Page 43 of Twins for the Barbarians

“We’re more alike than I originally thought,” he says.

I give him a curious look. “But you’ve managed to maintain peace here. These people are safe, they have food on the table, and they provide a sense of security the world beyond these walls no longer offers. It’s proof that even Sunnaites can change.”

“Oh, no, Alicia. I must correct you here. The only reason Opal City is working is because there are just a few thousand of us living here. You cannot apply the same tenets to millions. Millions are chaotic and unpredictable. Thousands are more manageable. If I were to attempt what I did with Opal City on a larger scale, there would always be a warlord or a crooked politician or a blindly ambitious financier who would cause enough unrest to make the whole thing unworkable,” he says. “I prefer the confines of my kingdom.”

“Would you ever open the gates of Opal City to the outer world if it regained its common sense and balance?”

“No, I wouldn’t even consider it. There’s a reason we have survived. I will not sacrifice the decades of work for anything.”

Again, I can’t exactly blame him for thinking this way. But I still think there is something not quite right going on here. Something about this place feels off, something that feels wrong. The servants are frightened of us. They avert their eyes and barely say a word to us, or to the king and his wives, for that matter. It’s as if their lives are devoted only to serving, to standing silently in the background unnoticed until they’re needed.

Life here feels mechanical, manufactured, and unreal.

21

Kharo

Slipping out the window and down the side of the palace was easy for us. We dress in traditional garb so as to blend in with the general population: black pants, white shirts, and dark gray vests. Helios insisted we wear cloaks with hoods to cover our heads, and so far, it seems to be working. We seem to be passing as locals.

For the better part of an hour, we scan the area, steering clear of crowded areas and the king’s soldiers. I’m baffled by what we see, though, and I can’t help but stop and stare until Helios pulls me away so we don’t draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves.

With our hooded capes covering our heads, we explore the merchants’ district, which is relatively close to the palace. We didn’t want to go too far this first day. The cobblestone streets are clean, and the stones have held up well despite the passage of time. In fact, they still appear smooth and round and almost unmarked after all these years. Then again, they get less wear and tear with a population of only seven thousand and no motorized vehicles. For the most part, citizens of Opal City prefer to walk instead of driving, or ride bicycles. I also see old-fashioned carriages drawn by red-coated horses, but too few to have a significant impact on the roads.

To our delight, there are plenty of shops open and operating. We spot bakeries, taverns, clothing and jewelry stores, tailor’s shops, and blacksmiths and carpenters stalls.

“I’m anxious to see the quarter of the city devoted to agricultural,” I tell Helios as we turn the corner and head into the city’s central square.

It’s not overly crowded at this hour, but there are kiosks selling trinkets and various other items.

“We could check that out tomorrow, provided we return to the palace without anyone noticing that we’ve been gone,” Helios mutters, carefully looking around.

“If we limit these trips to under two hours, I think we can pull it off.”

“But we agree that something feels off here, right?” he asks, and I reply with a soft nod as we walk between the stalls, gazing at the merchandise and observing the locals as they interact.

“There is,” I say. “But we need to figure out what that is,” I say. “Why don’t we ask one of the locals?”

We casually approach a woman negotiating the price of a silver and obsidian necklace with a tired-looking trader. “Forgive my intrusion,” I say, “but may I ask how much for this bracelet?” pointing at a bracelet on display. It’s a pretty thing with swirling bands of silver surrounding glowing rubies. “It’s beautiful. My wife would love it.”

“Two gold coins for that, sir,” the merchant replies. “It’s an heirloom from the Gone Age.”

“The Gone Age?” I mutter. “That’s what we’re calling it; I keep forgetting.”

The buyer looks at me curiously. “The past needs to stay where it is,” she says.

Given the darkness of her red skin and the strands of white in her hair, I’m inclined to assume she is a survivor of the first bombing.

“You experienced it,” Helios chimes in with a polite bow, “however, we weren’t even born yet, so we don’t regard the past as you do.”

“Oh, that is the truth if ever I heard it,” the buyer says, laughing. “My son loves to bring up the fact that we’re not allowed to leave the city.”

The trader frowns with genuine concern. “I hope he keeps those words in the privacy of your home, Darain, otherwise—”

“Oh, shush, Jarvis. Of course. We’re not fools,” Darain replies with a scoff. “And the boy knows the price he’ll pay if he says such things in public.”

Helios and I exchange brief glances. “The walls have ears.”

“The walls, the streets. Everything has ears in this place,” the trader informs us. “But it’s the cost of peace and good health in our world. There’s only death beyond our gates. We know better than to abandon our haven for the great unknown.”

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