by R Cavanaugh
“Igneous,” Jonathan had spoken so suddenly that he had made Igneous jump slightly, “what if the small resistance, as you have deemed them, already has her in their care? What then, Your Majesty?”
“Then we will assemble our own army and intelligence unit. We will find the resistance, and we will find her.” At these words Jonathan looked at his brother with an expression of eager anticipation.
“This time there will be no mistakes.”
Chapter 9
The Passage behind the Bed Frame
Draughtningr Manor
Exotius was inside the manor of Devin Draughtningr. The trim, which connected the high walls of the main hall to the elaborately painted ceiling, was made out of gold leaf. The leaves were shaped into many intricate and decorative designs. This place was only second in grandeur and elegance to Heartington Castle.
Exotius thought, Well, that was when it was spotless and everything was in its proper place. This was not, however, the case at the moment. There were objects scattered everywhere. Closets were thrown open, their contents covering the surrounding area. Suits of armor knocked over, furniture upturned, the stairs littered with objects that had fallen from arms that had carried them in a hurry.
That’s enough, he thought. This is no time to think on facts as to why the building looks terrible. He had a job to do, and that was not to analyze the grandeur of this magnificent building. He was here to find something, even though he didn’t quite know what it was himself.
“Sir.” Exotius turned around to find his new head man. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he would need a new head man when he had locked all of the disobedient men in Tungston Manor and set fire to the place. But he liked his replacement.
“Sir, would you please explain what you would like us to look for?” There was something to be said for fear.
“Look for a secret door or something.” Exotius said this in a dismissive sort of manner. Make it look as if you don’t care, he thought.
“Sir, what if there is no such passage to be found?” Exotius stood there, thinking that “what if” wasn’t acceptable. There was a doorway here somewhere, and should he go into a room after someone and find one, there would be serious consequences.
“You and your men will search this place from the largest room to the smallest cupboard, and should one inch of this place be overlooked, there will be severe consequences.” That was good, but he needed something more; something that would scare them and eat at their minds to the point that they would be terrified of failing.
“You all have much more to lose than you realize, and should you fail, you will find out just how much you’ve got to lose.” As he finished he looked around at the pale faces of his men. Their fear was on their faces, in their eyes, and their skin would have glowed like the moon if it had been night.
“Now,” they all jumped as he spoke, “I hope that I have made myself clear.” There were several soft-spoken “Yes, sirs,” but the rest were still silent.
“Then get moving.” They moved very quickly, all except one of them: a young man, eighteen, maybe. How I hate insubordinates, he thought.
“Is there something you don’t understand, boy?” Exotius watched to see signs of weakness; there were, however, none.
“Is there something you wish to tell me?” Still there was no answer, but as he waited for one, he caught a glimpse of a small tattoo on the boy’s lower left arm.
The tattoo was of a T, but it was pointy on all the ends, giving it the look of a dagger:
The boy was a Thorn, or even worse, a Cryptic Conspirator. Then he remembered that Cryptic Conspirators had a circle around theirs:
The boy seemed to be frozen to the spot where he was now standing.
“What’s your name, boy?” Exotius demanded, and in doing so he listened to his voice ring in the large room as he awaited his answer.
“My name is Danny, sir,” he said, adding as an afterthought, “Danny MacNeil.”
The name was familiar, and then he remembered that one of the king’s new maids had the last name MacNeil.
“Rachel MacNeil is your sister, is she not?” Bullseye. The boy suddenly became rigid, and his face hot.
“Yes, sir.”
“Her animal is a white cat named Damien, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your animal is a serpent named Tormen, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s what I thought. Now rumor has it that the mark on your left arm is that of the military resistance named the Thorns, because it is a T. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but if there is a ring around it, which yours does not have, it means that you are a Cryptic Conspirator.” Exotius saw the rage in the eyes of the young man turn to fear, the fear of realization.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His shaky voice became high in pitch.
A lie if I ever saw one, Exotius thought.
“Your sister is rather good looking; one might even say she is pretty.”
“So?”
“So, one wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her. It would be most unfortunate.”
“You keep away from her!” The boy had finally snapped. His anger lined every word he spoke. He had even drawn his sword to defend himself.
“You won’t win, Danny.” Exotius said softly, and he snapped his fingers. In doing so flames controlled and even encircled the boy.
Suddenly a red snake shot out of the bedroom at the end of the long hallway to Exotius’s right. It was bolting toward Exotius in an attempt to save its human. Exotius drew his sword calmly. The blade was the color of blood, and in four swift movements, he cut the snake into four equal pieces.
“Tormen!”
The snake would move no more. He was dead; nothing could change that.
Exotius moved his fingers in a strange but swift circular movement, and at once the flames surrounding Danny became ropes. The ropes tied first to his wrists and then tied his arms to his sides.
“Now,” Exotius turned to the boy, smiling all the while, “let’s be glad that the snake was not your sister, shall we?”
“Whatever you want, I’ll never give to you! No information, nothing!” And he called Exotius a foul name just to prove that he was serious.
“Those are strong words, especially since they’re coming from someone who has another’s life or well-being on the line as well as their own.” Exotius watched the boy glare at him for a while and then continued in a matter-of-fact tone, “Your sister is only safe as long as I want her to be. Should you not give me what it is I want, I will make her life most unpleasant. Am I clear?”
The boy was very quiet, unmoving, and his face, while harder to read than some, said to Exotius, “You win.”
“How did the Draughtningrs escape this house without being seen?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Exotius hit him hard, and when he still remained silent, Exotius took his drawn sword and slashed him across the chest. The cut wasn’t life-threatening, but it was, for the individual possessing it, inconvenient.
“I will ask you this one last time, and be careful how you answer. How did the Draughtningrs escape this manor without being seen?” The boy did not answer, but he looked toward the bedroom that Tormen had come from.
Exotius grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck and pulled him down the long hallway to the bedroom. This room was very disorganized, even worse than the rest of the place, if possible. The one thing that was where it was supposed to be was the grand bed.
Exotius threw the boy to the floor and walked over to the bed. The frame was attached to the wall and was as tall as he was. It started on the floor and ended about three to four feet above the bed. Since he was taller than most, there was no reason that this wasn’t the door that he had been looking for.
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“How do you open the door, Danny?”
“Figure it out yourself, you murdering monster!”
Exotius, as much as he would like to, knew that he couldn’t kill the boy—not yet, anyway. Then he spotted a painting which was hanging a little to one side. He walked over to it and turned it in the direction that it was tilting. The bed pushed forward, and the frame swung open.
Voices and feet were coming in his direction because of the noise caused by the passage being revealed. Exotius turned to the boy, raising his sword, and gave him some advice:
“You should have helped me, Danny. Now your sister will suffer because of you.” Then he slashed at his chest a second time, sending a good three inches of his blade into him.
“Stupid boy.” And with that he turned toward the passage behind the bed frame and marched into it with the rest of his men behind him.
Chapter 10
The House Made of Trees
The Edge of the Forest of Magus
Igneous was riding along the long, winding road, if it could be called that, which led to the edge of the Forest of Magus. The Forest of Magus eventually blended into the Forest of Promise. He had always thought of making them one forest, but something about the Forest of Magus always made him feel that they should have different names. The Forest of Magus was the home of what people called “the House Made of Trees,” which was the home of Jasmine Traymeda. No one in the whole of Aquamarine knew how old the old woman was, but she was at least as old as Igneous himself.
“How much farther is her house?” Infestus had interrupted his thoughts. His horse, Infestus, was just like his master, and he was ominous, the color of gray ash and his voice, while being high in pitch, had a gruffness to it.
“We should be coming up on it soon now.”
“Constance got the best of you again the day before last.” He paused. “Why do you let her taunt you so?”
“She always has what I want for information. Therefore I have to let her taunt me in order to get my answer.” It was a good response, but part of it was a lie, and Infestus knew it, but unlike Constance, he did not press the issue.
“This lane has nothing about it that I particularly like.” Infestus murmured. “It is so spooky, and the ground feels as though the blood of the magical people who were killed here is still wet.”
Igneous knew that the bloody history of the forest was always playing on the fears of the travelers that went through it. His horse was right in this case, however, because the ground sank slightly when one stepped down. This comment sent them into silence for the rest of their journey.
As they neared a small clearing, they noticed a change in the trees and the earth beneath their feet. The ground was hard and cold, as if it were forever frozen in winter; Infestus’s hooves could not even dent it. The air felt as though there was a mist around them, though there was not a visible one. The trees were old, ancient, and twisted. If plants and trees could look evil, the ones that surrounded the home of Jasmine Traymeda certainly did. The most interesting part of the clearing was that the house in the middle of it was formed by the trees. Their trunks and branches had weaved together to form a house that had two small windows and a door made of branches that had locked together in just the right formation to allow them to open and close.
“This place gives me the willies,” Infestus confessed to his master.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Igneous said in order to ward off his own fears.
“Sorry, but I think that it is just unnatural that trees should grow in that form by themselves. I think that magic formed them, and you know how wary I am of cursed objects.”
“It is not cursed!” Igneous thought for a minute and then asked, “And who told you that it was?” The anger in his voice was clearly there, and Infestus shuddered slightly at the tone.
“No one,” he replied, “I just assumed that it was.”
It was when Igneous was about to scorn Infestus further that Indifferens appeared seemingly out of nowhere and stood in front of Infestus’s path. Infestus had barely enough time to stop, and in jolting nearly sent the king flying over his head.
“Sorry, Your Majesty.”
“Be more careful.”
Indifferens was the creature of and companion to Jasmine Traymeda. He was a cat that was of medium build, with colors of white, gold, and black. He stared at the king and Infestus with a stare that was second only to a dead man, with eyes of pale silver. He stared as though he was reading the minds of the two creatures in front of him. His eyes moved slowly from the eyes of Infestus to the eyes of the very agitated king. The king felt as though he was being pierced through the eyes by those of the cat.
“Indifferens, where is Jasmine Traymeda?” Igneous demanded.
“She is inside.” Indifferens answered with a slow, low, and very raspy voice. “She has been expecting you, Igneous, and wishes to tell you that you are two days late.”
Then with a slow swish of his tail, he stood up and began to walk slowly toward the House Made of Trees. When he was halfway there, he said in the same low and raspy voice, “Coming?”
Infestus gave Igneous a pleading look as he dismounted.
“Stay in the clearing, Infestus.”
“Yes, Master.”
With that Igneous followed and caught up with Indifferens in a few moments, but slowed to the cat’s pace when he had and followed him inside the house made from trees as the door swung open, though no one had visibly opened it. Once Igneous was inside, the door closed. The clearing, which had been illuminated by the glow from the open door, now fell into darkness, in which silence enveloped everything.
Infestus, now alone, heard nothing, saw nothing, and the world around him was nothing. He hated being alone, but his master had told him to remain where he was. Then he heard something, or more like someone. No animal would make that much noise on purpose. Another loud crack of a twig, and he turned around just quick enough to see the outline of a man.
Chapter 11
Jasmine Traymeda’s Indifference
The House Made of Trees
The room that Igneous had entered smelled of earth and moss. The room was filled with a dim, warm light, but its warmth only stretched so far, leaving a quarter of the room in cool shadows. There was a small fireplace directly across from the door, and on its mantle were all sorts of strange objects and glass jars. Some of the jars bore objects like eyes and fingers, while others held pickled puggles and the tongues of trasicores. It was enough to unsettle even the coldest of men. However, he was here on business and had no time to think on matters that were not connected to the task at hand.
Jasmine sat at a small table near the fire and held her back to him and was bent over something. He was just about to speak when she sat straight up and turned slowly to face him. She looked older than time and was very thin, with wispy hair and pale, gray-blue eyes that were almost like water. She wore tan-colored robes that went down to the floor. Her white hair was placed in a bun, with wispy strands of it out of place, seemingly floating in a nonexistent breeze. She walked slowly toward him, her eyes staring into his, and so intense was her gaze that he looked away.
“You have come to me,” she said in a slow, throaty, and intense voice, “to learn what has become of the girl who is to inherit the thrown of Aquamarine that sits in the castle of Heartington, surrounded by the bejeweled garden and residing in the great city of Decorus Regnum Corset.”
Here she paused, seeming to take in his reactions, and again those cold, pale, and almost calculating eyes seemed to be reading his innermost thoughts.
How did she know where he had hidden the rare bushes? Only a few men were privy to this information and knew that he had made a second garden under the original in order to house the jewel-bearing bushes.
“Well,” Jasmine sighed, “I would have thought you to have already
known where she was, what she was up to, even in whose company she would be in. It appears that I was wrong, however; you’re just as naive as you were when you thought you had completely finished the Heartington family the first time.”
With these words she walked into a second room, through a doorway shaped out of an enormous root of the tree that made up the very house they were in. Her soft footsteps made a faint shuffling sound as she moved away from him.
Isn’t that nice, Igneous thought sarcastically, she was able to point out everything that had gone wrong throughout the past two days, and now she has the gall to simply walk away from me! After all, he was the king of Aquamarine, and she was a subject under his domain. He deserved answers. Yes, in fact, she was obligated to tell him exactly what he wanted to know, when he wanted to know it, and how it was going to affect his life and livelihood.
“You’re thinking too hard about things you ought not to, Mr. Stipes.”
Indifferens had entered the room and was now sitting in an old wooden rocker. It had intricate twirls and whirls throughout and had scuffed the floor to the point that it had made a permanent dent in the rough wood floor. The chair slowly rocked back and forth, back and forth, as Indifferens groomed his forepaws; all the while his pale silver eyes were continuing to follow and read the king’s every move.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, but you do.” Indifferens whispered as he carefully climbed out of the chair, which continued to rock as he approached the king. “You do. You want Traymeda to tell you where the girl is residing this very moment so that you may kill her, or perhaps turn her, for you have not yet made up your mind.”
“I don’t think my decisions are any of your business!” The king shouted in outrage. How dare this stupid animal speak of things that are far beyond its comprehension? But you know, he thought to himself, he’s right; you haven’t made up your mind yet. What are you going to do when you get ahold of her?
