Chapter Twenty: Birthright

Finneas tried to struggle at first, as his uncle dragged him along. At first, Finneas thought Malakos was taking him back to the palace, or even to the guard outpost. Finneas assumed the governor would hold him captive, using him as a bargaining chip to crush the rebellion. The image of Joses’s dying corpse still lingered in Finneas’s mind. How will the Riverlands regain their land now that their leader is dead? Finneas knew King Joses was willing to sacrifice his life to see his people free, but death seemed a price too high to pay.

To Finneas’s surprise, Malakos was not dragging him to the palace. For the past few days that he’d been in Rivetia city, Finneas had garnered a good layout of the city. Finneas got a brief glimpse of the grand temple. It quickly dawned on him where he was going.

“Where are you taking me?” Finneas yelled. “You know I was going to the portal anyway.”

“Yes,” the governor replied calmly. “I expected as much. But you were going with the usurper.”

“You killed him!” Finneas protested. “Your men killed him.”

“We will kill the whole lot of you by sunrise,” Malakos scoffed. “You’ll open the portal even if it’s the last thing you’ll do.”

Finneas chose not to reply. He was unsure how his uncle would react. Malakos’s grip on the boy’s neck was steadfast yet strict. No matter how hard Finneas struggled, he was unable to escape. Finneas was also astonished Malak had no guards with him. The governor was so brazened with his hubris he walked defensively through the embattled streets. Finneas saw not a single person – whether soldiers or native rebels – so he presumed the fighting hadn’t reached this part of town yet. They soon reached the countryside, making their way down a barren road. There were a few carts left by the roadside abandoned. Again, not a single soul.

They soon reached where Finneas suspected the governor was taking him. It was the first time he had seen the portal. Finneas was stunned that the portal was a simple stone unadorned hexagon-shaped platform. It was probably a couple of feet in diameter. The platform was encircled by large stone monoliths, about twenty of them, creating a large circle. The tall stones seemed just as ancient as the platform, and strangely non-manmade. Grass and moss were slowly engulfing the monoliths. Besides a small nearby guard’s barrack, there was nothing else that made the place stand out.

Malakos forcefully thrush Finneas forward.

“Open the portal, and I might spare your life.”

For a moment, Finneas thought through his options. He was unsure if his uncle was going to honour whatever deal he proposed. At the same time, Finneas was uncertain how the battle was going. He didn’t want to open the portal too early and give the governor the upper hand, especially if the rebels were losing.

“No!” Finneas snapped.

“No?” the governor seemed to demand an answer.

“No,” Finneas repeated, this time more firmly. “I’m not going to open the portal. Not to you, anyway.”

“You are as stubborn as your father!”

Finneas felt cornered. Although the governor was only one man, he seemed like a giant compared to Finneas. Trying to remain brave, Finneas drew his sword. The governor seemed to have forgotten to remove the boy’s sword.

“At least he didn’t suck up to tyranny!” Finneas yelled.

Malakos didn’t respond. Instead, he scoffed.

“You talk as if you know your father,” the man laughed. “He would never betray his people.”

“Even if my father wouldn’t,” Finneas announced, “I’m sure not going to let you succeed. I’ll fight you if I must.”

The governor simply laughed at Finneas’s response.

“Do you expect me to fight a boy without training or experience,” he jeered. “I have never seen a worse battle stance in my entire life.”

Before Finneas could react, Malakos drew his sword and swiftly stuck at Finneas. Now panicking, Finneas was able to dodge the attack. Finneas noticed a nearby shield, most likely left by one of the soldiers. He quickly picked it up to defend himself against any more blows from the governor.

“Only a coward hides behind a shield!” Finneas’s uncle taunted, before launching another assault on the boy. Finneas could feel the full force of the attack as Malakos’s sword dug deep into the shield. Finneas flinched dropping both his sword and shield. The tip of the governor’s blade with inches away from Finneas’s throat. “I will only say this one more time, open the damn portal!”

Finneas felt defeated. He knew he had no choice but to follow Malakos’s orders. He was about to sing the tune he’d memorised when he heard a familiar voice.

“You leave him alone, Malakos,” the voice said. Finneas turned his head toward the voice. Cymon was bristly walking toward the governor with his quarterstaff in hand.

Malakos moved his sword away from Finneas and directed it towards the prince. “You dare interfere?” he remarked.

“I have been running all my life,” Cymon declared. “I have stood back and watched as my brother’s people… no… our people are enslaved. Well, it’s time I accepted the truth. If my brother plans to retake the throne and free our people, I will stand beside him. Only a coward would deny the people their freedom.”

Malakos laughed again. “Your brother is dead. The rebellion is over. You have lost.”

Cymon seemed to stop to process what he’d heard. It didn’t take long for him to respond.

“This rebellion is more than one man. For as long as the people dream of freedom, the rebellion will never end.”

Without flinching, Cymon leapt toward Malakos to strike. Because the governor was much older, he could not dodge the attacks. Instead, he used his sword to deflect every jab Cymon made toward him with his quarterstaff.

Occasionally, Malakos would attempt to get a jab at Cymon. Each time, the water taper would wipe the sweat from his forehead and muster the power to transform the sweat into shards of ice which would form a makeshift shield to block any of the governor’s incoming attacks.

Finneas watched as the two exchanged blows. Now and then Malakos would throw an insult at the prince. Cymon ignored the verbal abuse and instead concentrated on winning the fight.

While Malakos and Cymon fought, Finneas quickly approached the platform. He had remembered the tune, based on the symbol written on the temple wall: The boat, the shoal of fish, the Leviathan, the diamond with an ex-mark in the middle. He kept humming the tune in his head – associating each symbol with a musical note. He wasn’t sure the portal worked – some weird goblin-like magic he had been told. Somehow Finneas hoped this would work. He loudly sang the tune. Although his pitch wasn’t perfect, it seemed to have worked. It was a strange feeling, something Finneas couldn’t explain. The central platform began to light up. Finneas could feel existence itself be drawn to the portal’s platform. Before anyone could respond, the blast of light shot up into the sky, reaching perhaps into the heavens. Neco and Malakos seemed unaware of what was occurring; they continued fighting – hacking their sword and staff at each other.

Now that the portal was open, this seemed to give Cymon an extra burst – he began to glow blue as magic poured into him. He began fighting more furious. Although the governor seemed unaware, Cymon seemed to notice the beam of light. Malakos’s back was facing the platform. Finneas noticed one of the bows left by the guards. He quickly ran and picked it up.

He placed the arrow into place. He remembered all the advice the Tamora had given him. Finneas pulled the bowstring back. He steadied his aim. With the two men moving so fast, it became nearly impossible to keep track of everything. Keeping the bowstring back was hurting the boy’s arms – all the muscles had tensed up. He took a deep breath, gasping in as much air as he could, to remain still as possible. The two men reached closer and closer to the platform. Within a splinter of a moment, Malakos somehow managed to disarm Cymon. The water taper had become careless, giving the governor the right moment to strike.

“Give up!” Malakos yelled. “Your brother is dead! The Riverlands is ours!”

Before Malakos could draw the finishing blow, Finneas made a loud yell.

“The Riverlands belong to the people!” Finneas boomed.

He let go of the bowstring. He watched as the arrow flew sharply; the shaft bending back and forth as it reached its target. Malakos had barely any moment to react to the sudden impact as the projectile pierced his body. The arrow had hit the man’s chest. On closer inspection, it appeared it’d stuck Malakos’s heart directly.

The Governor, realising what had occurred, grasped hold of the arrow. In one giant grasp, he tore out the arrow. Malakos said something, but with blood gushing out his mouth it was unintelligible. Staggered, he kept walking backwards, before falling into the beam of light.

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As the portal began to close, white energy shot out and floated around Cymon. The light substance – or whatever it was – suddenly absorbed into the prince’s body causing his skin to glow brightly. Cymon had used manna flowing out of the portal to power himself to fight the governor, and now was feeling the full effect. Finneas dropped the bow on the ground and dashed towards the prince. Finneas lifted Cymon’s arm, resting it over the boy’s shoulder. Whatever strength Cymon had was used up fighting the governor. Finneas wondered if the energy that had come out of the portal was keeping the prince alive. Cymon remained limp as he rested his body against Finneas’s back. Finneas mustered all his power to drag the prince along.

It took maybe ten or fifteen minutes – far longer compared to the travel to the portal – to return to the city. Finneas had to make his way through the countryside, trying to avoid imperial soldiers. Luckily, it seemed most of the soldiers had died or had fled. No one bothered Finneas as he carried Cymon. They soon reached the outer skirts of the city. By now the battle was over. Walking down the road that circled the temple district before swerving across the river towards the palace, Finneas noticed many bodies scattered across the street. Finneas noticed several stretcher-bearers darting from one body to the next to see whether any were alive. Anyone lucky to have survived the battle was placed on one of the stretchers and taken away to be healed. Finneas noticed two native stretcher-bearers carrying an injured imperial soldier. It appeared whoever they were – native, common folk, or imperial – the rebels were giving medical treatment to.

A thought came to Finneas’s mind. He wondered how his friends were doing. When he left them, the server had not been attacked. But he wondered if the Imperial had attacked, were his friends still alive. He hoped none of them perished in the chaos, especially his brother. Finneas didn’t know if he could forgive himself if he lost his brother.

Then there was King Joses. The image of Meros cutting the king down was still etched in Finneas’s mind. Finneas rarely wanted to see a person die, but Meros was an exception. He hoped to see the Sensor apprentice’s corpse. Finneas also wondered if the rebels had found the king’s body yet. Were they even aware King Joses had been killed?

They soon reached the palace, where Sebastos and the other rebel leaders were waiting. It appeared that they had just taken the palace. Finneas noticed a few Imperial soldiers fleeing.

Finneas carefully rested Cymon on the ground. Tamora, who was standing nearby, rushed towards the prince. With a bottle in hand, she offered it to Cymon, who gladly accepted. As the prince regained consciousness, his eyes began to glow a vibrant blue. Cymon was still glowing from absorbing manna. The people around that had now crowded around the Finneas and the prince began murmuring the same word. Although in the native tongue, Finneas knew what they were saying. ‘Avatar’. The Maker had chosen its next messenger and incarnation.

“I was with the king before… before he died,” Finneas tried saying.

“We found his body not more than ten minutes ago,” Sebastos announced.

“My brother?” Cymon’s first words were after gaining consciousness. “Where is my brother?”

Sebastos knelt beside the water taper.

“The king is dead,” Sebastos proclaimed. “Long live the King. Long live King Neco, the first of his name. Defender of the Faith, Champion of the Maker, High Lord of the Riverlands.”

With this proclamation, everyone in the nearby area also knelt to the ground, bowing their heads in respect to their new king. Cymon finally stood up, seemingly unsure how to react. The man seemed perplexed, as if uncertain whether this was a dream or not. Finneas knew Cymon wasn’t keen on being a leader. But over the several weeks he’d known the man, Finneas had seen him rise to the occasion. He patted his friend on the shoulder.

“You’ll make a great king,” he told him. “I’m sure of it.”

Over the next three days, the people of the Riverlands cremated their dead as was tradition. Bodies were laid upon pyres, and for those three days, all anyone could see was smoke rising to the sky. Once the bodies were cremated, families and loved ones were leaving libations and incense at their tombs.

The final body to be cremated was the late king. King Joses was laid carefully on a massive funeral pyre in the centre of the city for everyone to see. People from all around the region came to pay their last respects to the dead king, a man who had united the people to rebel against Imperial control. Before the king’s remains were lit aflame, Cymon carefully and sombrely placed something upon his brother’s chest. Although Finneas was close enough to see, he was unsure what it was. Before he could get a grasp of what exactly Cymon had placed on his brother’s chest, the newly ascended king was handed a torch which he used to light the pyre. He walked a few feet away, but close enough still to feel the fire’s embrace.

Finneas found it strange having to address his friend by his real name, not the name he’d known him by for the past few weeks. Finneas had barely had the chance to talk to Cymon – or as everyone now was proclaiming, King Neco, his proper royal name. The new King was busy talking to families of soldiers who had died in the battle.

The deceased king’s funeral pyre burned for the entire night. Finneas glanced over at his cousin Brienne, who was staring intensely at the burning pyre. She was someone else Finneas hadn’t talked to yet. He was trying to avoid talking to her, unsure what she’d say about him killing her father. Finneas had already heard murmurs of the Imperials that chose to stay in the Riverlands calling him a kin-slayer. While the governor was unpopular, the Imperial didn’t want him dead. They felt Finneas had robbed them of a trial. Finneas was glad he did the killing blow and not the new king. If Cymon had enacted the final strike, it probably would have clouded his ascension.

“My father was not a good person,” Brienne said solemnly, walking up to Finneas. “I know you had to do the right thing, even if my people disagree.”

“I didn’t exactly see him die,” Finneas explained. “The high priest says he must’ve fallen through… what do they call it?”

“The event horizon,” Brienne clarified. “Disappearing to ‘Maker knows where’. If he survived, I doubt we’ll see him again.”

Finneas wasn’t sure he felt better knowing his cousin was understanding. He was glad they didn’t have a falling out over the situation. Besides his brother, Brienne was the only family he had.

Now that the funerals were over, it was time for the Riverlands to celebrate overthrowing the Imperial Republic and the Order. Finneas found his friends and brother eating a large meal at one of the many dining tables. The tables were filled with beef roast, all sorts of fish even Finneas was unsure what they were, and fruits gathered from around the surrounding region.

Finneas was glad that his brother and his friends survived the battle. Kenelm seemed rather excited telling Finneas how the battle almost reached the sewers, but a powered-up Azhem protected the entrance. Finneas was happy knowing his brother was safe and sound. When Finneas found his brother in the palace after the battle, he rushed towards him and embraced Kenelm tightly. Although the younger boy seemed somewhat embarrassed, he allowed his older brother to hug him.

“The matron never let us eat this good,” Kistoph remarked. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten fresh fruit before.”

Finneas laughed at his friend’s comment. “She’s sure to be mad when she sees us next,” Finneas replied. “Perhaps some fresh fruit from the Riverlands will soothe her anger.”

“We’re not going back to Angleum, are we,” Kenelm asked, sounding concerned.

“I don’t know,” Finneas was honest. “This isn’t our home.”

“Angleum wasn’t our home either,” Kenelm replied. “It just happened to be where we were dumped. I never felt welcome there.”

Finneas hated to admit it, but his brother was right.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll stay for a while,” Mollie interjected. “Angleum never felt like home either.”

Her twin brother nodded.

“Plus, Azhem’s offered to teach me how to properly use a sword,” Kistoph added. “I’m sure any of us can get an apprenticeship here.”

“I’ve always wanted to look after animals,” Kenelm remarked. “I heard the racecourse is looking for people to look after the Ash’q.”

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” Finneas finally said.

Although still unsure, Finneas decided not to bring the issue up again and instead enjoyed the meal. Throughout the night, more and more food got poured onto the tables, until no one could stomach any more.

The sun was yet to set for another hour, so Finneas decided to find Cymon. Ever since the coronation, he hadn’t got the chance to talk to the new king. He first asked Jasher, who directed Finneas toward his father. Sadly, Staphan didn’t know where the king was either. Finneas thought this was strange. The most important person in the city could not be found anywhere. Finally, a guard approached Finneas and whispered in his ear.

“His majesty… I saw him near the docks,” the man explained. “He was like sitting on the water itself. Very strange.”

Intrigued, Finneas went to the harbour. When he got there and found no one about it, he was about to go back. But then he noticed a figure in the centre of the cove. Finding a rowboat, Finneas made his way to the figure. Cymon was somehow sitting cross-footed, meditating on the water as if it were solid ground.

“Didn’t expect anyone to find me here. It figures it’ll be you who’ll seek me out.” Cymon observed. “I thought I would keep this place secret, at least for a little bit longer.”

“Don’t worry,” Finneas assured him. “I won’t tell… although it seems a few people already know about this hiding spot. So maybe it’s not so much of a secret.”

Cymon laughed.

“It wasn’t much of a hiding place anyway,” he explained. “My brother and I would climb to the top of the grand temple when we were younger. You could see everything from there. Now that I’m king, I guess there’s nowhere I can go to be myself. Everyone wants to know my opinions. People are always following me. I’m barely able to have a thought to myself.”

“Who can blame you; you didn’t choose to be king,” Finneas responded. “Like I didn’t choose to be the Seer. I guess it's destiny, perhaps.”

“Destiny’s a fickle thing,” Cymon chuckled. “I’ve spent my entire life running from it. It was only a matter of time before it caught up." He paused for a moment. “I heard you might be returning to Estmere, once things are cleared up, you know. I’m not forcing you to stay, just saying.”

“My friends and I have talked,” Finneas explained. “We haven’t reached an agreement yet. Maybe in a few days or so, we’ll make up our minds.”

“Just remember, you’re welcome here any time and for as long as you want. You certainly saved us in a pinch, you earned it,” Cymon said. “And if anyone gives you trouble, talk to me, you hear. I’ll hear them straight.”

Cymon remained calm sitting on the water’s surface. Finneas stayed in the rowboat, the water tugging it back and forth. As the sun began to set, something seemed to be nagging Finneas. There was something he still had to tell Cymon.

“My father’s out there, I know it,” he finally got off his chest. “I don’t know where, but something tells me he’s still alive. The past few days I’ve learnt so much about him. I just want to meet him. I’ve got so many questions to ask him. Why did he abandon my brother and me? Why wasn’t he there when our mother died?”

“I’m sure you’ll get your answers one day, I’m sure of it,” Cymon tried to lift Finneas’s mood. “It might be an abuse of power, but I can get my council to look for him. You never know, they might uncover something.”

“Thanks.”

“It should be I thanking you,” the young man somewhat countered. “Without your help, my people would’ve remained enslaved to the Order. You’ve done our young country a huge favour. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t.”

Finneas decided to leave Cymon to meditate. He was sure the new king needed time to reflect, and Finneas was sure his friends were already looking for him. The sun had already set, its amber glow lighted the horizon. Finneas was certain he’d have plenty of time in the coming days to talk to Cymon further.

As Finneas began rowing back, thoughts of his friends came to mind. His body was aching from having to lift the oars, but knowing his friend was waiting for him forced Finneas to keep rowing and not stop for a break. The feast was probably already over. Finneas had enough to eat anyway, so he wasn’t too concerned. As the sun last of the portal’s glow began to disappear, and as he made his way back to the city under darkness, Finneas quickly realised that for once in his life he had found a home.