by Sharon Hinck
Zarek ignored me. “Last chance,” he said to Kieran.
Kieran sent a tortured look my direction. His eyes reflected every inch of his old identity as the outcast son of Braide Wood. Desperation. Regret. Pain.
He didn’t need to plead for my understanding. I knew he couldn’t answer Zarek’s questions. I didn’t want him to. We wouldn’t put others in danger. We’d both rather die. Still, as Dylan used to tell me, reality was far different than theory. My stomach turned hollow as I met Kieran’s eyes and shook my head.
Kieran’s eyes flared, and his chest heaved. “I’d answer if I could, but the ways of the One aren’t always clear. Let me—”
“Liar.” The king spit out the word. “You’ve tried my patience long enough, Restorer. Or whatever you are. I’m done.” His hand left my shoulder and slid along my neck. “Linette, will you serve as one of my courtesans?”
I gasped. For a moment the fuzziness that clouded my thoughts receded. “You know that’s impossible. I’m happy to serve you. I can teach. I can work in the kitchens. I’ll scrub floors. Ask me anything else.”
Zarek didn’t bother looking at me. His intent had little to do with making me suffer. His bitterness was directed at Kieran, who struggled against the guards, sinews cording on his neck.
“Don’t do this.” The growl in Kieran’s throat was more threat than plea.
Zarek grabbed my chin and tilted my face up. Anger glinted in his eyes like the silver threads in his onyx table. “Linette, you refuse the king? Then you die. And during your last breaths, remember it was Kieran’s choice.”
I jerked my head away from his grip and struggled to my feet. “My life and my death are in the hands of the One.” It was a battle to speak clearly, but I had to confront Zarek with the power of truth. I had to reassure Kieran that I didn’t blame him. But my legs wavered and I grabbed the chair for support. The floor rippled, and waves of dizziness swam through my brain. What was wrong with me?
The curtain near the back of the room moved, and a hunched old woman hobbled forward, hooded cloak shadowing her features. The darkness I’d felt earlier returned. Deep currents of something fetid and evil circled the room.
“No!” Kieran choked, all color leaving his face.
Zarek smiled at the reaction. “Linette is fortunate. She benefits from Hazorite law. The high priestess can claim the condemned for the shrine. Bezreth has been kind enough to offer this girl a place in the Sidian shrine.”
Bezreth drew closer. Amber irises framed her pupils, the rings so thin they were almost invisible. Set in her wrinkled skin, her eyes were black as bitum sap—pits that swallowed all light. I needed to run, but could only sway on my feet.
“How much did she drink?” Her sibilant voice hissed like liquid spilled on a heat trivet.
Zarek frowned. “Only a few swallows.”
The sour taste in my mouth threatened to choke me.
I backed away from them. Rough hands grabbed and held me. More guards. Where had they come from? The two who had brought Kieran into the room were still holding him, despite his efforts to break free.
Bezreth seemed to float toward me, smiling an ancient toothless smile. Rumors were that she’d lived for five generations. Certainly some sort of prehistoric evil inhabited her.
I recoiled, struggling in spite of the strange weakness draining my muscles.
Bezreth pulled a silver wristband from her tunic, tapping one nail on the wide metallic surface. “Welcome to the sacred service of the hill-gods.” She examined a fabric layer inside the bracelet, then grabbed my arm and wrapped the band over my wrist. It closed with a click.
Almost immediately, my panic and nausea dissolved. From a confusing, distant place Kieran shouted something. Words pummeled the air, but I couldn’t translate them. I squinted against the chaotic shapes. The room was full of noise and people and swirling darkness. A girl with dark braids appeared beside the high priestess. She seemed familiar, but I couldn’t remember why.
Bezreth nodded toward me. “Better, yes?”
The old woman understood. She knew I’d been chilled, feverish, confused. Her wristband was helping me. I felt so much better now. Calm.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Through the haze of my vision, Zarek shook his head at me with something like regret, but then turned back to the others with barely restrained rage. Poor man. He was so angry. I tried to reach out toward him, but couldn’t move. Why couldn’t I make my body obey simple commands?
“Why?” The hoarse, desperate cry came from the other man . . . I struggled to recall his name. Kieran, wasn’t it? Another confused, distressed soul. I tried to speak, to reassure him, but my lips had grown numb.
Zarek’s shape, blurry but still large and easy to identify, stepped closer to Kieran. “I give my trust rarely. I’m seldom wrong. When I am, I correct it.”
The fog in my head told me that none of this mattered. I pushed against the heaviness, fighting it. Could Kieran hear the pain beneath the king’s anger? If I could convince my throat to produce sound, maybe I could stop Zarek from his bitter path.
Bezreth joined the king and pointed at Kieran with a gnarled finger. “Let me have him. Only his blood will fully appease the hill-gods.”
Zarek crossed his arms. “No. I’ve granted your other petitions. You get the songkeeper. That’s enough. His crime is against me. His death will be by my hands.”
Death? The king was going to kill Kieran! The heavy effect of the armband lost its grip for a few heartbeats. The scene blinked back into focus. Zarek still clutched his jeweled dagger, and the blade glinted. Kieran didn’t even watch his approaching death. His chest heaved, sweat dampening his face and hair as he stared at me. Raw fear and desperation burned across the space between us. And something deeper. Something tender I’d seen before in Dylan’s eyes.
If only I could tell him. I had to stop this . . .
Then my failed efforts no longer mattered. Soothing numbness cradled me. My head lolled forward and I sighed, unable to remember what I’d wanted to do. Bezreth’s men drew me toward the curtain at the back of the room. I had no will to resist.
A howl, feral and broken, rose behind us.
Kieran.
A shiver ran through my spine. I stumbled.
The young girl squeezed my hand. “It’s all right. You’re a shrine girl now. We’ll take care of you.”
A corner of my mind resisted. This was wrong. Someone needed help. Who was it? I needed to go back, to fight.
The curtain fell closed behind us, shutting out whatever had so worried me. The farther we walked down the hidden passageway, the harder it was to cling to my memories.
Bezreth paused before a steel door, guarded by more soldiers. One of them toggled a switch, and the door slid aside.
The girl beside me leaned closer. “One of the ancient kings built this hall so that shrine girls could be sent for at his command.” She glanced at a side passage and a closed door, also heavily guarded. “Those are his private rooms. Bezreth promised that one day she’ll send me.”
The girl was bright, eager. She wanted me to feel happy for her. Yet sorrow poured through me. Something wasn’t right. I didn’t belong here. Who was I? What was I doing here? My head drooped forward, and my chin rubbed against the knobby weave of my robe and the scent of caradoc wool.
Braide Wood.
Memories woke inside of me. My mother gathering the collar of my cloak under my chin and resting her forehead against mine. Lukyan’s aged smile. Mist lowering against my upturned face inside the Lyric tower. The music.
Bezreth turned suddenly. Her skeletal hands gripped my face and the blackness of her eyes filled my vision. “Your past is gone. You belong to me. I speak for the hill-gods and they have put you in my care.”
Deeper and deeper her gaze pulled me in. Darkness swallowed me, permeate
d every memory and wiped it away, as if an armored hand slid the lever of a light panel in my soul. Dimmer, dimmer, everything faded.
She smiled, pale gums appearing amid the deep crevices of her wrinkled face. “That’s right. Come with us.”
She was ancient, far wiser than I was. I bowed my head and followed her.
The heavy door slid closed, sealing me into my new life. Beyond, jagged steps led downward to a passage beneath the palace. Red panels of light cast blood shadows on the stone floor.
The girl beside me continued to whisper as we walked. “The high priestess has prepared for the past two seasons for this return. The shrine isn’t ready for the hill-gods’ visit yet, but she restored the homes for the shrine girls. I’m sorry about lying to you earlier.”
“Earlier?”
“About the king sending me as a gift. It was an idea of the high priestess.”
I winced and rubbed my forehead.
“Oh, that’s right. She explained you wouldn’t remember.” Her gaze skimmed my bracelet. “It’s best to forget anything that came before. I’m Ria.”
I nodded and stopped trying to place her. Our walk ended at large metal doors with burnished carvings. Contorted faces. Claws, fangs, wild eyes. They repulsed me. Were they supposed to? The girl beside me didn’t seem bothered by them.
When the doors slid apart, we walked slowly forward. A sweet scent pervaded the air in the next hall we entered, with undertones of something sour and metallic.
“We’re under the shrine now,” Ria said in hushed tones. “You won’t be able to help with ceremonies right away, so your room is at the far end. Just do what you’re told and remember what an honor this is for you.” She slipped away, and one of Bezreth’s men propelled me farther down the dark hall.
We passed alcoves recessed into the stone, each one fronted by wire fence barriers. I caught glimpses of young women alone in many of the rooms . . . some on silk pallets, some pacing their small space in embroidered robes. As we went deeper into the cellar beneath the shrine, the girls were more unkempt. Many were bruised, hair matted. One girl saw us and threw herself forward, shrieking.
An electrical charge flared across the wire in front of her room. She fell backward. Helpless whimpers followed us down the hall.
“In there.” The guard motioned toward an empty alcove. I stepped forward and wire fencing slid out from the wall on one side and caged me in.
Still feeling unsteady on my feet, I sank to the floor and leaned against the back wall, hugging my knees, as far from the electrical current of the wire as possible. My wrist itched and I glanced down. A wide band of silver rested against my pale skin. What was that for? Was it supposed to be there? I twisted it, then lost interest. Tucking my hands into my sleeves, I rested my cheek against my knees and let my thoughts drift into inviting nothingness.
Chapter
9
Susan
“Mark!” My voice echoed, and my breath rasped in my ears. I blinked several times, but still saw only blackness. The air smelled musty. Either we’d lost power, or I’d gone blind, or . . .
The terrifying possibilities throbbed inside my skull. Speculation would only drive me into panic. Think, Susan. Think.
From my knees, I reached out to orient myself. The cement beneath me was hard and damp, as if a basement pipe had broken. A faint drip sounded in the distance. The leak in the laundry room faucet? Mark had been trying to fix it for weeks.
“Mark?” My head ached. Holding my breath, I strained to hear any other sounds and caught a soft exhalation. Someone, or something, hid in the darkness.
I had to know. I crept toward the sound. The spot where I expected to touch Jake’s bed held only bare concrete.
I wasn’t in our basement anymore.
Anything could be waiting nearby in the dark. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead.
Desperate to get oriented in the horrible, heavy blackness, I crawled onward, feeling my way. A stone dug into my knee, and, with a cry, I fell forward against something soft and warm. It moved beneath my hand. I shrieked, and the emptiness swallowed the echoes. Heart pounding, I clamped a hand over my mouth, pushing back the rising terror.
A low groan emanated inches from my hand.
“Mark? Mark, is it you? Please let it be you.”
“What were you screaming about?” My husband’s grumpy voice washed over me like a warm tide, carrying me back to shore.
“It is you!” I threw myself across him. “Oh, thank you, God. You’re here.” I patted him, finding the contours of his shoulders, neck, and head.
He swatted my hands away. “Stop poking me. Why is it so dark? What happened?”
“I don’t know. You were the one playing with the portal stones.”
“I wasn’t—” He shifted. “Never mind. Would you let me up?”
I eased back, but kept a grip on his arm, my only touchstone in the hollow, unknown space we inhabited. “Can you see anything? Or is something wrong with my eyes?”
“It’s not you,” he said quietly. His hand found my arm and followed it upward to my shoulder, and then rested his palm against my face. “I can’t see either. We could be anywhere.”
“Or nowhere,” I whispered.
He pressed his forehead against mine. “Susan, trust the One.”
I clung to his quiet confidence, breathed in the comforting scent of his skin. Where did he find so much strength? We were lost, blind, and buried in a dank, dripping space, and he still took time to offer me reassurance.
Something scuffed along the ground in the distance. I flinched. “Did you hear that?”
A pebble tumbled and more shuffling sounds drew closer. I turned toward the noise and caught a hint of gauzy light that hadn’t been there before. Mark stood, pulled me up, and pressed me against his left side. He’d instinctively left his sword arm free, even though neither of us was armed.
Hazy blue illumination bounced around a bend. The rough-hewn tunnel gradually took shape, revealing slopes of tumbled rock rising on all sides, like piles of Easter eggs in hues of grey and blue.
A small figure stepped around the bend and stopped with a squeak. Shorter than our daughter Anne, the tiny person stared at us with huge eyes in a blue-tinged face, holding what looked like a glow-stick.
Had we tumbled into yet another alternate world? Nothing here was familiar. Dampness oozed through my stockinged feet, and I curled my toes under, longing for sturdy boots.
“Who are you?” The figure’s high-pitched voice was breathy and feminine. As she moved closer and held up the glow-stick to see us better, I realized her skin wasn’t blue. Her pale complexion had simply reflected the hued light, an effect heightened by the fluorescent aquamarine striations adorning the cave walls.
Mark’s hand squeezed my shoulder with unnecessary force, warning me not to speak. “We’re lost,” he answered simply.
A whispery giggle. She took another step closer and stared with unblinking eyes that looked permanently surprised.
More footsteps approached. “Galena? Wait for—”
A taller shape entered the cavern, spotted us, and gasped. She ran and scooped up the girl. Her long hair also had a bluish cast until the light moved and I realized it was as white as her skin.
The girl squirmed. “Mama, they’re lost. What are they, Mama?”
I held out my hands, devoid of weapons, and smiled. “We’re sorry we disturbed you. Can you tell us where we are?”
Mark tugged me back, breathing through his nose like a bull ready to charge. What was his problem? They seemed harmless.
The woman with huge eyes and almost no chin returned an uncertain smile. “Tremolite tribe. Where are you traveling?” When neither of us responded, she gave a worried glance at Mark’s angry stance and eased away a few steps. “I heard a scream. Do you need help? Perhaps you should come with
us to our grotto.”
The woman and daughter backed farther away, rounding the rock wall and taking the light source with them.
“Wait!” I called.
Mark’s fingers dug into my shoulder.
I reached up to rest my hand over his. “What’s wrong? We can’t just stand around in the dark.”
“Kahlareans,” he whispered.
Dry ice bit the lining of my lungs. In my worst nightmares I still saw bulging eyes over shrouding masks, heard the hissing argument of the Kahlarean assassins dragging me into the forest, felt the burning paralysis of the venblade. The mother and daughter had the same pale skin, toothless gums, and large eyes, but they couldn’t possibly be the same sort of threat as grey-clad assassins.
The soft glow of fluorescence in the walls was fading quickly and Mark took a reluctant step toward the tunnel. “We must be in Kahlarea. Not a good place for us to be.”
“Well, duh.” Minutes earlier I’d have given anything to find Mark in this dark place. Now his grim assessment irritated me.
Mark ignored my sarcasm. “We can’t let them know who we are.”
“Okay. Fake names. You be Fred and I’ll be Ethel.”
Even in the fading azure glow, I saw Mark’s mouth twitch. “I think we can come up with something better than that.”
I crossed my arms. “Hey, I’m not the one with experience at aliases.”
He stiffened, and I wished I could call back my words. I’d forgiven him for hiding his identity for so many years. Mostly. But digs like that would make him think I hadn’t. “I didn’t mean it that way,” I said softly.
He pulled away from me. “No, you’re right. I’ll handle it.” He moved forward, not bothering to offer me his hand.
“Fine.” I tried to rekindle my crankiness, to keep the fear at bay, but dread pounded inside my ribs as we felt our way around the rock face and followed the light of the glowing stick bouncing along ahead of us. I watched my footing to avoid stubbing my toes, but the surface of the path was well worn and smooth beneath my socks. Ahead of me, Mark moved more confidently. He was still wearing tennis shoes from his trip to the hardware store.
