by Bruce Blake
Teryk returned his attention to picking his way through the underbrush. He hauled a deep breath into his lungs through his nose; the scents of wood and needles, of loamy earth, energized him, filled him with hope despite their situation.
"Do you know where we are?" He didn't look at his companion as he asked.
"Lost," Rilum replied and spit, his saliva spattering on a wide, green leaf. "Lost be where we are. In a land that shouldn't exist."
"What if we're not?"
"What are you talking of? We're wandering a place where no man's ever been."
"I thought the same at first. But you saw what happened: the horsemen, the Small Gods."
"Aye, I did. But if you think those be Small Gods, then you must've bonked your noggin."
Teryk frowned. He didn't recall knocking his head, but might it be possible?
"But what if they were? What if it isn't an undiscovered land, but a different time long ago?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how outlandish they sounded. Difficult enough thinking something transported them from the beach to the relative safety of the forest, but to an alternate age?
Rilum halted, grabbed Teryk's arm to pull him to a stop. He squinted at his companion, tilted his head. "You must have hit your noggin plenty hard."
"Look around. Does this not resemble our home? After seeing what happened, do you not recognize the Meadow of Exile?" Teryk swallowed as he said the words; the more he spoke, the more ridiculous the idea sounded. And he'd never seen the fabled place where the Small Gods' banishment from the Windward Kingdom occurred, merely been told of it in stories. But Rilum couldn't realize he but guessed, and the need to defend his statement compelled him to continue doing so now he'd started.
The sailor glanced around them, paused before answering. "I ain't heard of no Meadow of Exile."
"Legend says thousands of turns of the seasons ago, the men of what became the Windward Kingdom feared the Small Gods. They banished them to the Green to protect their families."
"If that's what we saw, it didn't appear no banishment to me. The gray fellers built a wall to defend themselves."
Teryk opened his mouth and inhaled, but stopped before speaking. Many turns of the seasons had passed since their nanny recited the tale—another one for their father to disapprove of if he'd known—but he recognized the discrepancy. In her story, the Goddess erected the green divide to protect her subjects, and she'd banished the other Small Gods to the sky for their actions. What they'd seen did not align with the myth.
Am I wrong?
"Ain't no way to move through time," Rilum grumbled and began walking again. "The more we stay here, the more likely we're discovered. If not by the wee gray ones, then by a hungry beast."
Teryk waited a heartbeat before following, staring back the direction they'd come. He saw nothing but trees and brush. His ears detected birds singing and fluttering amongst the branches, insects buzzing in patches of sunlight. The urge to retrace their steps, to make sure the wee folk survived the soldiers' attack threatened to overtake him, but he resisted.
I can't leave Rilum on his own.
The justification rang false. He turned his back on the forest separating him from the green wall and the gray men and followed his companion deeper into the unknown, hoping to find the truth of where they'd ended up.
***
They stood at the top of the bluff, staring at the rocky beach below. The long downward slope appeared treacherous, and he hoped the sailor wouldn't suggest traversing it. One of them might lose their footing and die broken on the boulders at its terminus. The prince glanced at Rilum, hoping to read intent on his face. His companion continued looking away, glaring along the finger of land protruding into the water.
Waves hurled themselves against it as if they did so to end their lives. The force with which they struck the rocky outcropping sent spray shooting straight up in the air, turned the surf to foam. Teryk had never seen anything like this; it exemplified the power of the sea he'd experienced when the storm ravaged the Whalebone, but this demonstration differed, inspired awe. Did Rilum stare at it for the same reason? Out of reverence?
"What are you looking at?"
He didn't answer, continued staring as though enthralled, nor did he move in the slightest. The prince worried he might be ill, or worse. After everything they'd been through, his companion falling into a trance did not stretch his imagining. A heartbeat away from grabbing Rilum's arm and giving him a shake, the sailor spoke.
"The Devil's Cock."
Teryk inhaled a sharp breath, but neither at the sailor's choice of words nor any recognition of what he meant. The disconnectedness of his response gave the prince fearful pause.
"What? What are you talking about?" He returned his gaze to his companion's face, prepared for a nonsensical answer, sure an unseen, malicious force had usurped his tongue, if not his entire being.
Rilum raised his arm and extended his finger toward the natural jetty.
"The Devil's Cock," he repeated, making no more sense than the first time. "On a map, it's called the Finger of the Goddess. Them who've sailed for any bit of their lives know it a thing of the devil. It marks the start of the turn."
Teryk stared out at the waves crashing against the rocks. Rilum may have continued speaking but, if he did, the prince didn't hear what he said. He knew nothing of Devil's Cocks and Goddess' Fingers, but he knew of the turn and what it meant. Somehow, they'd been transported from the land across the sea to their own Windward Kingdom.
They'd returned home, to another time, trapped in the Green.
***
Night fell faster than it should have. The sky went from bright blue to indigo, gray, then black in the time it took the companions to find a sheltered place to lay for much-needed sleep. The sunset horizon didn't shift color except to darken; no pinks or purples or reds, simply light, then not. A half-moon hung listless, surrounded by far fewer twinkling stars than Teryk expected. He blamed his imagination; doing so proved easier than accepting they'd traveled to an age before the banishment of the Small Gods. The thought made it difficult to trust anything his eyes surveyed, anything his mind believed, anything he perceived to happen.
Perhaps I'm asleep and dreaming.
But did muscles ache in a dream? His stomach gurgle and complain? He didn't recall either happening in his sleep before, but strange things can occur while one sleeps.
Teryk watched Rilum curl into the crevice under the fallen log they'd chosen for shelter. He settled in on top of the bed fashioned of moss and leaves, making himself comfortable in the way of a man used to discomfort. Since identifying the landmark recognized from so many of his journeys, he'd said little; it confirmed an impossibility he wanted to believe less than did Teryk. The realization reduced him to grunts and single-word responses.
Fatigue burdened the prince, too, settling into his limbs and threatening to drag his lids closed, but he resisted the urge to crawl under the log with his companion. Their proximity and the shelter itself would provide him warmth from air cooled by the fall of night, but the prospect of insects, spiders, and vermin hiding beneath the tree deterred him. He crossed his arms, hugging himself against the chill, and leaned against it instead. His plan: when the weight of sleep became too much, he'd succumb, too tired to care if a mouse crawled over his shoe or a spider across his hand.
Despite his exhaustion, slumber refused to calm his mind and relieve him of his worry. His eyes darted toward every sound hidden in darkness and thick brush. The wind in the trees or the movements of small animals explained them away, but the rationale didn't pacify him.
Soon after Rilum disappeared beneath the fallen log, the soft rumble of his snores disguised any other sounds. Teryk inhaled; the forest smelled different at night and held more dampness in the air. The sharp tang of cedar softened, the earthy scent of loam becoming more prevalent. He concentrated on these things and the sound of his companion's slumber to distract himself from
place and predicament, and how they'd arrived at the Green, in this time.
Memories of the gray figures dancing before the eerie wall they'd created came to him. He saw jagged lightning shoot across it with each strike of sword and axe, recalled the enraged expressions of the men on the other side. But for the colors they wore and the style of armor and weapon, they looked no different from himself, his father, Trenan. If not for the strange magic they'd seen, he and Rilum might have been home.
But how do you travel through time?
An impossible question without a likely answer, leaving one explanation: it wasn't real. Teryk determined he must be dreaming, or drugged and hallucinating.
Maybe I'm dead.
If so, death differed little from living.
He pushed himself up from the log, wiped the ass of his breeches to knock away dirt and moss and slivers. He took a pace back from his sleeping companion and the vibration of his snoring grown so much in volume it threatened to shake the fallen tree. Two more paces and it faded; the relative silence of the night overcame Rilum's dissonant breath. With teeth clenched tight enough to knot the muscles in his jaw, Teryk moved farther from the makeshift shelter. The woods drew him as though he sought an answer amongst the trunks of trees and green foliage of brush.
No chance of finding any there.
Another pace and exhaustion filled his body, weighed on him like it touched his soul. His already slow gait faltered and halted, thighs aching as if full of wet sand, and his knees trembled, then folded. He collapsed to sit on the bare patch of earth beneath his feet. His eyelids slid closed, snapped open, slid closed, snapped open. The brush and trees around him blurred into unnatural shapes, creating the illusion they gestured and swayed. Outlines scampered amongst the woods, muddied and gray, dancing, darting.
Teryk shook his head, slapped his cheek with a flat palm. The world reconciled itself into focus and he sighed, moved to stand and head back to the fallen log and the uncomfortable but relative safety beneath it. His arms and legs refused to obey. He pushed against the ground with flattened palms, grunted with the effort, but neither achieved the desired effect, instead making his brain hurt, his vision blur again.
Leaves rustled, and he jerked his chin up.
The wind?
Shapes danced and darted, moving from shrub to tree, coming closer. Teryk scrambled back, fingernails digging into the loamy ground beneath him, heels kicking up swaths of moss.
The gray forms swirled about him, noiseless but for the whisper of foliage. His own breath and the hammering of his pulse in his ears nearly drowned them out. His hand hit a root, jamming his finger, and Teryk fell backward, his head knocking against the trunk of a tree hard enough for light to flash before his eyes.
When his sight returned, the gray shapes surrounded him, faceless, converging.
The prince threw his arms up in front of his face and screamed.
XX Ishla - Denial
The queen stopped, breathed a lungful of air, then raised her hand to grasp the door handle. She knew she'd find her husband within the chamber, alone but for his guards. The rest of the council responsible for overseeing city affairs wouldn't convene until after midday meal, but Erral took his food in the meeting room, preparing to meet the others. Ishla might not always consider him a good ruler, but she couldn't ever fault his preparation.
She released her breath and pushed against the wide wooden portal.
"Wait here," she said over her shoulder.
No need to raise her voice for Strylor to hear her. In the three sunrises since the king gave him the queen's guard post, he'd proven himself dedicated beyond expectation. So much so, she often found him standing far too close for her comfort. The previous day, she'd exited the commode and walked right into him; he'd positioned himself in the middle of the doorway, leaving her no way around him, near enough he'd likely been touching the door.
Strylor grunted his agreement from where he stood behind her. She sensed that, were it deemed proper, he'd find any opportunity to put his hands on her in the interests of—and the convenient excuse of—keeping her safe. At another time, she'd have been entering the chamber to discuss finding a new queen's guard with her husband, but other intent drove her this day. Far more important things needed their attention.
She stepped over the threshold and the king's guards turned toward her at once, weapons leveled. When they saw who'd entered, they relented, returning to their ready positions. Erral looked up from the parchment spread across the table, a half-eaten chicken leg dangling between his fingers. His gaze held hers for an instant before his eyes returned to the document before him.
"What is it, woman? I'm preparing for council. The Horseshoe doesn't tend itself, you know."
For a moment before she responded, her mind flashed to the state of the city. She rarely found occasion to venture outside Draekfarren's walls but, when she did, she wasn't oblivious to the Horseshoe's slums, the poverty and crime, the grime and filth. The city did not take care of itself, but she didn't feel certain her husband did, either.
"The sun has risen three times since you sent Osis and his men, my Lord." She cringed at using a title but his guards in the room made it a necessity. "Our children haven't returned."
"I am aware."
He set the chicken leg back on the plate, continuing to scan the parchment. Ishla took a step toward the table, moving her lower jaw side to side, grinding her teeth.
"And what will you do?"
He ceased reading, rested his finger upon the document to keep from losing his place, and raised his eyes. "Await his return. Likely he'll arrive with the prince and princess in tow, both of them ready for the punishment they are due."
"And if he doesn't?"
The king pursed his lips, leaned forward. She saw his anger brewing below the surface, his grip on it tenuous. If his guards weren't in the room, he'd not bother concealing it, but appearances continued to be important to him.
"What should I do, my queen? Should I release the full strength of the army on our Windward Kingdom, sacking every house, overturning each rock and log until we find them?"
She cringed and bit down on her back teeth. He hadn't referred to her as 'my queen' out of respect or tradition but annoyance. The words themselves didn't betray his feelings—his tone did.
"No need for sacking and overturning, but yes. Send out the army. Empty the barracks. This is our children who are missing. Leave not a single man in the city until we find the prince and princess."
Errol shook his head, let his chin droop before pushing his chair away from the table, its legs scraping on the floor.
"If it was your job to rule, the kingdom would lie in ruins."
"It's not. It is my job to take care of our children."
"Then you haven't done your job."
His words penetrated her heart like a needle forced between her ribs. Angry tears threatened, but she fought them. If she let them go, instead of emerging as sorrow and anguish, they'd bring with them shouting and ire, a torrent of unexpressed feelings and frustration. She realized revealing what brewed within her would harden the king's demeanor rather than convince him to increase his efforts, so she blinked away the tears, bit back the stinging comments desperate to find her lips. Perhaps Erral read this in her face, for the tension in his own expression eased and he sat again.
"Troops are on the move in the Leeward Kingdom and aught is amiss in the Kingdom of Water, not to mention the troubles within our own borders." His eyes fell from hers at the allusion to internal strife. He'd mentioned no such thing to her before, though she'd heard of unrest from Trenan. "I cannot spare more soldiers. You'd have me leave the city, the entire realm, unguarded in the service of finding your children. That might be what they want."
"They?"
He cleared his throat. "Our enemies. It may be foreign agents took them to lure us into a mistake."
"But what about the truce?"
"Don't concern yourself with the politics of w
ar and peace, Ishla."
The king went back to scanning the parchment on the table before him, unwilling to meet her gaze. He said no more; he didn't need to.
"What have you done?"
He ignored her, choosing to pick up the chicken leg instead of answering his wife. His finger traced words on the paper, and he tore a chunk of meat from the bone with his teeth. Ishla watched him, her anger rising into her throat. No tears accompanied it this time as she let it spill out.
"What have you done?"
Errol slammed the drumstick down, the clay plate cracking as it split in two beneath the force. He glared at her for the space of five heartbeats before speaking.
"That you are the queen doesn't give you the right to speak to me in this manner. Be gone from my sight before I recall Osis and his men and leave the children to find their own way home."
Ishla bit so hard her teeth hurt and her jaw knotted. Her fingers curled into fists but she held her ground, silent, glaring at her husband. The king glared back for an instant before waving a hand in the air and returning to the parchment.
"Dar, remove the queen from this chamber."
The guard to her right stood at attention, heels clicking together, before leaving his post and crossing the room toward her. He stopped in front of her, blocking her view of the king. She diverted her gaze to his face, saw he didn't relish carrying out the regent's command but his position left him no choice. He swallowed hard.
"M'lady."
Dar swept his arm toward the door, waited for her to follow instructions, but he did not lay his touch upon her. If he did, the fury and rage within her might have burst forth, directed first at him and then at her husband. Instead, she spun around and stomped away. The guard followed and, when he reached out to grasp the handle, she swatted his hand aside.
"I can let myself out."
She jerked the door open, left it ajar as she stepped over the threshold into the hall. Her action caught Strylor, who leaned against the wall opposite the chamber, by surprise. He stood straight, a look of guilt spreading across his face she may have wondered at another time. Instead, she spun on her heel and headed along the corridor, leaving her husband's guard to shut the portal while her own protector hurried after her.
