Arktos heard the snap of the reigns and felt the stamping hooves beneath him. In silence, the two rode off toward the capital.