“Am I gonna live?” Circ asks.
“Maybe, maybe not,” I say, hiding my smile.
“I hope it’s maybe,” he says. “I’d miss you too much.”
I touch his durty, blood-spattered cheek. “You’ll live forever,” I say.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tristan
Even as the Sun Realm appears to be exploding from within, I rain down death upon the enemy. They fall before me, and even as their return fire whizzes over my head and skips off the ground next to me, I keep firing. Who am I to hide and live when those who would stand with me are falling and dying around me?
The black wall is advancing, moving up the hill toward us. I’m aware that it’s not all of them, because the rest are heading the other direction, trying to hold off the moon and star dwellers pouring out of the tunnel. We have them surrounded but they still seem to have the advantage in numbers.
Something bites me in the left shoulder and I cry out, rolling behind the truck and clutching at my torn uniform, now slick with blood. Gritting my teeth, I look through the hole, seeing a chunk of flesh missing from my arm. A flesh wound, I think. The bullet went clean through.
My back against the truck, I watch men and women shooting past me at the enemy, their faces full of determination. One falls, then another. Not flesh wounds. Death wounds.
Taking a deep breath, I roll out, shooting with my good arm. But it’s pointless; there are too many and they keep on coming, climbing over the dead like the bodies are sacks of dirt on an obstacle course. They’re so close now that some of them are drawing swords, preparing for the hand-to-hand combat that’s becoming more and more inevitable.
Their mouths are contorted into snarls, their eyes full of anger and violence, and they’re running, running, shooting, and then suddenly…
They stop.
All of them as one, as if responding to a command. Just stop.
A few shots ring out, from both sides, but then even the shooting stops.
What the…?
The enemy soldiers are staring off to the right, down a side street, where—now that it’s quiet, I hear it—the sound of a drum tap tap taps out a rhythm. But it’s not just a drum; there are voices, too. Many voices, singing a song so familiar it’s like coming home or seeing Roc or swinging a sword…
The Tri-Realms anthem.
A hundred, no, a thousand voices just belting it out, raising their voices as one, stopping the entire freaking battle in its tracks, like a pregnant woman crossing the street will stop traffic. I stand, step forward, toward an enemy who could shoot me dead in an instant, in awe of what I’m hearing.
There’s still a mix of firing and explosions beyond, closer to the tunnel entrance, but even that slows and then stops as the song gets closer and louder. I take another step forward, drawn by the music.
In front of me there’s shouting and grumbling and the wall of black slowly parts, opens up, making way for…
General Aboud.
He’s waving a gun in each hand, pointing them at his own soldiers, threatening them to “Move aside or die!”
And when he steps out he looks right at me, narrowing his eyes, but then, even his anger is drawn away by the sound of the singing voices. “What is the meaning of this?” he says, turning to look down the street, but then he takes a step back, shocked by whatever he sees that we cannot.
He raises his arms, both weapons aimed down the street toward the singing. “Go home!” he shouts. “This is not your place!”
I raise my weapon, center my aim on Aboud’s side, hesitate. If I start shooting, everyone might start shooting, and whatever happens, I don’t want whoever is singing the Tri-Realms anthem to get caught in the crossfire.
I wait. Aboud yells, “Go home!” again, but the singing continues, so loud now it’s practically on top of us.
Aboud takes another step back. And then…
A line of drummers emerges into the intersection, hammering out a beat, their heads held high, their backs straight, their eyes on Aboud. And behind them…
A line of people, then another, and another. Marching as one. Singing, singing, singing their hearts out.
“I’m warning you!” Aboud says, but everyone can hear it now. The doubt in his voice. The false promise.
The drummers surround him, and between the flash of their drumsticks I see Aboud drop his guns, cover his ears. The people are sun dwellers. Not soldiers, just everyday citizens, come out from hiding in their lavish homes to show us all where they stand. And where they stand is clearer than the red sky on the earth’s surface:
They stand for Unity.
Hundreds upon hundreds of people, men and women and children, young and old, crippled and whole, pour onto the street that’s become a warzone, splitting in both directions, surrounding the soldiers on both sides. A graying man with soft eyes grabs my arm, which I realize is still up, still aiming my gun into the crowd, and gently pushes it down, until my trembling fingers release their grasp and let my weapon fall to the ground with a clatter.
“President Nailin,” he says, and I can see that while the look on his face is one of confidence, his eyes are wet. “No more. Be at peace.”
And then he moves on, leaving me stunned, gone to disarm the next soldier.
Many of the people are carrying medical supplies, bottles of antiseptics and bandages and gurneys. They go to the wounded, to the dead, begin tending to them. I’m in awe.
Even over the singing and drumming, I can hear Aboud yelling and screaming and there’s a commotion around the drummers. “Come with me,” I shout to a soldier who’s standing, weaponless, watching in amazement as the singing people walk by him. “You and you, too,” I add to two others who look just as shocked by the whole thing.
They follow me as I push through the crowd, forcing my way toward the drummers. When we’re close, one of them falls back, his drum thudding hollowly on the ground. Aboud stumbles through the gap. “You!” he shouts at me when he sees me, his finger pointed at my head. “You did this!”
But I didn’t. All I did was ask the people…
It hits me. My words, they were a cry, a final plea for—
For Unity.
But I never expected…I didn’t think…it’s more and more and more than I could’ve ever hoped for. It shows that the sun dwellers are not my father, that they have minds that can think and make their own decisions and unite as one.
I stride toward General Aboud, stopping a few feet from him. “Aboud, you are under arrest for igniting a civil war in the Tri-Realms.”
The three soldiers step past me, grab Aboud by the arms, pull them firmly behind his back. He’s smart enough not to fight it. He knows when he’s been beaten, not by bullets or soldiers, but by hearts.
A young woman steps up to me as Aboud is being led away. Her eyes are pale blue and she has hair as red as a sky she’s never seen. “President Nailin,” she says.
“Yes?” I say.
“Do it,” she says, handing me a bullhorn.
I take it automatically, surprised, wondering what she means. But of course. I’m the leader. Someone needs to tell them what to do next. I look around, trying to find somewhere they’ll be able to see me.
“Here,” the young woman says, motioning to a wooden slab—a door, I realize, ornately carved and which probably cost a fortune for the sun dweller whose house it adorned, broken off its hinges and being carried through the crowd. A dozen people step forward to hold it up. Two of the drummers set down their instruments and offer me their hands to step into.
They lift me up onto the red door.
A hush falls over the crowd, except for a shout from somewhere near the tunnel, where I can see the uniforms of moon and star dweller soldiers making their way into the city. “He’s going to speak!” the voice shouts.
So many people. All looking up, all looking to me, all listening to what I’ll say.
What will I say exactly?
Of all people, it’s Ro
c who pops into my mind, his advice to speak from the heart hitting me in the gut.
I raise the bullhorn to my lips. “The citizens of the Tri-Realms have spoken!” I shout. A cheer rises up from the crowd, although even as I scan the people, I can see those wearing the black clothes aren’t smiling, aren’t cheering—many of them are shrinking back, toward the edges, as if they might run.
“Let me first address those who fought against us, who followed the orders of General Aboud and the other rogue generals. You will not be punished!” The cheering stops in shocked silence.
One of my own red-clad soldiers looks up at me. He’s carrying the body of a boy who looks far too young to be wearing a uniform. “They killed my brother,” he says.
I put the bullhorn down to speak directly to him. “I’m sorry,” I say, chasing away the swell of emotion that threatens to overcome me. “I can’t bring him back, but together we can honor him by forgiving the soldiers who were only following orders given to them by those who would destroy us all.”
Tears are running down his cheeks, but he’s nodding. “I will honor him,” he says.
Turning back to address the crowd, I say, “We need every last one of us to unite if we’re to defeat the madness that’s sweeping across the surface of the earth. President Lecter seeks to control you, to keep you underground, as my father did, and as his father did before him, but we can’t let that happen. You all deserve the truth, and the choice to live where you want, whether it be deep underground or above, where the birds sing and the sun shines and the rain falls like water from heaven. Will you stand with me? Will you fight?”
There are cries of “Yes!” right away, but it’s only when I see some of the black-clothed soldiers raise their fists in the air that I know my words have hit home. Although the Tri-Realms might still be a splintered mess, the Capitol at least, is united.
I step down, the world around me darkening as the artificial sun turns off and the moon and stars blink on. Night has fallen over day two in the Tri-Realms.
~~~
The reports are coming in fast from all over the Sun Realm. Bands of citizens, pouring from their homes, singing, surrounding the army splinter groups. In most cases the renegade soldiers didn’t know what to do, who to shoot at. They allowed themselves to be disarmed. In some cases, however, the mutinous combatants opened fire on the innocents, killing many. Eventually, sickened by their own actions, they turned on each other, ending the battles quickly. Many died on this day that will be remembered in all history as the day the Tri-Realms was united, but many more survived because of the brave actions of ordinary men and women who found it in their hearts to be extraordinary.
A miracle like this doesn’t just happen without planning, and this was no exception. It was planned over the communication network, starting as just an idea that spread like wildfire. While we were planning our assault on the renegades, the citizens were planning to stop it.
The moon and star dweller soldiers are now spread out throughout the many chapters of the Sun Realm. Like the sun dweller army, they’re awaiting my orders.
It’s late; I’m tired. My shoulder’s bandaged, but it’s nothing compared to the many injured who will lose limbs or maybe worse. I drop the reports on the desk, sit back and sigh. Was today one major stroke of luck? Or did it just prove everything that Ben Rose believed in, that the Tri-Realms were always meant to be united?
Even as I’m chewing on the question, Roc comes in. I’ve had him running around all over the place, carrying messages for me. There’s simply not enough time to meet with everyone I need to meet with.
“Lowly messenger boy reporting for duty,” he says, raising a hand in salute. I roll my eyes, but laugh inwardly. Without fail, he’s been doing that every time he’s come back from carrying a message.
“That’s it for now,” I say. “What did the lead scientist say about the transporters?”
“He’s coming here,” Roc says. “Now.”
“Now?” It’s got to be three in the morning.
“He said he has something to tell you. Something important.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And he wouldn’t give you any details?” I ask.
“He said he couldn’t tell secrets to a lowly messenger boy,” Roc says, keeping a straight face.
“You know, not that long ago I left you in charge of the entire Tri-Realms.”
“How far I have fallen,” Roc says.
“You did abandon your post within just a few days.”
“To find your sorry as—”
There’s a knock on the side of the doorframe. A bald man steps in. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says. There are dark circles under his eyes.
“Dr. Kane,” I say. “Meet my best friend, Roc.”
The two shake hands. Roc says, “Lowly messenger boy will leave you to it. Goodnight.”
“Say hi to Tawni for me,” I say.
Roc leaves and Dr. Kane immediately moves to close the door behind him.
“Have a seat,” I say with a wave.
Or not. Dr. Kane remains standing.
“I think your father lied to you about something else,” he says.
“Shocking,” I say, wondering when I’ll really know everything that my father knew. Probably never. I think back to the message I had Roc take to Dr. Kane. I wanted to know how long it would take to transport ten thousand troops to the surface using the two small transporters we’ve got. What could he possibly have lied about? That they can only be used seven times before they self-destruct?
“Your message seemed to imply that you know of only two earth Cylinders.” Cylinders! That’s what they’re called. I knew there was a fancy name for them.
“Yes,” I say. “You’re saying there’s a third…Cylinder that my father didn’t tell me about?”
Dr. Kane laughs, his face lifting into a jovial expression that seems out of place on his usually serious face. “A third? No, not a third.”
Then what? “I’m not following,” I say.
“Did you really think your father would allow Lecter to win?” Kane asks.
I let his words sink in for a moment. My father was a lot of things—cruel, evil, maniacal—but he was anything but a fool. He knew when he was beat. He had two Cylinders and Lecter controlled the exit for one of them, as well as the New City and its citizens. Plus, my father had a good thing going as leader of the Tri-Realms. But he did hate to lose.
“You’re saying he was plotting to overthrow him?”
Dr. Kane claps his hands together like I’m a baby who’s just said his first word. “President Nailin, your father, hated Lecter with a passion.”
“At least we had one thing in common,” I say.
He continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “And he knew the one major advantage he had was in numbers. The New City was a fledgling compared to the mighty eagle your father commanded. A mass attack by a significant portion of the sun dweller army would undoubtedly be successful.”
I rub my forehead, fighting the urge to close my eyes. “Yeah, but without a third transporter, a bigger one, there’s no way he’d be able to get enough troops to the surface. Look, Dr. Kane, it’s great getting an inside look at my father’s twisted mind, but I really don’t have time—”
“There’s not just a third Cylinder,” Kane says, cutting me off, “there’s a fourth and a fifth and as many as there are subchapters in the Sun Realm.” He smiles broadly, looking as fresh as if it was the middle of the day and not the middle of the night.
“What?” I blurt out. “You mean…” He can’t mean…
“To answer the question from your message, we can get ten thousand soldiers to the surface in about five hours.”
I stare straight ahead, wondering whether I fell asleep at my desk, dreaming about miracles, like the sun dweller citizens coming to save us. I want to pinch myself, but I resist the urge. “There are thirty-seven Cylinders,” I say. “One in each of the subchapters and two in the Capitol.” It’s not a question,
so Kane doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t deny it either. I continue thinking out loud. “And the thirty five that are outside the Capitol, they’re much larger?” I do some quick math in my head. “They can carry fifty, sixty soldiers?”
Kane nods. “Fifty,” he says.
“Holy crap,” I breathe.
“That’s what I thought you might say. Shall I get them prepped and manned?”
“Hell yeah,” I say.
With a curt, businesslike nod, Dr. Kane exits, leaving me stunned, gripping the desk with two hands. I was expecting an answer more like never—not five hours. With only the two small Cylinders we could’ve only transported twenty to thirty soldiers an hour. We wouldn’t even have a force worth attacking with until long after the Tri-Tribes had attacked and been massacred. And Adele? She’d be left on the inside with Lecter, to die a spy’s death the moment she was discovered.
But now…
Now we can attack with numbers, destroy the Glassy army, and take down the madman at the helm!
I realize I’m standing, my chest buzzing with excitement, my hands clenched at my sides. I’m thankful there’s not a mirror in front of me, because if there was, who would I see? Would I see Tristan, son of Jocelyn Nailin, fighting for the good of the people? Or would I see Tristan, son of President Nailin, seeker of power and control?
I shake my head. No. No. This isn’t about power; it never was. I don’t even want to be the president. I just want this to be over, to go back to getting to know Adele, to building a relationship with her that doesn’t include secret missions and assassinations and the end of the world.
Taking a deep breath, I unfurl my fingers, bring them up and run them through my hair, which is longer than it’s ever been. When this is all over, I’ll get a haircut.
Exiting my father’s old office, I make my way out of the governmental side of the palace and into the place I used to call home, where my memories are a collage of happy and sad moments, built on the foundation of a loveless marriage that ended in my mother’s death. In the foyer is the photograph that was always my favorite, the one where my father looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, a rare moment where he was captured as he truly was. My brother, my mother, and I are all smiling, laughing, happy.