A cruel, red sun sets that night covering the country in crimson light and creates the appearance of a sea of blood. Dark storm clouds just above the horizon gather in the east, towards Wuwon, and start threateningly towards us as the sky changes from red in the east to a dark blue above us and a stormy night sky in the east.

The ocean seems to shift and change as though conflicted between the joy of our gain and the pain of the Ogres loss. Even as it changes from the bright red to a grey hue, tossing as though expecting a sleepless night, it flows about the island softly as it patiently waits for the news to be carried to it by the quiet dirges of mournful islanders.

Chris leans against a well on the south western corner of Center Island looking off towards the Bay of Mirrors. His eyes stare off, unseeing, to the pristine water far below. The young man dressed entirely in red and black gestures to the water as though speaking with someone.

“Chris?” I call to him. “He turns and looks at me, his eyes unfocused, and then turns back to the Bay. I stand next to him, long moments pass before I speak. “Is something wrong?” I ask finally.

Chris looks down at the ground. “Deany, do you know what we’re doing tonight?” He asks. I shake my head. It’s not that I don’t know, it’s a simple question of what do you do after winning any battle. “We’re burying the dead.” He says gesturing over to the small sapling tree of Hudson the Great.

I stare for a few minutes at the sapling tree of Hudson and then over at the other ruler trees, all of whom were lost to history. Hudson’s was the first tree that seems to be developing well, which isn’t a surprise. When the body of a person is buried underneath a sapling tree, that tree holds the spirit of the ruler. Whether the tree grows into a blossoming, bright tree (as some down the line have) or a dark and twisted tree (as more have) dictates the legacy of the ruler’s time.

As I think back on the time that Hudson had spent as the Lord Mayor of Yadout, I am struck with the realization that this is all that we truly have to remember him by. He was the man that had brought the greatest prosperity to Yadout and yet, as I sit here look at this tree I realize that without a Scholar this is his legacy. I smile at the tree, it will grow to be strong and glorious.

I stare out over the water as I am struck with a sudden thought: this is the very place that Hudson told me years ago that I was going to live in Zibwee.

My thoughts scatter like mice as my brother’s shadow is cast over Chris and I. Tom’s face is hard and uncaring, I had last seen that face as he killed the two Ogres inside the castle. I sigh and shake my head. The Ogres may have deserved it but it was with that simple action that I realized that it was not me who was turning into a monster, but my brother.

“You should be helping with the cleanup.” He insists, his shifting hastily back and forth as though expecting a surprise attack at any moment. I look over at Chris and then follow his gaze back out to the ocean. “Is something wrong?” He asks kindly, something uncharacteristic of my older sibling.

“No.” Chris sighs. “Just thinking.” I nod in silent agreement as we turn away from the sapling tree of Hudson the Great, past Tom and back to the castle, walking with all the cheer of a mourning parade.

Tom watches us as we go, with a grunt of derision, he follows.

When my parents disappeared, back when I was a child, I was given a chance at a new life. Hudson the Great, the mayor of the country, recognized that a child with no parents would learn little. He sent me on the day long trip across the sea to Zibwee to study with the religious men there. They took me on as a servant at the school and, between sweeping the floor and scrubbing the dishes, I was taught how to write well. My brother, seven harvests old at the time, was left in Yadout.

Gordo’ continues to lay the bodies out in front of the castle with the help of a couple of the other men dressed in blue and red, the turtle and pelican riders from Zibwee. The Blacksmith’s eyes were red from weeping over the soldiers he carried, eyes that no longer cried but had dried up and stared without feeling at the bodies. He bore a heart that would break if it tried to care for these people again.

These people, these soldiers who days before were only bakers or builders or farmers. They were only everyday people who risked it all and wound up paying the price. Deep inside, part of me wonders if this really is worth all the pain and devastation. Fathers, sons, husbands, they were all somebody to someone.

The surviving members of the militia loaded their dead brothers in arms into carts and took them to their individual graves being dug on the Farm Island. Mourners were scattered along the path leading east off of Center Island. As the bodies passed, the family members reached out to their lost loved ones. The wailing of the women and children is unbearable. The soldiers keep walking as though blind to the hands reaching for the bodies and press towards the burial site.

Amber exits from the castle rubbing the back of her head. She looks off at the sun, now nearly hidden within the ocean, and shields her eyes from the light; her face twisted in pain. Averting her eyes she is confronted by Tom who pulls her aside and begins speaking with her in hushed tones pointing towards the bodies.

Behind me, Chris watches the bodies pass by. His eyes are distant, his mind still somewhere else. What happened on the adventure to find the turtles that changed the young man? His gaze turns from the bodies to a group of the Pelican riders all dressed in the same red outfit that Chris now wears, likely part of their circus uniform.

“That was quite the entrance you made back there in the castle.” I say quietly.

Chris laughs but his voice is devoid of humor. “I’m really not used to flying.” He says still looking at the group of Zibwites. Suddenly he turns and marches off to speak with Stuart.

The first breeze of cool night air blows in off the ocean effectively dismissing the warmer evening air and warning us that night has now fallen. This wind carries voices with it; voices that are little more than a whisper.

“Are you insane?” I hear Amber hiss.

“Insane?” My brother spits back. “It was a perfectly good suggestion!” My brother gestures to nothing in particular, his arms flailing around his head.

“You’ve lost your mind!” Amber shrieks at him.

“Keep your voice down.” Tom warns. I need to get closer to hear the rest of the argument. Crouching behind a rose bush near the castle, I listen intently.

“I have half a mind to kick you out of the counsel. If you keep this up,” Amber vows, “You will no longer be in charge of Yadout’s militia.” She turns sharply but before she can walk away my brother speaks again, his words catching her in mid-step.

“Ohh, scary.” He taunts. “I am the only thing holding this country together, without me Yadout would fall apart!” Amber refuses to face him still. There is a long pause as Tom looks around suspiciously to see if anyone is nearby. He takes a step closer to Amber. “Burn the bodies in a pile on Military Island. Then you will no longer have to worry about disease or much manual labor.”

“It’s disrespectful to the dead.” Amber argues, now spinning around to face my brother. Her eyes flare in anger and her cheeks grow red as she gets angrier with my brother with every passing moment.

“It’s convenient!” He shoots back. “They moved on, they aren’t coming back; they do not care what we do with the bodies. All this sentimental nonsense is tiring. They are nothing.” Tom clenches his fists at his side, even I am shocked at what my brother is saying.

“The dead may not care,” Amber slowly responds, her voice cold and shaking, “but the families of the dead do. These people gave their lives for me and their country. They deserve more than a grave, they deserve a tomb like the Kings of Zibwee.” Amber looks off into the distance as though seeing a great and spectacular time yet to come. They deserve a place where they may rest undisturbed and serve as a monument of self-sacrifice giving courage and strength to the people of Yadout for generations to come!” Her eyes quickly return to Tom. “They do not deserve to be burned!” Amber turns abruptly and stomps off to Kevin’s Gate leaving Tom standing stunned out in front of the castle.

Finally my brother returns to the castle to help Gordo with the bodies of the Ogres that will be buried in a mass grave.

I stand from behind the rose bush only to see Stuart notice my rising. The old man hurries over to me looking over his shoulder to the south bridge where Amber had stalked off. “What happened?” He asks. The old man looks ready to pitch forward and fall asleep on my shoulder.

“Tom and Amber were arguing over the burial of the soldiers.” I tell him nodding to the castle.

Stuart grunts. “Don’t we have bigger things to worry about?” The old man asks.

“Bigger things?” I ask.

Stuart looks around himself. “Don’t you see? The Ogres never left the castle, never tried to expand. The Ogre King himself was here and they didn’t advance against us.”

I nod slowly. “It is odd that they didn’t send everything they had at us. What do you think they were planning?”

Stuart shakes his head. “The Ogres? Planning?” The old man laughs. “No, no, no, young man. It’s not the Ogres. Someone’s leading them. Someone’s working with them. Someone’s planning something much bigger than a simple over throw of a nation.”

“Simple?”

Stuart nods. “A Zibwite.” He says glancing over at the same crowd of gaudily dressed foreigners Chris had been watching earlier. “It must be. Someone’s struck a deal with the Ogres and now they’re planning something. Something big.”

“I’ll talk with Ryan.” I promise the old man. This isn’t the first story he’s come up with about some plot to conquer all three nations and it’s probably not going to be the last. If anyone’s thought the overthrow of Yadout through, it’s Stuart. “What about that artifact you found?” I ask.

Stuart sighs and pulls it up on the chain to show me. “Found it in the caverns of Uncachunca. It goes a little bit slower every time I use it.” He tells me, now that he’s no longer excited he sounds ready to fall over again.

“Are there more like it?” I ask staring at the strange artifact. The small orb in the center seems to give off a light all its own, that’s likely how Stuart found it.

Stuart shakes his head. “No.” He says turning away from me.

“That’s a shame, but still, this bodes well for us. Where did you get the giant turtles?”

Stuart suddenly turns, his finger raised. “Listen Deany.” he snaps. “I’m far too tired and told this story too many times. Now, sir, if you will?” He turns and walks away. I’m too shocked to stop him. The man I respect the most just called me ‘sir’. Like Chris, something has changed in Stuart. The trip to the north has taken something from him. Perhaps the artifact itself has taken something from him.

“Stuart!” I call after him, remembering the books of myth I managed to salvage from the dilapidated library. “That land in the north, Uncachunca you called it, I think I read about it in the books of myth, I think it’s called Xtand!” The old man turns to me, his grey beard seems to turn whiter as though the black hairs are getting plucked out by some invisible force. “Get some sleep!” I finish. Stuart nods and walks away down the road.

The Ogres do not lead the most sanitary lives and so the castle itself reeked of feces, urine and blood. The damage caused by the Ogres and the battle to expel them took its toll on the castle. Another shipment of stone from Zibwee is likely going to be ordered to repair the damage.

The doors are being left open for a few days and, hopefully, the castle should be clean by tomorrow. Though the damage done to the building will not be repaired for weeks the Banquet of Leaders is to be held tomorrow night. This is part of the reason Amber wanted the castle retaken today.

In all of the remembered time no Banquet of Leaders was so much as delayed. Hudson the Great had taught Amber that all rulers keep the appointed time of feasts to show the people that they truly were in control.

Though against tradition, I suggested both Rebecca and Kevin join as honorary guests with Amber and myself as well as the other members of the new counsel –Chris, Stuart and Tom who will be representing their respective forces. Amber said she would consider but that she didn’t wish to turn from tradition, especially so early in her rule.

I follow Amber down the south bridge to the Main Island and watch the mourners carting the deceased to the east, the castle slowly fading from view in the darkness on night.

The sound of my feet on wood brings me back to myself as I realize that I could have fallen down into the ocean if I was a mere two steps to my left. It wouldn’t have been anything bad for my health, just my pride.

Four bridges connect the four islands of Yadout. These bridges have been here for as long as I can remember. They have passed the test of time when even the documents telling when they were built are long gone. They stand as a testament to our previous prowess in engineering, recently, with nothing of import to build, that skill has withered.

I step off the bridge and turn west to Kevin’s Gate. Kevin’s Gate is a small building made of fine stone shipped years ago from Zibwee. The proprietor, a middle-aged man named Kevin, is easily the most Pro-Yadout person I have ever met. When Hudson had asked the people what child showed the most potential in leadership, it was Kevin who had initially suggested Amber.

Kevin’s Gate is often visited by all the people of Yadout who have come to see it as the center of entertainment in a rather dull country. Kevin had suggested a feast for the people at the old arena on Military Island in an attempt to get the people using the dilapidated stage again but as of yet no feast has been held.

The establishment is a wonderful little shop that sells Fruit Cocktails and a special Zibwite cream. The fruit cocktails are made of a variety of fruit types that are whipped, crushed, juiced and stepped on. The gritty liquid that comes from the fruit is then thrown into a cup and served. To special customers, such as myself, Kevin will mix the Fruit Cocktail and cream in exactly the right proportions to make what he calls a “Fruit Spectacular”.

I push open the cold, heavy door and step into the quiet room. No one has come to celebrate the victory. The shop is empty save for Amber about whom it cannot be said is in a celebratory mood.

The stone tables gleam and reflect the moonlight off the newly polished tops recently brought over from Zibwee. Regardless of what’s happening in the kingdom, Kevin’s Gate remains open but, at the moment, the bartender is nowhere to be seen.

I sit down next to Amber. Though I wasn’t far behind her she already has multiple empty glasses in front of her. She has wasted no time in drowning her sorrows. I scan the room for Kevin again. “How are you doing?” I finally ask.

“I was just in a fight with your brother.” Came the response. “Just like every time we speak.” She shakes her head. “I’m glad you didn’t turn out like him.” She grabs my arm with her hand. I pat it softly and nod, I am too. With her free hand she finishes off the last of her Fruit Cocktail and slams the mug down before releasing my arm. “Kevin!” She hollers into the back.

Kevin the barkeep, a larg man in both stature and girth, emerges from the back with a keg of the fruity drink slung over his shoulder. He lets the barrel down with a grunt and wipes off his grease stained apron. His long sleeved green shirt is rolled up to his elbows and his hands are raw from washing dishes in the rough soap he ordered from Zibwee. His graying black hair is pulled back into a pony tail that sways from side to side as he walks, his steps careful and each one placed with thought.

“Sorry, you ran the last one dry.” The man says, his gruff voice attempting to sound cheerful. Kevin nods at me and smiles halfheartedly. “I suppose I’ll put it on the government’s tab?”

“Right.” Amber responds sourly. “Keep them coming.”

Kevin clears away all the mugs in front of Amber with one sweep of his large arm. If I didn’t know better I might think that the large man was part Ogre. Kevin pours Amber a new drink and sets it in front of her, pulling up his stool behind the bar he sits down with the two of us, his massive arm pulling up his own drink in a golden mug.

“I’ll have a Fruit Spectacular Kevin.” I tell the man as he takes a sip from his own cup. The man’s sip turns to a long pull and he sighs with satisfaction as he places the golden mug gingerly back down onto the counter.

“I don’t sell those to you.” He says casually.

I quickly shift my gaze back to Kevin and glare at him intent on intimidating the large man. He looks straight back in my eyes and leans forward, towering over me even while he remains seated. “I don’t sell those to you.” He smilingly repeats knowing full well that he could intimidate an Ogre.

“Well then Kevin,” I press to try and trick the large man into getting me the drink, “how about a Fruit Cocktail?” The man, ready to take another drink, stops suddenly and looks in my eyes. The old barkeep knows me well enough to recognize when I’m planning something.

“Alright.” He returns slowly letting his cup down and standing to get me my drink. I glance over at Amber who wrinkles her brow in confusion.

The barkeep puts the drink down in front of me and suddenly my mind goes blank. What was my plan?

My head hits the counter in frustration.

Amber smiles and laughs quietly to herself. “Can I have a Fruit Spectacular?” She asks politely.

I look up as Kevin mixes the drink as an artist paints a picture or a weaver weaves a basket. With all the care of a mother fox tending her children, Kevin stirs the drink slowly. He puts the Fruit Spectacular down in front of Amber. Amber pushes the drink over to me and takes my Fruit Cocktail.

“That’s not allowed!” Kevin protests as my face splits into a childlike smile. Amber smiles too and takes a sip from the Fruit Cocktail. Even Kevin smiles (though he shakes his head).

Knowing that I need to be on Kevin’s good side I quickly speak in his defense. “Amber, I can’t believe you could betray Kevin’s trust like that.” I say shaking my head.

“Excuse me?” Amber says glancing over at me.

“I would never do a thing like that.” I tell him in consolidating tones.

“Oh you wouldn’t?” She angrily returns, her mood changing as quickly as a squall in a dry spell. Amber quickly snatches away the Fruit Spectacular even as I try and take my first sip.

“Oh, come now.” I say in frustration. I had hoped to keep that in spite of the off handed remark. “Can I just have my drink back? The Fruit Cocktail?”

“You want your drink back?” She demands. I look up and see Kevin smile. He knows my fate. “After everything that’s happened you are so certain that you want to play these games with me?” I shrug at the barkeep. There’s no stopping her now. She’s like a wild hawk swooping down on a field mouse. “It’s insulting how you treat me!” Kevin tosses a dry rag towards me. It lands on the counter. “Well here you go!” She screams as she overturns the mug on my head and leaves the cup on top.

Storming out of Kevin’s Gate she bumps into Anita, with a smile and polite greeting Amber continues out the door. I take the mug off my head and use the dry rag Kevin tossed to me to dry my face.

“What just happened?” Anita asks sitting down next to me taking care to not let her green robes touch the spilt drink. Her hair is pulled back in a pin that holds her long hair in place and keeps it from disturbing her while working in the bakery.

“Amber.” Kevin says plainly. Anita, though now shorter than me, was taller as a child. As such, I still feel like I’m looking up at her.

“So it was your fault, Deany?” She asks. I’m confused. I look over to Kevin for answers and he nods.

“Yeah, it was his fault.” The barkeep says. Kevin has owned this shop for as long as I can remember and I have come to trust him now. Kevin hasn’t changed in my mind, he’s still as young to my eye as he was when we first met. He has become a symbol of solidarity to me in an always changing world.

Anita’s back suddenly sets itself straight and she cranes her neck to look around the small shop. “Have either of you seen Rebecca?” She asks just as suddenly. I shake my head. Kevin hasn’t seen her either. “If you see her tell her I’m looking for her.” She says standing again.

“She’ll stop by in time.” I tell her. Kevin’s Gate has always been Rebecca’s favorite place to relax after such an ordeal as this. The calming atmosphere here is unnatural, almost magical.

“I need to find some people who would be willing to help with the banquet. I don’t think many people will be up to it though.” Anita shakes her head. I nod in understanding.

Anita is one of the greatest cooks in all of Yadout. Having inherited the family business from her parent shortly before they moved to Zibwee to retire, the young lady spends most of her time in her kitchen trying to create new delicacies. Rebecca is one of the few true friends she has, a friend who stops by to chat and not to simply try a new dish or ask for a recipe. Though none would say it to her face, Anita is regarded as a recluse or a beautiful crone; or at least the closest thing to it that Yadout has seen in recent history.

“I’ll tell her to find you if I see her.” I promise.

Anita smiles sadly, wringing her hands. “I suppose that’s the best that you can do for me.” She says turning to leave.

“Well, maybe I can help.” I say extending a sticky hand.

“No!” She quickly turns back to me. My hair is matted from the Fruit drink and my clothes still drip. Anita’s eyes are filled with fear. Kevin laughs boisterously behind the counter. Anita coughs and composes herself. “I mean, thank you, but no. I think it would be best if you… stay here and keep an eye out for Rebecca for me.” She holds up her hands in front of herself as though I am a creature from nightmares.

“Right.” I say. Kevin is still laughing. “I’ll do that.” I sit back down on the seat and Kevin calms himself as Anita leaves, the smell of basil and other spices trailing behind her.

Kevin turns back to me and seems to be thinking deeply about something. “What?” I ask after a moment.

Kevin shakes his head and pulls out his mug again. He tops himself up and lifts his mug to propose a toast. “For Amber.” He says.

I take Amber’s drink and lift it in acknowledgment. “And for Yadout.” I tell him. Grinning widely I sip victoriously from the Fruit Spectacular.