WHEN I ENTER the map room, all is dark save my single lamp.
No Sindaco.
I’d assumed he’d be gone, and thank the Sun I was right.
My plan is to leave the handkerchief of the phases of the moon on the table. I’ve no doubt he’ll put the pieces together.
Once I’m at the table, I start to dig. I’ve got to find something that has tomorrow’s date, something to assure me I’m not making a huge mistake.
Shuffling papers, moving stacks from one side of the table to the other, I can’t find one line of scribble that gives a date. I’d even settle for a doodle of the phases of the moon with the waxing crescent circled.
But there’s nothing.
From the table, I move to the desk farther back in the cave. There’s more maps, pen and ink, blank paper, a pile of crumbled mess-ups in the trash bin. There are two drawers in the desk. The first is empty and the second is stuck.
I pull with all I have, but the thing won’t budge, and the harder I try, the more convinced I am that exactly what I’m looking for must be inside this stubborn drawer and oh, how that crescent moon is smirking down on me now.
When I pull out my blade, shove it in the small space between the desk and drawer and give it one hard jerk, the thing breaks loose. The wooden drawer slips out of the desk with a crack, and knocks the metal trash bin over in the process.
Of course, the drawer is completely empty except for some blank paper, but I’ve already moved on. When the trash bin fell over, something underneath it knocked loose.
A key.
Moving quickly now, sure that the Sindaco or Dorian or some officer’s going to walk in and catch me digging through the map room, I scour every inch I can looking for a keyhole. But aside from the desk, a chair, and the table, maps hanging from the walls, a few thick books stacked on the floor, the cavern is barren. Starker even than our home back up on Bellona.
I stop, sit down in the middle of the room.
It’s got to be in here, because why would the key be in here, then? Of course, I’m thinking about how that’d probably be exactly what I’d do: keep the key and whatever it opens in different rooms, when my eyes settle on a paper map of Bellona hung on the far wall.
There’s a small red X marked over the Coliseum. That alone isn’t suspicious, but the fact that the map is bowing slightly, one corner a hair crooked, that part’s strange. Every other map in here is meticulously straight, almost in pristine condition, but this one’s been taken down and put back up, by the looks of it, many times.
I walk over to it, gently pull the top right corner off its nail. When the flap falls forward, I find there’s writing all over the back of it.
It’s small, lightly jotted with graphite, nearly invisible, especially in the dark, but it’s there.
And once I pull the whole thing down, look at it under the light of my lantern, there in the upper corner, next to tomorrow’s date, are the words: Mission Waxing Crescent.
Below are battle plans … Soldiers’ movements … Who’s leaving through which dens … Much of what he explained at the briefing, but to my ears, at least, he’d been vague. Did everyone else know he was lying to me?
How is it not one soldier mentioned attacking tomorrow?
Was there some predetermined code word? Appease the Lunalette … Make her think she’s being let in on the fight … Speak in code …
My mind spins with endless deceptive possibilities as my fingers clench the sides of the map. Marching to the table, I set the map facedown, place the handkerchief with the phases of the moon on top, then go to grab my blade to skewer it all together for the Sindaco to find, but … I can’t leave my blade behind.
I need a sharp shard of rock, a nail, anything …
Yet again, I’m searching the cave. Rushing, haphazardly checking behind maps and under papers, my palms beginning to sweat as more and more, I’m worried this is all a huge waste of time, that someone could walk in any minute. Still, I somehow rationalize it with the fiery anger welling in my chest. This is important. The Sindaco needs to know he didn’t win. He didn’t pull his lie over on me.
After a failed attempt to pull a nail from the rock wall, nearly slicing my fingertip on the jagged thing, I stall. My eyes scan hopelessly from one corner to the next.
As if he knew I’d need something, there’s nothing.
Knowing I’ve already been here too long, I settle on stacking a few books around the map so at least it doesn’t fall off the table.
The Sindaco will see it, that’s all I need.
I grab three of the thick volumes and set them on the table, but the last one gives an unexpected jingle.
There’s a small lock holding it shut.
Fishing the key from my pocket, I try inserting it, but it doesn’t fit. The stupid key’s too big and probably for the door, some other box of the Sindaco’s secrets.
Dropping the book onto the floor, I stomp on the lock with my boot, breaking the hinges off in one try.
I open it up.
And inside … Inside …
It’s not what I expect.
The book is hollowed out. Not a great shock, but I was sure I’d find coded plans, a top-secret battle agenda, signed statements by every member of the Night to keep the date of the attack a secret.
But what I do find is a thin, small copy of a child’s storybook.
The book is bound in red leather, and printed on the front is a golden eight-pointed star, the title: The Solvrana.
The story reads …
Once upon a time in a far-off land, there lived a girl of limited means. She was kind and generous, thoughtful and loyal, but very poor.
An orphan, the girl longed to one day have so much more than she possessed, which wasn’t much: a doll to hold, a single quilt to warm her, and the birthmark over her heart to remind her she was special.
You see, the girl knew of things no one else in this land knew. It was a secret and one that kept her going even in the darkest of days when hunger and war and death ravaged her once peaceful land.
For she was the only soul who knew of her birthmark.
However, everyone in lands far and wide, across the Great Sea and back, knew of the prophecy of the sun-child: the Solvrana.
Legend foretold that one day a girl with an eight-pointed star upon her heart would rise up and save their land. She would bring peace and hope and end the fighting. Restore joy.
Unfortunately, it was not so easy. On her tenth birthday—
The rest of the pages are torn out, the binding left unraveling, but I don’t need to read further.
On the back inside cover, bright as the Sun striking down at midday, is the word Lunalette and a jagged drawing of a five-pointed star. It’s unmistakably the same writing as the Sindaco’s notes. No doubt inscribed by him.
More lies? More deception?
My chest tightens and my scar tingles. I squeeze my hands into fists, planting my feet to the spot to keep from running to the Crag and busting through the Sindaco’s door.
It’s all just a story. Made up. Horseshit.
I stare down at the place where my scar sits jagged and shiny just below a few layers of clothing. Was it even a pantera fish? Or was it given to me some other way? By someone’s hand? All to fulfill a stolen child’s story.
A legend.
A revolution.
I have to remind myself to breathe despite the heat coming up from my chest like fire.