Doc stared at the ground, frozen in place. “If they are out there, they have chosen not to be found. Why would that be the case? What would they be hiding from? It seems to me that, if they were true priests of Aristan, they would be trying to minister to people in the god’s name.”
An idea flashed through Jarek’s mind. “What if the king is the reason they’re in hiding. Maybe Wyndred doesn’t want humans worshiping that particular god. So, if there are priests out there, they would do their best to stay invisible.”
Chapter 9: Jarek
“We might need to go into town or out into the countryside.” Jarek had dreaded the conversation with Commander West. After his experience alone in the swamp and then with CeCe, he had not given an instant’s thought to wandering beyond the bounds of the compound. And remembering the commander’s prior admonitions, this was certainly bound to be an unpleasant discussion. But the Azyrean could think of no other course.
Instead of shutting him down immediately, though, West turned from her writing to face him, quill in hand. “And what do you hope to accomplish by that?”
Jarek went about connecting the points. “We need to know more about how the crystals affect travel, right?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. “Since the sundering, as you call it, regular travel across realms isn’t possible. Now, according to Doc, which is the best information source we have, this Aristan is somehow involved. And there was a priesthood that was connected to him. Our best hope is to find this group of men. Maybe they can lead us to other information that will ultimately help us to figure out the travel.” It didn’t sound as logical when he spoke the words as it had in his mind.
“What makes you think they’re still around?”
Jarek paused. He had expected a greater challenge from the leader. Her responses seemed to reflect some general acceptance of the god story and even the priesthood. “We don’t know for sure. But I’m all out of ideas.”
She smiled, not unkindly. “It happens.” She set her quill down on the small makeshift table in front of her. “Jarek, I tell you again, the world out there is a dangerous place for you. Well, it’s dangerous for all of us. But do you remember your episode with CeCe? That tells me that the king indeed has his eye on you. There is something that you have locked in your mind that he wants very badly. Badly enough to sacrifice his spy within our camp. When you venture beyond the boundary of our compound, I can no longer protect you. And Wyndred’s reach is long indeed.”
The Azyrean nodded. “I understand. And I assure you that I have no real desire to wander off. I don’t know what else to do, and this seems the most logical next step.”
West reached up and smoothed a strand of hair off her forehead as she gazed at Jarek. “Before we send you out, let’s try something else first.”
◆◆◆
“I cook your meals. I clean your pots and dishes. I haul water. In return, you provide me with refuge. That was the agreement. What makes you think I would tell you anything beyond what you already know?” CeCe sat glaring at West and avoiding eye contact with Jarek.
The commander shrugged. “Just a thought. After all, I think we can agree that the king is no longer your friend or benefactor.”
“And neither are you. What separated us before still does. The only difference is that you won the first round and I am at your mercy.”
“That is true. And there is a certain comfort that comes with honesty. So, in that spirit, let me suggest an idea. Your description of the situation as it stands is accurate. But you might want to think about the future. Long term, your safety—our ability to shelter and protect you—is constrained by our ability to survive this king ourselves. And you know as well as I do, what we experience right now is only interim. Ultimately, we will either defeat him or he will destroy us. If we go, you go as well. If we win, then you have a chance at life, however you choose to define that.” West glanced at Jarek before continuing. “Give it some thought. If you change your mind, let me know.”
The two women sat, staring at one another. Finally, West ended the meeting. “That’s all. You may return to your duties.”
After CeCe had gone, Jarek stood to go but then turned toward the commander. “What do you think she knows?”
West smirked. “I’m not sure. But I’ll wager you this. There is information within her head that will help us. I doubt that she even knows what it is. The challenge is to get her talking.”
“Why don’t you just order her? Threaten to kick her out if she doesn’t tell us.” The dilemma seemed easily solved to Jarek.
“No, I think not. If her life is on the line, she might certainly talk. But could we believe the words she says? Wouldn’t she tell us anything she thought we wanted to hear, true or not? No, Master Whit, I think that we are better served if CeCe comes to that place of sharing on her own. Until then, our scouts will gather what they can, and we shall wait.”
Chapter 10: Jarek
The passing days became a week, which then became two. Jarek and Burns, joined occasionally by Doc, discussed what they knew, which was close to nothing. They speculated what might be, only to end up going down paths that, in the end, read like bedtime stories for little children.
There used to be a god, or so it was said. The god had some priests. The only true evidence for that was what they gathered at the old monastery, and the fact that there was a monastery. If any of the priests remained, it was not common knowledge. Which brought them back to the beginning. They knew next to nothing.
Summer had come into its own. Daylight extended into the late evening hours and reignited early in the morning. The darkness of the cave provided a respite for sleep. The days grew increasingly bright and hot.
The sun hung midway in the western sky, a good five hours from retiring for the night. Jarek and Burns sat outside the cave alternately swatting at insects and talking. The discussions had long since ceased to be about crystals and traveling across realms. They had beat those subjects to death. These days, it was all about their respective childhoods, the foods they liked, and holidays on their respective worlds.
Jarek, for his part, was amazed at some of the similarities. For one thing, both worlds seemed to regard solstice—winter and summer—as magical times, a time for celebration. Both sets of people celebrated the end of the harvest season. Humans called it the Feast of Plenty. To Azyreans, the holiday was Novomoon—obviously something to do with one of their seven moons.
“We humans gorge ourselves for three solid days, or at least we used to. Towns would put out large feasts—every kind of food we had. I was just a kid, so for me, it was always the sweet treats that caught my eye. They had pies, cakes, cookies, puddings, and everything in between. Looking back, for the kids it seemed like it was just a race to see who could get sick first.”
Jarek chuckled lightly, but before he could recount the Azyrean holiday fare, a noise across the clearing interrupted him. Virgil and his scouting team emerged from the thick brush, which, in and of itself, was nothing unusual. It happened every day. But on this day, the group brought something with them.
Shuffling along between two of the party members, a blindfolded man with the tattered canvas clothing of a peasant, stumbled into the clearing. “Bring him into the cave.” The band strode to the entrance, each nodding to Burns and Jarek as they passed, only to disappear into the black mouth of the cavern.
“What’s going on?” Jarek stood and peered into the darkness.
Burns shrugged without speaking as she followed the group inside.
As Jarek’s eyes adjusted slowly to the low light of the cave, he watched the unfolding event. Captain Virgil removed the blindfold of the disheveled man. The party stood before a frowning Commander West. “What have you brought us, Captain?”
Virgil stepped forward, nodding slightly to the leader. “We ran across him in the upland fields beyond the entrance to the swamp. He said that the king’s men had killed his family and destroyed his farm. He wants to join the rebels
and….” He shrugged, his voice trailing off.
“And what do say you, Mr…? Why do you want to make common cause with us?” West stepped to the side, inspecting the man from different angles as she spoke. She turned to Virgil. “Did he have any weapons on him?”
“Just this blade—nothing more.” Virgil held up a rather non-descript dagger.
West took it in her hand, inspecting it from different angles.
The stranger spoke for the first time. “Williams is the name—they call me Will. My wife, my three children—all dead. My farmhouse, the one where I was born and raised, burned to the ground. Everything I knew is gone. All because of the king.”
West nodded for the man to sit. “Bring him water and something to eat.” She stepped over and pulled a chair from her small enclave. “Not an uncommon story these days. But why us?” She handed his dagger back to him.
“I want to destroy Wyndred. I want him to suffer like I suffer.”
Jarek watched the stranger with interest. The man’s hands shook. He seemed on edge, as though he were about to snap. But something seemed off. He leaned over and whispered to Burns, “Look at him. He looks crazy, except that his eyes are kind of, I don’t know, maybe icy. They don’t fit with everything else.”
“When you lose everything, like he has, nothing fits. I doubt that he’s even aware of how he looks.”
Jarek was painfully conscious of the fact that Burns spoke from experience. “Yeah, I guess.”
The man nibbled on the dried meat that was given him and sipped from a cup of water. He glanced about furtively. Jarek couldn’t decide whether he was afraid of the company of rebels or whether he was just in shock from his experience.
By this time, a crowd had gathered. West, looking around the group, waved them off. “Everyone—go back to your duties. Give us some space here.”
Burns touched Jarek’s shoulder. “I think she means us, too.”
As they eased away from the scene, some of West’s words followed him. “We’ll get you set up for the night. Get some hot dinner and sleep. We can talk about this in the morning.” She kept talking, but the words became unintelligible as the two friends moved closer to the cave entrance.
“What do you think West will do with him?” This was the first time that Jarek had seen a new face enter the compound. He remembered, with a mix of emotions, what it felt like to be alone and herded into the camp with no friends and, realistically, no hope. On the other hand, this felt different. There was no hopelessness in the man’s eyes. In fact, as he thought about it, there was nothing in those eyes at all.
Burns emerged into the sunlight and took a seat with her back to the rock face beside the cave entrance. “Don’t know. She’ll either welcome him or send him away. If he goes, then he’s at the mercy of the king. And don’t forget, he’s seen our compound. He may not know how to get here, but, if he paid any attention at all, he knows how long of a walk it was and he knows that we’re in a cave at the edge of the swamp. West won’t be comfortable with that kind of information loose outside the swamp.”
“So, what are you saying, that if she chooses not to let him stay, she might have him killed?” He remembered, with some pain, the commander advancing that possibility for him.
Chapter 11: Jarek
“Wake up. You need a cup of coffee.” The unfamiliar voice broke into his dreamless sleep.
Jarek’s eyes fluttered as he tried to make sense of the words. “Why would I need a cup of coffee? It’s the middle of the night.”
“Get up, my friend. The coffee is hot and fresh.”
He looked around to find no one. “What? Am I talking to myself now?”
“Yes, we are talking to ourselves. Now get that coffee.”
The cave was not silent by any stretch. Snores of different pitches and tempos came from different sections. The two torches that remained lit through the night produced flickering orange light that bounced off the dry cavern walls, resulting in an eerie, dream world feel. Jarek glanced over toward the cave entrance to see the lone guard standing at his post, looking into the tunnel leading to the outside and occasionally turning to glance around the open area inside.
The Azyrean lay on his pad, staring up at the top of the cavern, becoming more awake by the moment. He didn’t want coffee. He wanted to go back to sleep.
“Up we go. The pot’s just across the compound. Don’t forget to take your cup.”
“Who are you? And why are you talking to me?” Jarek was aware enough, or at least he thought so, to know that he was not talking to himself. But beyond that, he had no idea who or what was on the other side of the conversation.
The voice didn’t answer.
Jarek stood up and stretched. He was awake. “Never mind. You win. I’ll get coffee.” He ambled over to the pot, which hung from a tripod over a smoldering fire. The flames had been reduced to glowing orange coals, but they were hot enough to keep the coffee steaming. He tilted his head and scratched the side of his neck as he considered the steaming liquid. “Odd. This does smell fresh.”
He peered around the area, trying to discern which of the humans would have put a fresh pot on to cook at this hour. “What hour is it, anyway?” His schedule was dominated by daylight. It began at dawn and started winding down at sunset. Once night came full on, time became irrelevant until the next morning. But at this moment, no one stirred except the guard, who focused his attention mostly on the entrance.
Jarek took a sip, burning his tongue, and then turned toward his pallet. And that was when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He stopped in his tracks and whirled in that direction. In the low light, he could barely make out a figure, tiptoeing toward a recessed area near the cooking fire. The Azyrean knew from experience that this was where CeCe slept.
As he shuffled in that direction, he started to call out to the person. What were they doing? In that instant he saw it. The stalker wielded a knife—a knife with a blade that glowed bright blue. Panic struck. He shouted, “Stop! Help!” He glanced toward where the guard had been standing moments before. The space was empty.
Jarek shuffled toward the individual, then only a few meters away. The person, now identifiable as the stranger Virgil had brought in the previous day, turned in response to the sound.
A few steps more and Jarek did the only thing he could think of—he hurled the contents of his cup into the man’s face. The hot, steaming liquid produced an immediate reaction. The stranger uttered a muted scream and raised his blade to meet this new challenge.
Without breaking stride, the Azyrean threw himself at the man, who unfortunately stood twice his height. Jarek ended up wrapping his arms around the human’s legs and trying to bowl him over, all to no avail.
The glowing blade sliced through the air and tore into Jarek’s shoulder, sending waves of pain coursing through him. The already dark space grew even darker and the room began to spin. He hung on tighter. But Jarek knew he was about to die. Any second now.
Time slowed, almost to a standstill. CeCe came out of the shadows, staring at what was no doubt a strange sight—a tall, lithe man slicing with a glowing dagger at a small being, who clung desperately to the man’s leg.
And then a shout—not from the man but from someone else. A man’s shout, yes, but not the attacker’s. Out of the darkness, in slow motion, Captain Virgil flew through the air, a two-handed sword held high. As his body began to descend toward the two beings who were locked in a deathly dance, he twisted slightly and brought the broadsword down hard. The sound was something between a thud and a crunch.
Time resumed its normal pace. His heart pounding, Jarek rolled away from the still body of the attacker. CeCe, moving closer, stared down with eyes wide. Virgil knelt and put a couple of fingers to the motionless man’s throat to check for a pulse. “Dead.”
The Azyrean did the only thing he could think to do. He walked over and picked up his cup. Turning, he stumbled over toward the coffee pot.
A voice from
behind caught up with him. “You okay?”
Jarek’s high, cackling laugh surprised even himself. “Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Then darkness swept over him.
Chapter 12: Marzi
As Lapis and Marzi approached, she noticed someone standing on the bluffs. The pair drew closer and she recognized the elf—Saryn. His presence there at the end of her journey comforted her. He was intelligent, good with people, and, as she discovered when they had been attacked by the humans, a skilled fighter as well.
He helped her alight off Lapis’ back. Smiling, he took both her hands in his. “Marzi Gloam of Pangrove, welcome back. I had a feeling you might be here sometime today or tomorrow. The two of you made good time.” He nodded toward the setting sun. “The hour grows late.”
Marzi had watched the sky turn various shades of pink and orange over the past hour, but now a deep purple was added to the mix. She felt a flood of relief, having arrived at the cliffs before dark. “It’s good to see you, and thanks for coming out to meet us.”
“Come, let us go down and get some food and rest. You must be weary from your trek.”
“I’m hungry and tired,” she laughed. Then more seriously, she added, “but I’d like to see Ryshara first.”
He turned toward the cliffs. “Of course, follow me.”
As they approached the path leading down to the beach, Ran and Elle emerged.
Ran, flashing his biggest grin, picked her up and swung her around. “There you are, little rat. And about time, too, for it has been far too quiet around here since you left.”
She laughed with joy. “With you here? Not likely,” she shot back.
Elle seemed back to her steely self. She stood, her face giving little evidence of her feelings. “Welcome back. Rys is in the cave.”
To Find a God Page 4
