2. Twelve

--Twelve Years Later--

Luc leaned his head on his arm, watching sunlight spill over his desk. His hand laid on the line between light and shadow, fingers demarking the edges. He leaned his hand forward, and shadow eclipsed the light. Tilted it back, and light beamed into his palm, almost as if he could hold it. Light spilled through his sleeves, the worn fabric almost translucent, except where patches repaired rips and tears with new material.

“Can anyone tell me the Twelve Wells and Nine Houses?” the teacher asked, back to the class, hurriedly scratching her chalk over the board.

He yawned and glanced half-up, golden curls dancing around his head, light as dandelion fluff. Across the room, a dark-haired boy in clothes just as ragged as his caught his eye, and they shared a grin. Luc cocked an eyebrow at him. The dark-haired boy shook his wavy bangs out of his eyes, shifted a folded paper triangle to the edge of his table, and flicked it toward Luc. It arced high overhead, flying through the classroom.

A girl in a fine cotton shirt and linen trousers leaped up between them and caught the triangle. Emilie sat back down smugly, clutching the triangle between her fingers. Turning to the dark-haired boy, she mouthed, Not today, Yvon!

The teacher turned back around at that moment. She caught sight of the paper triangle and scowled. “Emilie! Since you’re so busy passing notes, why don’t you tell me?”

Yvon and Luc broke out laughing. Caught between them, Emilie blushed furiously. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, Emilie, pay attention in class,” Luc said playfully.

“Passing notes? How could you?” Yvon said, shaking his head in mock-disappointment.

The teacher struck the board with her chalk. White dust flew around the impact. “Quiet! The answer, Emilie.”

Still blushing, Emilie took a deep breath and forcefully composed herself. Closing her eyes, she nodded, her feet marking the beat of a nursery rhyme forced into every child’s head.

“First, our highest god of Sky; Earth below, where ores may lie; And awesome power of the Sea; Rounds out the strongest three.”

As the second verse began, she straightened up and thrust out her chest. Her straight chestnut hair hung close to her head, falling back from a broad and tall forehead.

“Blood, weakest of evil gods; War, defeats the steepest odds; And at last, our precious Love; These are the Houses Above.”

Her stance returned to normal as she continued.

“First among Houses Below; Hunt, the starry ways shall show; Shadow, creeping in the dark; Hearth, whose service hits the mark.

“Finally, the lowest three; Youthful Spring, the farmer’s glee; Aged Harvest, precious be; Darkest Death, eternal rest.”

Emilie took a deep breath and nodded, cheeks still ever so slightly pink.

“Very good, very good,” the teacher said, nodding. “You may sit.”

“Teacher, I heard a different version,” Yvon piped up.

Luc sat up, startled. He glanced at Yvon. Emilie was the class pet, but Yvon, like him, never participated if he didn’t have to.

“That’s very good, Yvon. Out of the rhyme, who can tell me what the Nine Houses are?”

Persistent, Yvon ignored her. “There’s a final verse. I heard it from Gramma Cherise.”

“The senile one?” Luc chimed in, too curious to stay silent.

Yvon nodded. He took a deep breath and stood. “It goes like this:

“Darkest Death, eternal rest; Facing Life’s eternal test.”

Luc frowned. “There’s a thirteenth Well?”

The teacher sighed. “Yes. Or rather, there was. I was going to wait until you were more mature, but since you’re so curious, why don’t we cover it now?”

Interested in class for once, Luc dropped his hand and drew out his pencil, ready to take notes.

She sketched over the chalkboard, drawing thirteen ovals. “Before you were born, there were thirteen Wells. Three of them belong to the dark gods, and have long been destroyed and desecrated. The Temple is at war with the dark gods, and quests endlessly to exterminate the dark gods’ bloodlines. As we all know, Death’s bloodline was finally stamped out two hundred years ago, but the other two still lurk in the shadows, searching for a moment to overturn our very civilization itself.”

The teacher marked out every fourth Well with an X, thus destroying the dark gods’ Wells, then turned back to the class. “So. Who has heard of the Great Rebellion?”

Hands all across the classroom went up, Yvon, Emilie, and Luc included.

“Right. That Great Rebellion was helmed by the head of the House of Life, Mélanie Vie. She used her horrid Life magic to manipulate the thoughts and emotions of our countrymen against our glorious king, long may he reign, and led an uprising. Naturally, it never got off the ground. The uprising was immediately suppressed by the other Houses, Mademoiselle Vie was burned to death at the stake, her bloodline was exterminated, and House Life’s Well destroyed. With no bloodline extending to Vita, god of Life, naturally, there will be no more Life mages, and therefore, there is no need to include them in the rhyme.” She rubbed out the thirteenth oval, leaving nine. “Are there any more questions?”

Silence.

The teacher nodded. “Then, who can tell me the Nine Houses? Luc?”

Luc stood. “I want to hear more about the Rebellion, actually.”

“That’s very nice. Please list the Nine Houses.”

Sighing, he took a deep breath. As quickly as he could, words all running together, he recited: “Sky, Earth, Sea, War, Love, end Houses Above, Hunt, Hearth, Spring, Harvest, end Houses Below. But what happened in the Great Rebellion? If the other houses suppressed the Rebellion immediately, why was an entire bloodline was exterminated?”

“Thank you, Luc. That is all. And who can tell me who our city, Le-Voux’s, patron is?”

A hand shot up. The teacher turned. She hesitated just a moment, then smiled. “Oh, Yvon?”

“I would also like to know more about the Great Rebellion,” Yvon said.

The teacher’s smile grew strained. “Our city’s patron, please?”

Yvon stood silently, dark eyes staring her down.

Another hand went up. This time, relief showed on the teacher’s face. “Emilie?”

“I also want to know about the Great Rebellion. We know it happened—everyone knows of it—but we know so little about what, or when, or why, or even who. There’s precious little about it in the school library. Even my family’s collection lacks details on the Rebellion. Why is it so hard to find anything about it?” she asked.

The teacher’s lips went thin. Her smile vanished. “When you’re older. Our patron, Emilie.”

“The Duke of House Earth, Duke Jerome Terre. But—”

Distantly, the temple bells chimed. The teacher’s smile returned, sunnier than ever. “Duke Jerome! Correct. And aren’t we so lucky that a Duke personally oversees our city. That’s all for today. Come back tomorrow with that same thirst for knowledge—we’re covering times tables!”

“Ughhh,” Luc and Yvon groaned together.

Dissatisfied, Emilie scowled at the teacher’s retreating back. “When you’re older, when you’re older. That’s all I ever hear. Father, the teacher…”

“Come live with us! Then you won’t have to worry about your father,” Luc said, slinging an arm over her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. No parents at the Institute,” Yvon chimed in, coming up on Emilie’s other side.

She shook off Luc’s arm. “That’s not how it works.”

The three of them wandered out into the sunshine. The wooden schoolhouse sat near the center of town, two stories tall, a narrow, well-worn building. Children raced out the door, shoving past Luc and the others. Several of the younger children streamed to the bakery next door as the baker, a heavy-set woman with rosy cheeks, delivered a fresh round of pastries to its window display. Emilie turned slightly, a reminiscent smile on her cheeks, then jogged to catch up to the boys as they marched on down the cobbled street.

Visible from nearly the entirety of town, the Temple of Terra stood down the road from the schoolhouse. Prominent pillars carved from the local brownstone supported a flat roof, a carving of Terra dredging the earth from the All-Sea placed front-and-center. Two smaller temples, one to Caelum and the other to Mare, flanked Terra’s temple, all three of the most powerful gods represented. Small shrines to the lesser gods clustered around, represented with idols, altars, and symbolic wells.

Distant, so omnipresent as to be almost forgotten, stone walls defined the horizon, the limits of their small world.

“Where are you two going? Isn’t the Institute the other way?” Emilie joked.

Luc scowled. “We’re not going back there until we have to.”

“Duke Jerome’s getting a unicorn shipped to his gardens today,” Yvon replied.

Luc beamed. He skipped ahead and whirled around to face them. “That’s right! A unicorn! They say they don’t exist, but Duke Jerome never let that stop him! He’s found one, at last. And we want to be the first to see it!”

“A unicorn? There’s plenty of monsters in the world, but the Duke still chases mythical beasts? Doesn’t the Duke have enough strange creatures in his collection already?” Emilie asked.

Luc stuck his tongue out at her. “You sound like the adults.”

“I do not!” Emilie said, taken aback.

“Anyways, it’s not mythical if the Duke has one.”

“But… does he have one?” Emilie returned.

“What’s that mean?” Luc asked, frowning.

Emilie rolled her eyes. “You remember the ‘dragon’ he bought a while back, right? It was a fat rock lizard with paper wings pasted on!”

“But dragons are real,” Luc argued.

“Right, but his wasn’t,” Emilie replied.

Yvon laughed at the two of them. He shook his bangs back from his face and waggled his finger at them in mock disapproval. “You believe, you don’t, but it’s easy enough to go see if unicorns are mythical or not if Duke Jerome has one. Let’s go already!”

Chattering, the three of them bobbled along the roadside. Townsfolk nodded as they passed, giving the trio smiles. As they walked, the town fell away. Fewer people walked along the road, then none at all. Woods and gardens filled the space around them. The few houses peeking through the woods were built sturdily from stone and brick, physical memories of the time before Duke Jerome took up residence in their town.

The road sloped upward, climbing a hill. High above, a tall stone manor occupied the top of the hill. A sprawling garden extended around the sides and back of the manor, coloring the hilltop with greens and floral bursts of color, where they could see through. Thick hedges around the garden’s perimeter blocked a clear view inside.

As the three crested the hill, the intimidating façade was revealed in full. Built of the same brownstone as the temple, intricate carvings crawled up the building’s surface. Wreathes carved from stone wrapped around tall, narrow windows. Mages of old in flowing capes and tall hats summoned craggy mountains from the depths of the earth to fend off hideous monsters. Under the carved mages’ ministrations, waves of earth and stone crashed over armies and burst up under horrid monsters. Higher up, where the carvings grew simpler, the mages instead coaxed valuable ores and precious stones from the earth, or shaped homes, tunnels, and passages out of stone.

Used to it, the trio paid it no mind, nor did they pay any attention to the wrought-iron fence tipped in razor-sharp spear blades. A snarling lion worked in iron glared impotently at them from the opened gates, unable to stop the children as they passed by.

“Look, look!” Luc cried, pointing.

An armored carriage pulled up to the front of the manor, clad in steel plates colored black to avoid reflection. The entire carriage was armored, from the front to the rear, even the roof and the undercarriage. Metal panels wrapped around the driver’s cab, closing it in. Window slits no wider than the span of Luc’s hand opened up in the sides of the carriage, giving the occupants little chance to see outside. The only unarmored spot on the carriage was the Chassers’ seat at the rear, itself little more than a reinforced panel in the roof for the Chasser to ride on.

At the front of the carriage, massive horses stomped their hooves and tossed their heads, setting steel plates clattering down their necks. Their black armor sported short spikes and spines down their forehead, necks, and backs. Thick rivets held the armor together, squealing quietly where the plates shifted against one another.

“That carriage came from outside,” Luc reported.

“We can all see that,” Yvon replied.

“That means the unicorn’s here!” Luc deduced.

“The supposed unicorn,” Emilie replied.

Yvon lifted his finger to his lips. “Shhh! They’re getting it out now!”

The three of them scurried behind a bush and peered out.

A man and a woman in oiled leather coats embossed with the hound-and-wolf crest of the Chassers hefted the rear of the carriage open and unlocked a trunk. They carried it toward the manor’s front doors and thumped the topaz knocker.

“A trunk? Aren’t unicorns supposed to be… horse-sized?” Emilie asked.

“Maybe it’s a colt?” Luc suggested, uncertain.

“Or a dwarf pony,” Yvon threw out, smirking.

“A dwarf pony,” Emilie scoffed, rolling her eyes.

The door opened. Luc covered Yvon’s mouth, Yvon covered Emilie’s, and Emilie slapped a hand over Luc’s mouth. The trio fell silent.

A young man walked out of the shadowy house. Topazes, opals, and tiger-eye stones glittered on his fingers and at his neck, in rings, pendants, bracelets, and in his fine silk cravat. Leather shoes squeaked over marble. A neat brown coat touched with gold at the lapels cut a narrow figure, trim and fit except for his right leg, and the fine cane he leaned on. His right foot dragged when he walked, leg twisted and weak.

“So? What do you have for me today?” Duke Jerome asked, flashing a sunny smile.

The pair of Chassers thumped the chest on the ground. One undid the lock with a flick, and the other tossed the chest open.

“Wait, wait, wait, not so fast. Duke Jerome, please, let me explain the story of this fine article,” a chubby man blustered, fighting his way out of the carriage. He leaped free at last and gave himself a good shake. Brushing down his coats, he shot a winning grin on the Duke.

Luc evaluated him quietly, searching for hints on his identity. His suit, in neutral, dark shades, gave no clues as to his alignment with any family. Gold at his wrists and neck suggested wealth. But no gemstones, Luc noted. The lack of gemstones, favored by mages for their affinity with mana, in combination with his lack of a family palette or crest in his coat, gave him away as a common merchant, no noble and likely no mage.

Warm teak-colored eyes catching the sunlight, Duke Jerome glanced into the chest, then smiled. “Please, go on.”

The merchant’s smile grew wider. He gestured at the chest. “What we have here is a genuine unicorn pelt. Note the silvery sheen to the fur, the opalescence in the sun. It comes from deep in the darkest forests, where only the bravest hunters dare enter. Unfortunately, they could not recover the live beast, but we are fortunate enough to receive this excellent specimen here.”

The Duke nodded. He reached into the chest and pulled out an inch of the pelt, revealing a short-haired white pelt. “Beautiful. That sheen is truly unusual.”

Luc gasped. The other two glared at him. He pressed his lips together and nodded, then leaned in eagerly.

“And this?” The Duke pointed to a mark in the pelt.

Luc narrowed his eyes, then frowned. That almost looks like a branding mark. Like the kind they put on horses in the market.

The merchant laughed and clasped his hands, scrubbing them together. “Ah, that. You see, unicorns… ah, often bear markings like that. Not unlike a dragon’s two-tone belly. In fact, it’s quite remarkable that it’s so well preserved that you can make the mark out so clearly.”

“Incredible! And to think, I had no idea!” the Duke said, amazed.

“Of course, of course, sir,” the merchant said, bowing.

“And this, the…” He ran his hand over the fur and drew it away, rubbing something between his fingers. “Is that mica?”

“No, no, it… the unicorn’s natural opalescence is from… from its sweat, yes? Naturally it collects in the fur and can come off on the hands when touched,” the merchant said. Sweat dripped down his back.

“And the… fleas?” The Duke flicked one off the cuff of his coat.

“Sir?”

“Are unicorns not meant to be invulnerable to all sicknesses, parasites, and infestations, being the ultimate panacea themselves?” he asked. “Including, of course, fleas.”

“Ah! Ah, the, ah… the unicorns… it, it’s their horn that’s the panacea, not the horse—the unicorn itself. Naturally, the beast can catch fleas.”

“And… not cure them with its own horn?” the Duke asked, quirking an eyebrow.

He’s got a point, Luc thought, slightly confused himself.

“Ah… well… they are beasts, sir. Not highly intelligent.”

“Mmm,” the Duke murmured to himself. “I think you have taught me something today.”

The merchant smiled. “Of course, sir. So, will you be purchasing this fine article?”

“Yes, you have taught me quite a bit, because to my eyes, this ‘fine article’ looks to be a flea-bitten horse pelt.”

The merchant froze. He glanced in the chest, then laughed, all smiles once more. “It might be a bit ragged, but my friend, unicorns live a long, long way from the edge of the wilds. Naturally, the specimen is worn from travel. But this is only—”

Duke Jerome cleared his throat. “My good friend Hugo—may I call you that? Hugo. Let me tell you what I think happened.”

“Of course, of course,” the merchant said, clasping his hands.

“You heard of the Mad Duke, ever searching for wilder curiosities. Poor Mad Duke Jerome, the dear, lost his head during that Grand Rebellion and never got it back. Why, he’s a sucker, sure as day, a man with more gold than sense. You thought to yourself, ‘I’ll take a small risk for a huge profit, and fool that idiot with a moldy old horse pelt,’ packed up this filthy thing we see before us now, sprinkled it with a bit of… yes, that is mica, honestly, my friend, you do know I’m of House Terre, no?—and took out a small loan to afford this fine carriage here so you could fool that silly Duke with his silly flights of fancy into thinking this garbage was something worth protecting. Am I wrong?”

Sweat dripped down the merchant’s face. He smiled, but the smile was strained. “No, no no no, Duke Jerome, I never—”

“Never?” Duke Jerome asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The merchant licked his lips. He glanced at the duke and lowered his head. “I… You, you haven’t even seen the horn…”

“Persistence. I like that in a man.” The Duke clapped the merchant on the shoulder, his smile returning in an instant. He gestured, and a female servant appeared, dressed in the Duke’s livery, a small bag on a tray. Dark brown hair pulled back and tucked into an immaculate bun, a severe expression on her face, she stared at the merchant with a withering gaze.

“This?” the merchant asked, daring to glance up.

“Gold, of course. Take it,” the Duke invited him.

The merchant glanced left and right, then took the bag hesitantly. “Duke Jerome…”

The Duke gestured, rings flashing. “Madeline, take the hide. My dear friend Hugo, please be on your way. Oh, and tell those children behind the peacock topiary to come out, will you?”

Luc, Emilie, and Yvon exchanged a glance. After a second, Luc laughed and ran out from behind the shrubbery, dandelion-fluff curls floating on the wind. Yvon followed him, hands tucked behind his back, walking casually as if he’d simply been out on a stroll. Emilie drew up the rear, head ducked, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

The Chassers helped the merchant back into the carriage as the trio arrived. Red-faced, mopping sweat from his brow, the merchant vanished into the carriage’s depths, nervously holding tight to the bag of gold.

The other two ran past, beelining for the Duke. Luc slowed, taking a moment to take in the carriage and its heavy armor. The steel had been smoked so it wouldn’t shine, the whole carriage dark and matte. Silvery scrapes and dings scarred the right corner, hinting at an encounter beyond the walls. One of the Chassers pulled open a hatch and dropped into the driver’s seat, while the other perched on the seat set on the carriage’s roof, crossbow in hand. At Luc’s worshipful gaze, she smiled. “Never been outside the walls, kid?”

Luc shook his head silently.

Fishing in her pockets, she drew out a pipe and clamped it between her teeth as she searched for her tobacco pouch. “It’s lovely out there. Deadly, but lovely. Hire me sometime, and I’ll show you around the forests. There’s a drake nest not far from here that’s a right sight. Perched right on the edge of a lake… ah, when the sun sets and the drakes all come home to roost… If I were an artist, it’s the kind of thing I’d paint.”

“Aye, Jeanne, stop hitting on the kids, eh?” the driver called out, voice muffled from within his steel cab.

Jeanne whipped around and glared at the armored cab. “Hitting on—can’t a girl drum up business for ten damn seconds, Louis? I swear, one of these days I’m gonna leave you to the wilds and let those monsters do what they so dearly want to do.”

Louis chuckled. He whistled once, low, and cracked the whip. The carriage jolted off.

Startled from his reverie, Luc jumped and chased after the other two, sprinting to catch up.

Ahead of him, Yvon greeted the Duke with an overly formal bow, bending at the waist and rolling his hand ornately. At the prompt, Emilie jumped and began to curtsey, realized she was wearing trousers instead of a skirt, and bowed clumsily instead.

Duke Jerome waved his hand. “No need, no need. How long have you lived in Le-Voux? How long have you been coming by to visit? You know I hate standing on ceremony.”

Arriving late, Luc bowed deeper than Yvon. Yvon caught his eye and bowed deeper, and Luc bowed even deeper in return.

Emilie met the Duke’s eye and sighed, shaking her head at the boys.

Chuckling, Duke Jerome pulled the boys upright before they tipped over in their efforts to bow yet deeper. “Alright, alright. Classes are over, I take it? You’re not cutting?”

“No, of course not,” Emilie said.

“It was boring, though. She wouldn’t tell us anything about the Great Rebellion,” Yvon complained, pouting. His eyes cut at the Duke, a calculating glimmer in their depths.

Luc stood on his tiptoes and peered into the chest. A moth-eaten white horse pelt laid in the chest’s depths, no more exciting than any other pelt. He frowned, disappointed.

“The Great Rebellion? How did that come up?” Duke Jerome asked. He waved his hand at Madeline. Tucking the now-empty tray under her arm, Madeline gathered the chest and carried it into the house.

Distraction removed, Luc dropped back to his heels and sighed. “Yvon brought up a thirteenth Well, and then… things happened, and teacher got angry.”

“It’s not my fault. I was just trying to learn. Is it wrong to learn in school? And anyways, Luc is the one who asked about the Rebellion,” Yvon protested, crossing his arms.

“I did not,” Luc said, frowning.

“You did too,” Emilie butted in.

“Well… so did you!” Luc returned.

“Now, now. I think Madeline baked a clafoutis just now. Hot and fluffy! Would you like to come in for a slice and some tea?”

Yvon narrowed his eyes. “What flavor?”

“Blackberry, from the garden. Just harvested this morning,” the Duke replied.

Luc’s eyes lit up. He nodded vigorously and jumped in place, excited. Emilie wiped her mouth, then glanced aside, embarrassed. Cool and collected, Yvon nodded silently, just once, but he shifted subtly toward the manor.

“Er, wait. Who made the tea?” Emilie asked.

Luc and Yvon both turned to her, then whirled on the Duke, eyes silently demanding an answer to the all-important question.

Laughing, the Duke gestured them in. “I suppose you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The temple bells tolled, loud and desperate.

The Duke stilled, lifting his head. He hesitated one moment, then smiled at the children. “I’m afraid I won’t be joining you right away. But please, go ahead and get started without me.”