MADRID WAS ONCE AGAIN SEATED on his throne, overseeing the squabbling representatives. Every possible councillor from every land was arrayed around the circular table, the backs of their chairs the termination points for their slices of land, focusing on the Citadel like spokes of a wagon wheel. Technically, every chair was still situated within their homelands, as by law each province owned a slice of the Citadel, a pie-shaped wedge that centered on the council chambers with the emperor’s chair at its heart.
Only at the Citadel was it possible to move from one province to another, which meant that the Citadel was the center of all trade between the unhappy neighbours. The magical barrier between the provinces made it impossible to cross directly into another province’s territory, a relic of the wars that created the need for a central Citadel. The Citadel was the great equalizer. No one had status within the Citadel. No province was higher in stature or more influential than another. The Citadel was the place where disputes were heard, the issues weighed, and judgment passed.
For this reason, it was common for Madrid to hear complaints and sit as judge and jury of the issues, for the Citadel was the final court, and the emperor was the final adjudicator.
Shouting and demanding to be heard, the councillors cast their voices into the din, convinced that their complaints were the most urgent, the most critical, or the most desperate.
Suspicion was rank in the air, each province suspecting their neighbour of committing the crime of kidnapping. Convinced that the lands adjacent to them were jealous of their individual wealth and resources, there was no doubt in their minds that the kidnapper’s demands would implicate their neighbour and the treachery of their closest trading partner would be revealed. In every case, the child snatched was related to the most influential families, the fiercest warriors, the most industrious, or the most intelligent of the province. The loss of these young women, some barely out of childhood, was the equivalent of the culling of the leadership of a future generation to the minds of the men and women crowding the table.
Outside the Citadel, the wailing of the families of the taken could be heard, echoing off the walls of the bailey and bouncing up to and through the windows of the council chamber. They’d pitched tents in precisely this location to be sure their protest would carry to the stoppered ears of the Citadel. They had brought their extended families and their servants, friends and neighbours, until the bailey was full to overflowing. The regular Citadel Guards were insufficient to quell the growing crowd and watched nervously as factions mingled in proximity to each other, their presence a powder keg of suspicion and anger, just waiting for the right spark to ignite.
The people conveniently forgot that each province had prided itself on its autonomy, desirous of maintaining an arms-length relationship with the Citadel. With only one point of entry, across the soaring bridges that linked each province to the Citadel, there was little chance of invasion by a neighbour. The magically enhanced borders prevented any movement laterally, a magic reinforced by the connection of the bridge. For longer than anyone could remember, the barriers had existed, creating a peace that was only possible by segregation.
Each bridge was made of a jewelled material native to the province it crossed over into and was connected to that land in the same way a lung is connected to a body. It could not survive without the connection, yet it breathed life into the province, a vital link to its survival.
Below the bridge a deep chasm ran. No one knew the depth of it, precisely. The sheer cliffs had no paths or footholds to traverse its face. It was thought that a river ran at its base, but if so, it flowed with the same poisonous sea water as surrounded the known world, full of multiple tentacled monsters that swallowed ships and ravenous amphibians that attacked any that dared to venture out onto or into the ocean. Until the bridges had been built, each nation had been isolated from the next. Natural barriers of mountains and deep rivers and wastelands of sand meant that rarely was one able to find a way around the barriers between the lands. Those that did spawned wars as the interlopers attempted to conquer land that was not theirs.
This strife was nullified by the wall. Erected during the great purge, the Citadel had put the barriers in place to trap the witches in their lands, so that they could not flee. Once in place, the provinces had adopted them as their own, a solid protection against their neighbours and over several generations, had forgotten that it had ever been any other way.
“Does anyone know how the protection of the barrier works?” The councillor from Shadra said to no one in particular. His eyes flicked around the table as his hand fidgeted with a gleaming silver hoop piercing his right ear.
“It is the magic of the witches, harnessed for the good of all. During the great purge, the power of the witches was harvested for the good of all…at least that is how it is taught in Tyr schools.”
“Yes, but what does that mean, exactly?” The Tunise councillor, a wide woman with shoulders to match, glared around the table. “We are all politicians here. I, for one, know waffling when I hear it. I say it’s a cover-up. Someone knows how the shield works, and I will go one step further. I say that the person who controls the power of the shield controls the provinces.” She stared at Madrid in challenge. Madrid smiled in return, remaining silent.
No one quite understood how the shield worked, but no one disputed its necessity. Safe behind walls fueled by magic, they had never questioned their right to the barrier. The walls served the interests of their individual provinces, providing a never-changing security and with it, peace. Until now...until someone had breached not just one, but all the provinces with an ease that was shocking.
“There is another explanation,” said the councillor from Bastion. “Someone has developed a new weapon and is bypassing the magical security to prove a point. Snatching the young women has nothing to do with them individually, but maybe this is an opening gambit in a soon-to-be realized war.” Angry shouts and voices muttered, “I object to this line of reasoning!” and “How dare you accuse us of…” drowned out the rest of his words. As tempers flared once again, Madrid stood. The action brought all attention to the emperor, who smirked at the dissenting councillors. Madrid lifted a hand, and the attendants around the room pulled all the windows closed in a series of clicks, shutting out the cries of the families below. Madrid lifted his other hand, and the chamber doors were pulled closed and sealed.
In the sudden silence, their voices sounded overly loud and one by one the councillors ceased yelling and took their seats.
When Madrid was sure that no one intended to interrupt his speech, he stood. “My friends. For the first time, we are gathered here with a unity of purpose.” The counselor from Hindra snorted. Madrid’s eyes pinned the councillor to his seat, his eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Yes, we are unified in purpose. All have suffered the disappearance of a beloved child, a daughter of the province who is a symbol of hope to your worlds. Each and every one of you feels the loss of that daughter keenly, as though she was your own flesh and blood.”
His sharp eyes swept the circle as he rotated on his raised platform. It did not stay in one location lest the person to the emperor’s back protest that he was being ignored. It slowly rotated to allow him to address them all.
“You have wondered why I have not interfered until now, when you brought your urgent pleas starting that first day with the honourable representative from Bastion. He was soon followed by the honourable representative from Cassimir and then Hindra.” Madrid nodded to each counselor as he named his or her province, and they stared at him with rapt attention, sure that he would now announce who the guilty party was.
“I must confess, I do not know who is behind all of this.” An angry hiss flashed around the circle, and several of the councillors made to stand to argue their position as to who was guilty and why. At a twitch of Madrid’s finger, the attendants grabbed the shoulders of the councillor in front of them and forced them to sit once again.
“Let us think about what we know. None of the children were taken on the same day. Only one daughter was taken from each world. No one reported any unusual activity in the area at the time. Some were taken from the wild reaches of your worlds. Some were whisked away while being under virtual lock and key. Each time, the disappearance occurred while the child was alone. Or was she?” he paused, letting his words sink in. “If no one has penetrated the magical protection by land or by sea, then the only other possibility is by air.”
The counselor from Samos scoffed, “By air? You are saying that someone in this room has developed the ability to fly? Or that the young women sprouted wings and flew away? That is absurd! I will not sit here and listen to this drivel while the true culprit goes free! I want justice!” She made to rise, noticed the attendants behind her did not budge, and thought better of it.
“As it turns out, not every child disappeared without a witness.” Voices rose at the comment, the councillors clamouring to know the truth, the details held in check. Shushing noises came from the others, and outright calls of “sit down and shut up!” Finally, quiet descended on the room once again.
When the agitated councillors, quivering with anger, were settled and silent once more, Madrid said, “Bring in the boy.”
The double doors swung open, and a boy of thirteen entered the room, eyes wide and scared. He had straight black hair, cut short at the back with a long sweep of bang across his forehead. He was dressed in a pair of loose pants and a matching tunic, embroidered with leaves, and his feet were shod with leather sandals through which pink toes peeked. Behind him stood his parents, his mother wringing her hands and his father sweeping a broad-brimmed hat from his head.
“Come in, son. Come stand before me.”
Nervous, the boy entered the chambers, swallowed heavily, then walked over to the table behind the counselor for Samos. “You are from Samos?”
“Yes, emperor,” he whispered, staring at his toes.
“You are the brother of Niloo? Niloo, daughter of Samos, who disappeared several nights go?”
“Yes, emperor.”
“I wish you to tell the counselors what you saw the night your sister disappeared.”
He cleared his throat, glanced around at all the eyes staring at him and dropped his eyes once again, mumbling to the floor, “I saw a dark shape in the sky. My sister had climbed onto the roof to see the fireworks. She slipped and slid down the roof of the house. I thought she was going to die! She couldn’t stop her fall, and she fell right off the side. But before she could fall to the ground, a thing grabbed her out of the air and flew off with her. It looked like a giant bird.” He raised his eyes, tears bright in them. “A bird took her, a giant one with claws large enough to curl around her completely. Is she dead, emperor?”
The emperor stepped off his platform and walked over to the trembling boy. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, in sympathy. “I do not believe so. Thank you for sharing your story. You and your parents will be my guests tonight. But first, I wish you to hand me the heart around your neck.” Darius, his eyes widening, glanced fearfully at his parents, then reached under his neck and pulled the necklace over his head, handing it to the emperor. Madrid patted the boy on the shoulder, and then he and his parents were ushered out of the room by the attendants, the doors closing behind them.
“You see? We do know what has happened. We do not know who is behind the snatching, however. What I must know, councillors, are there any birds large enough within your realms to grow to this size?” He gave them time to answer, but all shook their heads negatively. No one had ever heard of a bird that size.
Madrid mounted the platform once again and sat down in his chair. “Then the only possible answer is that it was a dragon.”
There was silence for a tick of three heart beats, the moment suspended, and then gasps and shocked mutters spilled into the void. Madrid let them ramble, picking with idle fingers at some imaginary lint on his robes, then finally lifted his hands to quiet them once more.
“There are no dragons in our lands. They have been extinct for hundreds of years. The last of them were eliminated during the Great Purge. For every witch caught during the Great Purge, there was a dragon to be slain. You can see the great bones in the museums of the Citadel. If you killed the witch, you killed the dragon.” He frowned at the councillors. “If there are dragons in our skies once again, it must mean an ancient foe has returned, one that practices sorcery. Or perhaps they never left? Not one of you stands above suspicion in this matter. No doubt your governments have grown slack and unobservant, ignoring the homegrown evil sprouting in your communities.” He glared at the elected officials, accusing them with eyes glowing with anger. The councillors did not try to answer, but instead squirmed in their seats, afraid that they were about to be singled out and accused of heresy and permitting the practice of witchcraft within their borders.
“As councillors, you are aware that all magic is forbidden except for that which is required to maintain the barriers between the provinces. This is a benefit provided by the Citadel, and no other magic is to be used, as defined by the Treaty Brûlure de Socrière. On the day the document was signed, the hunt for the witches was declared at an end, and the Great Purge passed into history as the treaty was established.”
He held up the crystal necklace, and all eyes were drawn to the dangling heart as though at its end dangled their own bodies. The councillor from Peca involuntarily smoothed the collar of her dress, certain she could feel the tightening of the chain around her own throat.
“And then I find this,” he said softly. “They always come in pairs, one for a girl and one for a boy. This is proof that the witches and wizards are back amongst us. You want my help in solving these crimes? You will bring me the bearer of the second necklace and their parents.”
Madrid stood up and strode from the council chambers, dismissing them with a nod of his head. His guards followed him from the room. As soon as the door closed, the councillors turned on each other. Old factions and rough allies soon split the room into groups as they argued amongst themselves about the emperor’s news.
The provinces of Bastion, Fjord, and Wydra were allied through trade, their bridges almost touching as they entered the Citadel. They huddled, heads together and whispered.
Samos and Cassimir were allied through marriage. The ruling class in the desert nations were family, although it was an uneasy arrangement. They stood with arms crossed, watching who spoke to who, frowning at the others.
Peca and Hindra had allied to protect themselves from invasion by Samos and Cassimir. They specialized in mechanical objects that most of the other provinces did not understand, some of which were rumoured to have applications for war. Of all the councillors, they appeared the most at ease, smiling and talking in low voices.
Of all the provinces, Tyr, Shadra, and Tunise were the most peaceful. Trade still existed across their borders in secret, where gaps in the wall had been discovered. They were the most prosperous and boasted many schools and churches and a society that sought to include others and respect individual rights. In Tyr, they taught a different history of the Great Purge, one that did not paint the Citadel quite as benevolently as it would like. They were also the first to leave the chambers, knowing that the audience with the emperor was at an end and that nothing else would be resolved that day.