[Hidden away. . .]
"Do you think he's dead?"
"Shh! He's alive. . . though he doesn't look it."
"Let me speak, dammit!"
"Francine, you always do this! Act your age, for once."
"Shut up, Siole, I can say what I want. With the Phantom as my witness, you won't do anything."
"Oh really? You want to test that?"
"You'd hit me? A girl?!"
"I don't discriminate."
Ugh. So loud. So many voices.
Blink!
A dim light eased its way past Emory Vaughan's eyelids as they opened. He was on a bed. Or at least, he thought it was a bed. Coarse straw lay beneath him, and a hard slab of stone was embedded in the ceiling above. Emory groaned as he adjusted to the air. It reeked of death.
"He's awake!" a girl said.
"Stay quiet!" a boy hissed.
Two kids stood before him, eyeing the sleepy boy. As he stirred, the girl smiled and reached out a hand. "You're finally awake! I'm Francine Erimro. Nine years old, almost ten. Nice to meet you, Emory."
They shook hands; her palms were soft. She reminded Emory of Simonis, but without the shyness.
The boy did the same. "Siole Iare. Glad to meet ya."
"Where am I. . ?"
Francine propped herself on the bed next to Emory. On closer inspection, she had long gray hair and pale eyes, with freckles dotting her slightly chubby cheeks. Unusual combinations.
She wore a long gown that covered her shoulders. "You just arrived at the Abolition Mandate, where all Hierarchs—and Hierarchs to come—stay."
"Abolition. . . Mandate?"
Siole remained standing. "If you didn't guess, you're a Hierarch. Well, not yet. If you recited the First Passage of the Abolition Chronicle before you're seventeen, your powers stay dormant until you come of age."
He had short gray hair and snow-white eyes. A hint of muscle defined his shoulders and arms, and he wore the same style of gown as Francine, though tailored for a boy.
"Oh. . . So, uhm, what is this place?" he said, staring at the chamber.
"This. . . is our room!" Francine replied. She gestured to two more straw beds, each under a stone slab embedded in the dirt ceiling. "You, me, and Siole will stay here until we hear our Specter."
"Specter?" Emory asked. He had never heard the term before, though Francine used it so casually.
Siole answered, "You'll find out soon enough. We needa take you to the Fifth Mourner for introductions."
Emory rubbed his eyes and stood. "I can't. I need to go home. Papa is waiting for me, and the military people. . . I need to leave–"
Siole put a hand out. "Not so fast. You can't leave the Mandate without a Mourner's approval."
"But–" Emory started.
"No buts!" Francine pursed her lips. "Don't worry, though. The Abolition Mandate is a fun place! There's a lake, a forest, other buildings. . . even a castle where the Mourners stay!"
"But aren't we underground?" Emory stared at the ceiling. It was high above but still completely brown. Sort of like dirt. Above each bed lay a thick piece of stone. He pointed to it.
"What are those?"
"They're tombstones," Siole said. "We're under a cemetery. The largest in the Western Cradle."
We're under a cemetery? No wonder the air reeked of death. . . There were dead people right above them!
Emory tried to hide his fascination.
Francine noticed his wide-eyed expression and giggled. "See? We're all the same. No one is disgusted when they find out where the Mandate is."
"Maybe because we're all Abolition Hierarchs?" Siole muttered, sarcasm riddling his words.
"Thanks for that," Francine said with a tsk. "You're SO helpful, Siole."
The two continued bickering.
Emory's mind reeled, and it all came back to him. The Firio transforming into a seductive woman. The constant hallucinations of laughing dead people. The dream in the dune.
He paused. Sylphossia Telantes... I still can't figure her out. My guardian and protector?
He remembered the Usurped and Lapsed Emperors who were after his head for some reason he didn't understand.
Then it went blank.
He had woken up beside a frenzied Mirielis. His father gone, and the military folk spending their time trying to calm the cloaked woman.
Everything happened so fast. The three shadows appearing, taking him away.
Was the blonde-haired soldier alright? Were the other ladies okay? Where was Charles? Was he dead? Why didn't Sylphossia help me? I called out to her!
"Call for me, I'll come. Ask of me, I'll answer." He recalled her promise in the dune. Was she just lying?
"Emory!" Francine grabbed his shoulders, her face centimeters from his. Too close!
She seemed not to notice or care. "Time's wasting! We need to start your tour."
Siole, leaning against the dirt wall, gave a single nod. "Yep."
Seeing no other choice, Emory complied. "Alright. Lead the way. . ."
Exiting the small room, they came across dozens of hallways. The Abolition Mandate was like an underground ant colony.
Dirt rooms honeycombed every corner, marking this section as a dormitory.
Papers that looked like job postings were stamped on the walls. Emory didn't pay them much mind, focusing instead on following Francine as she maneuvered through the crowd.
Siole slowed to Emory's pace. "It looks confusing now, but you'll learn your way around."
"I wasn't worried about that, but thanks."
They passed a larger-than-average dirt doorway. "This is the lake I told you about!" Francine said, gesturing to the large, dark body of water within.
The Mandate relied on blue flames for light, stationed high on the niches of walls.
She took Emory's hand. "Want to take a little detour? The Fifth Mourner is probably too busy to notice."
"Uh. . ." Frankly, Emory had no interest in a detour with this girl. He'd rather explore with Simonis. Why is she trying so hard to be my friend?
Not that he would ever say that out loud. Too heartless.
Siole stamped his foot. "No, we need to see the Fifth Mourner now. Francine, your bad habits are showing." He cupped a hand by his mouth, leaning toward Emory. "She can be forgetful and lackadaisical."
"Oh, really. ."
"Just keep that in mind when she tries to go off-plan."
Emory gave a thumbs-up with a wry smile. "Can we get going?"
The faster he saw this Mourner, the faster he could go home. They'd said a Mourner's approval was required to leave.
But how do I convince them? I don't have a good excuse... 'I want to see my Papa.' They'll think I'm a child! Well, I am, but that's not the point. Argh.
"Hey. . . The lake is closed. Leave," a sluggish voice called out. The trio turned fearfully, but no one was there.
Then the dirt above them darkened, and a shape coalesced. It formed into a human—a man. "You heard me. . . go. Scurry."
"Hierarch III. . ." Siole whispered fearfully. They didn't wait another second, bundling off and holding their breath.
What's a Hierarch III? Emory wondered. He felt he'd asked enough questions for one day. It could wait. If he was going to be stuck here, it was best not to annoy his only guides.
Making friends was a different story.
As they progressed through the dark, wide tunnels, the scale of the Abolition Mandate became more apparent.
Just how big was the cemetery above?
Bakeries, training fields, and prayer stations lined the hallways. The dormitories for future Hierarchs like them were set further back.
Emory noted that multiple tombstones were embedded in the ceiling above every major room, and especially above the beds.
Is it a ritual? 'Must sleep under a dead person'? That's kind of cool. Papa would find this interesting. I can tell Simonis about it too, though she'd probably hate it. Eh, who cares.
The tunnels grew more crowded here. They wore full gray and black robes embroidered with grave symbols.
Emory brushed his black hair from his eyes. It had gotten long, almost to his ears. I need a cut. It's always in my way.
Francine looked back suddenly, her mouth falling open. "You have red eyes!" It seemed she hadn't noticed them before. Siole's reaction was neutral; he'd already seen them.
She stepped in front of him, going up on her toes. "Can I look? Please?"
Emory wanted to say no but found he couldn't. "S-Sure. . ."
Francine's pale eyes locked with his crimson ones. They held like that for a full two seconds before Siole pulled her back. "Enough."
Thanks, Siole. He smiled inwardly.
After more walking, the group finally reached the epicenter of the Mandate. Ahead loomed a massive, regal black castle, draping the plaza in a resplendent black shadow.
In the middle of the epicenter was a fountain of blood, with people bathing in it. Some were even drinking from it. Were they cannibals?
A woman stepped out, slurping the blood from her skin. "Mourn the Phantom!" she cried.
The crowd echoed the cry.
No one here has any sense of public decency. Emory covered his eyes.
Francine smiled and gently guided him by the shoulders past the fountain. A tap on his back let him know the coast was clear.
"Thanks for that," he mumbled.
"My pleasure. You'll get used to it. And no one here would harm another, not under the eyes of the Phantom and his Mourners."
"Do we have to do that?" Emory shuddered.
"Yes," Siole answered. "There's a fountain for future Hierarchs near the dorms. Bathing is mandatory after prayers or an audience with a Mourner."
Let's hope I can leave before we have to do that. . .
They climbed a broad set of stairs to stand before the citadel's colossal gates. "Knock twice, then state your business..." Siole murmured, more to himself than to them.
He moved to knock.
The door swung open before his hand could connect. A woman in a severe black suit, her hair tied back tightly, spoke in a monotone. "Fifth Mourner Elocien awaits you."
Her eyes fell on Emory, and she offered a shallow bow. "The Fourth Mourner will also be in attendance. He has taken a particular interest in you, boy."
"The Fourth Mourner?" Emory echoed.
Francine lowered her voice. "Don't let his title fool you. His power rivals the Second Mourner's." She shuddered. "He's known across the Mandate as 'The Punisher.' He executes any Hierarch who breaks our laws. The Phantom and the other Mourners sanction it. So, whenever Behedet appears, someone is bound to be killed."
"Killed?" Emory whispered.
"Yes," Siole confirmed. "His name is Mourner Behedet."