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THE GATES OF IDUNE
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WINTER HAD ARRIVED earlier than expected. Even the temperate climate of the Harri territories had dipped, spreading worry through the unprepared farmers whose crops would not last if temperatures kept dropping. This new cold brought with it the whisperings of trouble. Grey clouds sat interlaced on the distant horizon, slowly creeping towards the capital city of Idune.
In contrast to the Argia territories which had been mostly clustered around the main city of Osiir, the Harri territories were pockets of autonomous townships, tribes, and the occasional urban hubs. Unlike the Argia, whose element was sparsely available and which people feared, the Harri’s element of earth was abundant. On top of that, the people’s appreciation for Iturri and the earth around them was on display everywhere in the form of monuments and temples—they even had ceremonies in honour of Iturri.
Savara stared out the window of the rickety carriage, entranced by the great wall rising from the horizon. The rural farm towns, impoverished villages, and miles of withering crop fields that they’d passed nearer to the Argia territories gave way to suburban metropolises lined with orchards and greenery that had yet to die in the curious cold front. Crops, however, weren’t the only things troubled by the cold. None of them had slept properly since the fire, and Savara doubted they would anytime soon.
All roads merged into one as they neared the great stone wall. It extended for miles in each direction, wrapping in half-lunar fashion around the foot of an equally impressive mountain range. Behind it, a great river flowed into the city from higher altitudes, helped by an extensive network of aqueducts that looked like they’d grown straight from the ground. Golems carved in perfect detail out of shining black granite towering almost twenty men high lined the great wall. Their carved clothes belonged to the Terra Army of old, even authentically equipped with sheathed long blades. They shined under the heavy mountain sun as they stood at attention, protecting their great homeland.
A long, rumbling sound echoed for miles around as the ground beneath them shook. The carriage jumped and drew to a sudden halt. Savara poked her head out of the window, wondering what caused the abrupt stop when she found herself staring at a large granite foot.
One of the golems had pushed itself off the wall and blocked their path. “Halt. Who goes there?” said a booming voice from high above.
From inside the carriage, it was impossible to tell where the voice was coming from. Even as she stepped out, it took Savara a while to notice the tiny man standing inside the echoing mouth of the golem.
“We come in peace,” Griffin called back to him. “We have valuable information for the council.”
From high above in the golem’s mouth, the man made a series of forceful movements with his arms, which the golem acted out with perfect timing. It extended its arm to the ground beside the carriage with an echoing thud. The man walked down from the mouth to the palm and halted abruptly in front of them. He was taller than Griffin by an inch or two, and his stature was just as robust as the golem he controlled. He crossed two muscled arms over his armoured chest as he gazed down at them all.
“The council?” he spat. “Who do you think you are, demanding such an audience?”
“Guests of the Lady Amaia, third in command of the High Council of Idune,” replied Griffin, unfazed by the man’s imposing nature.
The man grumbled and stomped his foot, simultaneously catapulting himself onto the wall in a feat of great acrobatics. He spoke heatedly to one of his colleagues atop the great wall before jumping back into the golem’s mouth. The golem lifted its foot, unblocking their path, while the man’s voice boomed from inside the golem’s cavernous mouth, “You will be watched.”
The guard signalled to his partner in the other golem, and with a series of powerful movements, an empty part of the wall began to crumble and open, leaving enough space for them to cross into the city. No sooner did they pass than did the gates reform behind them, sending reverberations through the mountain range.
“Why the need for such protocol?” asked Jasper.
“There are people here who don’t believe they have returned. They see only nation-on-nation violence,” replied Griffin. “Some on the council would rather see people like us hanged than to go to war, so be careful.”
Savara looked out the window at the mix of fancy shogun-style and traditional wood and granite-style housing that lined the cobblestone streets. Scattered evenly throughout the city she spied grass patches and rock gardens that allow residents to practice their skills. She watched as children trained in martial arts in the open-air temples, some even managing to manipulate the earth: raising it, lowering it, shaping it, and hovering it. She watched as carts with stone wheels moved of their own volition beside them and followed curving roads deep into the mountains.
Blissful ignorance, she thought as a crease formed on her brow.
Arriving at their designated lodging quarters they found their guide, a young soldier, waiting on the balls of his feet in a uniform he hadn’t grown into yet.
“We are proud to welcome you to the capital city,” he said with a voice that was just beginning to drop. “I will be your guide during your time here.” His youthful eyes glittered with pride. “I was told Lady Amaia has invited you all to dinner. You will find the appropriate attire in each of your wardrobes.” He guided Savara to the female quarters, where she and Storm would be staying, separated by a thin wooden wall. “I shall collect you promptly in an hour,” he added with a bow as he led the boys to their quarters on the opposite side of the courtyard. Storm glowered at her for only a second before slipping into her room.
“Not like I asked to be neighbours with you,” Savara whispered—in case Storm had extraordinary hearing. Her eyes followed the boys down the stairs and across the courtyard, hoping to meet eyes with Jasper, but he dipped into his room without so much as a glance in her direction. They hadn’t properly spoken since their fight and Savara wanted nothing more than to fix things between them, but she didn’t know how.
Her heart sunk as she watched him disappear behind his door, wondering what brand of trouble they were in now and hoping that she was wrong—that being human was enough. A sinking feeling in her gut told her otherwise.
The plain wooden furnishings of the room reminded her of her old room, the one in the house that sat a world away. She remembered sprawling out on the bed, feeling the sunlight filter in through the windows as she allowed herself to be consumed by endless amounts of books about magical places and fantastical worlds. In those days, magic had seemed exciting. Nowadays, she knew better. She almost laughed at how innocent she’d been.
Savara walked over to one of the open windows and rested casually against the sill. Children played, musicians practised, and joviality danced in the chilly air within the wall. To them, Idune was a paradise. Only she and Griffin knew that Idune was a stronghold waiting to fall. Big Tog had warned her as much when he demanded she return his son—among other things. This city was vast, more so than Osiir. Savara feared she wouldn’t find him before the attack, and the idea of waiting ate at her nerves. At least she would have dinner to occupy her time.
