CHAPTER 69 – THE CRIMSON MACHINE


    Axion walked side by side with Huntross across the hollow streets of the city, and up the courtyard circle before the Citadel’s front doors; a small moment between the city and its future king, before the surrounding disaster collapsed in. It was hard enough losing Port Caliber. Now he had to act like the loss wasn’t still there, still raw. The burnt ashes of the port city dancing in the wind over Zepathorum.


    The Citadel was built not only high in the sky, but also deep into the ground. The basement, equipped with a stadium of shelters and escape tunnels, was always considered to be the last line of defense before annihilation. When the time would come, when the last small town had felt the hammer-stroke of the shadowy death, this basement would be the only thing left standing between the survivors of the lion kingdom race and extinction.


    But for now, while the enemy was distracted, everyone was preparing, most of all Adyána. At the front doors of the Citadel Adyána was ushering a constant mass of people into the tower. Commander Cel’a and her royal guard were systematically evacuating the different suburban neighborhoods that made up Zepathorum. Together with the Queen, they had set up a direct line down Crimson Boulevard from the gates to the front doors of the Citadel, funneling the city folk and all of the refugees into the stronghold. Adyána greeted all of her subjects warm-heartedly, when Axion met her on the stairs.


    “We cannot hold the gate much longer,” he said


    “I need you to go to the top of the Citadel.”


    “For what?”


    “There is a switch inside the throne room, it lowers the balconies on the bedchambers floor down to the throne room floor…I need you to be my eyes. Take a few guards, keep updating me.”


    “Why can’t a guard do it? I was going to the gates.”


    “Axion, a guard does not operate the throne…”


    Axion looked at his mother and knew exactly what her next words were, her thoughts completed. His emotions took a hold of him, he would have to face his demons, and go back to the Throne Room. His mother seemed to have bounced completely back from her depression. If only he could do the same…


    But when Axion took a closer look at her face while she awaited his response, he found that although she was directing and leading people heroically, there were still scarce tears dripping unwillingly down her cheeks. He knew right then and there that her courage was only temporary, and she had risen to the challenge. If they ever did escape this extermination, she would fall back into her dark nest, wallowing away the scars on her soul.


    For now, like a true queen, she inspired hope and gave aid to her people directly; unselfishly. He respected the inherent bravery of his mother, and finally gave way to her will. Axion’s reasoning for reluctance was still intact, it was too near to his father’s death, and the fear of becoming king haunted his every step. How could he put his country before him with such a burden in the way? He conceded and put his own insecurities on hold, Axion nodded to his mother.


    “Yes, ma’am. I will go,” he agreed while he pulled a torch off the wall, “but I will use flares not guards, send them to the gates in my stead.”


    He brought Huntross into the Citadel right after he said finally, “One when they start an organized approach for the city, two when the gates must be closed, and three when I see Anilithyìstad return.”


    Another idea jumped out of Axion’s thoughts while he was describing his warnings. He continued into the grand hall of the Citadel and ordered one of the head servants to combine the guards and servants and send the boats across the lake for the retreat of the Serengeti Rescue. They were to send only a few pilots across the lake with the boats and attach the other boats however they could.


    “I want to be able to see the boats leaving the piers when I get up to the Throne room,” finished Axion as he kicked Huntross and rode him up the stairs.


    The spiraling staircase was wide and long sloping along the side that ran up the wall of the citadel, a perfect run for a horse. In times of war, the kings and generals would often ride their horses and lions up and down the Citadel as, by far, the quickest means of getting back and forth. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    It was still a wonder to Axion why he immediately thought to do that. Maybe it was his oldest memories of watching his father ride Raja up and down the staircase with him and Mitakahn, or maybe it was an ancient gene of the bloodline making it an instinctual decision in his head.


    Whatever the case may be, Axion was already at the top of the Citadel, standing at the entrance of the Throne Room. He got off of Huntross and left him near the stairs. The Citadel tower was empty. Everyone had reported to the grand hall and basement. The room was dark, and only lit by the torch Axion was still holding. He took a deep breath and walked into the room with his eyes closed.


    There was no grand gesture, no bolt of lightning or hungry earthquake. He reopened his eyes and lit all of the torches on the columns and walls. Axion looked around for the switch when the room was fully lit. The golden strips on the walls and patches of mirrors on the ceiling focused and lit the room to almost sun-like quality. He could easily see every corner of the room. And there was no switch, no sign of what his mother was talking about.


    Axion only had to think about it for a split moment before he figured out where it was. He walked over to the middle of the room, facing the throne. He examined it carefully, fearing the possibility of having to be in the golden chair to see the switch. Axion’s reasonable side outweighed his emotional side and was forced to act on his conclusion. He walked up the steep three steps, turned himself around, and apprehensively lowered himself down.


    Axion sat on the Throne of the Lion Kingdom. He grasped the armrests with his fingers and felt two sensitive levers underneath his left fingers. He flicked the switch closest to him with his index finger and heard a crumble and shift above him in the stone. The ceiling rotated, and the loud clanking of a chain activated, lowering the stone systematically.


    The walls trembled as the sequence completed. The balcony walls swung down in a slow spiral from the bedchambers floor upstairs and clicked into their crystal-lined places. The doors had been pulled back and the ceilings partially receded. Axion almost had a three-hundred and sixty degree view of his kingdom from sitting on the Throne. He peered out from the throne across the entire Serengeti, the cascading fields running towards a distant sun and reeled his vision back to the Lake Niobi. In the lake’s reflection he saw the citadel in its new form. Axion marveled at the revolutionary engineering of his ancestors.


    Legend of Jacob and the Ark


    Long Ago, the Serengeti was full of lakes and cascading green ridges breaking the gaps and supple valleys from the Burning Mountains to the Equitor River. Every time there was a storm the lakes flooded the valleys, only the ridges remained islands amongst the intrepid blue. On the last cluster of hills before the northern bay of the Barren Sea, descendants of Arkham Lion Blessed built a mill. The Flood Mill they called it, positioned on the ridge in such a way that in dry times it was used as a windmill and in hightide monsoons it doubled as a watermill.


    Jacob inherited his father’s creativity at an early age, for good reason, having to last Jacob the better side of a lifetime after losing him early on. Jacob and his family were the heirs of Arkham, the man who carried the Ignaleos Cor for Magnanimous. Jacob’s oldest brother Jaxion decided to take their family away from the crazy mill. All but Jacob left it behind, joining the rest of the people gathering in the “Summerland” or as they referred to it in their native tongue, the Serengeti. With every storm more and more people migrated across the Serengeti swelling their numbers. Jacob was one of the few people to notice these things, along with the rising tides.


    For years Jacob grew up in Castle FloodMill alone, ever working on it, reshaping it, shifting its design while the world aged around him. His brothers began garnering respect through the valleys of the Serengeti. Each and every rumor or tale only raised the legend of the missing brother atop the castle. When his brothers asked him what he was building, he merely called it an “ark”, named after their ancestor Arkham.


    One day a storm came that almost wiped every man off the face of MagnaThora, reminiscent of the Storm Age. For all of Jacob’s brothers’ daring and heroic feats they could not save the Serengeti people. Jacob released the FloodMill off of the ridge, using the wheel as a rotor. Jacob sailed the ark through the Serengeti. For those lucky enough to stay alive, Jacob was able to save them with his FloodMill ark. In the wild nights of the long storm Jacob saved the majority of the Serengeti people, including most of his brothers; but not Jaxion, leaving Jacob as the oldest in his family.


    When the rain stopped and the floodwaters cleared Jacob departed the ark with his people and found themselves more south than they had ever been, having crossed over the Equitor River. Jacob surveyed his ark, it would never move again…come hell or high waters. That was not all. Five men wearing crowns and extravagant cloaks greeted them upon arrival. They were the lords of the local lands. Once it was learned that they hailed from the Serengeti of the North the lords asked them to elect a leader to step forward and represent their tribe. The people were unanimous in choosing Jacob.


    The Five Lords of the inner realm gave Jacob the surname Arkenorth for all his accomplishments. Lastly they honored Jacob with his own symbol for his tribe. The Serengeti might have meant Summerland in their elder tongue, but in the common tongue everyone defined it as Pride lands. The lords of MagnaThora called the people of the ark his pride, and gave him the title Jacob the Lion. After his commencement, Lord Jacob Arkenorth of the Lion Tribe led his people back home north to the Serengeti to start rebuilding, but not before agreeing to return to the Ark in exactly five years.