by Amy Green
As Jesse stood on the left edge of the ravine, nothing was in front of him except blackness. Or maybe not.
He would look ridiculous if he were wrong, Jesse knew. But something inside of him, maybe the same voice he had heard when Roland was about to kill him, told him to try.
“May I have the Rebellion stone?” Jesse asked Silas.
He pulled back, and Jesse could see a look of distrust on his face in the dim light. “What are you going to do with it?”
Jesse groaned in frustration. This is ridiculous. “It’s just a rock, Silas. You need to let go of it!”
Silas paused, as if shocked that Jesse would speak so sharply to him. “Besides,” Jesse added, “if I’m right, you’ll get it back.”
Finally, Silas pulled out the stone and gave it to Jesse. Along with a tiny glimmer of daylight on the other side of the ravine, the stone’s glow was the only light they had. Jesse picked up the rock and threw it into the ravine.
“What are you…?” Silas began, sounding angry. Then he just stared.
Instead of tumbling into the darkness, the stone made a sharp clicking sound, bounced a few times, and seemed to come to rest in midair. It had landed a few feet below the edge of the cliff, just out of reach.
Rae gasped. “What kind of magic is this?”
“It’s not magic,” Jesse insisted. “I think…I think it’s a mirror. One that stretches across the canyon as a bridge.”
Another pause. “That’s ridiculous,” Silas said. “No one builds a bridge out of a mirror. It would shatter.”
“You’re right,” Jesse said. “Maybe it’s a simple wooden bridge, overlaid with a mirror.” He pointed to the Rebellion stone, still suspended in the middle of the ravine. “Look. You can see a reflection of the stone from the surface. Doesn’t it make sense?”
“Not really,” Rae said, but before Jesse could protest, she added, “but neither does anything else about this maze. Besides, Jesse is right. There is no other explanation.”
“And it fits with the riddle,” Parvel agreed.
The dim light on the other side was golden and beautiful, not the pale white of the Rebellion stones, but Jesse still could not actually see the mirrored bridge, even when he crouched down on the ground. “If only I hadn’t let the torch go out,” he moaned.
“Can’t you touch it?” Silas asked, keeping a safe distance away from the edge.
Jesse reached down with his walking stick. For a few terrifying seconds, it cut through thin air. Then the end bumped against something invisible, but solid. “There’s something there,” Jesse confirmed, starting to get excited.
“But can it hold you?” Silas pointed out. “Can it hold any of us?”
“It was designed to,” Parvel said, shrugging. “But we won’t know for sure until we try it. I just wish we had some other choice.”
Jesse smiled. “Sometimes a leap into the darkness is the only way to the light.”
“Jesse, I didn’t mean that literally….”
“No,” Jesse interrupted. “I think you were right when you said that Parvel. Maybe you were right all along.” He took a deep breath. “Let me go first.”
Parvel put his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Jesse, I can lead. You….”
“No,” Jesse said, shaking his head. “I need to do this.”
“Are you sure? You have no way of knowing if the bridge exists, or if it’s stable. I could go first.”
Jesse shook his head. “Then it wouldn’t be faith.”
Parvel let go, then nodded, smiling slightly. “Very good.”
For a moment, Jesse stood there, clutching his walking stick and teetering on the edge of the ravine. And then he stepped out into the darkness.
After a split second of falling, his feet landed on firm ground. So there is a bridge. It was an eerie feeling, walking across a ravine on a mirror. He appeared to be stepping on nothing but darkness. When he reached the Rebellion stone and picked it up, he could see the dim reflection of his own legs, limping across the surface.
He could hear the others behind him, but he didn’t turn to look. Instead, he focused on the light at the other end. The light that meant the surface, freedom, and the end of Riddler’s Pass.
Once they reached the ledge on the other side, they stopped. Jesse almost felt afraid to go out into the open after all they had been through.
“What are we going to do now?” Rae asked in a hesitant voice. “Now that the Patrol thinks we’re dead.”
They all looked to Parvel. “I don’t know,” he said, slumping a little. Jesse looked at him closely. He looked older than his eighteen years.
Then he straightened up, and Jesse saw that familiar gleam creep back into his eyes. “But I do know I will spend the rest of my life fighting against evil and injustice, wherever it is found. Who’s with me?”
“I am,” Silas said. Jesse glanced at him. He didn’t have the same angry expression Jesse had gotten used to over the past few days, and he didn’t mention the Rebellion. I hope that means he’s left his bitterness back in the cave, where it belongs. Somehow, Jesse wasn’t entirely convinced.
“Count me in,” Rae said, gripping the sword at her side.
“Rae, there are some things you cannot fight with violence alone,” Parvel said mildly.
She never flinched. “I haven’t found any yet.”
“No,” Parvel said, never looking away, “not yet.”
Jesse wondered what kind of danger Parvel thought they might face in the future. Before he could ask, Parvel turned to him and asked, “And you, Jesse?”
“I’m not much of a fighter,” he said, running his hand nervously along his staff.
“Don’t be foolish,” Rae interrupted. “You’re one of us, like it or not.”
It wasn’t much of a compliment, except that it came from Rae. Jesse felt honored. “Then I stand with Parvel. With all of you.”
Together, they stepped out of the cave. Even though the sun was setting, Jesse was nearly blinded after the near-complete darkness. Silas and Rae wasted no time in taking the lead, but Parvel stayed back, keeping pace with Jesse as he limped along.
After a few seconds, Jesse broke the silence. “I meant what I said. You were right—God is out there. And I think I want to learn more about Him, even though I don’t know anything right now.”
Parvel smiled. “You’re well on your way just by wanting that Jesse. But I must warn you; you are taking a big risk by becoming a believer in God. We have many enemies, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard of some who have been imprisoned, driven underground, tortured, and even killed by the king’s men, because of what they believe.”
“So, if I decide to become a believer in God, King Selen might try to kill me,” Jesse summarized, smiling a little. “Something that he’s already doing.”
“This is serious, Jesse.”
“So am I.” Jesse stood. “You have a lot to teach me, Parvel. I must admit, I paid very little attention to the teachings of the priest in Mir.”
Parvel joined him, staring down the mountain road, and gave a resolute nod. “There will be time. Besides, those priests don’t know the real truth about God. They talk as if faith is a dry, boring thing.” He smiled, and it was like daylight breaking through after a long night. “It’s the greatest true story of all time, Jesse. And you know how much I love to tell stories.”
“Come on, you two!” Silas called from up ahead. “The Rebellion will catch up with all of us at your speed.”
In response, Jesse and Parvel began to walk a little bit faster—but only a little bit.
“Where to begin?” Parvel wondered out loud. He paused, closing his eyes. When he spoke again, it was in the familiar, rhythmic tone used by all in District One when they told a story. “It started with darkness and empt
iness. Before time was created, God was. And He spoke into the darkness and created the light….”
And even though the sun was sinking in the sky, Jesse didn’t wish daylight would last longer. He wasn’t afraid of the darkness because this time he was not alone.
Somehow, he knew he would never be alone again.
Chapter 15
The Patrol was growing restless. Demetri knew it was true, even though none of them had dared complain to his face. He noticed it in the mutters during the night watches, in the way the men ate their dwindling rations in silence.
“Guarding a pile of rocks,” he had heard one of them say. And it was true; the Deep Mines showed no sign of the Youth Guard, no sign of life at all.
Silent as a tomb.
A few of the Patrol members who had left Mir with Demetri would never return. Two had been crushed in the cave-in that had collapsed the tunnel. Demetri himself had barely gotten out in time. Once the shaking and rumbling stopped, he sent sentries back in to investigate. Past the large main cave with the ruins in it, everything else had collapsed. The Youth Guard members were dead. They could not have survived.
At least, that was what Demetri told himself. But he had seen the three young people survive circumstances just as dangerous back in Da’armos.
That was why he had waited so long, sent out groups of Patrol to check the perimeter, and made sure there were no signs of life. Even if, by some miracle, the three had survived the cave-in, they would be trapped. Nearly three full days had passed. Three days without food or water.
Demetri grimaced. It was a hard way to die.
But I had no choice, he told himself. Aleric and the others would have killed my brother if I had refused this mission.
Aleric had reminded him of this in his last vision the night before. That’s how Demetri was sure the three were dead. “I do not see them at all now,” Aleric told him. “Not even brief glimpses. I have not been able to for nearly two days now. They have fallen.”
Reaching into his cloak, Aleric had pulled out the dragon medallion, decorated with Demetri’s family crest. “Report to the governor’s palace in District Two. A man named Chancellor Doran will record the death of the three in the Book. He will give your crest back to you to replace your Guard medallion. You have done your duty.”
Again, Demetri felt the burning medallion against his chest. It was almost a familiar, warming sensation by now. His hand went to it.
“That is,” Aleric added, “unless you wish to join us for life.”
For life…or for death. He would have to kill more Youth Guard. Demetri was sure of that. Every five years, he would be sent out with the other Guard Riders.
There would be danger involved in the missions. After years in the desert, the idea had a strange appeal for Demetri. He enjoyed traveling, and he appreciated facing opponents more clever than petty thieves and pickpockets.
And there was the matter of the medallion. The nightmares were starting to seem more like visions that gave him power and knowledge. Demetri wasn’t sure he wanted to give that up. He reached into his shirt and traced the A inside the broken circle, the emblem of the king.
“I will think on it,” was all he said.
When he woke up, his determination to join the Guard Riders had faded. The medallion’s influence seemed to die down when he was awake. He didn’t feel quite as powerful or invincible. Just sore and tired of being trapped in this mountain, like the other men.
It was time to make the announcement to the Patrol. They could leave now that Aleric had given him permission.
To Demetri’s right, two Patrol members were sitting beside the fire. Demetri glanced at them briefly, out of the corner of his eye. They were talking about him. He could tell by the looks on their faces. He had heard many rumors about who he was and why he wanted to kill three young people. Patrol members loved gossip more than a village full of old women.
Demetri did not like working with the Patrol. They were strong and good with the sword, of course, but many of them were foolish and self-serving. Perhaps Aleric should consider using the Youth Guard to serve the king, instead of killing them all.
Except, Demetri knew, many would refuse and fight the king to the end, if they knew his true character. That is, after all, why they were chosen. Yes, the Guard Riders who held the musters and chose young people for the Guard looked at their physical and mental strength, as well as other abilities. But they were also trained to notice young people with high moral standards.
Demetri chuckled to himself. I really can’t understand why I was chosen, then. They must have needed one scoundrel among the bunch.
Demetri knew he must be a scoundrel, because he knew normal people would feel remorse after killing three innocent young people. He did not.
He stood and walked over to the Patrol members on watch duty. “It has been three days,” Demetri announced. “The three Youth Guard are dead.”
“Youth Guard?” one of the men said, and Demetri cursed himself inwardly for his mistake. “You said they were young Rebellion leaders.”
Of course, the Patrol member believed the Youth Guard worked for the king. That is what they all believed, except for the few leaders who knew the truth—the Guard Riders.
“They were Youth Guard; then they defected to the Rebellion, after swearing an oath to serve the king—the worst kind of traitors,” he lied.
No, the worst kind of traitors are those who betray their friends for their own gain.
Demetri silenced the thought and the memories that came with it. “You may all go back home to your outposts,” he said. The mountain paths were clearly marked; he did not have to waste his time escorting the Patrol members back to District One.
“What about you?” one of the men asked.
“I go on,” was all Demetri said.
On to Davior, the capital of District Two, to report to the chancellor, the one Aleric had told him would record the death of the three.
Perhaps I can convince him to let me see this Book, Demetri decided. It would give me great pleasure to strike out their names myself.
He glanced back at the mountain one last time. There was an old saying in the desert, which, when translated into Amarian, said, “Even the rocks cry out for justice.” Was justice done here? Did the Youth Guard members deserve to die?
It doesn’t matter, Demetri decided, turning away. He reached for the medallion again, and the way the metal cut into his tight fist made him feel strong and powerful again. Justice is dead. And so are the Youth Guard.
