Rising

by C B Samet

  I shook hands with the man who gratefully nodded. His hands were coarse and leathery, but immensely strong. He led me to the front of his wagon where he pulled out several pieces of loosely wrapped salted meat and handed them to me. I thanked him and patted his magnificent white beast good-bye.

  Joining the Queen, I divided the meat between us and ate as we began our walk through Taxco.

  Taxco was also known as “Silver City,” having developed into a bustling upscale city from a silver mining town. It was home to jewelers, entrepreneurs, and inventors. But it also had an entertainment district of theatres that doubled as a late night haven for gambling and prostitution. It was a favorite weekend spot for university students.

  Immediately, my thoughts shifted to Joshua and his infuriating instigations, childish antagonism and heartwarming hospitality. A reflection from a large silver flask in a shop window caught my attention. I could see Joshua coming out of a jewelry shop across the street. I leaned in closer, certain that my weary eyes deceived me. He paused and appeared to look in my direction. Bolting upright, I spun around but no longer saw him standing there. I blinked. To the left and right casual consumers strolled along the walkways.

  “Is something wrong, Abigail?” the Queen asked, alarmed.

  Joshua was not there.

  My mind was tricking me. It was not surprising given what little sleep I’d had during the last two days

  I shook my head and resumed walking. “No, mum. Sorry.” “We are very fortunate,” she began as she walked beside me with her long gray braid pulled to one side.

  I blinked then waited silently to hear how, in our predicament, she could begin such a statement.

  “Last night, Scouters passed above us and did not see us.”

  “Scouters?”

  “Black crows as big as albatross with piercing red eyes that seek for the Malanook.”

  “You saw them?”

  She nodded. “Through small holes in the canvas.”

  “How do you know that they didn’t see us?” I asked.

  “We would have been captured by now if they had,” she explained entirely too calmly.

  If we hadn’t been sleeping in a covered wagon, if we’d slept in the open prairie last night, we would have been spotted. I wrapped my hands around my torso, hugging myself. I felt the urge to alter our appearance yet again, or perhaps just get out of my ridiculous clothes. I led the Queen down an alley away from the affluent part of town to look for a used clothing shop.

  We had traversed two-thirds of the length of the alley when we were intercepted. Two scoundrels dressed in rags and dirty top hats approached with greedy smiles. Their intentions were as unmistakable as their foul stench. With my heart racing, I stepped protectively in front of the Queen.

  “We’ll be taking those clothes and anything hidin’ under ’em,” one of them said with a snicker. He was so close I could smell fermented hops. His hand twitched inside a pocket where I was certain he was fidgeting with a knife.

  I thought of the money the Queen was carrying, but I was not sure that we would leave this alley unscathed with any amount of bribe. Fear shot through my veins like fire.

  “You can have my dress, but you won’t lay a hand on my mistress.” It was silk and would be a few meals worth of money.

  I took off the striped dress and stood there, every hair on my body on edge, in my camisole, leggings and boots. With the familiar burning in my chest, I could see by the lust in their eyes that they were no longer just interested in items of monetary value. My skin crawled and I suddenly felt a cold chill spread over me.

  “I’ll take the young-un. You strip down the old hag.”

  Hag?!

  When the second man took a step toward the Queen, something within me exploded. I felt anger swelling at the prospect that we would survive evading the Swallowers, fleeing the castle, escaping capture at the train station, and eluding the Scouters only to be brutalized by a couple of street thugs. In a burst of sheer rage, I kicked the second man in the groin and lunged at the first. I clawed and scraped and kicked, hoping I was supplying the Queen time to escape.

  A shock of pain to my side knocked me onto the alley floor. The second man had recovered enough to kick me in my ribs. I gasped in pain and tried to get back the air that was struck out of me. Then the first man was on top of me with his knife drawn. I could smell his musky odor and foul breath. I grasped his wrist with both hands to keep the knife away, but he used his free hand to punch my jaw. The taste of blood filled my mouth as a searing pain roared through my head.

  The alley ominously darkened, and I knew that this was my piti- ful end. It had been a really dumb idea to take on two men. I seemed to find myself in precarious situations—the boat thieves, the Muglik attack, traipsing through a dark forest with the Queen, and now alley thugs. I tried to focus through the pain and answer the questions I was perhaps asking too late. Do I somehow make myself a victim? What should I have done differently to avoid these miseries?

  Suddenly, the beating stopped.

  I took the opportunity during the reprieve to suck air into my lungs.

  “I’m certain you have this entirely under control, but I’d be happy to be of assistance.”

  I looked up through my blurred eyes to see Joshua holding my attacker by the back of his shirt. The man was lashing about, choked by his own clothing. His accomplice was whimpering on the ground behind Joshua.

  Painfully, I stood and tried to catch my breath. “Go on and finish him.”

  With a single blow to the head, the man crumpled into unconsciousness. Joshua tossed him aside as though he were a bag of rotten tomatoes.

  I brushed dirt from my undergarments. “Are you all right, mum?” I asked as the Queen handed me the ragdoll dress.

  “I am fine, Abigail. Are you all right?”

  I didn’t answer. I turned to Joshua and his expectant gaze. “And what are you doing here, in Taxco?” I demanded, rubbing my aching jaw, still struggling to catch my breath. “Just passing by?” I gasped.

  “Abbey.”

  I grabbed at the pain in my side. Were my ribs broken? My legs were trembling. “Following me ’cause I can’t take care of myself?” I lashed out at him.

  “Abbey.”

  I leaned forward, hands on my knees, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. The fear of everything rushed over me.

  “Aren’t you tired of...of saving me all the time?” I burst. Dizzy and faint, the walls spun around me. I felt myself falling forward, and Joshua caught me.

  “Not at all,” he said softly.

  Everything went black.

  3

  I had only fond memories of my parents. We had a small house south of Marrington with chickens and goats and cool, crisp water from a well. Our parents took trips often, leaving Paul and me in the care of an elderly couple who mostly let us have the run of the house, as long as we weren’t burning it down or disrupting their tea time.

  But when our parents were home, we had their undivided attention. They talked of their travels to distant cities and distant continents on their archeological quests. They always returned home with gifts— silk scarves from de Lis in Bellos, carved wooden figurines from Ntajid, an uncut emerald from the caves on the Fish Mouth Beach on Pellos.

  The emerald cave was my favorite story. My parents were near the beach, digging up ancient elephant bones—something about proof the continents were once connected, because there had been no elephants on Pellos for some tens of thousands of years.

  One day, there was alarm in the village where they were staying because a child had been missing from overnight. My dad was apparently a skilled tracker, perhaps because he looked at dirt mounds and ancient impressions in limestone that created a keener eye than most. So he tracked the little girl to the edge of a cliff. The search party looked down and saw her little red leather sandal at the very bottom. If she had fallen the night before, then the tide may have swept the body away. The parents of the little girl were i
n hysterics with grief, ready to throw themselves over the cliff and join her in death.

  But my dad was still examining the jagged rock wall. Further to the north, he could see the mouth of a cave. It occurred to him that if the little girl were playing along the rock and could not climb back up, the logical escape would be to hide from the tide in the cave. He did not want to give false hope, though, because the high tide could fill the cave with water if the ceiling was not elevated. The roundabout way to the cave—via a beach far north, then across the base of rock—would take until nightfall, at which time the water would be too high. They had to go down the cliff.

  Of the two, Dad was more skilled at rappelling, but Mom was lighter. They also discussed that a frightened girl may be more likely to come out of hiding to a woman, but since they didn’t know how treacherous the cave might be, they ultimately decided that they both must go. So they retrieved their rope and harness, items any proficient archeologist would possess, and rappelled down the cliff face, as most of the villagers watched anxiously.

  Disconnecting from the dangling ropes, they walked gingerly over the rocks that separated the cliff from the ocean. A twisted ankle on any number of the jagged rocks and crevices would make the return trip difficult. Carefully, they made their way to the cave entrance.

  They entered the cave surrounded by the echoing sound of drip- ping water. Sunlight from the cave entrance beamed onto a central pool of water then scattered along the walls and refracted against green stones. The effect was a rippling green glow throughout the cavern. They called for the little girl who came crawling out of a ledge in a far corner. Aside from some cuts and scrapes, she was in good health and they safely returned her to her parents. Before making the climb back up the rock wall, my parents took a melon sized geode of green rock with them. They had placed it on the mantel in our house, and I would take it down and stare at it whenever they told me the story.

  I awoke still imagining green light flickering around me, but it soon faded to yellow. Then I felt cool sheets all around me. Sun streamed in through a nearby window. The direction of the light and the yellow walls were unfamiliar. A figure sitting in a chair beside me came into focus.

  “Joshua,” I sighed in relief.

  He smirked, but it didn’t disguise the look of relief in his eyes.

  “What happened?” I asked, but moving my jaw to speak sent pain coursing through my head and everything came rushing back.

  “I was hoping you could tell me.” He was casually dressed in dark gray pants and a navy blue shirt. He had combed his hair since the tussle in the alley.

  “How long have I been out?” My tongue felt thick and swollen.

  “Long enough for Madame Q and I to bring you to the hotel, buy some more conservative clothing and draw a bath.”

  He nodded toward the bath.

  “Why are you in Taxco?” I asked.

  “I usually come here on holiday,” he replied quickly.

  I sighed and said, “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” I moved to sit up, feeling the tug of bruises all over my body.

  “What is this into which you have supposedly dragged me?”

  Something terrible, I thought, looking away.

  Joshua handed me a cup of water, and I slowly drank it all.

  “You should go back to the university,” I said when the cup was empty, but my voice lacked conviction. “It’s safer.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Safer for whom?”

  “For you,” I said solemnly.

  “Abbey, I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into this time, but what makes you think you can do it alone?”

  In truth, alone or with an army, I didn’t think I could get the Queen to safety. So why put anyone else in danger?

  “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  “Who has been hurt?” He sat upright.

  I didn’t make eye contact. I thought back to the fortune-teller. I had recently turned twenty, and Paul, Joshua and I had gone to Winter Festival. It was a cold and windy night, but the bioluminescent lighting and musical entertainment were enchanting. I drank prickly pear cactus juice and danced away my cares.

  Just before leaving, or before Paul and Joshua dragged me in my drunken state off the fairgrounds, I begged them to stop at the fortune- teller’s tent. The blue lights coming off the pavilion beckoned me. I entered alone, stumbling and laughing at myself. Surrounded by blue lighted crystals and bright blue drapes, I sat down at a round table covered in a shimmering sapphire tablecloth. Across from me sat a plump blue man with radiant blue eyeshadow. I chuckled slightly, but his mood was somber. Sticking out my lips and arching an eyebrow, I feigned a serious persona and reached into my pocket to pay his fee.

  He shook his head slowly. “You have too great a toll ahead to pay a fool like me, Abigail Cross.”

  I was momentarily amazed he knew my name but soon realized even in my inebriated state that this was part of his trick.

  He leaned forward with intensity, so I mimicked him by leaning in as well. “All that you know and have known is not truth,” he began.

  I felt a sobering chill in his deep voice and drew back slightly.

  “All that you love now will be lost.”

  I swallowed, searching his eyes for a hint of mischief or dishonesty. He solemnly continued,

  “When love is lost and truth is learned, you must choose the way to save us all.”

  I was puzzled and terrified all at once. I had already lost my parents. What more was I to lose? He gave me nothing more and nothing of reassurance that I would ultimately choose the right way, whatever that was.

  Reaching his hand forward, he touched my left palm. I blinked, and a blue star painlessly appeared. I clasped my wrist and brought my hand closer to my face. The glowing star faded into a vibrant blue tattoo with seven points.

  I left the tent in a melancholy daze and refused to tell Paul or Joshua what words haunted me back then and even now. They worried over my pale face, but I remained silent and, with clenched fists, concealed the star.

  Now, I looked at the blue star tattoo still on my left palm with its odd seven points. I had tried washing it off—scrubbing it off—thinking that if it were removed maybe I wouldn’t lose whatever his fore- telling indicated would be taken from me. But, whatever it was made from wouldn’t come off. It was permanent. I felt marked for something mysterious and terrifying.

  Over a year had passed since that Winter Festival night, and I had begun to think it a thing of the past. The concocted fable had not emerged. Now, what I knew was not truth—there were ghastly creatures with unimaginable powers—and I had lost what I loved most, my brother.

  Sitting in this small room with Joshua looking at me intently, I was forced to tell him about Paul. In something above a whisper, I explained how I was at the V-Day ball.

  “I left the university to make money for a year. Paul found me the servant job,” I added.

  Joshua nodded. “Paul told me,” he said with a hint of pain.

  I wondered if he was wounded because I had not told him when I was leaving. It hadn’t occurred to me to say good-bye, but now, sitting alone together, I wondered if we really had been friends all along.

  “After the ball,” I redirected the conversation, “Queen Rebekah and I were in the carriage line to go back to the main castle. Paul was a few carriages behind us. At a bend in the road, the grounds went dark, but I could see Paul’s carriage ahead by moonlight. Something—or some things—came out of the dark and swallowed him whole.”

  I shuddered and looked down to see that Joshua was holding my hand. “It was as though the shadows came to life.” I braced for questions that would betray his disbelief at my incredulous tale, but he asked none.

  Either he didn’t want to make me suffer through describing the monstrous Swallowers or he didn’t want to imagine a creature capable of swallowing a man, but he refrained from asking about them.

  A warmth spread from his hand through m
y aching body and calmed me. The throbbing pain in my jaw and dull ache in my side subsided.

  He remained silent, a deep sadness settling in his eyes. It was the same sadness that had settled in my heart over the last several days as I came to accept that Paul’s disappearance and death were probably synonymous—he really was gone.

  “I escaped,” I continued, though I didn’t like the way the statement implied that I had some clever involvement in getting away other than dumb luck. “Now, I’m charged with getting the—Madame Q—to safety.”

  “Abbey.” He leaned forward, still holding my hand. “I know you think I’m just a daft shullby player. But I do know who she is.”

  I shook my head in protest. “But you’ve been so casual in front of her.”

  He leaned back, released my hand and slouched in his chair. “If she’s trying to travel unrecognized, I’m under no obligation to treat her different from anyone else. In fact, my treating her as a commoner, when this is the identity she desires, is following her command.”

  I couldn’t argue with his reasoning, which was a little disconcerting.

  “So, where’s she planning to hide? Not Taxco, I hope.”

  “I’m taking her to Aithos,” I explained. I felt a swell of resolution followed by dread that saying it aloud could somehow be heard by our pursuers. “I don’t know what’s after us or what their intentions are or how long we can hide. I know that she’s stuck with me, and I’ll try to keep her safe for as long as I can.” My voice grew dry and cracked at the end.

  Joshua seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he stood, towering over me. “Best get a move on then. Take a bath. You smell like ox. Food’s on the table. I’ll meet you out front with transportation.”

  I hurled my pillow at him as he left, playfully insulted and grateful that he knew how to lighten the mood.