Kudisha Departure Episode 1 Journey to Rehnor series (6 page)

“I…I…” Lynda began again. “I’ve made a
decision. I’m going to come with you.”

Maybe, that wasn’t actually what she wanted to
say. On the spur of the moment, with clouds of steam rising from
the empty shower, Lynda’s mouth opened, and that was what had come
out. It disarmed Wooter, though. Maybe, it even saved her life. Or,
maybe, it set her up to die.

Chapter 7

Behrat was thirteen when it happened. He was
still a little boy. His voice didn’t even crack. His brother, Kirat
had just turned fifteen, and was pretty much already a man with a
few wisps of black facial hair growing above his upper
lip.

Not that it would have made a difference.
Being old enough to grow a tiny mustache wouldn’t have made the
situation any less horrific, or easier to withstand. In fact, in
some ways Behrat was handling it better. He didn’t feel pressured
to try to change a course that was already set in stone. It would
be like trying to resuscitate a body that was already dead, and
just waiting to be buried.

Behrat’s biggest issue was what to take with
him. Space was limited. Weight was a concern, and time was of the
essence. He was too old to bring along toys, other than a game
system, which would be useless as soon as the batteries died.
Behrat wasn’t much of a reader, so he didn’t want a tablet or a
bunch of books. He could haul some of his clothes, but pretty soon
they’d be useless too. Everyone said it wouldn’t be long until he
had his growth spurt, and then, he’d need all new everything, even
underwear. All the clothes he brought now would be useless, as
there was no one smaller than him coming along. These fine silks
and woolens things that his mother said were so nice would probably
be ripped up to use as rags.

Briefly, Behrat wondered who would sew him all
his new larger stuff when he needed them, since the palace
seamstresses were remaining back on the planet. Not his mother. She
always said she couldn’t sew on a button. Who would make him a pair
of shoes when his feet were size thirteen? Like his brother’s.
Everyone had said, Behrat was going to be just as big.

He supposed he could always wear his brother’s
old things, especially if he didn’t have anything else. Maybe it
was okay for the second prince to wear hand me down clothes? After
all, he was the spare heir, the guy who was born just in case. Like
insurance. He was needed only if the real heir died.

“Don’t worry about that,” Kirat always said,
punching Behrat in the arm. “I’m not going anywhere. But, if I do,
I’m taking you with me, so you had better not be plotting my
death.”

That was fine, actually. Behrat never wanted
to be king. Not for a minute. No way. That was Kirat’s job, and he
could have it. All Behrat wanted was to play games, or watch
movies, and play ball. That’s why he decided to bring his soccer
ball along. That was it. That was the only thing he packed in his
small bag.

The day before, Kirat had told him their
father was spending the entire day and night at the Holy Temple
prostrate in prayer. That meant it was the last day, unless some
miracle happened to stop it.

“He wanted me to come with him,” the elder
prince had said casually, as if this whole event was just a boring
interruption to his routine. “But, I told him I couldn’t. I need to
pack. I need to organize my stuff. If I’m leaving forever tomorrow,
I need some time to get ready.”

“And he accepted that?” Behrat asked, looking
up from his game system. The very game system he had decided to
leave behind.

Kirat shrugged, and walked away.

“Who cares what he thinks. He’s going to be
king of nothing.”

“He’s still our dad.”

Behrat smiled, even laughed a little because
that was the kind of reaction Kirat wanted. Behrat would have gone
to the Temple, though. Considering the circumstances, praying was
probably something everyone ought to do. The King didn’t request
his presence because Behrat was still a little boy without any
facial hair, and a voice that didn’t crack.

Instead, the younger prince lay upon his bed
on top of his heavy quilt, wondering what sort of bed he’d have on
the spacecraft tomorrow. Maybe, he’d have to sleep in chair,
strapped in tightly, and confined in a heavy space suit. When he
needed to use the bathroom, he’d have to ask Kirat to help him take
it off.

Probably, Kirat wouldn’t help. The Crown
Prince was always too cool for that. Even if all Behrat wanted was
for his brother to reach down something from a higher shelf, Kirat
would summon a servant with a wave of his finger. Sometimes, he’d
snap and point.

“Please assist my brother, the Royal Prince,”
he’d say in a clipped and affected voice, sounding like a Prince of
Hahr than the more casual royal house of Karupatani.

“When I am King,” Kirat always said. “I shall
sit on my throne receiving petitions all through the day, just like
they did in the old days when the king’s word was the
law.”

“What about Parliament?” Behrat had asked.
“What about the Chief Justice and everybody else?”

“They’ll have to listen to me, because they’ll
know I am the smartest. If they don’t, I’ll cut off their heads. I
have no patience for politicians and other ingrates.”

“With all that sitting, I think you’ll be the
fattest,” Behrat had replied, prompting his brother to swing a fist
in his direction. Behrat ducked, and mostly, it missed, barely
grazing his cheek, not hurting at all, although he decided, when
his brother was King, he’d keep his distance, and his
head.

So, the soccer ball was it. Behrat really
couldn’t think of anything else to bring.

“I’ll get new stuff when I’m there,” he told
himself, encouragingly. “It won’t be so terrible. I might like it.
Maybe, I’ll have super powers there. Maybe, I’ll just jump in the
air, and hold out my arms, and then, I’ll fly.”

Sometimes, when Behrat talked to himself like
this, it was almost as if someone else was speaking to him. Behrat
imagined a boy, not unlike himself, perched in the window box, over
there, his nose pressed against the window, also trapped
inside.

“Don’t be afraid,” this friend said. “I’ll be
with you the whole time. I’m watching over you. I am always right
here, behind your shoulder.”

The young prince knew this was silly and
childish, to imagine a friend and speak to him as if he were really
there. Sometimes, though, when Behrat moved his head quickly, just
so, in the corner of his eye, he could almost see that
boy.

Behrat’s father, the King, also had a friend.
Everyone knew that, and everyone called his father mad.

“Maybe, I’ve got the same brain disease,”
Behrat whispered to the air. “Maybe, it’s something that runs in
families. But, Kirat doesn’t have a friend. Does he?”

“He doesn’t deserve one,” the boy said, which
oddly, made Behrat feel a little special. Perhaps, having an
invisible friend was an entitlement reserved for only the spare
heir. After all, his father had been a spare before he was called
into service.

Beyond this strange and possibly
imaginary figment, Behrat’s only other friend was Viscount Torim de
Shrotru, although he was really Kirat’s friend, because they were
the same age. Behrat was allowed to hang around with the older
boys, and had since they were all quite young, which was why Behrat
was as good as either of them when it came to playing
Heroes & Conquerers.

The Viscount’s little sister, Lady Reva was
Behrat’s intended bride. That had been arranged by the Queen when
Behrat was only five years old. Reva was four at the time, and
after becoming betrothed, he recalled taking her hand and playing
chase outside in the garden maze. That was fun. They both had ended
up giggling wildly.

Now, as if he didn’t have enough problems, the
idea of marrying Lady Reva twisted Behrat’s stomach into knots.
Frankly, the idea of marrying anyone made the bile rise in his
throat, but knowing that he would be stuck with Reva made him want
to puke.

Reva was twelve now, and her hair was brown
and frizzy, just like his mother’s poodle dogs. Reva also had red
spots on her face, and her eyes and lips were far too big. Her
chest was completely flat. In fact, her whole body looked like that
of a boy.

“Wooter has bigger boobs,” Kirat had smirked,
prompting Behrat to launch a kick.

“She’ll be beautiful someday,” the Queen
insisted, turning an icy gaze on the two princes.

“In about a million years, if you live that
long,” Kirat whispered, eyeing his own future bride, Lady Elise de
Kirkut. Even though she was still fourteen, she was tall and
elegant, with straight, blonde hair, ruby lips, and best of all,
boobs.

This was at the last Holiday Ball, when all
the people were paying their respects to the Royal Family. That’s
before everything fell apart, and they were still celebrating
life.

After which, Behrat hid behind the curtains,
so his mother wouldn’t make him dance with his future bride. Reva
was standing by the dessert table trying not to eat any of the
cakes, looking ridiculous is a blue dress with nothing filling up
the front.

Behrat gazed out the window, at the stars
rising overhead as nighttime fell for the last time on his home
planet. Tomorrow, he’d be up amongst those stars. Tomorrow, he’d be
on his way to a distant and foreign one. Tomorrow, both Reva and
Elise would be on their own ships, with their own families, heading
there, too.

“Are we all going to make it?” Behrat asked
his friend, who he could almost see in the silvery light of the
Rozarian moon.

“Some will. Some won’t. That is the way of
it.”

“What about Reva?”

Behrat’s friend smirked, almost in the same
way that his brother did, or at least, this was how Behrat imagined
his friend responded. He wouldn’t answer yes or no. Behrat could
never nail him down to a definitive answer, which made Behrat think
that maybe, he was really an imaginary figment after all. The
prince still liked him, though. It was better to have an imaginary
friend, than no one.

Down the hill at the base of the palace, the
evening lights of the city flickered on. Behrat liked to watch that
bright one directly across from his window, even though it was far
away, on the other side of the river. Like an enormous star, its
familiar flashing kept him company when he couldn’t
sleep.

“It’s the entrance to a shopping
mall, you idiot,” Kirat had said, when Behrat had asked how a star
could be so low to the ground. They were in the midst of a
Heroes & Conquerers
battle on level twelve. “They keep it lit brightly so
everybody will know that the mall is still open. It’s called
advertising, doofus. It’s a big sign that says,
Come Shop Here
.”

“Oh,” Behrat had said, and let Kirat win the
round, so he wouldn’t get punched or called any other
names.

Behrat had never been inside a mall. In fact,
there were precious few times he had gone outside of the
palace.

It wasn’t safe
, they always said.
Not until Kirat
married Elise, and had a son
.

Then, someone else would become the spare
heir, and Behrat would be free to go and do whatever he
wanted.

Then, it would be too late. The shopping mall
would be gone, as well as all the restaurants and cafes.

Tonight, people were shopping, or sitting
outside, sipping coffee and eating cakes. Tomorrow, they’d all be
dust. Karupatani would be dead, except for the King and all of his
dukes, who would be racing away, hoping they managed to
escape.

In the meantime, Behrat would be trapped
inside his spacesuit, needing to use the bathroom, but having no
way to get out, and do it. His brother would be laughing at his
predicament, and calling him a fool. The Queen would hungry for her
treats and bread, while his father, the King would be hiding alone
in his own room, consulting with his imaginary friend, and writing
nonsense in his books.

“You’re coming with me, right?” Behrat turned
to the shadows, to the ghostly image of his own imaginary
friend.

“Of course, I am. I’m right here, behind your
shoulder.”

“And, you’ll be there tomorrow?” Behrat
persisted.

“And, the next day, and the one after that.
I’ll be in your shadow throughout your entire journey to
Rehnor.”

Chapter 8

Beryl didn’t want to leave her patients. She
enjoyed her work, and her life, in general. She was happy with the
arrangement between Turak and herself. He was gone most of the
time, traveling in his job, while she spent her days at the clinic,
and her nights alone in their big bed. A good book was all the
company she wanted, or needed then, which she found both mildly
worrisome and completely acceptable.

She, also, didn’t want to leave her mother,
Bonita, who lived alone in a small house three blocks away. Beryl’s
mother called her four times a day. Two times in between, Beryl
called Bonita, and then again, right before she went sleep. This
was her routine whether or not Turak was beside her in bed. Turak
understood this, although at times, he found it mildly
disturbing.