Journey to Astera

Chapter 1

Mette awoke, feeling a hard, smooth floor under her back. There was a loud ringing in her ears. She kept her eyes closed as she tried to remember where she was. The floor felt like the stage in the pavilion, but she couldn't understand why she would be lying on her back or why her ears were ringing. Then she remembered dancing with Pánfilo, to celebrate Princess Laurette's birthday. She had just stepped away from him to spin across the stage. That still didn't explain why she was lying on her back. Had she fallen and hit her head? If so, why was no one there to check on her? Out of habit she did a mental scan of her body, checking for areas of intense pain or the dampness of blood. Nothing seemed amiss. She cracked open her eyes, expecting to see the lights over the stage. Instead, in oddly dim light, Mette saw a broken board balanced not far above her face. She tried moving her left arm only to find it pinned to the floor by a large piece of ceiling tile.

Carefully, she pulled her arms from under the debris. Then she sat up and looked around. The stage was unrecognizable. There were parts of the ceiling and walls, as well as pieces of broken furniture, strewn across the space. There were gaps in the walls of the room. Window panes hung in tatters from their frames. Over the ringing in her ears she could hear the moans and cries of injured people. From her place, sitting on the floor near the back of the stage, she couldn't tell what had happened. Mette looked around for her dance partner. With his great height, she expected to see Pánfilo striding across the stage to lift her out of this mess. But he wasn't there.

Mette pulled her legs under her and slowly stood up. She could feel the ache of bruises down her back as she stepped out of the pile of debris surrounding her. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, to figure out where she was on the stage, where Pánfilo might be. What had been the center of the room, where Princess Laurette and her family had been sitting, was a gaping crater. The ceiling was gone, leaving a large hole open to the sky. The far wall, facing the formal gardens, teetered as if it would collapse at any moment. Mette pulled her attention back to the stage. Where was Pánfilo? She stepped through the debris carefully, afraid of stepping on him or on something sharp. Slowly, she worked her way across the stage to where she remembered seeing him last.

She stepped over an arm, torn from the body of someone there to celebrate a little girl's birthday, on a lovely summer day. She refused to let the sight stop her. She used her bare foot to move some debris aside. A leg, looking to be from another celebrant, was exposed as the debris shifted. She kept looking, refusing to let herself be distracted.

Finally she found him. Pánfilo was lying on his stomach under some broken ceiling tiles near the back of the stage. His head faced to his right and his eyes were closed. He looked peaceful, as if he were asleep. Mette looked back from where he lay to where he'd been when she remembered seeing him last. The distance was considerable.

She leaned over to wake him. Pánfilo. Pánfilo, wake up! We have to get out of here. It looks like there's been an explosion. People may need our help. Mette shook him lightly but his eyes didn't open. She started removing the debris covering him. Pan? Wake up. She stroked his arm. It didn't feel right. When she'd removed enough debris, she rolled him onto his back. Pánfilo's head flopped back at an unnatural angle. The red and black dye on his skin had hidden the blood from a gash across his neck. A shard from one of the beautiful blue glass ceiling tiles was embedded in the wound. Mette choked back her tears. There was nothing more she could do for her friend.

She needed to get out of the building, to some place safe, and get help. There were a few people, dazed and injured, staggering toward the door on the far side of the room. She couldn't get across the room, across the enormous hole in the floor, to reach that door. She needed to find another way out.

As she made her way back across the stage, toward the servant's entrance, she heard someone crying. Anyone on this side of the room would have trouble getting out of the building even if they knew their way. The guests would only know the public entrances. Even the royal family wouldn't be familiar with the entrances used by their servants. Mette made her way toward the sound.

Hello? Where are you? Are you hurt?

A small hand appeared above the edge of an upturned table, followed by the top of a head. The explosion had thrown the table up against the back wall of the pavilion. The table legs were embedded in the wall, creating a shield for whoever was behind it. Mette moved some debris away from the space in front of the table so she could look over the edge, Are you hurt?

A boy, maybe eight or nine years of age, stared up at her. His eyes were wide as he shook his head.

Can you move? Do you need help getting out of there?

In response the boy held his arms up, toward her. She looked over the edge of the table to make sure his legs weren't pinned. The body of an older woman, possibly a servant, lay next to him. Mette reached down and grabbed him by the arms, as close to the armpit as she could reach, and started hauling him up. He scrambled upwards as she lifted. Working together they were able to get him over the edge of the table. Then she lowered him to the ground, holding him until he seemed steady on his feet.

Now that he was standing on the floor in front of her, the boy craned his neck as he stared up at Mette. Like all dancers, she was exceptionally tall. This was probably the first time he'd actually stood next to a dancer. You're tall, was all he could say.

She wanted to laugh. She'd heard similar remarks before. Pánfilo, who had towered over her, had wearied of such comments. Yes. Dancers are tall. We need to get out of here before the building collapses. Can you walk?

The boy nodded.

Have you heard anyone else in this area? Someone who might be injured?

The boy shook his head.

My name is Mette. What is yours?

Karolus.

One of the emperor's children was named Karolus, but it was a common name. She bowed toward him anyway, Karolus. If you will come with me, I think I can get us out of this mess.

Chapter 2

It took them almost an hour to thread their way across the mangled wreckage of the room. They passed five exits, all blocked with debris and bodies, before finding one that was open. As she ducked through the door Mette wondered where this particular hallway led. Though she knew many of the obscure hallways used by servants to get around the palace unseen, she couldn't recall where this one led. She had only lived at the palace for two years, there were still many things she didn't know. On other occasions, she'd met servants of twenty years who were lost in the depths of the palace compound.

She cracked open the first doorway leading from the hall. It was a storage room that wouldn't get them any closer to help. The second door opened to a wine cellar. The next two doors were locked. The sixth door opened to a corridor she was very familiar with. The broad corridor extended from one side of the palace compound to the other. It was the main passage that connected warehouses, outbuildings, and servants' quarters to the various palace buildings. The floor was unfinished concrete. The walls and ceiling were covered with a light-colored tile that reflected light from small fixtures near the ceiling. The corridor lead to the humsoa, at the western edge of the compound, where Mette and Pánfilo lived. She started down the corridor at a brisk pace, forgetting that Karolus wouldn't be able to keep pace with her. She stopped. Then she back tracked to find the boy.

I am sorry. I forgot you were not Pánfilo. I will slow down.

Pánfilo? Was he the other dancer? The red one.

Yes.

Where is he? Why isn't he with you now?

He was killed. Mette didn't want to remember how she'd seen him. Was that your nurse behind the table?

The boy nodded, Yes. Mearra Soo. She was nice.

I am sorry. Mette wanted to change the subject to almost anything else. Would you like me to carry you for a while? My legs are longer than yours.

Where are we going? How far is it?

She guessed he was somewhat embarrassed at not being able to keep up with her, This leads to the humsoa. We can get help there. It is... I really do not know how far it is. I have gotten used to it and do not really think of the distance.

Karolus seemed to be calculating something in his head, Well, from the pavilion to the humsoa at the surface is about two lems. Since we've already gone at least one lem in a cross-wise direction from the pavilion, we're probably still two lems from the humsoa. I can walk that far. But I would prefer it if you would slow down.

Mette nodded, Since the corridor is fairly straight, I will let you set the pace.

As they walked down the corridor Karolus eyed the dancer's long legs. Though she was aware of his scrutiny she didn't start any conversation. Whether or not he was the emperor's son, he and his nurse had been guests, which meant he was probably a member of the royal family. She was just a dancer, a servant of the family. It wasn't her place to initiate unnecessary conversation.

Finally he couldn't contain his curiosity. I thought the colors were painted on garments. But it looks like your skin is painted. Does it wash off?

Mette looked down. Her entire body was painted white, highlighted with a thin tracery of bright blue. Her black hair, which she wore swept up and over the top of her head, was tipped with the same bright blue. Her hair formed a soft helmet and added a hand's width to her height. The blue on her skin and hair matched the blue of her eyes. She'd worn the same color and pattern since completing her training. No. It does not wash off. It will wear off, in time, if the color is not refreshed.

Is this true for all dancers?

All those I know, yes.

What color is your skin, without the paint?

She had to think. It had been a number of years since she'd seen the natural color of her skin. She wanted to laugh but didn't think Karolus would consider it polite, I think it is much the same color as your skin. I really do not recall.

They walked down the corridor in silence. Though it was wide enough to accommodate vehicles, none were visible. There were no other people visible in the corridor. The doors leading to workshops and storerooms were closed. The hallways they crossed were vacant. Mette didn't remember the corridor ever being so empty.

Karolus seemed to be having trouble with the quiet isolation of the underground corridor, Had you and Pánfilo danced together for long?

She didn't know if she wanted to talk about Pánfilo yet, but the boy had asked, We trained together.

How old were you? When you started training?

I was four. Pánfilo was a little older. She remembered the official who had delivered her to the school, separating her from her family. The first chance she'd had, she'd found a closet to hide in. Pánfilo had already found the closet hiding space. They spent