“Behind those crates,” he said. Orrin handed him back Lifeweaver, and in unison, the three men turned their attention to the crates behind them, and to the noise of shifting metal.
Together they pushed aside the heavy boxes. Three rows inward, some of the crates tipped to the side, exposing a large apparatus, a c-shaped whirligig of a thing, two needles pointing at each other, up and down, from the inside ends of the part. There was a simple base, cylindrical, and the C - shaped part moved around it in a circle. In the middle of the two needles was a nearly invisible shell of what looked like glass; so thin and fragile it might as well have been a soap bubble.
Inside, folding in upon itself over and over, was what looked like ever twirling streams of the white death. Its glow faded in and out at a random speed. The base and the top portion were grafted to the ceiling by its only elegance; a decorative pattern of metal strips, carved with harmian runes of protection.
“What is this?” Valor asked.
Armun shook his head. “It’s harmian. I know that much. You can tell by its simplicity. Somehow they figured out how to power through the mem - the white death. The white death, I mean. You can see it floating there.”
Within the crystal that floated between the two focal points, a tiny, fluttering white mist could be seen.
Valor scoffed. “Left a lot of interesting toys behind.”
Armun couldn’t disagree. “That they did. I don’t know how it works, but I’m certain it’s what’s been casting the noman’s spell over this place.”
“Noman’s spell?” Valor said.
Armun answered quietly, touching the device with his aura, waiting for some kind of reaction. “Illegal spells. Spells so powerful and disturbing that they’re outlawed by most major countries. Cruel and unusual punishments await those caught using them.”
Armun motioned for the boys to move back. Don’t touch it. And stand back. ”
“Well what if anything happens to you?” Valor asked.
“It is better than the two of you dying.”
Valor moved behind him. His voice turned questioning. “Why is it better that we should live?”
Armun couldn’t answer. He swore an oath of silence to Sir Trought, an oath he intended to keep. But he knew it wouldn’t be the first time Valor asked. He thanked Harma that only one of them had a voice with which to ask difficult questions.
“Back up, boys.” To Armun’s fortune, and without further questioning, they did as he asked. Armun lifted Lifeweaver, wisps of purple smoke puffing outwards from his hands. He widened his stance as if to ride a horse twice a chargers size, curling Lifeweaver far behind him.
“Get behind the crates,” he commanded. The brothers did as he asked, without hesitation.
Armun pushed his aura outwards to encompass the device, testing its nature. He sensed nothing ominous, which only worried him more. He knew he needed to destroy the thing in one blow. Lifeweaver was a magic weapon, and from what he could make out of the runes, they would only protect the device from normal steel. This, however, left the question of traps.
Armun cleared his mind with a sigh, and swung with a perfect strike, shattering the oval glass inside. The memorias burst outward, shooting towards the walls.
Seconds later, the boys peered around the corner.
Armun was still standing with his axe in hand, the head laying upon the sandy ground. Tiny starlight’s floated outwards, shards of glass stabbing out from the ground, splattered in a wide arc across where he had struck it.
The air became thinner, and for the first time since being in the Arnaks, Armun felt he could stand up straight. Not just straight, but erect. The invisible weights he had felt on their shoulders had been released. His nose seemed to unclog, and his spine felt a lightning bolt through it. The clouds that had swarmed into his mind were slowly leaking away. Clarity came to him, crips sharpness and alertness. Instinct now felt to be a choice.
He looked at the boys, who had come out from hiding. He pushed his aura out to them. Their blood pumped harder, and warmth erupted from their own auras, which he was only now able to see. They were thin, just under the skin. He watched them shiver.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
Armun watched as Valor and Orrin began to laugh nervously. Armun wondered if they had ever felt so good in their lives. “The slaves should have a fighting chance now.”
“How do we know there aren’t more of these?” Valor asked.
Armun kicked at the glass, picking up a shiny sliver with his oversized hand. “There might be. There most likely are. But that new lightness in the air leads me to believe that if there are more, there could be no more than one or two, and they aren’t close by. Whatever kind of device this is, it is most definitely not within the feral’s skills to rebuild. These smiths obviously knew what they were doing. But I doubt anyone else did. I don’t think it was easy for the harmians to construct either, despite how simple it looks. Looked, I meant to say... looked.”
As if on some prearranged cue, his sprite fluttered back towards him, zig-zagging on invisible crevices. “Where now little friend?”
It bounced as if to nod, then flew out the door. “Follow me… boys, have you ever seen any of this?”
Both young men shook their heads no.
“This has been going on for some time. Look how old the equipment is. They seemed to be completing the last of the process. That’s why they were working like madmen... shipping the ober to who knows where. But we may be able to catch the caravann. Put a further dent in the Warden’s plans.”
Valor stepped towards him. “Lobosa’s plan? I think they have bigger concerns.”
Roiland shook his head. “No. Yes, he’s dead. But the feral’s will pick another leader, and I’d bet sooner rather than later. And who knows how deep this runs. Lobosa may be the least of our concerns.”
Valor looked over the crates. Armun watched Orrin sign something to his brother. Valor repeated it. “Orrin wants to know if you have any idea what they use the processed ober for.”
Armun opened his eyes. “I have no idea. If anyone but feral’s had any clue how to smelt or use this ober… I ‘d know about it. I would have caught wind of it by now, something like this out in the world.”
Valor pursed his lips. “Well - maybe it’s not in the world yet. Maybe it’s being kept hidden.”
Armun nodded, glad that both Valor and Orrin had seemed to come out of their collective stupor. Jerryl had told him that feeding the boy’s curiosity would get them to follow. It seemed to be working. He could practically feel their minds churning through ideas.
“Let’s keep moving. Quiet and low.”
Chapter 34
As they walked their weird path through the back end of the cavern tunnels, Orrin thought of the other slaves, and how exactly they would survive and found it pointless, realizing there were too many questions with no answers. Would Jerryl and the slaves be forced to the lower caves? Could, or would the feral’s regroup? Would the nameless things scatter back to where they came from?
As the questions came, he put them aside. Jerryl had wanted them to get out, so that was along those lines that he tried to place his focus.
They travelled along the main path for only a few seconds when the sprite disappeared through a rock wall. Roiland led them quickly, which Orrin felt was too quickly. What then followed Roiland’s shrinking body was the sound of cloth folding and shuffling as they passed through another trick wall.
Orrin jumped inwards, and landed face first onto the ground, Valor following in much the same fashion, rocks jamming into his elbows. A voice echoed out from the painted cloth. “Come on, boys!”
Orrin jumped through, Valor now in the lead, tumbling through what felt like silk and millions of loose strands. The two strong bodies bumped into Roiland’s back, who acknowledged them only enough to see they were still alive before he continued running.
Orrin found himself looking back over his shoulder from time to time. For
some reason, running still felt wrong.
He was thankful when lit torches appeared and the ceiling grew high again, the ground carved more evenly than the ones in the main roads of the Arnaks.
Swirling patterns appeared, like caricatures of clouds he had seen in an old dusty book. Suddenly, Roiland stopped, and Valor’s gaze turned from the ceiling to his front, where a group of ten guards was slowly advancing, spears crackling with life and front fangs glistening. “Here,” Roiland said, ripping two swords from the hands of a dead feral, handing one to each, hoping they were real. Orrin checked the edge for sharpness.
“Ten versus three?” Roiland said.
“Not a problem,” Valor said. Orrin looked at his brother, who was practically seething.
Bloodlust driven feral’s skulked towards them, red eyes hovering in shadows, lowering down to pounce.
“We’ve been watching them all our lives,” Valor said. “They fight fast, but we know their tricks.”
Just as Valor was about to move forward, Roiland pushed him back. The ferals were on them in a flash. Some leapt to the ceiling, circling like cockroaches.
Roiland dropped his battleaxe and opened his hands. Orrin was blinded as bright lightning flashed out from the mage’s palms, turning everything beyond him to a spider web of jagged blue lines.
The feral’s caught in the attack dropped instantly, seizing on the floor. Orrin checked the bodies with his eyes as they fell from the ceiling. Six fell, leaving four.
He couldn’t help but watch Roiland, who burst forth into the enemy without any hesitation, a precise, calculated animal chasing his red targets. The feral’s stepped back, retaliating in shock at Roiland’s speed. They stabbed forward at their target, a fatal mistake for all of them, as Roiland stepped back and cleaved the points from their electrical spears, broken ends fizzling with loose power.
Valor took the far left, and Orrin the far right, while Roiland dealt with the two left in the middle, kicking aside the right half of the split body. One guard jumped high above Valor. Orrin’s opponent ignored him, and ran for his brother. The leaping feral came down with a high, heavy strike.
Valor swatted the spear point away with the flat of his blade, rotating hard on his heels. Orrin engaged the one who had tried to cut off his brother. The enforcer snagged his foot on a rock, causing him to stumble. His brother’s blade met his opponent’s throat, and the feral fell back with a high-pitched gurgle.
Orrin made his move then, as the enforcer’s partner watched his comrade fall. The feral twirled his spear in a figure eight. Orrin slashed at the creature’s unshielded fingers once, twice - and cut through two on the third slash. The enforcer whined like a wounded dog as several digits fell to the floor, blood leaking from the newly created stubs. Orrin backed the feral to the nearby wall. The enforcer dropped his spear, raised his hands, and tried to surrender in his garbled language.
Orrin wished he could let him be free.
He showed as much mercy as he could, stabbing the enforcer through the heart, jaw clenched and muscles all compacted into one, a raw thrust comprised of all his power.
He saw Valor and Roiland join together and check the tunnel for anything else that meant them harm. Orrin pulled his blade from his enemy, wiping the blood on a nearby cloak, moving to reform the group.
The three of them stood back to back. When all seemed quiet, they disengaged from their rotating formation.
Roiland shook blood loose from his axe. Valor and Orrin jumped as Roiland’s sprite flew up from the rocks below.
“Damnit,” Valor muttered.
Orrin nodded in mild agreement, watching with his brother as it floated towards Roiland, waiting for new communication. It did seem to Orrin that the sprite was useful to have, desiring one of his own.
He grabbed his brother’s hand and signed to him. [ We should try and convince him to go back. With him, we can fight. ]
Valor sighed through his nostrils. [ Orrin, no. ]
Orrin tugged his brother’s hand harder. [ Please. ]
“I can’t, Orrin… please don’t make me.”
[ Why not? ]
Roiland lifted his head away from his small friend. “What’s he saying?”
Valor swallowed a few hard breaths before responding. “He wants to free the others.”
Orrin looked between both of them, hoping, praying that the growing silence meant that Roiland was considering it.
Roiland shook his head. “I know you want to save Jerryl. Believe me, son, I’ve been there. But he’s chosen his path. He chose to save you both instead. You’ll dishonor him and all he’s done for you if you choose differently.”
Orrin looked at Valor, and recognized the desperation in his eyes. Being his brother, it was sometimes like looking in a mirror. He could see on Valor’s face that he shared his desperation, a similar desire to save their mentor.
Valor turned towards the silver haired old man. “Roiland - maybe we can. Surely we could take more of them on, get some people out of here. We destroyed that noman’s thing, and the forge, and the nameless things are turning Emberless into piles of feral bodies. The momentum is in Jerryl’s favor for now.”
Surprised, Orrin snapped his head to Roiland, who turned away from his sprite as it flittered through the nearby wall. “The nameless things will kill anyone. That’s hardly an advantage. I saw one prisoner die for every feral. And once the ferals regroup, and I promise you they will, victory will slip further away.”
“Not if you fight for us.” Valor wiped more blood from the blade in his left hand, desperate for something to say that could sway Armun. “If you payed attention in Emberless, then you saw that there was some organization. That - and if the slaves see your power, they’ll feel invincible. They’ll be swept away.”
Roiland shook his head. “We aren’t going back.”
Valor stepped forward, Orrin sensing a sudden determination in his brother, the kind of determination that usually got him in trouble.
“I need a better reason,” Valor said broodingly.
Roiland pointed at the wall. “I’ll give you two. Firstly, I’m not some pack mule. I have to eat, and sleep, and drink like anyone else. You may be ignorant of how magic works, but I’m telling you I’m nearing my limits. I only have enough to get us out of here.” Roiland put his hand on the rock wall. “Secondly… beyond this, this rock here - is freedom.”
The old mage folded his hands in front of his stomach, staring at a feral guard who was still moaning, barely alive, but enough to whimper.
Valor turned to Orrin. “What do we do?”
Orrin, in all honesty, did not know what to think. He had suggested it, but now he wasn’t sure. He felt the pressure of time force his hands to sign.
[ I don’t know. ]
Valor held out a finger towards where they had come from. “But you just said - “
Orrin threw up his hands. [ I know what I said! But now I don’t know. I just didn’t believe we would get here. ]
Silence overtook them for a moment, until Roiland spoke up. “I am not in the business of lying, boys. So when I tell you that this is our only option, I speak the truth.”
Valor’s voice grew angry. “Why should we believe you? Since we’ve started running around, I’ve been thinking. Whoever you really are, you’re obviously important to someone. You came here for Jerryl, for whatever he is - or was. Your mission was to get Jerryl out. You were with him, and you didn’t take him. For some reason you came for us instead. Why?”
Orrin tapped his brother on the shoulder. [ Valor, we should go. I’m sorry, he’s right. Jerryl wanted us to go. I shouldn’t have suggested this. He has to have some reason - ]
Valor pulled away. “I bet he has a reason. What, did he sell us out too? Sell us out for something? What was it, Roiland? Money? A promise of something? What was it!?”
[ Jerryl would never. ] Orrin signed to Valor over and over, but he would not see. Orrin wished he could make him see. How could Valor sugges
t such a thing?
He looked at Roiland, who seemed more confused than anything. “Sir Trought is a good man. Should he perish, I will mourn him, as will many others.”
Valor snarled through gritted teeth. “You come here… do all this… and think you can just spew that sanctimonious crap?”
Valor lunged at Roiland with a clenched fist. Even Orrin knew the response would be horrible and obvious.
Roiland slapped Valor sideways and downwards, a strike so hard that Valor hit the ground and bounced. Orrin thought he could feel it as the sound echoed through the cave.
After a moment, Valor sat up, his face already bruising. “We can’t leave him. We can’t. I won’t.” Orrin couldn’t see his brother’s face, but he could hear the tears bubbling in in his voice. “I’m not going to leave the only man that ever cared for us to die in this… shit hole.”
Orrin dropped his head, kicking a few pebbles. Roiland was right. It was best to go. When he looked up, Roiland had his hand pressed against the closest wall, and his eyes closed. He seemed to be thinking peacefully.
Maybe he knows Jerryl better than we think.
All of a sudden Orrin felt his body lift, flying backwards as a shockwave tossed him as if he were nothing but a grain of sand. His head felt swallowed by pain as he hit the ground, but it did not last long. When he opened his eyes, he instantly was blinded. His ears began to ring, but he could hear Valor in the distance.
As Orrin’s vision came to, he saw rocks crumbling into dust, light pouring into the cavern, blinding him. Both of them jumped as the shockwave suddenly reversed itself, stepping through their bodies, trembling their spines.
The rock fell apart like stale crumbs of bread, sunlight bursting inwards like the sharp twangs of a thousand bow strings, strobing their sight, filling his eyes with multicolored dots and veins.
He turned towards the darkness and grabbed at Roiland’s massive arms. He seemed to be mouthing the word sorry.
The old mage grabbed Orrin again by the collar, and held him by his arm, and tossed both of them up and out of the darkness.
Memorias: Deep in the Arnaks Page 32
