18. The Journey to Babilon #2
Tarantula cracked his neck. “Once again, Ravenal, thou do not have a singular clue of just how unpleasant I can get.” He sounded amused.
I clenched my reins so hard my fingers cramped, inner thighs burning as we plowed forward.
In the darkness of night, the path along the ravine grew less steep until the river rushed directly beside us.
Cacti transformed into low, spiky plants and then into tall trees with long palm leaves.
The path became a stone road demarcated with rocks on one side and the river on the other.
Dry air became thick with humidity as strange birds sang above.
We’d entered a tropical forest, nearing our destination.
Lush greenery, vines, and large rocks transformed the landscape around the now loudly rushing river. A verdant, alive world. The wilderness seemed to breathe, humidity rising into clouds, and rain showers ended as quickly as they began. A symphony of foreign animal sounds grew.
The scent of magic thickened as hundreds of dire monkeys larger than people with strange silver markings moved above our heads.
We headed deeper into the rainforest, and the dry sand of the desert became a distant memory. It was disconcerting how dramatically the landscape could change with just a day of traveling.
“We’re at the Commune,” Ella said as her horse skidded to a stop on the road, detritus spraying beneath its hooves. Neighing, mine also came to a jarring stop. Stomach churning, I struggled to adjust to the sudden lack of motion. Oh nice, everything’s spinning.
Axel gestured forward.
Green foliage grew in and around a towering wall that stretched before us to the treetops. Tiny waterfalls ran down the stones, gathering into pools. The Commune was built around the river, and the rushing water flowed through the stones, disappearing under the walls.
The forest and city were one.
Axel dismounted, groaning as he stretched. He stomped over and pushed aside long palm leaves, revealing a wooden door covered in vines, while the rest of us dismounted.
Knees shaking, my legs gave out, and I barely stopped myself from crumpling to the ground. Soreness radiated down my lower spine straight to my thighs, and it took everything I had to stay standing.
Ella groaned next to me. She teetered, and I caught her just before she fell over. Together we limped pathetically.
Tarantula looked down his nose at us as he stood ramrod straight, his posture perfectly rigid like he hadn’t been riding for hours without a break. Bastard.
“Welcome to the Babilon Commune—the jewel of the South,” Axel said as he opened the towering wooden door and pushed through strands of vines covered in bright pink flowers. He spoke with someone on the other side of the wall.
Axel peeked his head back through the door at us with a lazy grin. “Bring the horses in,” he said. “They know that we’re just visiting and want to sample their accommodations.” He winked conspiratorially at us, reciting the plan the Marshal had outlined.
Babilon had to believe we were there for innocuous reasons. Otherwise Sibrain Cortz and Arcturus would make a run for it. The Marshal had said they were both men with a taste for power and they wouldn’t be able to pass up meeting us.
The plan seemed tenuous at best, but who was I to argue? I was just a lowly soldier. The weight of my responsibility—crushing.
We followed Axel inside, guiding our steeds through the oversized door.
Flowered vines parted.
A walled Commune stretched before us, similar to and yet so different from the one I knew. Hundreds of times I’d walked through the snowy gate, entering an icy street of gothic gray stones.
“Ravenal,” Tarantula said, and I snapped back to reality.
Tears were streaming down my face. There was no ice, no snow, and no familiar faces, except Squire, who perched on my shoulder, nuzzling my ear with his beak. Wiping the tears away, I swallowed the pain. Homesickness wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.
Tarantula’s jaw clenched as he loomed beside me. “Art thou okay?”
I flinched away from him. “Get away from me.”
I stepped aside, needing space.
We approached a clover-covered street lined with wide banyan trees.
Tall, strangely built wooden buildings sat in neat rows.
Trees grew out the windows and roofs, thick vines crawled up the walls, and long strings of colorful flowers hung from their chimneys.
The treetops created a canopy over the street, shading it from the bright sun.
Colorful birds sang down at us from the branches.
“Friends?” Squire chirped to them from my shoulder. The birds called back, and Squire dipped his beak in my hair nervously.
A tall man in a scarlet uniform nodded to Axel, then raised a long curling horn to his lips. A deafening blare exploded, and I covered my ears. His skin was a dark bronze, gleaming with health, and his lungs seemed strong.
“He said to mount our horses,” Axel said. “He’s going to announce us.”
We all followed his lead, climbing back into our saddles. My lower back screamed in protest. The horn’s sound was different from the warning horn in the North. Don’t think about it.
Doors opened, and people flooded onto the canopied street. They wore colorful dresses and loose pants. Men, women, and children alike all had flowers behind their ears.
They streamed out in seemingly endless waves, neatly forming a line beside the banyan trees, flanking either side of the clover lane. A few coughs rang out, but the wasting sickness appeared to be milder down here, just like in the Middlelands.
Perhaps my father was of Southern heritage and that is why the wasting sickness never affected me?
The soldier yelled into the horn, “Babilon welcomes the twin Knights to our Commune—thank you for defending the Commonwealth!” His voice carried.
People clapped and cheered loudly all around. The horn waved as he gestured for us to head forward down the lane. We obeyed, riding through the exultant crowd. I scanned the faces, unable to stop myself from searching for some distant relative who had a face like mine. None shared similar features.
Axel winked and waved his cupped hand back to the crowd, while Ella smiled down at her fans. The twins acted like they’d done this before, which they probably had. The Marshal loved her publicity.
The world was just a stage, and we were all performers, dancing for our lives.
“And special welcome to the BEAR OF THE NORTH, ZORA RAVENAL, AND HER ROYAL HOSTAGE!”
The horn blared louder.
People screamed at the top of their lungs and jumped up and down. Some of them were crying. They bowed low as my horse passed, some falling to their knees. Their expressions twisted as they saw who rode beside me, chained and collared. They spit at him with hatred.
Tarantula scowled, teeth grinding together. Magic glimmered in a silver aura around his body. People held up the symbol of the united democracy as if they were warding him off.
“Knight Zora—Knight Zora—Knight Zora,” they chanted all around.
I tried to keep a straight face, but my lips curled up as I basked in how much they loathed him. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. They yelled insults at him, and I nodded in agreement as I pretended to wipe a tear off my face.
Tarantula shook his head at me.
If looks could kill, I’d once again have been dead.
“We love you, Zora,” a child screamed as she reached out and touched my leg. She held her hand up and turned to her friends, who jumped with excitement around her.
“Save us from them,” an old man sobbed as he reached for me, then broke into rattling coughs. “You have to save us.”
The grin slipped from my face as ice trickled down my spine.
But who will save me?
Sound warped and my vision tunneled: far away, screaming men, women, and children were reaching for me with hope on their faces.
In my mind’s eye, they were crying out with the same zeal as they burned and then froze in dragons’ breath.
A vision of Death reached for me, tangling his corpse fingers in my hair as he breathed ice down my neck. I was petrified.
They believed in me, and yet most days I didn’t even believe in myself.
I must complete my quest.
Please, old god.
Please.
I’d known the Marshal had spread propaganda about me throughout the Commonwealth, but knowing and seeing it in real life were two very different things. The pressure was crushing. Existential obliteration. I clasped my shaking hands together, silently suffocating on my prayers.
Pink petals floated in the air as citizens threw them high, their cheers rising. Sunlight reflected dreamily through the canopy as I disintegrated.
Soldiers gestured before us to a tall, lopsided building with Babilon Traveling Inn written on a sign out front.
People clapped as we dismounted, calling us heroes. Young boys grabbed our horses and said something about a stable in the back. The innkeeper greeted us and led us inside, giving us keys to our four individual rooms. We followed him through hallways filled with flowers and bubbling fountains.
Bright colors were everywhere, but I felt frozen, drenched in shades of gray, a creature of the North, far from home. I didn’t belong in this Southern world of hope.
Tarantula swatted a vine out of his way, shackles refracting light as magic glittered around him. He turned his head abruptly, eyes heavy-lidded, soft lashes lowered. Neither of us blinked.
Who will save me from him?
I was a creature of violence, shaped by survival in harsh circumstances, and that was the exact problem—so was he.
The Storm Wars had us both by the throat.