Endymion drove north until the sun tapped him on the shoulder with its warm tendrils. He knew it would be much easier to avoid detection on his ebony steed if he was cloaked in night’s embrace and had managed to thwart fatigue and any pursuers. However, the motorcycle began to sway across the lane as the sun stirred and the prince knew he could not continue much further. As much as he adored his vehicle, he would need to be rid of it as well. Those in the palace must have realized what was missing by now.
Riding all night had taken him to the edge of Ilgrath, but there was still far to go in order to reach his destination. Looming like gray giants the Indre Mountains had grown consistently larger as he approached the northern border. Now the sun illuminated their proud profiles as it rose behind their backs. The country of Ginova and Endymion’s only hope of safety lay behind them. The crowned prince of Ilgrath took a moment to ponder his choices. There were only a few roads that climbed or burrowed through the mountains. An aerobus could carry him over their peaks or a sea fairing vessel could go around. All would require Endymion to procure identification and he would be accosted before the sun went down.
It seemed Erasmar had the young prince backed into a corner, but Endymion was not without his own resources. He turned his motorcycle towards the shadows of the sun, drifting down winding roads until he could hear the call of the sea. Gulls glided overhead on the warm morning vapors and trailed Endymion all the way to the seaside town of White Harbor. The constant heartbeat of the ocean had left its mark upon the town, crusting the structures with the ivory remains of salt much older than the prince could comprehend. White Harbor itself seemed like it had been there since the beginning of time, but Endymion could see the change his family had brought. Barren poles shot up to the sky, connected by thrumming wires of electricity. Where lanterns and fire once brought light, now neon signs and cold bulbs shone. Even here, things could not remain the same.
Once again, Endymion abandoned his motorcycle on the outskirts and used what shadows remained in the coming morning to creep towards the town. There was a small cottage near the sea and far from the others that had more wires tangled upon its roof than any home. As he moved closer, Endymion could see most of the windows were covered in black curtains and the yard work was left undone. He made towards the back exit, cautious to avoid the lingering eyes of the populace as best he could. Endymion tread carefully over household debris and followed the pulse of music to the basement. It thrummed against the floor, rattling anything that wasn't bolted on tight. As he opened the door, music assaulted his ears and Endymion could not help but wince. Artificial light illuminated his way down the precarious steps and into a digital dream world.
Several monitors were strung up against the far wall and surrounded a slim form. It reminded Endymion of a musician enveloped by a grand organ. The figure in front of the screens was oblivious to his guest and jumped sky high as Endymion’s fingers lighted upon his shoulder. Long arms flailed like banners as several items clashed from the table onto the floor. The boy was tall, but in his childlike eyes Endymion found his true age. With a flick of his wrist the blaring music finally cut away, much to the prince’s relief.
“D-d-don’t s-s-s-care me like th-th-that!” the boy squeaked. Then he seemed to realize who was standing before him. He tried to stutter something out, but his panic dissolved his speech into a rapid slur.
“Mort! Mortichai, I am sorry! Please, sit down and relax. I did not mean to frighten you so, but with that music blaring I did not know of another way. Come, take some deep breaths for me.” Endymion tried to coax the younger man into a state of calm as Mort returned to his chair. Mort ran a hand through yellow hair twirled into greasy strings before heaving a grand sigh full of bunched nerves and fears.
“I th-th-th-AUGH!” Mort gave up on trying to speak and turned towards a white laptop with keys smeared and discolored from use. Endymion looked up at the center screen and followed the text that popped up. “I thought you were dead”, Mort wrote.
“Not yet, but I need your help.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I need to get to Ginova and to my mother, but if I try to use my ID they will find me. I am sure my uncle has tripled security at all the ports so this is not going to be easy.”
“Your uncle?”
“I…I think the less you are privy to, the better. I need you to help me acquire a ticket on an aerobus and train to Ginova first. Use my credentials, but do not let them trace it back to our location. In a couple hours, I need them to think I am on that train. Is there a way to trick the system into believing my pass has been scanned at the platform?”
The computer savant took a moment to think. “I can make it so that your barcode ends up connected with someone else’s ticket, so when they are scanned both barcodes should be entered.”
“I t-think I c-c-c-an anyways,” Mort muttered out loud.
“If there is a way, I know you can find it.”
Mort nodded, his quivering brown eyes steeling with determination. His finger began to dance upon the keys quicker than Endymion could follow and several screens lit up at their master’s command. Computers and the tangled web of wires and wormholes was a language Mort spoke with an eloquent flourish. Most citizens of Ilgrath owned personal computers and other devices, but Mortichai made them perform tasks experts at the palace were just beginning to discover. Endymion was more than thankful to have him as an ally.
“Meet me upstairs when you are finished. There are a few things I am going to need to borrow, I am sure you will not mind,” Endymion said, getting the briefest acknowledgement in return.
Mort’s house was a maze of clutter to navigate and it took Endymion some time to find anything remotely helpful to further his plan. He managed to find a backpack as he swam through the hallways and rooms and stuffed it with supplies, water and a few cans of food. He felt like he had already climbed a mountain by the time Mort joined him, victory on his face.
“Thank you for all you have done. There was a moment when I thought, I thought you might not help me-”
Mort vehemently shook his head at that. “I d-do not b-believe a word they’ve s-said,” he swore and then took a deep breath before looking Endymion in the eye. “I am sorry about your father.”
At the mention of his parent, the fallen prince took a shattered moment to pull himself back together. “I need to make this right and there is more I must ask of you if I am to seek refuge in Ginova and ever hope to find vengeance.”
“A-Anything, Endymion.”
“Do you remember how to ride a motorcycle?”
++++
They wasted no time in carrying out Endymion’s plan, for the prince knew every moment he squandered brought his uncle’s forces one step closer to capturing him. The two young men had parted ways and Endymion had found it more difficult than he thought to watch Mort drive his last piece of home down towards the sea. He kept his eye on the horizon long after the black motorcycle had disappeared from sight before gathering his courage and facing his own tasks. He jumped into Mort’s small utility truck and began his climb up towards the mountains.
Two hours later, Endymion had abandoned the vehicle and marched his way towards Ginova. There were many camp sites and trails on his country’s side of the mountains. None of them had been guarded for they were not close enough to any official border for Erasmar to bother. Endymion had forced the vehicle to climb as far as it could and left it abandoned beneath the shade of heavy trees. It was a fool’s mission to try and forge the rest of the way up the steep inclines and perilous rock faces. Yet the young prince knew there must be a safe enough way to trespass through the mountains. He had to believe it. Endymion took a moment to rest and found a fragile clearing in the tree line behind him. He could see green for what seemed like miles, and in the distance he thought he could see the glimmer of the bay against the midday sun.
He wondered if Mort had been successful in his part of the plan, although Endymion knew it was too late to turn back now. The prince had dressed his friend up in a dark coat with a hood and sent him to the ferry with his ID. Erasmar would know immediately when Mort had swiped Endymion’s ticket and the young heir could do nothing but hope Mort had managed to escape detention. Near the same time, Endymion’s false train pass should have alerted the authorities as well, dividing whatever forces were assembled to hunt him down. The traitorous kin would need to be concerned with every port of exit now.
With any lucky, Endymion would be able to escape amidst all the confusion. He rolled the backpack across his shoulders and trudged onward, already feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing in. There could be no full rest until the cover of nightfall swooped in. For three hours, Endymion managed to continue his climb without much interference and made good progress despite little sleep and food for the last twenty-four hours. However, he could soon hear the distant drum beat of an approaching craft and felt the force of buffeted wind against his ears. The youth struggled for a few moments as he found shelter beneath a thick bush and then waited. A couple minutes passed before an aerogiro whirled above him, its many blades slicing through the air with the fury of a master’s sword. It descended down the mountains towards the camps and roads Endymion had come from. He held his breath, hoping Mort’s truck was hidden well from their gaze.
Like a dragonfly in the air, the aerogiro began to loop back and forth, each time descending further and further down the mountain and away from Endymion. He let out his breath, the crease of concentration lifting from his brow. They would search there for a bit before moving on towards the roadways and the borders, or would follow the train tracks until they ran out of patience. Cautiously, even though he knew they couldn’t see him from this distance, he began his way towards the looming peaks. After an hour, he felt more than heard the aerogiro approaching again and from a safe place he watched it float around him. It moved half-heartedly, searching the higher elevations with the same hope of finding a lost pebble amongst the sands and shells of an open beach. Eventually it disappeared again from sight and sound.
The forests hummed with life, but after a while it became white noise to his ears and he was left alone with his thoughts. Endymion tried everything he could think of to avoid the darkness in his mind, but he knew it was a losing battle. He fought against the urge to replay the events at the castle over and over again, but the images snuck in like a cold breeze through the cracks of an old house. He tortured himself with the unknowns. If he had been paying more attention, maybe he could have stopped this. If he had went on the hunting trip like his father had wanted, maybe it never would have happened at all. If. His grief distracted him many times, causing him to slip or miss a hand hold. Scraps cut across his skin after the long hours and left trails of red tears.
More than anything, Endymion remembered the woman. She had known and done nothing. The gypsy could have saved his father’s story instead of only showing Endymion the end. Her magic had been strong enough to lift objects and conjure fog, but not enough to pull a man from the edge of fate. The heir of Ilgrath cursed her, kicking at the rubble beneath his feet. In his rage, however, he had not realized the gravel was loose and lost his footing as the mountain shed its skin. He tumbled, feet over head, the world a blur of noise and earth. With a thud of pain he stopped against the trunk of a tree. He took one shuddering breath, mentally checking over his body for anything broken or missing. Endymion ached, yet he was surprised to find nothing damaged beyond repair. Except for his pride. Endymion righted himself and sat there, staring up at all the ground he had just lost.
He needed to be stronger if he was ever going to survive. Ginova was still a great distance away, but he knew that could only be the beginning of his journey. His young life hung in the balance, but there was more at stake. His father’s vengeance pressed on his shoulders as well as his people’s safety. What type of rule could the people of Ilgrath expect from a kin slayer? Endymion had to press on, but a heavy weight pushed down on his chest, burdened with black emotions. He knew what needed to be done.
Endymion closed his eyes and let everything wash over him. His grief crashed against his heart, his anger seeped into his lungs and burned. Saline seeped from his eyes as he rocked, his body vibrating against the pain of loss and betrayal. The wrongness of it all. He cursed his uncle and fate and everything and anything he could think to slander. Endymion crushed his palms against his eyes, trying to erase images with the fireworks of pressure. He raged against it all.
After a time, the thunder and lightning cleared from his mind. When he opened his eyes the damage from the storm lingered, but there was a determination and steadiness where there had only been doubt. He rose slowly, shaking off the evidence of his struggles. One foot after the other, he continued to climb his mountain.
He pressed on diligently until night began to creep up the mountains from the far horizon below. Through the trees he could see the line approaching like a dedicated army. Endymion knew he needed to find a rock structure to crawl under incase Erasmar had the idea to send giros loaded with heat sensing equipment. Night loomed heavy above his head before Endymion found a suitable shelter. A slab of mountain had disengaged itself from the hillside and landed leaned up against its former home. Small trees and foliage had grown to embrace it and the prince of Ilgrath knew it was the safest place in the kingdom for him now. There wasn’t much room to spread out, but Endymion knew he could not complain. The day’s events and a borrowed sleeping bag covered him, pulling him under so swiftly he had not even realized how tired he was. Up in the mountains, away from his home and lost to their world, Endymion slept.
++++
The Prince of Ilgrath continued on the next day much the same, and the next day after that until he began to think he was going nowhere and nowhen. At the end of the third day, finally he had peaked as far as he needed to go and began his climb downward into Ginova. He had been right; there were parts cut deep into the mountain that allowed him to bypass the taller peaks perhaps once created by long dead streams or avalanches. The tips of the mountains still loomed far, far above him. He did not look back into Ilgrath, not trusting himself or wishing to feel the pain of loss seep cold into his chest. Endymion forgot his usual routine, and his better judgment, and trudged on in the shadow of the mountain and the darkening night. His mission pushed him onward and his growing anticipation pulled him towards the possible safety of his mother’s domain.
Endymion did not know exactly where in Ginova he was located and only hoped he had not managed to veer horribly off course. If he kept walking straight, he would hopefully run into the town of Settlershire. If he was far of course, any town with the technology to connect him with the capitol would do. Even though the evening forced him to tread carefully, Endymion felt his footsteps fall lighter than before. He had made it into Ginova and within a few days would be sheltered enough for him to recuperate and regroup for a next move. He began to believe in the first touches of hope glancing against his heart.
Ginova and Ilgrath had been close allies since the reign of Endymion’s family. Their proximity to each other had always lead to skirmishes in the early history of both countries. At one time, Ginova had ruled over Ilgrath before a bloody revolt freed them on their bonds. For few decades, grumblings of dissent separated the countries even better than the mountains. Yet that was all in the far past. Ginova shared their vast resources of oil, gas and industry, while Ilgrath shared their much coveted technology. Twenty-five years ago, the two countries had tightened their friendship even closer by marriage. Twenty-two years ago, the first heir born of their two nations came into the world.
Endymion’s mother had been in Ginova for a scientific conference. One of the greatest things that brought the king and queen together were their shared love of science. The young prince could remember many a time when he would sit at his parent’s feet as they discussed new theories or dissecting old ones. Endymion worried for his mother. If not for this meeting, she could have also been caught in Erasmar’s plans. He feared his uncle might have already made arrangements in Ginova as well. Until he saw her in person, he could not know if she was safe.
The thought of reuniting with his mother gave Endymion a brief pause. Mort had been so quick to accept his innocence, but he feared her reaction. He could not believe his mother would truly believe the lies her brother in law was spreading, but a lingering doubt still remained. Because of him, her husband was gone. He could not imagine the pain she must be feeling, but she would bare it with a braver face than Endymion could muster. She would not turn him away; they both needed each other.
Lost in his thoughts, Endymion barely heard the aerogiro whirling above. He crashed to the ground and rolled beneath foliage, unconcerned with the rocks and debris that bit into his flesh. Its rise over the mountains must have muffled its approaching sound, but he could hear it now as the waves finally caught up with the fast machine. It was still much quieter than its larger counterparts. It was a stealthier giro meant for reconnaissance and night runs when trying to survey closer to ground. Equipped with radar and night vision, they could go almost anywhere and be gone before others noticed. Endymion looked up through the trees, barely making out the black outline against the stars. A single red running light lazily blinked on and off on its underbelly that he could see. He contorted himself to appear small and awkward, trying to act less human should they be looking at his heat signature. For a tense moment, the royal son and the machine seemed locked in a silent game.
The aerogiro moved on with its sweep of the mountainside and Endymion finally relaxed. Too close, he chastised himself. He decided to find a hiding place and rest until the morning light and found shelter beneath the graves of fallen trees. Sleep did not come as easy for he kept sneaking furtive glances up at the star ridden sky expecting to see a dark silhouette against the endless mass. He could see just a small sliver of their companion moon peeking through the trees. It seemed so long ago that he had been working in the lab trying to unlock its secrets. The work had been so important, but now was as distant from his mind as the satellite was from the Earth. So much had changed in so little time.
Endymion was not sure was roused him from his fitful slumber, but an instinctual dread awoke every sense within him. Something was not right. The night was close to diminishing for he could see the sky a little lighter shade of dark blue against the east. It was just enough light to make out a few tree trunks and bushes, but not nearly enough to see very far beyond his feet. He strained his ears and realized what was amiss. The usual quiet night chatter of the forest was gone. The living growth all around him was silent and he knew that meant one thing. Predators. Whether they were animal or human, something was lurking close by.
He waited for the shadow of something to pass by his hiding place, but nothing came. Soon the gentle sounds of night returned, but not with same fervor as before. Whatever had been there had moved on yet it might return. As quiet as he could, Endymion packed up his meager belongings and carefully continued his descent. It would do no good to stay put and await whatever was out there, if indeed the prince was correct. Being a moving target was more difficult. He had only brought a hunting knife, but it was better than nothing. White knuckles wrapped around its hilt and every twig and leaf beneath his feet sounded like land minds coming to life. Time rolled slowly and his body grew fatigued from holding every muscle and sense at peak alertness.
Something whistled passed his ear and instinctively he ducked down into the brush. He heard a thunk as something connected with a nearby tree. The forest fell silent again. He crept towards the tree in the murky light, reaching up to find whatever had so narrowly missed him. There was no knife cut into the bark, nor the soft feather touch of an arrow’s fletching. Perhaps it had been a rock, or a large insect— Endymion’s finger ran over something hot and smooth, the bark on the tree around it pushed out like an impact crater. He knew what it was instantly. It was a bullet. There had been no tell-tale boom of gunfire which could only mean whoever out there had a noise dampener. They could see him and he would never hear them coming.
He ran, reaching for his flashlight and illuminating the forest in front of him. The light made no difference now for there would be no hiding from whoever followed. Endymion could only hope to outrun them and reach a place of safety. A dark part of him whispered the futility, but the fledgling royal held onto his hope and his vengeance, letting them full his sprint. For a while all he knew was the crashing of his own motion and the flurry of images caught in the sphere of his flashlight. Then, it seemed, his pursuer grew tired of the chase. Streaks of heat and metal burned passed him, exploding into the chest of trees and spraying their skin. Endymion reacted, veering to the left or right away from the shrapnel. He dodged and ducked, his breath coming out loud and labored as he continued.
He jumped over a fallen log. As his left foot came down, Endymion heard a snap and felt something bite into his skin and marrow. He cried out, pitching forward as bone snapped beneath him. Stars and red dots filled his vision as his skull collided with the ground and for a brief, blissful moment he lost consciousness. However, the pain woke him to the dark reality. His flashlight had flown from his hand, but by its close illumination he could see the bear trap clinging to his lower leg. Endymion cringed against the fire shooting through him. The prince reached down to clasp the unforgiving metal, but touching it caused a flare of pain so fierce he screamed in agony.
It was not long before his assailants finally joined him. They melted out of the shadows in full black gear, but Endymion could see them in the growing light above the tree line. He fought to follow their movements as one stooped to pick up Endymion’s discarded flashlight. The figure blared it in the prince’s face and against his shattered leg. There were three that Endymion could see and all wore heavy masks and night vision gear across their eyes.
“You gave us a good run,” a deep, male voice said. “We thought you might avoid all our traps.” As if to punctuate his statement, the figure threw a stone nearby and another trap sprang to life.
A sound seemed to follow it, distant and obscured through Endymion’s aching body. The others paused to listen. It sounded again, sounding somewhat closer. Endymion realized what it was: the call of wolves. The people before him seemed unconcerned with their song, however. He realized they must have spotted him in the giro and lain in wait like a patient predator. He had been so close.
“These forests are filled with animals,” another man said and obediently, Endymion heard a call sound in response. “Some with teeth, like those wolves out there. It will not take long for them to tear your flesh and bones apart until no one would recognize you. If anyone were to stumble upon your remains one day.”
The closest figure, the first man, knelt down. Endymion saw the glimmer of a gun barrel in his hand. “And the thing about wolves is they will not care if you are alive or dead when they start feeding. Your uncle sends his regards.”
He stood up and pointed his gun. Light flashed and pain raced through Endymion’s shoulder. He cried out, the whisper of the gunshot lost in his pain. He could feel warmth spreading through his shirt and fought to keep his meager food down as his body rioted.
Endymion did not know when they left and was in truth beyond caring. He tried to rage against the pain, to find some way to stop the bleeding in his shoulder. Yet every time he moved, the monster clenched to his leg seemed to bite down harder and paralyze him. Regardless, he tried to pull himself to a nearby rock, his one hand staunchly trying to cover his bullet wound. His vision rocked like he was on the deck of a squall laden boat. Endymion yelled into the coming day, calling for aid, calling for anyone to hear his pleas. His voice grew hoarse with tears and a tiredness he knew was dangerous.
The rock seemed miles away after an eternity of scooting across the littered forest floor. Cement seemed to replace his bones and he could go no further. His life was draining from him, slowing pooling down the mountainside. He heard the voice of the wolves again, much closer this time. His exclamations had drawn them to him. If he could look closely, Endymion might be able to see their golden eyes shining. He did not care to look.
“Help me,” he cried in a painful whisper, covering his face with blood-soaked fingers. He felt shameful for failing his mission and fear for what lay ahead of him. He could feel darkness seeping into his mind. He did not want to die. “I am sorry, Father. I am so sorry. So sorry.”
Endymion kept muttering to himself, shudders from agony of the body and soul shaking him. He fought to stay conscious, blinking hard and fast, but it was a losing battle. He had lost this war before it even began. The gypsy woman had been right. He had been betrayed and broken by blood. Why did she bother to tell him all those things, if he was only meant to die?
Sights and sounds began to lose their vibrancy, and the world started to turn gray around him. He could barely hear the rustle of leaves around him or the soft growl of a prowler approaching. It did not matter. This was the end. The last thing Endymion felt was a hot breath against his neck before oblivion welcomed him with open arms.
