Aslan’s wide, grey eyes—that seemed almost way too big for his eleven-year-old head—gazed in wonder at the diamond-encrusted, curved dagger. The tip of his nose squished into a round pancake as he pressed his face up against the glass. The blade had fascinated him since he’d first laid eyes on it. A thirty-five-centimetre-long scabbard, beset with jewels, and three huge Colombian emeralds on the handle.

He knew it wasn’t magical. That was ridiculous. But still, it seemed to hold some kind of power over him, like a moth to the flame or a fly to the web. Whenever they visited the Treasury, his thoughts became entangled by it and all he could do was stare.

“How do you get emeralds all the way from Colombia to the Ottoman Empire anyway?” said Asya, sauntering up beside him, exasperated.

She had to find something of interest in this whole thing. He did this every time they came here. She’d wanted to go and sit in the Baths of the Sultan and imagine being pampered and bathed in expensive oils. That probably wouldn’t happen for at least another twenty minutes. After all, Aslan had spent the last forty just staring at this thing.

“I told you. They were probably loaded onto Spanish galleons that sailed to Cuba before crossing the Atlantic to Spain. From Spain, the royal family took some of the treasure and sold the rest throughout Europe, the Middle East and Asia,” he replied.

Asya snorted under her breath. His nose squashed against the glass made him sound like a duck.

He finally extracted his face from the display case—his palms still pressed against it—and turned to glare at her.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

She cocked her head to the side with a narrow-eyed smile.

“You don’t see much at all, do you?”

He knew that look. The look that said she was up to something and that he’d probably get in trouble for it.

“What are you doing?” he said, squinting at her.

“Entertaining myself. If I have to watch you watch that thing all day, I might as well make it interesting,” she said, rummaging through her neon-pink backpack.

His jaw dropped, gaping with mortified horror at the ring of jangling keys she’d extracted from the bag.

“Where did you get that?!” he hissed, stepping towards her, and looking around frantically.

“Baba’s office,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“You have to put it back!”

She scoffed.

“I do not.”

“He will kill you!”

She batted her eyelids at him in feigned pity.

“Oh, Aslan. He wouldn’t dare,” she said.

“Asya, please!” he said, arms drooping in despair, “You always do this and I’m always the one who gets it!”

She placed a hand on her hip.

“What, are you telling me you’ve never once wanted to touch it?”

“Of course I have, but…”

“So, now’s your chance! When are you gonna get another one like it?”

His shoulders sank in irritation.

“Asya, we’re here every summer…”

“All the more reason to break the cycle!”

She bent down, slipped the key into the metal latch on the side of the case and then tossed him the ring.

“He won’t miss them. You get to hold and caress your beloved and I get to get on with my life. Everyone wins!”

With one deft motion, she swung the door of the glass case open. Aslan flinched as it bounced against the hinges, fearing it would snap clean off and smash to the ground. But nothing happened. Not even an alarm went off. And there the dagger lay in the centre of a shimmery, crimson pillow; its triune emeralds gleaming in the spotlights. He glanced at Asya who nodded towards the blade with a wide-eyed ‘hurry up!’

“You wanna be strong like whoever owned this blade? Reach out and take it!” she said.

“Actually, they were assassinated before they even got it,” he said, grimly.

She cupped her hand over her mouth to stifle her guffawing.

With step-by-step hesitation, he approached the case, glancing down at the plaque beneath it that simply read, ‘Topkapi Hançeri, Osmanli 1747 – Topkapi Dagger, Ottomon 1747.’

The world around him seemed to shrink back, the golden dagger becoming the singularity at the centre of all things. His nostrils flared with each anticipatory breath. He licked his dry lips and stretched forth a shaky hand, just inches away when—

“ASLAN!”

He spun round as Asya stuffed her hands behind her back, even though she had nothing to hide. Their father, decked in a dusty brown, ivory suit that bulged around the mid-rift, bowled towards them with the force of an approaching hurricane, flanked by two security guards. A silent alarm. Of course! He grabbed Aslan’s wrist and wrenched the keys from his grasp.

“What on earth do you think you are doing?!”

“B-Baba! I-it was Asya’s idea. She…”

His father’s towering frame bent over him, his prominent nose and bulging eyes inches from his face.

“And you listen to your little sister?! Are you not supposed to set an example for her?! Are you that foolish?!”

Silence descended. Even the security guards shuffled awkwardly behind their father. Aslan chanced a glance at Asya, wondering, almost pleading for her to intervene. To say something. To confess. She averted her eyes, her chin dipping to her chest as she scratched at the back of her wrist. His lips pressed together like a vice. He swallowed and blinked back the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes and turned back to face their father.

“Do you have any idea what this could have cost our family?! What it could have cost me?!”

His father’s heavy hands suddenly fell on his shoulders, shaking him to attention.

“This is your inheritance, Aslan. Your future. You have to be responsible! One day,” he said, looking around the room, “all of this will be yours! Both in this world and the next!”

Whatever else his father said was drowned out. Not by fear. Not by despair. But by regret. He was mad at himself. Mad at how he’d allowed her to do this to him again. Mad at how powerless he felt in the face of his raging father and that no matter how much it cost him, he would let his sister get away with it. Next time, he said. Next time he wouldn’t let her do this. Next time, Baba would know that he was the responsible one.

 

* * *

 

“ASLAN!”

Aslan stood in the midst of the forest, staring up at the canyon walls, his shoulders heaving. We wiped his nose with the back of his bracer and turned to face his comrades. Taner and Ayaz had been gently laid down on the grass by Ruslan and Murat. Taner stared blankly up at the sky, eyes wide but unmoving. Ayaz twitched sporadically. They’d risked life and limb just to tear them away from the Mysts before daylight brought them a reprieve. By then, it was already too late.

He glanced down. He was still clenching his fists to stop his hands from shaking. It wasn’t working. He turned to look at it again. The spot where Taner’s mouth should have been. All that remained was a smooth patch of flesh. His eyes moved to Ayaz. His rapid twitching almost took attention away from the fact that his left arm was missing.

Again.

She’d done it to him again.

“ASLAN!”

Baris was staring him down, his yatagan still trembling in his hand.

“What do we do, bro?” he said, shifting from foot to foot.

“We head back, bruv. This is mad! Cebrail’s gone!” said Kadir.

Baris wheeled round.

“Are you mad?! We’re goin’ after them!”

Kadir shot up to meet him, their noses almost touching.

“Are you mad, bruv?”

“The Rayiys needs to hear about this,” added Emin, shaking his head.

Deniz stood back staring, arms folded; waiting to see what the majority decided.

“Those who wanna leave can leave,” said Aslan. “Take Ayaz and Taner back with you.”

They all froze.

“What?” said Kadir.

Aslan turned to face them.

“You, Deniz, Emin and Murat, take Ayaz and Taner back to the palace.”

“Then what?” said Emin in protest.

“Then, take this to the Bedesten,” he flicked through his Kodeks, tore out a sheet and handed it to Emin. “It’s the only thing we have to go on.”

Emin stared down at the weathered sheet.

“What are we ‘sposed to do with this?”

Aslan snapped the Kodeks shut on his chest.

“They’ll know.”

“Bro,” said Kadir, “You know it ain’t safe outside the walls…”

Aslan spun round on him.

“The world belongs to Almuluk, doesn’t it?! His arm will protect me.”

Kadir shook his head and rose.

“There ain’t nuffin’ out there but deception, bruv!”

“My sister’s out there and I’m gonna go get her!”

Kadir took a step closer.

“Bro, you know we’re your brothers, yeah? For life. You know we’ll back it no matter what,” the others grunted and nodded their agreement. “But if you do this, the Rayiys will strip you of your rank, bruv. You’ve proven yourself to us and everyone else, but he won’t see it that way. He’ll take everything from you.

“Your sister, yeah, she’s out there with the Hainlerin,” Kadir said, pointing, “You think you can’t deal with that back home? But if you report back to the Rayiys—show your loyalty—”

“You’ll maintain favour with the Rayiys and with the people. And we’ll help you any way we can,” said Deniz.

Aslan looked at each of his brothers in turn, relief at their camaraderie flooding through him. His gaze landed on Emin.

“Alright. When we get back, you hand that in to the Bedesten,” he said, nodding.

Emin glanced back at the sheet of parchment, shook his head, and sighed.

“You know it’ll cost you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Aslan. “And I’m willing to pay it.”

 

* * *

 

The giant cedar doors of the council chamber were yanked apart, then slowly pulled open revealing first the crystal chandelier—that ugly beast of a thing—then the Rayiys directly beneath it. His father had assembled the entire council in the chamber, no doubt to publicly shame him. They formed a stoic semi-circle around the central sofa. Meanwhile, lining the walls, left, right and towards the front, were the top soldiers of the Wall Guard, including Ruslan, Baris, Deniz, Kadir, and Murat. Emin was busy running Aslan’s errand.

This was why he hated coming here. Back home, his dad had a well-paid and respectable job, though it seemed small in the grand scheme of things. But in Underland—as irony would have it—that same role had eternal significance. For both here and there, he was the custodian of something most sacred. As such, his sense of self-importance seemed to only swell the moment they set foot into Underland.

They always came as a family, never alone. Always at the same time each day. ‘We live as a family, we move as a family,’ was Baba’s motto.

For all the talk about living equally in both worlds, his father was like night and day depending on whether they were on Earth or in Underland. Aslan figured his responsibilities here had gotten to his head, but that didn’t really justify his behaviour. Back home, he’d be gone for months at a time, so when he returned it was always pleasant. Here, he was like an ever-watchful evil eye. Here, all he seemed to see was what fell short of his standard of perfection. His son, it seemed, had been nothing but a never-ending disappointment, no matter how fast he rose up the ranks. No matter how young he’d become the most fearsome Kapitan Midnah-Dogu had ever seen. No matter how much he’d mastered the skill of Forging combined with the keen intellect necessary to fight amongst the best.

This contrast between life here and back home was disorientating, and as much as Aslan had tried to bridge the gap between both worlds, it was a bridge his father seemed reticent to cross. He already had influence and prestige back home, but apparently that wasn’t enough. Here, he had power and he revelled in it. After all, the comfortable life they lived on Earth was only made possible because of what he did here in Underland, or so he said. Almuluk had rewarded him handsomely for his service to the Kingdom. Masabih the world over were indebted to him for his work, he’d say. He was helping to fortify the already solid foundations of their faction; the Faithful of Almuluk, spearheading the legacy of the House of Safya for generations to come. Aslan’s inheritance. No doubt it now hung by a thread; and yet, for the first time, Aslan didn’t care.

As he came to a halt near the centre of the chamber, the Rayiys turned his hand over, examining his fingernails as though the dirt caught between them was of more significance than his son. Finally, he lost interest and allowed his hand to rest on his knee. He held out the other hand and one of the councillors came forward, placing a missive in it. The Rayiys unfolded it, scrutinised the contents and then placed it back into the hands of the councillor.

“Captain Koyun of the Wall Guard. Aslan of the Eight. Do you wish to explain your actions, or—should I say—lack thereof?”

Aslan’s eyebrow twitched but his gaze held firm.

“Perhaps you would care to explain how seven Torchbearers were able to infiltrate the sanctity of this palace, dispatch a third of our Marble Mynds, obliterate both the barracks and a section of the northern wall and then proceed to escape with my daughter as a hostage!”

Again, his fingernails bit into the flesh of his palms as his fists tightened. Yet and still, he held his chin set.

“Is it not true that, against your better judgement, you brought five of the Torchbearers into our territory after they had already brought a Mental Mynd into the Golden Gate? And is it not also true that you failed to apprehend the two who would go on to breach the wall and decimate our forces? Furthermore, as I understand it, you were publicly bested in one-to-one combat with one of these assailants.”

Heads turned as a rumble of murmurings cascaded through the room.

But he wouldn’t show weakness. He couldn’t.

“Remind me again, why are you Captain of the Walls if you cannot but fail to protect them?”

For the first time, Aslan’s gaze fell to the ground.

“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?!”

His eyes rose again, and with them, a new flame of defiance.

“My lord Bashi, forgive me, but you seem to be mistaken in some of the finer details of what transpired last night.”

Murmurs rippled again throughout the room.

“Seven Torchbearers infiltrated our glorious city. That is true. One of them was stricken, bringing a Mental Mynd into the midst of the Golden Gate. That is also true. However, it was I, alongside my brothers—the Eight—who dispatched of the Mental Mynd threatening our city.”

He turned suddenly to address the room.

“And as is our remit as Masabih—given to us by the Intermediary—I sought to aid those who were sickened by deception in hopes of bringing them the elixir of truth. And indeed, one of their number had not yet succumbed to their lies and so I sought to enlighten him. But, most importantly, my lord Bashi, after the Hainlerin had been imprisoned and the Unlit isolated from the rest of his group, it was your daughter who came to him in secret to collude with the enemy. It was your daughter who ultimately aided in their escape.”

At this, the room erupted. Amid the commotion, the Rayiys sat still as stone, his fierce eyes transfixed on Aslan’s. For several minutes he didn’t move, and then, suddenly, he raised his hand and all noise ceased.

“You would dare shift the blame in order to hide your transgressions?” he hissed between clenched teeth.

“No, my lord Bashi,” Aslan said, his eyes and chin rising parallel to the floor. “The transgression isn’t mine. It’s yours.”

Jaws dropped and an ice-cold hush descended upon the room. Ruslan, Baris, Deniz and Kadir eyed him with a mixture of shock and admiration.

“It’s not the son’s responsibility to discipline the daughter. It’s the fathers. This happened because, whilst I’ve faithfully stood by your side and by the Throne of Almuluk, you’ve failed to repeatedly discipline your own rebellious daughter. For years now you’ve turned a blind eye whilst she spat in the face of your love and generosity. How can I protect Midnah-Dogu as Captain of the Walls when you tear them apart brick-by-brick from the inside?”

He halted, suddenly overcome by the words caught in his throat.

“She’s betrayed us, Baba…”

“NO!”

The Rayiys shoved himself from the crimson sofa.

“It is true lord Bashi…”

At this, all eyes turned to the right-hand side of the room. Hamza stepped forward, saluting to the Rayiys.

“I saw sister Asya with my own eyes helping one of the Hainlerin escape. It was not the first time she has snuck out of the palace.”

The Rayiys’ mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

“Cemil and Aydin can vouch for seeing her at the barracks…just before it exploded. She falsely delivered them a report that I called for aid, causing them to abandon their post,” said Aslan.

The murmuring began to rise to a crescendo once again. The Rayiys looked frantically around the room, his grip on the situation slipping like sand through his fingers. Slowly, he sat back down.

“And most damning of all, my lord Bashi—she implicated you in all this. It is you, she claimed, who gave the order for her to speak to the captive—as Ruslan and Baris will attest.”

The Rayiys looked to the duo who nodded.

“Is it true, my lord? Did you order her to speak to the captive?” said Aslan.

His father’s grimacing visage trembled, a hint of light flashing white deep in the pupils of his eyes.

“No…” he replied, almost at a whisper.

“Then she has betrayed us,” Aslan nodded.

“NO!” he said, thumbing the crimson sofa with his fist.

Aslan held his composure, somber.

“She has, Baba…and I’ll prove it to you.”

He turned to walk away.

“YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE!”

Aslan flapped his arms in a shrug, looking around the silent council hall.

“Then, may Almuluk’s soldiers stop me,” he said. “I fight for the Walls. I fight for the Throne of Almuluk. I fight for the people…” He turned in a circuit, examining the faces of his fellows lining the room. No one moved, but if their silence could speak, it would have told a tale for the ages. Finally, he stopped and faced his father. “I don’t fight for you, and neither do they.”

Aslan saluted and bowed.

“My lord Bashi, I’ll send word when I’ve recovered your daughter and punished those who breached our walls.”

Spinning on his heel, he turned and marched towards the towering cedar doors, unable to restrain the smile spreading across his face as the room burst to life.

 

* * *

 

“Bro! That was sick!” said Baris.

“Did you see his face?” added Ruslan, slapping Aslan on the chest as he slung his other arm around his neck.

Aslan twisted and wriggled out from underneath it, turning to face them as he paced backwards.

“It ain’t over yet. First thing in the morning, we’re gonna take the horses, so get everything ready.”

“Aslan!”

It was Emin, looking this way and that before rushing across the gardens that still bore the scars of the Torchbearer attack. Emin saluted and they embraced. Coming apart, he handed Aslan the folded piece of parchment.

“And?” said Aslan.

“They’ve seen it, but if you wanna know where, they’re sayin’ it’ll cost more.”

Aslan huffed impatiently then flicked open the latches on his Kodeks. Rifling through the pages, he tore out a leaf, folded it and handed it to Emin.

“You sure about this, As?”

Aslan shrugged.

“It’s all my inheritance anyway. Get me the location.”

Emin saluted again, turned, and took off.

Aslan slowly unfolded the page, staring down at its contents. Ruslan and Baris peered over his short shoulders.

“So…how’s this ‘sposed to work exactly?” said Ruslan.

A narrow, leering smile crept across Aslan’s face.

“I told him we’d help find his Mirror. So, that’s what we’re gonna do…whether he wants us to or not.”

Ruslan and Baris exchanged glances before looking back down at the picture of Keon Wesley.