Prince of Attania, 2
Chapter 50

Jet listened without comment as Attan explained about the bungled (from Stenson’s viewpoint) release. Attan went on to tell his father about the meeting with Stenson’s Sons of Men group, and what Stenson wanted him to do. When he was finished, Attan asked, “What should I do?”

He could hear Jet’s sigh through the communicator. “See it through,” Jet advised. “Go to this Sons of Men compound since Stenson wants you to do that. He always has a reason for what he does, even when the rest of us don’t understand it. When you’re done, though, I want you to come home.”

Home? Attan wasn’t sure what his father meant. Home used to be Low City. “To Darcy?” he asked. “What about Stenson?”

“Bring him, too. He’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“And if he refuses to come?”

Jet laughed. “Bring him anyway.”

Attan could. He didn’t feel comfortable exerting his will over someone else’s, but he trusted his father. Hopefully, Stenson wouldn’t give him any trouble. “All right,” he agreed.

Jet didn’t end the connection. “Attan, if you had to, could you replace me, no matter where I am, no matter where you are?”

Attan thought about it. “Yes,” he said, thinking about extending his self across all of Attania. He’d felt his father’s essence at those times. “I’m not sure I could communicate with you that way, though,” he admitted honestly.

“Try,” Jet urged. “I thought maybe you could do that. I thought I felt . . .” Attan sensed his hesitation. “Just try, next time.”

Attan agreed, wondering why his father was asking. He ended the communication with a promise to return to Darcy as soon as he could.

Stenson regarded him sourly when he came back into their shared room. “What did the King tell you to do? Take me into custody? Lock me up?”

“No, he just wants us both to come to Darcy when we’re done. He has something he wants to tell us.”

“That’s it? He’s not stopping the releases?”

“No. He never stopped them in the first place. He said he made a promise to Aylard—to you—that as long as people chose it, he wouldn’t stand in their way.”

“Then he did everything in his power to make them not choose it,” Stenson replied bitterly.

“All he ever did was try to make Attania open to all its peoples, Family and non-family alike,” Attan protested. “He never wanted to persecute anybody.”

Stenson shook his head. “No, he never did,” he agreed. “But it happens.” He rolled over and pretended to sleep, and Attan pretended to believe him.

He woke well before dawn and left Stenson sleeping while he followed the route the older Elemental had laid out for him. This Sons stronghold was inland a fair distance from the coastal town they were in, among high, craggy hills with very little vegetation except for bent, misshapen trees which grew so closely together that it was hard to replace even a path up the steep hills. But there was one.

“You do it all the time,” Attan muttered to himself, mimicking Stenson. But that was Midver. He faded into insubstantiality, coaxing water elementals into the dry earth and inadvertently showering the entire valley below the mountain range. But he did it. He grew corn, because that’s what he knew from Greg and from Midver. He also grew melons, large and sweet, remembering what Meetoo had liked, and greens of various varieties. It stretched the boundaries of what was possible, even with elemental help, but he did what Stenson had asked.

Attan was careful to manifest a good distance away from the Sons’ mountain stronghold, but that posed problems as well. He walked into their camp, still dressed in worker’s clothes with his hair scraggly and longer than he’d ever worn it. He might be unrecognizable as Prince Attan, but he was Family and had gained some notoriety as Stenson’s young accomplice.

The Sons of Men farmhand who’d been sent to New Parrion along with Tom Jadock gave away his other secret, too. “It’s the King’s son,” he told the others. “It’s all right—he’s Tom’s. Stenson sent him.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t see any supplies.”

Attan pointed down the steep trail he’d just climbed up. “Down there. You’ll have to carry it up the rest of the way.”

The man motioned for several people to backtrack down the trail to get the goods Attan had brought. Attan almost hoped the man would ask him how he’d gotten them up this far, but he didn’t. Just as well. These people did not trust Family, even Family who were known to work with them.

Attan looked around curiously. The compound was built just within the treeline but close to the top of the mountain. Several small homes which reminded him of Midver surrounded a central building, which seemed to be a hall of some sort, or a gathering place.

No, a school. A shrill whistle went off, and several dozen children poured out of the central building, laughing and talking to each other. A few of the adults nearby steered them away from where Attan stood with some of the other Sons of Men, but not before Attan noticed there were Family kids mixed in with the non-family ones.

“They’re orphans, for the most part,” Tom’s associate said. “We take them and teach them until they’re old enough to make a decision on what they want to do.”

Teach them what? Attan wondered. “Family, too?” he asked.

The man regarded him steadily. “They’re the kids of Family who chose to release,” he explained. “Most of them don’t even know they are Family. We don’t dwell on it here.”

Attan raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“It’s better that way,” the man explained. He whistled once, sharply. Two of the children veered off from their group and came over, staring at Attan curiously when they saw him. “Danna, Robbin, meet—ah, Attan.” Even he had a hard time referring to the Prince of the land by his common name.

Danna and Robbin were both Family, about eight years old. They bobbed their heads in greeting. Attan had to know. He discorporated and went through them. Danna was earth, solid and steady. Robbin was air. But neither of them responded to his touch on an elemental level. Attan took back his body to see the looks of horror on both their faces. They grasped each other and cringed when he reached out to them. “He’s a Family!” Robbin gasped.

“So he is,” the Son said. “But he’s also a friend. He won’t hurt you.”

Not at all reassured, the children scrambled off as soon as they were dismissed, leaving Attan staring after them in confusion. “They don’t know what they are?” he asked.

“They haven’t learned what they could be,” the man corrected. “They’re just like everybody else, and that’s the way they will stay.”

But, Attan thought, if only they could harness their elemental natures, there would be no need for him to bring food to this remote place; they could make their own. They wouldn’t have to wait for Tom’s big lumbering machines to deliver it, either. This place could be like the schools his father and Macek Merrell had established all across Attania, places for Family and non-family to learn to work together for the good of Attania. Only this place would be a non-family version. “What do they learn here?” he asked, thinking perhaps that would give him some insight into what this compound was all about.

“How to live in a world without Family,” the man said bluntly.

“But you know Stenson is one of us,” Attan said, trying to understand.

“Yes, we know. We also know he agrees with us, and is working towards the same end. Who do you think brings us these Family kids?”

Stenson did? Attan revised his opinion of the older Elemental, whom he’d assumed was as callous and unfeeling as most Family.

“Don’t think we’re not grateful for what you did,” the man continued. “I mean, you’re one of us now, so you understand. But we don’t need Family help. We don’t want Family help. We just want to be left alone.”

Was he really one of them now? The lines had blurred so much between what he was supposed to be and what he actually was that even Attan couldn’t say for sure anymore. “I just wanted to help,” he replied cautiously.

“Thank you. You did help. Tell Stenson we’ll meet as planned in a month at the usual place.” He turned away, then turned back. “And tell Tom Jadock he owes us a visit.”

That wouldn’t happen. It wasn’t Attan’s place to reveal that Tom was dead. It was Stenson’s. But he nodded, and started back down the trail so he wouldn’t scare any more kids by disappearing in front of them. What were they being taught about Family here, anyway?

Stenson was gone by the time he returned to their hotel room. Gone completely, truck and all. Not that Attan couldn’t replace him easily enough. He stretched his consciousness across the land, searching until he found the spark that was Stenson. There. Not far at all, a town about twenty miles further west. And not hidden. He meant for Attan to replace him.

Attan stretched further, extending his consciousness across all of Attania, and felt the sharp moment of awareness when Meetoo felt him. He acknowledged it, glad for the contact, and moved on. He could feel his father’s essence, too, and young Zephyr’s, as they rode the wind together as elementals. Attan touched upon them, and felt their recognition. So, they could communicate in this fashion. Attan sent joy across the ambient, and a message: I’m coming home.