To Find a God

by Mary Hamilton

  Jarek almost hurled another biting retort but held his peace.

  “Good. See there, you can be a good boy if you try.”

  Jarek bit his tongue.

  “You are on the right track. It may not seem so at the moment, but you have done a fair job of sorting this whole mess out. As events unfold, the answers will become even clearer.”

  Just out of curiosity, who or what are you?

  “We’ll get to that later. For now, unless you have a better idea, you need to trust me. Within a few hours, you will have visitors. I strongly suggest that you treat them with more respect than you are treating me.”

  I guess that depends. I hope they treat me with more respect than you do.

  The voice laughed. “Well said, Master Whit, well said. One final word of caution. You seek information on two different but related subjects—the brotherhood and the crystals. Even if you find the former, you cannot assume they will have the information you seek on the second. You must continue to probe and ask questions. But mostly, you must also not be afraid to trust. As you have seen, usually it works out for the best. Sometimes it goes badly, but those are the risks you take. Do not give up faith.”

  So now will you tell me who you are?

  Silence. Jarek’s eyes fluttered open and he was barely able to make out the sitting shapes of Mathias and Burns in the flickering light of the single torch in the dungeon. He gazed around, half expecting to see someone else either outside or inside the cell. I was just dreaming. “Any changes?”

  Burns smirked. “Unless you count the torch starting to burn low, no. Dang, I’m just mad at myself for not bringing some thin wire. I’ve opened tougher locks than these.”

  Mathias stood and twisted his body as though trying to keep from becoming stiff. “Well, no matter. I suspect that our captors will come for us shortly. But, something is puzzling. They didn’t force you to take off your hood, Jarek. That means that, at the very least, the soldiers we’ve encountered aren’t particularly interested in you. So we might deduce that the king is probably not aware of us yet. Most likely, we were picked up as a result of our inquiries about Aristan. And if CeCe is to be believed, that would be cause enough for our execution. So, despite the fact that we may be in our last day of life, I urge you—both of you—do not draw any additional attention to Jarek.”

  The Azyrean laughed in spite of himself. “They’ll see my ears as soon as they kill me, and they’ll know.”

  “Ah, yes, but at that point, it will be too late for them to question you.”

  Chapter 48: Jarek

  The reality hit Jarek square in the face. He was going to die soon. Of course, he had known it was possible, even from his first conversations with Commander West. His life since leaving Pangrove had always been in danger. But this was different. There was no decision or choice he could make that would change things. He was in a dire predicament, and the only reason he was still alive was because he apparently was not a high priority for his captors and they simply had not come for him yet. And the best that Mathias, the party leader, could offer was that the hood should remain in place so that the king’s men would not know exactly who or what they were killing.

  He stared at Mathias for a moment, unsure of what to say. No, it wasn’t about what to say. Jarek didn’t see the point in saying anything. What does one say when it could be the last words offered? He lowered his gaze and shook his head. About the only thing he could do was to come up with a way to go out with some modicum of dignity.

  The silence would have been complete except for the sputtering of the single torch on the wall. And, from the look of it, the fire would soon die, much like Jarek and his two friends. As the Azyrean stared at the floor, the flickering shadows changed. The light grew dimmer and the movement of the light became barely perceptible. A subtle breeze wafted in.

  When Jarek looked up, peering through the bars into the dungeon corridor, they were there—three of them. They had approached the cell door unseen and stood staring silently. Were these the instruments of death? They stood in dark, flowing robes with hoods obscuring their heads. The shadows cloaked their faces.

  Jarek shuddered and unconsciously eased back against the wall. For all of his thoughts about going out with dignity, he was not ready to die. And yet, the countenance of the three new arrivals seemed to indicate that they cared not the least for his desires. They looked as though they had been sent by some supernatural force to carry out sentence, which presumably was death.

  One of the men inserted a slender piece of metal into a hole in the lock. The cell door eased open with a creak. Mathias and Burns both stood and backed up against the wall, positioning themselves beside Jarek.

  Mathias balled his fists at his side. Jarek noticed that the leader’s face looked as though it had turned to stone, staring at the intruders. But none of the three prisoners spoke.

  Finally, the man who had opened the door, turned slightly away from them and spoke. “If you value your lives, you will accompany us without delay.” The three hooded men moved with quiet sureness down the passage through which they had come.

  Burns was the first to regain her senses. “Let’s go.” She rushed out the door and down the corridor with Mathias and Jarek close behind.

  “Who are they? Where are they taking us?” Jarek struggled to make sense of what he was witnessing.

  The leader of the rescuers stopped suddenly and whirled around to face Jarek and company. “You have caused enough trouble to last us all a lifetime. Please try to keep your mouths shut while we make our way out of this hole of pestilence. Your babbling will alert the guards if you continue. Now, let us go… in silence, please.”

  For what seemed like about a half hour, the party descended, winding through passageways, then tunnels that intersected others, and turned and headed in different directions, while always heading downward. Then the lead rescuer stopped abruptly and turned to face the rest of them. “I regret that, from here forward, you must be blindfolded.”

  Mathias challenged him. “Why?”

  “Because I deem it so. If you object, I am more than willing to leave you down here alone. The choice is yours.”

  From that point, the going became slower and more arduous. The three prisoners walked in single file. Mathias, in the lead, placed his hand on the shoulder of one of the hooded men. Jarek, being too short for that kind of arrangement, grabbed Mathias’ belt and followed. Burns rested her hand on Jarek’s shoulder as she followed him. Jarek could hear soft footfalls from behind him and Burns, assuming it was one of the rescuers.

  The twists and turns seemed sharper. And soon, the Azyrean became aware that they were gaining elevation. He found himself shuffling his feet and feeling his way so as not to tumble over something he couldn’t see. His breath came harder and his legs began to ache. Still they marched on in silence.

  Jarek was an old hand at being blindfolded. It seemed every time he turned around, someone wanted to keep him from seeing where he was going, starting with his first encounter with the rebels. So, he figured himself pretty adept at estimating time while walking blind. He figured they had been trudging along for the better part of an hour when a fresh wind buffeted his face. They were exiting the maze of tunnels that led from the dungeon.

  The fresh air did not last long. Within five minutes, they entered what felt like another cave, only it somehow didn’t feel as damp and clammy. The dry air carried the musty scent of old books and paper, things with which he was familiar from his time in Pangrove. And the floor was not slippery rock. Instead, it felt solid but comforting, like wood. They descended a set of steps, eased down a corridor only to descend another level. The steps wound around, like a spiral staircase, ever downward.

  The party came to an abrupt halt. “You can remove the blindfolds now.”

  Jarek untied his blindfold, which was wrapped around his hood. The hallway in which they stood was brightly lit with torches along both sides. The light initially assaulted his eyes, and i
t took a few seconds to adjust. As his vision cleared, he could see that the walls of the narrow corridor were of rough-hewn wood and remained unadorned.

  “This way, please.” The leader of the rescuers gestured toward a door at the end of the passageway.

  The group passed through the door into a large room with bookshelves lining the walls. Torches illuminated the space, which was occupied by at least ten men, standing in a semi-circle on the far side of a large table in the center of the room. All wore robes and hoods similar to those of the rescuers.

  One of the men stepped forward and slid his hood back. “The three of you have some questions to answer.”

  Jarek was not familiar with human lifespans, so he couldn’t even begin to estimate how old the man was. But clearly, this man was much closer to the end of life than the beginning. His white hair hung nearly to his shoulders and his skin looked crinkled and papery. He stood slightly stooped and leaned upon a cane.

  The old man nodded toward the three rescuers, who removed their hoods. And to Jarek’s surprise, he recognized one of them.

  And so did Mathias. “Master Satterwhite, Martin. We are once again in your debt.”

  The farmer who had helped them out stared at them, as though deep in thought. After a moment, he strode over to Jarek. Pausing only slightly, he whisked the hood back.

  “Well, this is indeed a serious skin condition. It has caused your face to look like that of an adult, despite your short stature, and has caused your ears to become pointed.” He chuckled.

  The old man took a step forward. “Perhaps you can start by telling us who or what you are, my small friend.”

  Chapter 49: Jarek

  The strangely clad men listened with the appearance of interest. Jarek told his story yet again. And it seemed that, with each telling, the tale grew less exciting. But something changed during this account. When he told the gathering of his experience with moonbeams, one face on the edge of the group brightened. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened in what seemed like soundless amazement.

  “It’s all very routine. The children climb aboard the white beams at the top of the hill and ride them to the bottom. A portal appears at the terminus and, when the kids enter it, they are transported back to the top, where they repeat the process.” He gestured with his hand, making broad sweeps and punctuating key points in the air. The mesmerizing effect of the group hanging on his every word began to kick in.

  “The problem started, of course, when colored beams found their way onto the slopes.”

  “What colors?” The enthusiastic one interrupted Jarek’s train of thought.

  “Pardon?”

  “What colors were the beams? The problem ones.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, the one that I rode was red, which transported me to this land. If memory serves, there was a blue one and a green one. I confess that I don’t know where those beams took the children.” It seemed a trivial enough shortcoming, so Jarek had no problem admitting it.

  The blank faces around the room told the Azyrean that no one else present had the answer to the dilemma either.

  With his story more or less complete, Jarek fell silent. Only then did it occur to him that he still had no idea to whom he was speaking. This oddly clothed group of men standing around the large torchlit room had not identified themselves.

  Mathias stepped forward. “As for the two of us,” he gestured toward Burns, “I am Mathias Grenham, and this is Bu… Rosamunde Phage. We accompany Master Whit on his journey of discovery.”

  The old man at the center of the gathering nodded. “And what is it that Master Whit seeks to discover?”

  Jarek looked over at Mathias and then at Burns, hoping for guidance. He received nothing from either of them, so he decided to take a chance. “As you might guess, I am not from your world, and I am most anxious to get home to Pangrove. In order to do that, I must figure out how to harness the power of light and crystals to create the equivalent of those colored moonbeams. It is this information that I seek.”

  “I see. Why is it, then, that the king’s men had you thrown into the dungeon? And why, might I ask,” the old man shot a glance at Martin, “are you are traipsing around the countryside invoking the name Aristan?”

  That question brought Jarek up short. It came to this—they need information on some mysterious brotherhood that was somehow related to Aristan. The voice in his dream had told him to trust. Was it possible that this rather odd lot in front of him might be able to direct him in the search? He reluctantly responded, “What little I have been able to learn thus far seems to indicate that travel between realms in this world is disabled. We also think that light and crystals may provide some answers. To that end, we seek information on Aristan, the old god. By some accounts, the current situation with the fading stems from his actions. In order to get more information, we are hoping to find this group of priests. We can only hope they will point us in the right direction.”

  The old man smirked. “That is all fine and well. But what of your two friends here? What are their roles in all of this?”

  “They are merely my protectors on the journey.”

  “I can see that. But why? What is their interest, other than to simply rid themselves of you?”

  Jarek bristled at the implication. “I would like to think that they are compassionate individuals. I assure you that if they were trapped on my world, I would move to assist them. I must assume that their motivations are the same—kindness and empathy.”

  “A noble assumption. But I seriously doubt it.” The old man turned to each side and gestured for the others to be seated. He then faced the three travelers. “There are breads and cheese, cake, and nectar on the back table. Help yourselves. After that, we can sit and explore this situation in more detail. He twisted around to adjust his chair and then abruptly turned again toward Jarek and friends. “Oh, and by the way, I am Brother Magnus, the senior member of the Brotherhood of Aristan. I believe it is our group that you seek.”

  ◆◆◆

  Jarek felt the life pouring back into his body as he ate and drank. Whether the fare had magical properties, or he was just unusually hungry and thirsty, he couldn’t say. But the food and drink were both delicious and refreshing.

  Brother Magnus started the conversation with introductions. “Brother Martin you already know. Brother Andrew, next to him, is our historian and keeper of the word. Brother Horatio is curator of all things technical and scientific.” The older man gestured toward the wiry, balding man who had seemed so delighted with Jarek’s moonbeam story.

  The young man wiped his mouth with his sleeve before speaking. “Call me Ratio. Suits me better.”

  Magnus rolled his eyes and continued. “And down at the end, is Brother Daniel,” and he quickly added, “who prefers to be called Dan.”

  At this point, Jarek began to lose track of who was who, forgetting the names almost as soon as they were spoken. Still he listened politely until the old man was done. “Thank you. It is an honor to meet you all.” He took a deep draught of nectar, savoring the flavor before swallowing. “At the risk of appearing overly forward, can you tell us anything at all about how these crystals work? How they produce beams or portals or whatever we need to travel?”

  The head brother considered Jarek for a moment before responding. “And if we could tell you, why would we? After all, we know nothing of you other than what you have told us. For all we know, your entire tale could be an elaborate ruse by the king.”

  Jarek sighed in exasperation. “That makes no sense. If that were the case, why would they have thrown us in the dungeon?’

  “To accomplish exactly what they did. We exposed ourselves to save you. Although you may not know it, the guards who were charged with your custody were tortured and killed after your escape. Among those guards was one of our own—a brother that we were able to place in that position years ago. And now, as a result of your reckless actions and disregard for anyone but yourselves, he is dead. He leaves a w
ife and two children. And although it is tragic for his family, we feel the loss dearly, and it also leaves us blind with regard to the king’s prison. We have no eyes remaining inside the king’s citadel.”

  Mathias spoke up. “For this we are truly sorry. I can only give you my word that we meant for none of that to happen. As Jarek stated, we only seek information to help him return home.”

  It struck the Azyrean that Mathias had just lied. In fact, they had all conveniently neglected to reveal the connection to the rebels. Which led to the next revelation.

  Magnus, his eyes glistening with what looked like sorrow, shook his head slowly. “You offer me no reassurance, my good man. For we know already that you are part of the rebel forces. So, your word, that which you just so sincerely offered, is but itself a lie.”

  Chapter 50: Marzi

  Stepping inside the cabin, Marzi’s eyes adjusted quickly. The coals had been stoked and another log added to the fire. The burning wood crackled and added more warmth and light to the cabin. Most of the party were once again laying on their sleeping pads, but Arien sat beside Elle, periodically placing a wet cloth against the stricken girl’s head.

  “How is she?” Marzi hovered over the healer’s shoulder.

  “Still burning with fever, but her breathing is steady.” She glanced up at the young Azyrean. “She has fallen into sleep. If father is right, then I will do what I can to make her passing easier.”

  “She’s not going to die. She can’t die.” Marzi challenged the very notion.

  Sadness colored Arien’s gentle smile. “Try to get some sleep. I will wake you if anything changes.”

  “I’m wide awake. If you want to rest, I can take care of her.” The task looked simple enough. Marzi had experienced fevers before and her mother had used a damp cool cloth.