The Regenerates (2 page)

He didn’t slow down until he reached the bridge connecting to Kayn Stafford’s marvelous palace.

T
wo minutes into his mother’s tax assignment and Ven was already bored. He considered leaving it for later and taking a nap. He stacked up the forms and took a sip of water from his heavy, jewel-encrusted goblet.

“Ven, open up. You’d better be dressed. We’re coming in.” Florentine’s high-pitched, overly-enthusiastic voice was coming from the hallway. She and Hans burst into his room carrying piles of sweets on a crystal platter.

“We’re going to picnic here if that’s okay with you,” said Florentine. “They packed up dessert far too quickly after Lady Sheema’s party, didn’t they? Why did you rush upstairs so fast?”

“Sorry, those tax forms got the better of me. I’m exhausted,” said Ven.

“Your mom works you like a Prentice, doesn’t she? So glad all I have to do is attend lessons,” said Hans.

Ven raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, sorry. Your friend is a Prentice, isn’t she? I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So, um,” said Florentine nervously, “how is she? Your friend, I mean.”

“She’s doing well. Apparently her father is working on some weapons manufacturing blueprint for Lord Magistrate.”

“Lord Magistrate is accepting blueprints from a Prentice family?”

Florentine shot her brother a
What’s wrong with you?
look.

“What? I’m just asking, I didn’t know that could happen,” said Hans.

The idea of a Highborn being best friends with a Prentice was bizarre, if not rare. While they never talked about it much, Ven knew Hans and Florentine found his relationship with Coralie strange. He didn’t expect them to understand. His situation was different from theirs. He had known Coralie since childhood…

“It’s not that unheard of, actually,” said Ven, trying to hide the irritation in his voice, “I mean, Prentices are laborers. Manufacturing is what they’re skilled at. You don’t really believe Kayn sits there with a welding mask and an apron making pistols, do you?”

“You’d better not let anyone hear you saying things like that,” Hans said.

“Relax, Hans. I’m not getting arrested any time soon. I prefer sleeping on a silk mattress over the floor of a prison cell.”

“Right, let’s eat, shall we? I can’t wait any longer.” Florentine laid out the lavish silverware on Ven’s marble floor. They all sat down and she sliced up a large piece of fruitcake, passing it to Ven.

“Thanks, Flor.”

A massive explosion erupted near Ven’s room, knocking them off balance. Hans cursed and grabbed on to the leg of Ven’s four-poster as the ground shook. Florentine shrieked and hung on to Ven as tightly as she could.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know,” said Ven, steadying himself. He got up, sprinted to his massive window and peered outside, the others following closely behind him. A cloud of smoke shrouded the entrance to the Grand Magistrate’s quarters. In the surrounding area, some people screamed and others began murmuring amongst themselves. Ven tried to make out what the cause of the commotion was, but the smoke was taking time to clear. Outside, he could hear raised voices coming from the hallway.

He opened the door and peered outside. “What’s going on?” he asked a staff member whose glasses had gone lopsided.

“A stranger requested an audience with Lord Magistrate. When Lord Kayn tried to send him away, the man caused an explosion right in front of him!”

“The guards let someone with explosives walk into Council Hall?”

“He was clean, he had nothing on him. It was like no explosion I’ve ever seen before, almost as though he made it appear out of thin air.”

“Where is he now?” asked Ven, suddenly frantic. His mother was still down there.

“I don’t know, I’m headed there now.”

“I’m going too,” said Ven. He dashed out the door. Hans and Florentine followed suit.

They scurried past soldiers, concerned councilwomen clutching their children and several staff members until they reached Council Hall. One of the grand doors was knocked clean off its hinges and lay in pile of metal and rubble on the marble floor. Ven attempted to step over the pile and into the hall, but a guard stopped him.

“It’s not safe, young master.”

“No, my mother is in there,” he exclaimed, shoving past the guard.

“Ven, wait!” said Florentine, but Ven was gone. Pushing past the crowd, he hid behind a massive stone pillar and slowly peered around it. He searched the crowd for his mother but she was nowhere in sight. At the end of the hall, Kayn Stafford stood in battle position, armed and flanked by a dozen soldiers. A few feet away, a man stood perfectly calm, wearing a smile. He was clearly a foreigner. His clothes were strange and worn and he appeared to be in his thirties.

“I promise you, Lord Magistrate, I don’t mean any harm to you or your citizens.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Kayn, “considering you nearly succeeded in destroying my council room.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry for that. Sometimes a little proof is necessary when the intelligent young man you’re trying to communicate with lets his ignorance control him.”

The man’s eyes twinkled. The small crowd assembled in the hall gasped at their future leader being addressed this way. Kayn’s face was inscrutable.

“I implore you to hear me out, Lord Kayn. I figured I’d need to do something drastic to get your attention. I’m going to say this one more time and I promise you, I am telling the truth. A malevolent force is threatening to destroy Cor, and the Haze Theory
is
involved, whether you wish to hear it or not. My little spectacle should be proof of that.”

The room fell silent. Ven’s eyes widened. The Haze Theory was the most taboo subject in all of Cor. Even mentioning it in passing or by accident meant an immediate ticket to prison at least, if not the death sentence.

He shuddered. The thought that the Haze Theory was in fact real was a frightening notion. To make matters worse, this man was suggesting that it was threatening their city. Even though Ven knew that was impossible, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Kayn looked the man in the eye with a dangerous glower. “We are done here.”

He gestured to the heavily armed soldiers. They surrounded the man and began to kick and beat him till he crumpled to the floor, tattered and bloodied. The man made no attempt to defend himself. Kayn walked over and looked down at him, his eyes merciless and unforgiving.

“I will give you eight days in a prison cell to curse you for your stupidity, after which you will be hung till dead in a special public ceremony meant just for you.”

Before turning to leave, Kayn kicked the man hard in the face. Blood splattered from his nose onto the floor. “For good measure,” he said, “and for calling me ignorant. Get him out of here.”

The man was dragged away and slowly disappeared from view, behind the crowd of stunned onlookers.

Ven turned his head, slightly sick. He felt Hans and Florentine behind him. They hardly dared to breathe until Kayn had dusted himself off and addressed the crowd.

“I’m sorry you all had to see that,” he said. “But no matter. He’s been dealt with. We will have Council Hall restored as soon as we can. Now get back to your work. Abolition Day is around the corner and you all have a lot to do.”

After a long, stunned silence, cheers began to erupt throughout the hall. Enjoying the attention, Kayn smiled. Beside Ven, Florentine let out an excited squeak and turned a bright shade of pink.

“Well, remind me never to mess with him. Ever,” said Hans, frozen to the spot.

The next day, word of Lord Magistrate’s confrontation with “that babbling madman”, as everyone referred to him, had spread like wildfire. Across the estate, and for that matter across Cor, Kayn Stafford was being hailed for weeding out and putting an end to a potentially dangerous troublemaker. More entertaining in Ven’s eyes was peoples’ retelling of the explosion.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was the most frightening form of black magic I have ever seen!” said one woman in Market Plaza as Ven and Coralie looked for something to eat.

“I wish I could have seen it,” said Coralie, sulking as she sampled a piece of chocolate from a stall.

“I didn’t see it either,” said Ven, “but I did hear it. It was really loud. I felt it, too.”

“Who was he again? That man?”

“I got there a bit late,” said Ven, “but he said something about Cor being threatened, and that it had something to do with” – he lowered his voice to barely a whisper – “the Haze Theory.”

“What?” Coralie exclaimed. “That’s insane!”

“The thing is,” Ven went on, “I’m not saying I believe him or anything because I don’t, but he didn’t sound or look crazy. There are times when you can tell if someone is just spewing nonsense for the sake of attention, but he looked as sane as you and me, and that’s what scares me a little.”

“But you
don’t
believe him, right?” said Coralie. “What he’s saying is completely far-fetched. I’m a sane, intelligent person, but what if I decided to walk into Council Hall proclaiming the apocalypse? You have to put your foot down sometimes, even for a seemingly normal person.”

“Yeah, I know.”

A boy carrying colorful supplies crashed into Ven, sending streamers flying everywhere.

“Watch it!” said Ven.

“Urgh, I hate this time of year,” Coralie frowned as the boy ran away. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why they treat Abolition Day like a carnival.”

“Well, as morbid as it is, it’s a celebration of Cor’s cleansing. The methods are a little harsh, but in the end it’s for our safety, right?”

Coralie scoffed. “Want to stop the Drudger Quadrant and the Prentice Quadrant from resorting to theft? Spend money on
food
instead of trying to compete with other cities to be more technologically advanced. We’re already behind in that department, anyway.”

Behind her, a woman hissed angrily, visibly distraught by her comment.

“Oops. I guess that was out of line.”

“You’ve really got to be careful, Coralie,” said Ven softly. “You’re in the Highborn Quadrant. Just assume everyone is keeping their ears open, waiting for you to slip up. What’s worse, they twist everything you say to make it sound worse than it is.”

“I don’t get it, though. Why do they care so much?”

“Because with every ‘menace’ they bring forward, they go up higher and higher in the Grand Magistrate’s good books. They’ll find the smallest reason to get you arrested if it means gaining status.”

“All because my father was born a Prentice. Life sure is fair, isn’t it?”

Ven’s face twisted into a grimace. “Whatever. Let’s get out of here. Now even I’m getting nervous.”

That night, Ven’s mother had some choice words about the strange man. “How dare he come here and try to destroy our peace,” she said as she and Ven were having tea. “To bring up
that
of all things. It’s awful.”

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

“Ven, you know we can’t discuss that. Of course he’s not telling the truth.” His mother sipped her tea and bit into a butter scone.

“Who do you think he is, then?”

“He could be anyone,” she replied. “An enemy spy, perhaps? A sick prankster? Someone trying to rile us up and cause a stir? Who knows. At any rate, he’s being held in a special underground prison here at the palace. We haven’t had someone down there in ages. But it’s where he belongs.”

As Ven lay in bed that night, he tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. His mind was plagued with images of evil demons with red eyes waving spears in his face. He sat up, punched his silk pillow into a more comfortable position and tried to shut the images away.

Don’t be stupid. The Haze Theory is nothing but a load of superstitious garbage.

V
en’s mother shook him awake.

“Ven, get up. I need to tell you something, and it’s…it’s not good news.”

Ven sat up and looked at her groggily. “What’s wrong?”

“Coralie and her parents have been sentenced. They’re going to be executed at the ceremony next week.”

“W-what?”

Numb shock spread through him. Ven looked at his mother blankly, an odd ringing in his ears. It wasn’t possible, not Coralie. It just couldn’t be. Only a day ago, she had been telling him about how the Grand Magistrate was going to use her father’s weapons blueprint…

“Mom, what are you talking about?” Ven flung his blanket onto the marble floor and leaped to his feet. “They didn’t do anything wrong! They haven’t done
anything.
What is Lord Kayn thinking?”

“I don’t know. We were keeping record of all those who’ve been sentenced today and their names were added to the roster. They must have been added last night. I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do, but until then, Ven, you have to promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

She turned and left the room, leaving Ven in just as much a state of shock as before.

His head was reeling. There was no way he would accept this. Ven grabbed his housecoat and rushed out the door, running as fast as he could to the large windows by the classroom where he could get the best view of the Sentenced. There were only two sets of people having their arms stamped this time, an old woman, her son, and…

Mr. and Mrs. Hasset were behind the old woman, their hands bound in front of them and heads bowed. Ven’s stomach lurched. Where was Coralie? He glanced behind the stamping counter to the small path leading to the stone building. Once again, he couldn’t make out anything from this distance. Was it possible that they had spared her because she was still a child? But he knew the answer already. Children were equally guilty.

Still, he was going to hang on to this feeble glimmer of hope. His mother would set things right.

The next two hours were like an eternity. All he could do was stay in his room and pace. Horrible thoughts were running through his mind, and try as he might, he couldn’t shake them off. The worst of them was making his stomach twist into a painful knot – the thought of being forced to have a front-row seat at his best friend’s execution.