I'd say Dean had a strange penchant for being summoned by kings. But his status as a sword saint did earn him a seat on the high council here. I picked myself off the ground and helped Emry up as well. I turned to my father, who had a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Well, what do you say, Canaan?" He said, stretching his body like he just woke from a nap. "Are you coming with?" The driver gave Dean a strained look.
It wasn't uncommon for him to bring me to his meetings, but he had left me behind on the last few. I wasn't sure why, but I didn't have the best feeling about it. A feeling I had often in my life as a detective, which, with each passing day, became more dream than memory.
"I guess," I said with an air of uncertainty. "It'll be fun. You can see your friends." A grin accompanied his attempt to encourage me, but his sharp gaze told me I had no choice. I wonder what's going on. "Canaan, bring Emry back into the house and tell Marin we're heading to a meeting." I shook my head stiffly and took Emry's hand. "C'mon, Em. To mommy!" We raced for the porch.
When I opened the door, Marin was already standing there with her hand half stretched towards the knob. Her medium brown hair caught the breeze while her emerald eyes shined brilliantly beneath a few out-of-place strands of hair. Her features were rather sharp, and she had on a dull blue-gray house dress. But her gaze was fixed on Dean in the distance. She wore a disapproving look with her arms crossed, holding Dean's sword in one of her hands. Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously in the distance. Then her eyes fell on us.
"Oh, look! A homeless boy has brought my daughter back to me." She swooned sarcastically. My eyes narrowed into a playful glare. I tugged at her dress. "Only one of us appears to be homeless." She let out a shrill gasp. "What an ill-mannered child." She raised her free hand over her mouth and laughed. Ever since I met Marin, this is how we got along.
Aside from their sharp wit, my mother and Marin shared no other similarities. Marin was often more reserved, but she had a quiet strength to her.
"There's a council meeting, so Dad and I will be gone for a little while." She handed me the sword. "Another," she said under her breath, her facial expression darkening. "You're going too, you say?" She asked as she picked up Emry.
"That's what he says," I said, straightening the sleeve of my tunic.
"Ok, well, you should get going now. Don't want to keep the driver waiting. Also, who knows what the council will do without comment from the less fortunate?" Her lips pressed into an even smile, and her eyes were closed. A pleasant expression on an otherwise evil woman. I gave her a wave and turned to face Dean. "Be careful," she said, softly rustling the hairs on my head. Be careful, I questioned. At a council meeting?
I handed Dean his sword. He inspected it quickly before gesturing towards the carriage. The driver retrieved the reigns. I got in, and Dean followed shortly after.
Around ten minutes had passed, and Dean had that pensive look on his face again. This time, it was a little more intense. Something was definitely bothering him. Before I could ask about anything.
"Canaan," He said, digging his fist into his hand. "you're still so young. I wish you had more time to be just that. Young." He looked out of the window of the carriage wistfully. "But it appears we just aren't that fortunate." He couldn't know the irony of his words. I was by no means old, but I did live to be thirty-one in my old life.
"What do you mean?" I asked, a little startled by his sudden confession. He cast a weary glance at me. Then quickly churned out a strained smile. "Well, I guess I brought you for a reason." He said, almost to himself. My eyebrow furrowed, and I gave him a questioning look. "There are no winners in war." He mouthed like he was reciting scripture. What does he mean?
I remember there being some war between this continent and Grisha, but it's not like they hand out a bunch of world history books to seven-year-olds. Maybe that's why he's bringing me! It's finally time to learn more about this world. And maybe find out why I was reborn here.
"I don't always agree with King Orenthal, but we have history, and for the most part, I trust him." I had met the king a few times. He seemed like a good enough guy.
"Some hard decisions had to be made after the war with Grisha, and we're currently bracing ourselves to deal with the consequences of our actions." There was a hint of disdain in his voice. Our actions?
"Isn't Mom from Grisha?" I wanted to see if he was finally going to open up. "If she's from Grisha, does that mean she's bad too?" I asked, trying to replicate the innocence of a child. The familiar grimace started to creep back onto his face.
"It's not that simple," He responded, adjusting himself on the seat. "This continent, Alestrios, was originally promised to the Celtreas', the king's family." Promised by who?
"But that was during a time that has long been forgotten. Throughout history, different factions appeared, staking their claim over the land. War spread, displacing the Celtreas' and their people for centuries. It was during this time the Grishans under the Lestarian empire rose to power." Why is he telling me all this now? What exactly is this meeting going to be about?
I was so focused on Dean I barely even noticed we made it into the city. It looked just like one of those pencil drawings from the 1850s. Stone archways connected the slate-roofed buildings on either side of us. Trade stores lined the streets. And traffic was light It didn't look like too many people were out.
"The Griashans had a similar story to the Celtreas and sought refuge with the Lestarian empire after being persecuted. Both sides grew in number and strength." He continued.
"There was an attempt made to partition the land between the Grishans who had taken over the Lestarian empire and the Celtreas. The Celtreas felt they had a claim that should be honored. Taking the gesture as disrespect, they rejected the offer and started a war." Dean grew visibly upset the more he spoke about the conflict.
"Geez. What's so important about Alestrios?" I asked, trying to relieve some of the tension. Dean glanced briefly at his sword. The sunlight glinted off the silver accents on the basket-style hilt. Then, he lifted his hand and chopped my forehead. "Listen and you'll find out." He said with a grin that barely masked his still-pained expression.
I rubbed at the spot he hit, frowning slightly. "The war displaced thousands of Grishans who eventually escaped to a neighboring continent now known as Grisha. And to answer your question." He peered down at me through his nostrils. "Aside from our world, there are nine realms of existence, each ruled by a deity. Of the four continents, Alestrios had three gates a—" A shout cut him off.
"Keep moving!" A gruff voice barked from outside the carriage. I heard what sounded like metal clinking. Curious, I peeked my head out of the carriage.
My eyes shot open, and I felt bile creeping up my throat. Two rows of chained children were being herded up the street. All wearing the same dirty and tattered brown sack that had holes for their heads and arms. There was a boy at the front who looked to be the same age as me. He had light green hair and eyes to match. My warm, beige skin was a few shades lighter than his. An intense look burned from his eyes. He stopped to check on one of the others.
The people on the streets turned away, pretending not to see what was happening. The children's feet were wrapped poorly with some light brown material, some stained with dried blood. The skin around their wrists and ankles was raw from the shackles. How long have they been chained like this? How have I never seen this before?
A short, bald, pot-bellied man wobbled in the front. The ends of his mustache hung from his face like rat tails. He had a plate cuirass on that cut off above his bicep, giving way to heavy, dark blue sleeves. And steel boots. "Keep moving, worm!" He sneered at the child, tugging at the chains.
In my old life, I had become desensitized to the horrors man committed. The years of trafficking rings, serial killers, and worse wore me down. In the back of my mind, I thought I could have a fresh start here. Refill that hollowed part of me I mourned for so long. But here I am again. Staring down another horror.
My fist tightened as my anger started to swell. The mana from my origin started to leak, flowing into my legs, arms, and fists. I can take him, I thought. I turned to look at Dean, my eyes lit with passion. But he had the same pained expression.
I put my hands on either side of the carriage window, getting ready to propel myself out of the cart.
"And do what?" Dean's voice was cold. "Once you take out the guards, what are you gonna do about those kids as a seven-year-old?" His gaze was unforgiving.
He was right, of course. I always had the propensity for charging in head first. A quality that stemmed from my life as Morgan. Taking a second to calm down. I noticed Dean's hand was also clenched in a tight fist. This couldn't be easy for him either. "Those are Grishan children." His eyes turned from me to back outside the window. "Will you save them and ask the people whose families were killed by their parents to give them refuge?"
My hands sank to my sides, slowly realizing the kind of situation those kids are in. "I-" My eyes tracked across the floor of the carriage. "I don't know," I said, shaking my head like I was trying to wake myself up. "Is this why you brought me here?" The carriage, never stopping, continued down the road. My passion flared up again as we rolled past, fully understanding there was nothing I could do.
"It's ok to feel the way that you do. To be angry." He put a consoling hand on my shoulder. "Admittedly, you've always been a little bit more mature than I'd like to admit. But the reason you're here is to understand the kind of power you'll need to make lasting change. The kind of power you'll need to see your mother again. And to see what you'll be up against."
The power to create lasting change? It almost sounds like he wants me to be king or something. I'm not sure I'm suited for something like that. And is that even how things worked around here? Anyone can become king? Either way, isn't he strong enough to do what he wants?
"It's not always about might being right. That only feeds the endless cycles of war and revenge." I walked back over to the bench and sat.
"Why does it feel like you're preparing me for something when you're the most powerful person in the country, Dad?" I asked, and the cart came to a stop.
"We have arrived, sir." The driver said. Dean stood, fastening his sword to his waist. "Just make sure you're not too far from the meeting." He said with a wink. I silently mulled over everything he had said in my head. What was that part about realms and deities? I stepped off the carriage.
"Finally, he's back," A small black-haired boy stood with an arrogant noble grace. He had a white button-down shirt under a khaki-colored, double-breasted waistcoat with knickers to match. "Your Highness," His sardonic tone was accompanied by a shallow bow.
"Adonis Celtrea," I said, rolling my eyes at his display.