by RM Wark
“I do not believe the old man is coming back tonight,” Gentry said, changing the subject. “We should probably get some rest. Who knows what he has in store for us tomorrow.”
*************
She was huddled under a tattered blanket when he approached her cell. She did not bother to look up.
“Princess Delia?”
The voice was surprisingly soft and kind. She lifted her head to see who had spoken her name. She was surprised to find it was the Emperor’s son.
He studied her with his dark eyes.
“I am Lord Etan, son of Lord Jarek, Emperor of the East.”
Lady Delia nodded.
“Forgive me, but I must ask. Are you a spy?”
She shook her head. “No,” she croaked. It had been so long since she had tried to speak that her voice nearly failed her.
Lord Etan poured a cup of water and handed it to her through the bars of the cell.
“Thank you,” she mouthed. She sipped the water and held fast to the cup.
“If you are not a spy, then why did you come here?”
Lady Delia shrugged. “I do not know, my lord. I was angry. I was not thinking clearly.” Her voice was still hoarse from lack of use. She drank the remainder of the water and handed the cup back to the Emperor’s son.
“I get angry with my father, too,” Lord Etan confessed. “He can be … unbearable at times.”
Lady Delia looked up at the Emperor’s son with interest. He seemed sincere.
“But I do not think I have ever been so angry as to consider running away to the West,” he said.
Lady Delia gave a weak smile. “Aye. It was foolish of me. I see that now. But it seemed like such a good idea at the time.” Her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears.
Lord Etan handed her a handkerchief from his pocket and watched as she blotted her eyes.
“I must go, but I shall return. Good day, Princess Delia.”
*************
When Gentry awoke the next morning, he noticed the old man and Fallon sitting by the fire. He made his way towards them.
“Do you not sleep?” Fallon asked, his question directed at the old man.
The old man did not answer.
Gentry grabbed a wooden bowl and began to fill it with stew from the pot. Fallon did the same. They did not speak until the stew was gone.
“Care for another game of Vin Setum?” A devious smile played on Fallon’s lips.
Gentry shook his head and sat down upon the floor. He was not interested in games. He was only interested in going home. He had just had the most wonderful dream about Daria and Luca, and his heart longed to see them again.
Gentry turned towards the old man. “As much as I enjoy the pleasure of your company,” he said with obvious sarcasm, “I am quite eager to leave. I do have a family waiting for me, and I promised them I would be home before the winter solstice.”
The old man’s eyes flickered for the briefest of moments before he turned to face Gentry.
“The time is not right quite yet. You both must stay for now.”
“And when shall the time be right?” Gentry asked, irritated.
“I cannot say.”
“I refuse to stay another day in this damn cave!” The angry words echoed through the cavern.
“Gentry,” Fallon said, placing his hand on Gentry’s arm.
But Gentry quickly brushed Fallon’s hand aside. He turned his focus back to the old man – only to find that the old man was gone.
“Wizards be damned!”
*************
Following the disappearance of the old man, Fallon watched as Gentry retreated to his mat upon the floor. His friend made it clear he did not want to be bothered. With Gentry in such a sullen mood, Fallon kept to himself most of the morning.
Desperately bored, Fallon began searching through the random items placed along the far wall of the cavern. It was the same place where Gentry had discovered the Vin Setum game, but Fallon found nothing else of interest.
There were no other games. It is just as well. I had forgotten how much Gentry dislikes losing. There were no musical instruments – not that Fallon could play any. He had never shared his father’s love for the fiddle, but at least it would have been something to occupy his time. The most disappointing part of his search, however, had been that he did not find a single book.
What does the old man do to pass the time?
Fallon looked once more to the tunnels. Wherever they lead – that is where the old man passes his time. Fallon vaguely recalled Gentry’s warning about the network of tunnels being a maze, but he could not resist the temptation to explore.
I shall not go far, he thought.
Fallon looked once more towards Gentry, who was still curled up on his mat.
“I am going to explore the tunnels,” Fallon called out. He could not see Gentry’s face – only his back – but his friend did not stir. Fallon picked up a lantern and headed towards the main tunnel opening.
This is quite a maze, Fallon conceded as he made his way through the network of tunnels. Guided largely by his instincts, he found himself venturing deeper and deeper into the mountain. Many tunnels led him to locked doors with no hint of what might be found on the other side. Other tunnels filled him with a dull sense of foreboding he could not explain, and he quickly retraced his steps.
Along the way, Fallon lost all sense of time. Try as he might, he could not seem to rationalize whether one hour or ten hours had passed since he had left the main cavern. Feeling unsettled, Fallon decided it was time to turn back.
Holding his lantern high to confirm the direction of the passageway leading back to the main cavern, he was startled to find strange markings upon the wall. Absentmindedly, he raised his finger to trace the designs. He was overcome by an odd sensation.
“Do they look familiar?”
Fallon was not surprised to find the old man standing beside him. He turned back to the markings.
“Aye,” he admitted. “What do they mean?”
“It is an old language, long ago forgotten.”
“But you still remember.” Somehow Fallon knew this to be true.
Once again, the old man’s eyes flickered from black to silver to black again, but he did not acknowledge Fallon’s statement.
“Come, it is time that we return to your friend.”
*************
Lord Etan came back to visit Lady Delia frequently over the next few years. Their conversations were always short, but pleasant. He was surprised at how much he looked forward to seeing her again.
“My lord.” Princess Delia greeted Lord Etan with a small bow and a smile.
“Princess Delia,” he bowed in return. “I hope you are well. I brought you something.”
He handed her something small, wrapped in a white cloth. She carefully unwrapped it.
“It looks delicious!” she exclaimed. “What is it?”
“A honey drop, we call them. Fried dough with a honey glaze.”
“Mmm. It is delicious,” she said, biting into the pastry. “We do not have anything like this in the West.”
“I am glad you like it. It is one of my favorites.”
For a moment all was silent except for a slow drip of water that echoed from somewhere else in the dungeon.
I must tell her, Lord Etan thought.
“A battle with the West shall begin soon. Within the decade I am told.”
“Aye?” she asked, but there was more sadness in her voice than curiosity.
“Aye.”
“I had hoped that such a battle could be avoided. I had hoped to be a messenger of peace.”
“A long, painful past cannot be easily forgotten with a few words of peace,” Lord Etan said gently. “It is fated to be this way – for the West and East to be in conflict.”
She frowned with sadness. “Do you truly believe that? That we are fated to hate one another for eternity for things that happened so long ago?”
&nb
sp; “The Battle of Tens was not so long ago. Many good Eastern Wizards lost their lives.”
“Aye, and many good Western Wizards died as well. And many more died in the Battle of Eights, and the Battle of Sevens before that, and the Battle of Two Rivers before that. But have we ever stopped to think about why it is we must fight in the first place?”
“You stole our land.” Lord Etan had tried to keep the tension from his voice, but he failed.
Lady Delia sighed. “You are missing my point. And besides, it was not your land to begin with.”
Lord Etan arched his eyebrow in surprise at such an absurd statement, but it went ignored by the Princess.
“Had our ancestors attempted to talk through those disputes instead of fighting one another, they would have saved us all from much heartache and loss,” she argued. “Each battle only serves to further entrench the division between East and West, sowing the seeds of enduring hatred for the generations that follow.”
Lady Delia’s impassioned speech gave way to softer tones.
“In the end, no one really wins when we choose to fight,” she said. “We all suffer – the victor and defeated alike.”
Lord Etan was silent for some time, contemplating her words. It was true that not much had been gained in the various battles throughout the centuries. But he had trouble believing that dialogue would have changed the course of history. The Western Wizards had stolen their land. They were not willing to give it back. There was nothing to discuss.
“Does your father share your belief that dialogue might prevent another battle?” he finally asked.
Lady Delia only frowned.
I did not think so, he thought.
“Well, I must go now.” Lord Etan turned to leave but stopped short. “Is there anything you desire, Princess Delia? I would be happy to bring it to you the next time I visit.”
A wistful look crossed Lady Delia’s face. “I should like to see the sun again. Someday.”
*************
When Fallon awoke, he felt stiff and lethargic. It was a good excuse to remain upon his mat and reflect upon his dream. He had dreamed of Jezebel, who was once again pointing to unfamiliar mountains rising high above a lake of pale green. His heart was heavy as he thought of the beautiful woman and the horse he had left behind in Koman.
I wonder how she is spending her days. I hope Attawan is well.
Fallon struggled to sit up, and it seemed that the world was spinning around him. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. When things came into focus, he turned his attention to the old man sitting in the chair by the fire, with Gentry on the floor beside him.
Fallon noticed that Gentry’s beard had grown considerably. He found himself reaching for his own chin, and was surprised to feel that yesterday’s stubble had sprouted into a small beard. This confused him greatly, as his facial hair had never been very quick to grow. He could easily get away with shaving only once or twice a week.
It took him some effort to stand, and his legs felt strangely weak beneath him, but Fallon managed to walk slowly towards the fire.
“Are you hungry?” the old man asked, offering him a bowl of stew.
“Aye, I am,” replied Fallon, but he made no effort to reach for the bowl. “However, I care not for the sleeping potion you have seen fit to mix in with the stew.” It was the only thing that made any sense.
Hearing Fallon’s accusation, Gentry pulled the bowl away from his lips and eyed it suspiciously.
The old man chuckled. “Why blame the stew? Perhaps it was the tea?”
“So you admit that you have been poisoning us?” Fallon responded in disbelief. “Why?”
The old man looked at Fallon. “I have not been poisoning you,” he said flatly. “I have merely been encouraging you and your friend to sleep.”
“But why?” Fallon repeated.
The old man was silent for some time, and Fallon worried that the question would go unanswered, much like many of his other questions. To Fallon’s surprise, the old man spoke.
“It is winter beyond the confines of this mountain. Food is hard to come by these days.”
“So you made us sleep?” asked Gentry, his brow furled in confusion.
The old man nodded and began reciting a rhyme the Reedites vaguely recalled from childhood:
When winter comes and fills bellies with hunger,
The wise among them know ’tis better to slumber.
And rest their bodies ’til the dawn of spring,
When frozen white fields give way to green.
“I thought you just said it was winter, and yet we are awake. So it is truly spring now?” asked Gentry, befuddled.
“No, it is not quite spring yet,” replied the old man. “But soon.”
“Then why did you wake us?” interjected Fallon.
“Alas, men are not bears. You were not meant to sleep until spring. You would not survive.” Once again the old man offered Fallon a bowl.
Fallon reluctantly accepted the stew. He realized he was far too hungry to protest any longer. And while the notion of being drugged to sleep made him uneasy, he had to admit he did not fear the old man whose presence filled him with a strange sensation.
He is not like the strange man in the bookstore. Besides, if he wished to harm us, Fallon reasoned, he would have done so long ago.
*************
Selma replayed her last visit with Oren over and over in her mind. She remained angry and frustrated for quite some time. Why will he not tell me? It would be so easy for him.
But as the weeks passed, her anger and frustration lessened. She still did not understand why Oren would not tell her what he knew, but she could not deny that there was some truth to his words. If she really wanted to know what happened to Wendell, she could ask Lord Cephas. It would not be easy, but perhaps there is a reason Oren would like me to hear Wendell’s story from the wizard.
She also could not deny that she missed her friend – her only friend. Life in Cetahl was quite lonely without someone to share it with. As the Emperor’s personal servant, Selma had a difficult time making friends. The few times she had tried, they always seemed more interested in the Emperor than her. Oren was different. Oren actually cared about her.
*************
The old man roused them from sleep this time, nudging them not-so-gently.
“Spring has come,” he said.
Gentry’s groggy head pounded in protest as he lifted it and surveyed the cave. Fallon was stretching his arms, his mouth open in a wide yawn. Still in a daze, they shuffled over to the fire where bowls of stew were waiting to be consumed.
When they were done eating, the old man placed two bowls of hot water between them and handed Fallon a straight razor.
“You may want to use your knife first,” the old man said, nodding to Gentry.
Gentry’s hand instinctively went to stroke the end of his beard, which now hung halfway down his chest. The old man turned and left.
“I am tempted to keep it,” said Gentry. “Perhaps Daria shall like it.” The thought of his wife brought a smile to his face.
Fallon’s raised eyebrow made it clear he did not agree. “I suspect it shall frighten her more than anything. Have you seen yourself lately?”
As there was no mirror in the cave, Gentry was forced to take his friend at his word. He brought out his knife and began to saw away at his beard.
“At least there is some oil in the water,” Fallon said, scraping the straight razor against his cheek.
“That is of little comfort to me as the razor is likely to be dull after you are done.”
“The old man gave it to me first,” Fallon said with a shrug and a smile.
Gentry shook his head and laughed. It was a sound neither man had heard in quite some time, and Fallon soon joined him.
*************
The old man returned not long after Gentry had scraped away the last of his beard. His face felt angry and raw, but clean. It is worth it … for Daria
.
“Come, follow me.” The old man said. “Bring your things.”
Gentry’s excitement grew at the thought of finally leaving the cave and returning to his family.
I wonder how Luca has grown. He is more than a year old now, probably walking and getting into trouble everywhere he goes, he thought, chuckling out loud. It shall be good to go home.
The old man deftly navigated the tunnel maze, not stopping until he reached an old wooden door at the far end of a chamber. He placed his hand upon the door and closed his eyes. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing a long tunnel beyond.
The old man stepped aside and motioned for Fallon to walk forward into the tunnel. Gentry attempted to follow, but the old man stopped him.
“Go,” the old man said to Fallon. “Return when you are ready.”
Fallon gave a curious look to the old man before continuing down the tunnel.
It felt like hours had passed before Fallon finally returned. Gentry could tell at once that all was not well with his friend.
“Are you all right?” he asked, but Fallon did not answer him.
“It is your turn,” the old man instructed. “Go. Return when you are ready.”
Gentry walked slowly down the tunnel. There was a strange echo to the chamber, and the air smelled slightly of mildew. He was not entirely surprised to find a reflecting pool at the end of the tunnel.
“What am I supposed to do now, bathe?” he muttered aloud in annoyance.
To his surprise, ripples began to appear in the reflecting pool, and when the ripples subsided, an image of Daria was revealed. She was smiling and holding on to a young red-headed boy.
That must be Luca! He is getting so big!
Gentry smiled broadly as he watched the young boy struggle to get out of his mother’s arms. Finally free, Luca squealed in delight and began running towards a man with outstretched arms.
