Chasing the Sun - Prologue

Prologue

April 28, 9867 A.D.

The clouds in the deep-set sky were black. Flesh rotted away in the breeze that blew my cloak. My lungs were heaving for air in the dense crowd. As I pressed my way through the clamorous throng of civilians, a general hush slowly fell upon the multitude. I hadn’t a moment to lose.

“Greetings!” shouted a drawling voice from atop a balcony.

The uproar died instantly. As much as everyone hated the traditional speech that accompanied hangings nobody dared interrupt.

“Greetings,” repeated the voice. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and began reading. “As representative, for the, um, Ash Heap, I am hereby obligated to carry out the proceedings of the execution under the laws of the land found in section 46 as quoted. ‘Thieving, robbery, raid, pilfering, etc. are outlawed and therefore punishable by death, which are the customs of the colonies of the Great North: Rykdom, Tenniph, and so on… under which your allegiance lies.’ Remember, you live because we are merciful.” The last seven words were a very familiar citation to all the colonies. But hidden beneath the cruel irony of the statement was a warning to obey. Rebels didn’t last long. “Bring out the accused!”

In all the excitement, I found myself being pushed further and further away. Everybody was clawing and clambering to see. My pace quickened, so did my heart. I resorted to crawling on my hands, beneath the legs of people. I tried not to look as a woman’s skirt flew up in the breeze. My well calloused and grubby fingers were stepped on by many and the cloak upon my back suffered greatly in the commotion. My knuckles bled. Once at the front, I latched on the barbed fence and took in my surroundings, searching frantically for Gil.

I was in a large courtyard enclosed with tall buildings, each with numerous windows and balconies filled with government officials, guards, and high classed civilians. On the largest balcony, I saw the man who had delivered the speech as well as many others. They all had fair hair, ghostly white skin, costly apparel, and plump bellies. Furthermore, all appeared bored, as if they could be spending their time doing something a little more interesting; one even yawned.

Only one among the lot seemed even mildly interested. He was an ancient man with an inky blue cane and grey bushman eyebrows, shrouding his misty blue eyes and giving way to a very large and prominent nose. Wrinkles folded over his brow while tufts of white hair fell just past his pointy ears.

In the centre of the courtyard was a long blood stained platform, surrounded by a tall barbed wire fence where the hangings took place. The gallows held enough room for eight. Eight simultaneous deaths.

A door creaked open from an underground shaft to let the prisoners out. First I saw a man, dressed in rags, his bottom lip twitching in a nervous gesture, followed by a limping senior. Next came a woman with tears streaming from her already tear stained eyes and a man, head hung low. Five more appeared, all badly beaten. And all bore an expression of sorrow mingled with fear. None were any younger than twenty-five at least, except the last. They rarely executed children, for the last could not have been more than fifteen. It was a boy, both eyes were discoloured and he walked with a heavy limp. He had long greasy black hair, his clothes were torn to reveal scars and bruises, cuts and scrapes. His body was so unusually disfigured, were it not for his platinum eyes, I would not have recognized him. It was my brother.

“Gil!”

But he did not hear. My small voice was drown among the frenzy that now filled the air.

Drums rang out from atop the buildings. Each beat was low and forlorn. Gil, along with the others, marched onto the platform to take his place, hands bound behind his back. A light rain began to fall.

I surveyed the fence. The wire was old. Nobody noticed as I began digging through the soft earth and crawled underneath the rusty fence. My cloak caught on the wire and ripped, but still no one noticed.

“Gil!” I called again as I ran between two preoccupied guards. Gil stood on a tall stool and had a thick rope tied around his scrawny neck, eyes upon the ground. I was nearly in proximity to the platform when a guard noticed and slapped me down. I called for Gil to help me and was kicked in the side by the guard. “No! I need Gil! You can’t take my brother away!”

“Get out of here, vermin!” shouted the guard.

Ignoring the guard, I started scrambling up the stairs of the platform. The guard pulled me back and pushed me into a mud puddle. Catching the guard by his unawares, I threw a fistful of mud in his face. He cursed as I ran past him. By now many others had noticed and were now shouting.

Gil had finally noticed me. “Are you stupid?! Beat it, Finn! Go home!”

“Shut yer trap!” shouted the executioner as he slapped him hard across the face. It shouldn’t have knocked Gil down, but he was weak and malnourished. His feet fumbled and the stool that had been keeping him up was knocked to the side. The rope around his neck tightened. Gil was going to die.

Two men seized me by the arms to pull me back. I screamed and squirmed free of their powerful grasp, falling at the feet of my brother. I held his body against mine to hold him up, it was cold. Pandemonium rippled through the crowd. More guards were closing in, ready to tear me away from my brother.

The first to reach me held a gun to my forehead. I swallowed. The gun was fired. The crowd gave out a shriek and fell quiet.

The Ash Heap was where they sent all the useless military men. They were given poor instructions and little supplies. Firing a bullet was rarely done.

I continued holding Gil up, but the mud and rain made it hard to properly do so.

From behind me I heard a voice filled with authority shout, “Cut him free.”

A blade flashed above and Gil fell on me, wheezing for breath. Disoriented, I turned. The elderly man from the balcony had stood and in his hand was a very fine white pistol. It had been aimed straight up and he was now lowering it.

I felt my head and allowed myself to breath again; I couldn’t remember when I had stopped. Nobody had shot me.

The rain was falling in heavy droplets, blurring my vision. I reached for Gil. His neck was red. His cheek was bleeding. The hue was striking and rich. And I hated it. I lived in a world of charcoal and ash; and sad as it was, the only beautiful color was human blood.

Ever since I can remember, I have been terrified of death. The thought of it sends shivers up and down my spine. I'd lived in a run down country, that most liked to call Ash Heap, it’s real name had been forgotten with time. From what I've been able to glean, it was once a very beautiful empire with booming industries of mining and fisheries, but that was ages ago. From there it's not hard to understand my fear of death…

Mouths cracked with thirst, split and bleeding. Rodents crept past the abandoned borders. Fevers broke out; there was always some sort of epidemic. Boils formed and intense fits of coughing followed. Loss was high. Toddlers, barely weaned, slipped away in the dead of night. Grown men shrieked, unable to withstand the unbearable pain and loss. The putrid smell of death was everywhere. My family died one by one before my eyes, all but Gil, I couldn’t lose him now.

Yes, I was terrified of death.

The only reason I survived at all had been because of him. Our parents had died when we were very young, but Gil’s ingenuity and devotion kept us alive.

“Bring them,” the old man commanded. “And get me out of this retched rain.”

Two hands seized me from behind and another threw Gil over his shoulder. Expertly, my hands were bound and I too was thrown over a mans back like a sack of potatoes. I kicked ankles and bit fingers, but it was useless. These were not guards of the Ash Heap, these men were trained and experienced warriors of the North.

I watched in horror as the executioner kicked the stools from beneath the others. The woman screamed for her baby as she convulsed. A reply came although I could not give a voice a body. The rain made it impossible to see beyond five yards.

In any case, I was hauled from the square and into a dimly lit room and up a flight of stairs. The second floor differed greatly from the first. A silver chandelier hung from the low ceiling, giving light to the entire room. There were fine linen chairs and a wondrous variety of foods spread on an elaborate table. Red curtains were draped over the windows and the walls were covered in white. In the middle of the room a group of six or so men were arguing. I immediately recognized the old man. I shrivelled in fear. He was going to have us both killed. Probably tortured first. I looked to Gil for support, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

The old man seemed to be in the thick of the argument. “You’ve grown idle. I leave for a few years and in my absence little happens aside from hundreds of deaths at the gallows.”

A drawling voice spoke. It was the man who delivered the speech prior to the executions. “I must make a profit somehow. The fisheries department doesn’t make near enough to sustain the country.”

“You care nothing for the good of the country, Garret! Or its people, only for your own personal gain.”

“A healthy leader makes a healthy people,” Garret retorted, patting his overlarge belly. “And even if I did give all that I have to the people, it would do no good. I might extend their lifespan, oh lets say, a month or two, but really, they are going to die no matter what. Execution is a mercy.”

“So then how are you making a profit?”

No reply.

“You,” the man pointed his bony finger to a young officer. “Answer me. How is profit made if not from the fisheries?”

The officer swallowed. “The Death Trench, sir. We offer employment and lots of it. But we need more deaths to keep in business and natural deaths don’t quite balance the books. All those who died have been justifiable. We only kill the criminals, the weak, and the, uh, infirm.”

“Then kill me,” the man mocked, waving his walking stick around. “I’m infirm! Kill me! Or better yet, kill the boy. Let’s destroy the only link we’ve had in decades to—”

“Ahem.” I looked up. The man holding me was speaking. “Where do you want them?”

The old man inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Bring them here.” With that he gestured for the others to leave. Garret hesitated before leaving the room with a scowl. Gil and I were set down right in front of the old man. Gil looked at him with contempt, so I did as well.

“Speak,” the aged man said.

Gil didn’t respond.

“Speak, or bear the consequences.” The man advanced.

Still, Gil would not speak. I began to worry that something horrible might happen. The man might beat Gil with the cane. Or he might use his pistol and shoot him. I bit my lip. Gil knows what he’s doing, Gil knows what he’s doing.

The man loomed above us.

“This is Gil, I am Finn,” I stammered, refusing to look at Gil. “He is my brother.”

“So you thought you could rescue him?” challenged the elderly man.

“Yes,” I peeped.

“This boy was charged with felony. To interfere with his execution is punishable by death. Did you know this?”

Truth dawned on me. I was not going to save Gil, but I too was going to die. In my rashness, I had forgotten the penalty. “Yes, but I thought you disagreed with the law,” I answered.

He laughed throatily. “Dear boy, I am the law.”

“So then you will let us go?” I asked hopefully.

“I suppose I could,” he mused. “But a price must be paid, from the both of you.”

“There is nothing you could say or do that would change my mind! Change his if you will, but leave me out of it.” Gil spat.

The elderly man turned his attention to Gil. “Then you have no relations to this boy.” He gestured to me.

“None.”

“Brave words. And I’m sure they won’t be the last.” He turned to the window. “Take them away.”

We were dragged from the room. Gil did not resist. We were led underground through a series of tunnels. Every so often we passed a dark hole, with seemingly no bottom. Cries would ascend from the depths within. It could only mean one thing. This was a jail and those were cells.

After a while, we stopped in front of one such hole. “Jump,” ordered one of the men.

“What?” I started to ask, but Gil grabbed my arm and leapt into the blackness. I hit a sharp rock as I clumsily fell and I howled in pain. All the guards did was laugh.

We landed in a large puddle of water, which broke our fall nicely, except that it chilled us to the bone. We tried to find higher ground, but soon discovered that we were not alone and had to settle with the mud.

“Why did we have to jump?” I asked Gil.

“Because it would have hurt more if they pushed us.” Gil answered. “Now please don’t ask questions. You’ve got us in enough trouble as it is.”

“I saved your life,” I responded indignantly.

“No you didn’t,” he scoffed.

“Yes I did. If I hadn’t showed up—”

“Shut up, Finn!”

I did.

There was a long silence. We sat there shivering in the cold. I hugged my body tightly, trying to preserve any warmth I had left. I winced when I felt my side. I brought my shaky fingers to my lips and spat into the darkness. “I’m bleeding.”

Gil said nothing, but I could tell he was listening.

“How’s your neck?” I asked.

“Fine.”

“Gil?”

“What?!”

“Will we get out of here alive?”

“I don’t know.”

I tried to find his eyes, but it was impossible in the darkness. “Why did they take you?”

“It’s what they do,” Gil answered, irritably.

“But you never stole anything, right?”

“No.”

Another silence. Only a few others in the pit spoke at all. Some were just muttering to themselves.

“Finn?” Gil whispered, startling me by how concerned his voice sounded. “You were really brave back there.”

It was my turn to keep quiet.

Gil went on. “Listen, I need you to get out of here alive. I did take something from them. They’ve tried everything short of murder to get it from me. Finn, I’m scared.” He broke into ragged sobs.

I had never seen my brother cry so I wasn’t sure how to react. “What did you take?”

“I can’t say,” Gil answered between breaths, “others may hear. And I don’t want to put you in danger.” He sniffed loudly and the crying ceased. He fumbled in the darkness for something.

After a minute, I asked, “What are you doing?”

Gil shushed me just as a guard came to peer down into the pit with his beady eyes, not that he could see anything anyways. Once his footsteps could no longer be heard, Gil explained. “Digging.”

I was confused and knew better than to ask.

“There are those who would have us dead. And those who would help us. Learn the difference between the two. We were put in this cell for a purpose.” After another few minutes, Gil said, “Give me your hand.”

I did. When I withdrew it, I felt a small flask in my grasp.

“I need you to drink this,” he whispered.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Why-”

“Don’t ask, just do it when I tell you. It’s the only way you’ll get out alive. Now, listen to my instructions carefully. What you hold in your hand is a sleeping draft that gives the appearance of death. You’ll wake up in the Death Trench. When you do, I need you to escape without being seen by anyone.”

“You’ll come too, right?”

“Yes, yes. Go to the burrow to get my things. The combination is 9 right, 13 left. The rest of the combination is on page 58 of my journal.”

I nodded, and shook my head. “How will I remember that? And where is your journal? Forget that, I didn’t even know you had a journal.”

I could feel Gil smiling. “What’s wrong with a journal? Each page is a day of your life. A piece of your soul left behind. Haven’t you ever wished that someone would come and learn of the injustice within the Ash Heap?”

“Not really.”

“Never mind, you’re too young to understand anyways. Okay. The combination is 9 right, 13 left. You’re 9, I’m 13. (’58 was the year Finn was born) My journal is in a box under my bed. The combination to the box is the date, which would be 04-28-9867. If you get it wrong, it’ll reset and you won’t be able to open it for another hour. So you can’t afford to be wrong. Once you’ve got all that, go to the harbour. Hide under the fourth pier in the fifth oil barrel. And wait.”

“Could you repeat that?” I asked, feeling dumb. Gil hated it when I didn’t understand him, but to my surprise, he was very patient as he explained over and over again the instructions I was to follow. I soon had memorized it forwards and backwards. I was given plenty of time, too, because it was a number of hours before a ladder was dropped into the pit. As soon as it had, Gil demanded that I drink from the flask. Without wasting another second, I obediently uncorked it and drank the contents. It tasted like bitter sweet syrup and I instantly felt light headed.

People were already climbing up the ladder. If they didn’t, the whip would make them. “Give me the flask,” Gil urged quietly so the others wouldn’t hear. “Finn, I need to burry it.”

Everything was in slow motion as I handed it to Gil; even my heart seemed to slow down. Gil was still talking to me. I could hardly hear him. Was he crying? No, he was screaming. Whatever he was doing, I expected it was to make my death look real. Then it hit me. Those tears were real. I was never going to see Gil again.

Despite my death like state, I felt a tear escape my eye.