Mouse - Part 1

Mouse is a member of The Undercurrent, determined to end the Archon's control over Azrahan

The moon shone down on Kharim-Zan, capital of Azrahan. The city was ancient and historic. Tall white minarets rose over small houses, covered with bright red tiled roofs. The streets were silent, empty apart from occasional patrols of the city militia. Most inhabitants knew better than to be caught outside after curfew.

In a small dim cellar, lit only by a single oil lamp hanging from a hook on the ceiling, a group of six people sat huddled around a table. There was not a lot of room and the way their shoulders rubbed together when somebody shifted slightly to get more comfortable was very awkward and unpleasant, but the fear of the militia was greater than the claustrophobia. Gatherings like this had been outlawed recently, although the ban had been creeping up on them for years.

Three members of the group were young, some just teenagers. The rest were older. They could remember the time when they could join their friends on the streets. Thirty years ago, they were free to meet up in the market squares, but that was before Archon Dal-Khabra began imposing laws restricting such crowds for their own safety. The changes started small, setting maximum limits to the number of people allowed to congregate without authorisation; a maximum that gradually reduced over time until, before they realised it, such meetings had become illegal.

Even though they were speaking in whispers, they fell silent as the clock on the wall chimed nine. Outside, they heard the clanking of armour and heavy sound of marching footsteps. Barely daring to breathe, they watched as the shadows of the militiamen passed by the small window, just below the ceiling of the cellar, which looked out onto the street at pavement level.

After a few minutes, they knew the danger had passed, and collectively sighed with relief.

“Well, whatever we think about the Archon, we must accept that his patrols are predictably on time!” chuckled Owl. He was the oldest member of the group, in his seventies and was the only one who could remember the time before the Archon. He professed to be able to remember the Sultan of the Plains, Azrahan’s monarch before the Red Banner Revolution, though the rest of the group were sceptical of such claims. He would have been a small child when that happened, though there was no doubt that he would be able to recall at least some of the twenty years of chaos that followed. His age, knowledge and wisdom were the reason he was given the name ‘Owl’. Only code names were used here, real names were forbidden, in case of discovery.

“The less we know, the less information The Sentinels can get out of us,” explained Owl. “Unfortunately, that will not stop them from trying.”

There had always been a resistance movement against the Archon. Owl often spoke about times when the people had gathered in the streets demanding change and free elections. He told them how General Dal-Khabra insisted that he was needed to keep control, although it was only temporarily until the crises that had rocked the country had been resolved.

But there was always another problem to overcome.

And somehow, without the population realising exactly how and when, the General had taken the title Archon and been proclaimed the Supreme Leader of Azrahan.

“He told us that it was an historic title, used by the great leaders who united the tribes before the Sultans,” explained Owl. “But when some of the history scholars began to question this claim, they disappeared. Suddenly their colleagues were denouncing such scepticism and publicly stating that there was no need to refute things that anybody with a basic level of education had learnt at school.”

Mouse, a young girl with short brown hair and a plain face nodded. That was what she had been taught.

“Of course, it is not true,” whispered Owl. “I had never heard the word Archon before, but I dare not say so. Those who questioned the title became objects of ridicule, showing themselves to be uneducated buffoons.”

Over time, new generations were taught from the Archon’s approved syllabus, which rewrote history and restricted critical thinking. This, combined with the threat of Roqueblanca, meant that open resistance to the Archon’s rule had gradually faded, although there were still pockets of opposition. Recently though, these small groups had been connecting and organising in a way that had not been seen before and they even had a name now: The Undercurrent.

Owl handed Mouse an envelope and smiled. She did not know the contents, and she knew better than to ask

“Good luck,” Owl whispered as she pulled on her shawl and darted out of the cellar into the darkness of the streets.