Thalane

As soon as a child is born it begins to die. How strange it was, that living and dying were synonyms. Thalane wondered which she was more of right now, staring at the nymphaeum with revelry and disgust. The violet marble of the palace’s menagerie captured the accomplishments and vulnerabilities of the human form better than any other statue in Lunare. Flamingoes around her speckled the still expanse of surrounding blue, busy with the butterflies that had drowned themselves.

Blue was a color of rot. Water was supposed to be clear. A deformity in the mind, created from chaos lost in time. Many agreed humans had never known of such a color until recent times. Blue was the perfect color for the menagerie’s upper pools.

The higher in the palace you were, the harder it was to smell the rot, but the easier it was to see. An unhealed scab festering with corruption, lies, and a lack of morality against the beautifully ragged vestiges of its war-torn country below. It smelled sick. It smelled real. Her mother told her long ago, before the diseases of the palace had shattered their tribe, that they lived in fortunate times. That Thalane should be thankful The Silent Wars waged a hundred years ago, that The Blues no longer echoed within any country’s economy.

But there was always something.

It just didn’t have a name yet.

“If I had to lose money to take from the rich and give to the poor, I would.” Thalane said.

“Then the poor people would tell you that the rich deserve it.” Enesca replied.

“Those idiot poor people.” Thalane laughed, echoing her Warmother’s words.

Enesca was staring through the palace, living here so long probably made the expansive wall of golden phalluses completely invisible to her. “It’s your decision. Not your mother’s.”

Still brooding, Thalane repeated some of the last words that escaped the woman’s lips before death. “How dare you call me your mother.”

Enesca heaved quietly.

Thalane sighed. “She wasn’t my mother.” She turned her head back to the scroll.

Her hand was on the spot her name was told to go. The other one rolled the pen against the papyrus like a raging invention of war, back and forth back and forth, completely ineffective against the words beneath it. This contract would replace her debt with weekly income. Not a lot, but enough.

All she needed to do was sell her body.

“30. That’s how much one woman’s worth is across a week. Not even enough Sound to compare to the decibels of a human voice. Seven days for us is valued less than the second it takes for a child to cry.”

“Depends on the woman.”

“Depends on the eyes.” The corner of Thalane’s mouth lifted. “Now if we were speaking of 1000 Notes a week…”

“Really?”

“No. Frankly, the offer is a slap in the face. I’d rather be a bootstrap than some billionaire’s bitch.”

Enesca smiled, but her eyes did not shift from the dulling horizon. She drew her robed arms from the mansion’s balcony and sat calmly across the marble of the table.

“I am glad that’s what you think. I didn’t want to influence you.”  Her smile sank with a sigh. “But what can we do? Where can we go? Mercenary work is gone. I’m not legally allowed to work, and you’re not legally allowed to kill.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Thalane ripped the scroll in half and pelted one end of it into the wall. “I have been looking towards opportunities that are more fitting of me.”

Enesca’s brow lifted.

“Minimum wage opportunities.” Thalane clarified.

She’d rather kill a man than have sex with one, and she’d rather die than kill a good man. The choice for finding money was easy then, choose whatever she could get. If her stomach was made an enemy of her in the process, so be it. To hell with her pride. It was a great sin anyway.

“I was hoping you could find me some.” Thalane added.

“I…” Enesca’s voice trailed on, her shoulders heightening tightly. “I’ve looked myself.”

Thalane was hoping there was more to that reply, but there wasn’t. Suddenly the questions Enesca had asked earlier returned with a vengeance. What did they do? Where did they go? Thalane had worked on finding those answers when they’d discussed their finances last week and all the weeks before, until every option was exhausted. They had three days left. Three nights left. That was all. Thalane was lost. Even the lowest roles along the lowest lanes had denied her. Even minimum wage was out of reach.

Out of reach.

Thalane shot off her stool. “We could run away.” She looked to their bags. “Yes, at least we have those! We could go apple picking for food, I can navigate any mountain easily, I know which waters are good for drink. We’ll travel on horseback. We’ll run till the green beneath us is yellow, and until the blue above us is gold.” She stared where the sun was retreating towards, blocked off by the steeples of the city.

Solare.

“That glorious, glorious gold.” Thalane nodded, realizing. “We’ll seek refuge in the Sunkingdom. We’ll be accepted there. We can make it! It’s a trip! That’s all! A vacation!”

“Sing another song. Do you hear yourself? What apples? What waters? What you speak of isn’t fantasy, it’s delusion. The moment we leave with these bags the Cathedral will crash down upon us like arrows on the aimless. Nobody owns anything anymore. We certainly don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything I own is checked in at the palace. Any item worth more than 100,000 Notes is subject to the check. They don’t want us altering their products, reselling them for higher, or doing anything else that might affect their gains.”

“But they’re ours.”

“Your word against the judge’s.”

“Forget about the backpacks. I know how to make storage of our own.”

“Do you know how to return nutrition to the soil? Forest to the warpaths? Water to the valleys? Thalane, the moment we cross city boundaries the Faar will tear us apart. You may be a good fighter, but against even one Farr we are food. Even my father would agree, and you do know how we don’t.”

Thalane’s eyes fell back to the torn scroll. She would have backpacked. Go out into the wilds, surviving off the grit of sheer will and the mercy of mother nature. But mother nature herself had nowhere to go, and sheer will had been steered by opportunity. They’d poisoned the fruit, burned the earth, and dried the seas in place for their cities. Any land untouched by humans was festering with Faar.

The possibility crossed Thalane’s mind to find a friendly Farr warband. “We could talk with them, I can make things, I can trade.”

“They aren’t capable of such things.”

“Tons of Farr merchants exist within the city just fine.”

“And that is the cream of the crop. Have you ever seen a Farr ever working in a position of power? No, you haven’t! They don’t have the faculties to comprehend the complex nature of human society. All they know is crime. No. They probably can’t even comprehend law to conceive crime. Crime for them… Is instinct.”

Thalane slid her face into her palm. The one thing she did not love about Enesca was her racism. She was a palace child. She’d never understand. If palace children stepped out of the palace it was to go visit another one. A spiral of lies for a spiral of liars. The children were as a part of it as their parents were, they simply didn’t know it yet.

Or ever.

Thalane was a child too, but she didn’t feel like it. She towered over most teens and mining ice for years had honed her. At ten years she felt like she’d lived a thousand. Perhaps that was why her hair was like snow on cinder. All the stress. She took Enesca’s hands in her own. They were soft and smooth, used to the pen, not the pickaxe.

“I will figure this out.” Thalane said, knowing that with how sheltered most here were, she was the only one who could.

The nymphaeum’s gates burst open. Doves and lovebirds splattered the sky. Hummingbird Hel trotted down the steps with her trumpet in hand from the flow of them. She was to herd the winged today. She took a deep breath, licked her lips, and blew into the instrument with puffing cheeks. The tune was pretty and simple. Thalane would have enjoyed it if it had not been her last week in the palace and the love of her life being scheduled for marriage.

There was a new boy in the palace that followed Hel lately. She gave him the trumpet. He was awful. The doves and lovebirds scattered. He liked to hide himself in his red robe. It was the first time Thalane had seen his face untucked from the hood that often shroud it. His features were mixed. Eyes slightly crescent-shaped but not so much so as some of the Starbloods from the Southeast. His nose was of an obscure Northerner’s.

He had bright brown eyes, gold in the daylight.

Thalane had not even known brown eyes existed. Like two beating hearts from a bountiful earth. Most irises were a cool grey like her own, a deep blue like Hel’s, or even the rare red of Enesca’s. No wonder he hid in the hood. He couldn’t fit in anywhere. If Thalane had not been raised in the frigid ice lands she would have done the same. Always she stunk of sweat.

They didn’t have the armor of blonde hair and expected features like Hel had. A river of silk finery followed the Hummingbird, long enough to dress the five kids that had likely labored to make it. Thalane had been born knowing something was wrong with the world. Why did some kids starve while others did not? They had all, at that point, no freedom to deserve one or the other.

Hel let out an explosive sigh, the shade of her hand over her sky-cast stare. “Their wings are so pretty when they fly. Why do you think they return? It’s sad to see them cooped up in their dark.”

“Freedom isn’t peaceful.” The boy said. “I think they like the dark.”

“I think their groomed.” She snapped, turning to him. “You as well.”

Thalane shook her head disappointedly. “Not everyone is a workhorse like you.”

“No need to be polite.” Hel said. “Heavens is an idiot.”

“Hel and Heavens? The nuns must be having a jubilee.” Enesca exclaimed.

“Surprisingly not. They are busy prepping the masons and magi for the matriculation of my seniors.” Hel replied. “The next Songbird candidates are to be carved into that nymphaeum.”

“Must be nice.” Thalane glared sourly at the structure.

Hel caught the glance. “Not really. I think it’s rather disgusting. Imagine being wedged between the flesh of people you don’t know, forever encased in a mineral prison. I’d rather like to see a new grouping. I refuse to add myself to it. I’d rather make my own.”

“You do not wish to be Songbird?”

“Singer’s Folly, no. All Shanai does is tell people what to do. I already do that. I don’t need a title for it.” Hel frowned. “They’re slaves to the Diva, just as the Hummingbirds are slaves to them. I refuse to be a part of it.”

There had not been a Diva in so long that Thalane could barely recall what that was. Only people like Hel cared for possibilities that would never be or matter.

Idealism to the point of idiocy. Then again, Thalane felt so similarly as of late. She just knew better not to speak on it.

Thalane tried to give the girl some credit since she was already a Hummingbird, but action spoke louder than education or ranking ever could. She was no different than these flamingoes. Not ready for the real world out there, just like Enesca. A true palace child.

Lyrics begone.

The palace children.

They were the perfect blend of privilege and innocence.

Thalane could use them. They’d get into trouble, but trouble for them was a slap on the wrist. Trouble for Thalane was homelessness. She laxed, senses heightening as the path forward became clear. These kids would be her keys. The keys to the Lunare capital treasury.

Thalane turned to Heavens. “From where do you hail?”

“The second floor.”

Stunned, Thalane stared.

Hel’s brows raised. “His mother became a Cardinal some time ago. You’ve only seen him recently because you’ve only gone lower than the 30th floor since your arrival.”

“I see.” Thalane frowned, formulating a lie. “It feels like yesterday when I came to the gates to train under the Divine Corps. With support from the king gone I’ll have to return back without ever seeing the Royal Athenaeum. Is it really all the nobles say it is?”

Hel cared a lot about her appearance, power, and most of all, control. She was the second youngest Hummingbird in history, resided amongst the elite of the palace priestesses, and had secured seven of the Cathedral’s most scholarly grants. Shallow was an understatement. She was as transparent as a puddle. The girl took the bait almost instantly. Thalane could see it in her eyes.

“It’s more.” Hel blurted. “I can show you.”

Later that night, when curfew was past, Thalane snuck out from what would have been her last sleep in a comfortable bed. A ballroom dance began at midnight. All the real guards were placed around there. The rest were the nephews, sons, uncles, and cousins of the “achieved”. Placed to stand everywhere else to look pretty. Thalane and Enesca had a simple enough time sneaking past them and over the beams of the ballroom. Hel and Heavens were already waiting on the other side.

“One day you and me will get to dance like that.” Enesca replied. “What color dress would you wear?”

Thalane’s face darkened at those below. Yes, they would be allowed, but not in this country.

“Blue.” Thalane said.

When they finished crossing, Hel pushed open extravagant glass panels that overlooked the ballroom. Thalane hadn’t even realized. Those were windows. How pompous. Building a building within a palace. What a roundabout waste of money. Thalane grinned. Any guilt she had was gone.

Expensive metals. Research materials. Lost scrolls. The Royal Athenaeum was a labyrinth of a library of things to be sold. A desk in a clearing of shelves, globes, and chandeliers caught Thalane’s eye.

It was the same desk her mother died on.

What was it doing here?

Enesca seemed to realize. “No.” She said, tugging back at Thalane’s garbs.

Thalane shrugged her off, approaching angrily, investigating violently. Books, papers, and tools that were not her mother’s littered it, but it was still the same as ever. Handcrafted by rare Glevenlands wood. Her craftsmanship. Her mind was sent into a state of shock, thinking she’d never see anything her hands had touched again.

It was a long time ago. When the drinking, fighting, and duress had captured her mother’s heart with fragility. She tied with one of the tribe’s most feeble fighters.

That’s when men from the Moonkingdom came to the mountains. “Her heart is failing.” A man by the name of Vyce said. “With her size it is no surprise.”

“We can help her.” Added another named Jamal. “The payments can be incremental. In return, these payments will go to medical research that can help people like your mother.”

Even an old woman called Songbird, nearly double her Warmother’s age and half her mother’s ailments nodded in agreement. “You can serve the Moonking. Glevenland skill is highly sought.”

Thalane hadn’t been able to understand at the time. Her mother, as muscular as a yeti, standing almost seven feet tall, and with only two battles in her life ever lost, destroyed by her own heart? How could your own body rebel against you? Why?

Thalane had just returned home from escorting one of Jamal’s merchants when it happened. Her mother collapsed on her desk, speaking her last words. They’d made a contract with Lunarian doctors. Millions and millions of Notes paid a month to the Moonkingdom, and for what? That Songbird, Shanai, had assured her of more help than this.

In the end, several million Notes of debt only purchased her one more month with Mom.

“There is a very elusive creature known to men as power.” Thalane’s Warmother had whispered. “It’s not a beast. It’s not seven feet. It’s not even a Sunqueen. I know perhaps you worked so hard every day to see me return to what I was, but I was never power. They’ll always use what you have against you. If you’re smaller they’ll look down on you, if you’re larger they’ll string you up. The universe always finds a way to your weakness. It's always better to hide within the middle ground. The middle ground called majority.”

“How can you say that?” Thalane had grunted. “You? Hide? You’re too Divine-damned ox-like!”

“Another disadvantage, but I’m not telling you to hide. I’m telling you to cast aside your identity as an Enalath. As a warrior valkyrja.”

“I refuse.”

“Don’t refuse because you can’t. Try. Thalane, you can do it. You can blend in. Become one of them. A Lunarian. You have white skin, red lips, all you need to do is dye your hair with blondeberry. You worked so hard, and I don’t want you working for the wrong reasons. You worked harder than I ever had at your age. I never watched my mother die. I never even worked to help her. I ran away to fighting. I spent my mournings covering wounds with muscle instead of learning how to heal.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I am unworthy of being your mother.”

Those were the last words Mom ever said.

The white of Thalane’s eyes were bloodshot. Grey and green and red. She could still read the contracts she’d picked up. The bottom were signed Songbird Shanai. Yes, that’s why this desk was here. With no work and no money, Thalane had agreed to pawn off the work her mother had made in exchange for her mother’s help.

In the end, she regretted this decision.

She regretted working with that evil Vyce, that vile Jamal, and that abomination, Shanai. A politician, a prince, and a priestess. Thalane looked to Hel and Heavens, wondering what sick twisted characters these children would turn into. She wasn’t going to steal from this palace, she was going to burn it down.

“You okay?” Heavens asked.

“Yeah.” Thalane motioned to a torch behind Enesca. “Can I have that?”

Enesca’s lips pursed. She didn’t move. Hel grabbed it instead. She shouted.

“Security!”

Thalane’s heart stopped. Heavens’ jaw dropped. Enesca dove under the desk. Heavy boots came from every corner quickly. Guards, two for every child.

Moonprince Jamal came speed walking, blue tassels, books, and all. A long cloak thrice his length with a hefty pale fur collar.

“Why are you in here?” Jamal asked. “Thalane. Do you have permission to be here?”

Thalane stood stupidly. “Hel brought me.”

“Hel, is this true?”

“She said you had your permission. I caught her in a lie.”

“Secure the Enalath.”

Thalane glared at Hel. This was a setup. Why? Why do this? Why her? Hel met her stare emotionlessly, not even a blink or grin.

There was an expensive-looking cast iron gavel on her mother’s desk. Thalane thought quickly, measuring her options as several knights approached. She’d be kicked out or arrested.

One knight grabbed her, Thalane whipped around with the gavel and sent the helmet ringing against skull. The knight vomited through his visor. Thalane swung at another, the blow came fast. This fighter’s reflexes were faster. She narrowly avoided the blow but came no closer, probably taking a breath from how close she was from losing her nose. The rest sprinted at Thalane after that. She lunged through them at Jamal. He lost his footing on the end of his robe, slipping back. Thalane was going to end it with a gavel, send his teeth and brain scattering across the carpet’s red. Enesca tackled her.

Thalane tried to peel her off, screaming. “That was my mother! You killed my mother! Let me go! He deserves to die!”

“Why!? Why would you say that!” Enesca screamed. “Why would my father deserve to die!?”

Thalane weakened. She did not know. Jamal was Enesca’s father? She looked to the lantern held in Jamal’s hand.

That’s right.

She could burn this place. Splatter the oil and flames across the papyrus and wood of this labyrinth. All she needed to do was swing that gavel. She could burn it all.

Thalane made her choice.