by A. R. Wilson
She forced herself to give a polite nod of gratitude. How could he be so stupid? Believing she had healed herself. Did he not have a single drop of awareness of when she performed a spell?
Her thinking crashed to a halt. Did he know? Of course he did. He had to. So then why the pretense of complimenting her ability to heal herself? He must be playing along. Somehow, he knew she faked the whole ‘I love you’ plea before The Master, and was helping to keep up the appearance.
She glanced up at him as they walked, and caught one of those rare moments when he seemed perfectly relaxed. Not an ounce of anger or irritation creased his perfect features. What choice did he really have, except to treat her the way he did those first days? The Master had a way of convincing anyone into doing what they never wanted to do.
Only his eyes turned towards her. The moment they made eye contact, he focused again on the hallway. Pursing her lips, she turned her gaze to her abdomen and steeled her mind against any hope of a friendship with him. The only thing more repulsive than the white silk adorning her, was the creature growing within. Just the distraction necessary to kill any feelings of hope or fondness.
Walking into the dining room, she saw a face she hadn’t seen in weeks. A boy who once doted over her in Tretchin Valley. A boy who begged for Jerricoh to spare his life in the catacombs beneath the castle. She halted in surprise.
Jerricoh glanced at her expression then followed her gaze. “Ah, yes. You are correct. That is Revel.”
The boy made no response at the sound of his name. His eyes remained as vacant as every other servant who did what they were told, when they were told, to avoid punishment.
“What have you done to him?”
Jerricoh walked to the far end of the table to take his seat. “He chose this.”
“What did he chose?” Tascana kept her eyes on the boy as she moved to take her seat.
Pulling his head back as though stunned, Jerricoh smiled. “You were there that night in the catacombs. He chose submission.”
“Revel?” She leaned forward a little, to see if his eyes would shift.
“What do you suppose he would say to you if he were free to speak?” The sarcasm in his tone matched his dark smile. “Perhaps, he might enjoy reminiscing about your days together in Tretchin Valley?”
Her cheeks flashed hot. But she had to redirect. Couldn’t let him think he had gotten to her. “You stole away his ability to speak? That makes him less useful as a salve, doesn’t it?”
“Why would he need to speak? Ears are sufficient for taking orders.”
“Mouths are necessary for asking details. Rothar wouldn’t be half the servant he is if he didn’t have the ability to ask me if I meant this or that.”
“Perhaps, you need to learn how to clarify your speech.”
“Or perhaps, I would like to have a conversation with someone other than you.”
“Has your heart turned so quickly?”
“We can never be together. You know this.” She dipped her head to give the appearance of grieving the loss. ‘The only things we talk about are doing The Master’s will.”
“There is no other topic in these lands.”
“The unicorns.” She trailed off, as though recalling a fond memory.
“The occasional respite is necessary for proper training.”
“And what training have I received? Power that I cannot exercise?”
“Are you requesting another venture into Tretchin Valley?”
“There is nothing there which interests me. With Arnya dead, I have no further purpose for that place. It is a wasteland of illusion.”
“Excellent. Your next lesson will be more pleasant if you have no attachment to the people there.”
“What lessons do I have other than reading?”
“You said it yourself.” A servant leaned around Jerricoh to set down a tray of food without blocking his view of her. “Power which cannot be exercised, is knowledge without wisdom. And you, my dear, will need much wisdom to thrive in this castle.”
“And what wisdom do you want me to gain?”
“The Master has decided that tomorrow I will send you to Tretchin Valley, to retrieve one of its inhabitants. When you return, I will teach you the process of converting them into a slave.”
Her stomach sank. The vine of dread pushed back with a barrage of thorns. Bile stung along the back of her throat, and she fought to swallow it down.
“It’s quite simple.” He took a bite from his plate, and gestured for her to do the same. “You already know the spells. All you need is the correct process of implementing them.”
Shifting her gaze to her plate, she tried to act indifferent to the offer. “If it is The Master’s will, then so be it.”
“He has known you were ready since you took your first life.”
The last word of his sentence pierced into her heart like a hot needle. Regret still clung to her bones, rotting into the recesses of her mind.
He must have mistaken her silence for acceptance because he kept talking as though it were a compliment. “You know those creatures are of no more value than the sons Arnya sent to their death. They should feel honored each time The Master finds a use for them.”
Arnya’s flippant remark sang through Tascana’s mind. “Jerricoh is little more than a tool who learned how to stay useful.” The phrase would have jumped out of Tascana’s mouth had she not clamped her lips together, feigning a thoughtful nod.
“Since you have proved your ability to study The Master’s works, I think it is only fitting you earn your first personal servant.”
Somehow, Tascana managed to give him a grin, and thank him for the vote of confidence. The rest of dinner was a blur. Before she knew it, she was laying in her bed, tucked deep beneath the blankets, with her arms wrapped around her legs. Terrifying images jolted her awake several times during the night. Horrifying scenes, where she ravaged the innocent. Each time she woke, she wanted desperately to tell herself it was only a dream. But she knew better. These dreams foreshadowed her future. Pointing to a day when her soul would spill out enough to change her into the same calculating minion as Jerricoh.
When Rothar knocked to announce the morning meal, Tascana flinched hard enough to fall out of bed. Unable to eat more than few nibbles, she resorted to spending her morning enjoying the precious few minutes before Jerricoh would arrive.
Jerricoh knocked on the door almost an hour later, his eyes a medium shade of blue. “Sorry for the delay. The Master summoned me.”
“Oh?” Her heart pounded.
“He wanted me to confer to you a message.”
Why is he drawing this out? “And what is the message?”
“He is delighted by your progress, and has decided to give you a challenge on your lesson to help accelerate your training.”
Poisonous berries popped along the vine in her stomach.
“You will bring two people from Tretchin Valley, of their own freewill. They must choose to surrender, as Revel did.”
The image of that poor boy, sitting on the floor with his chin lifted in complete surrender, slammed against her eyes. His hands on the ground, with palms up, waiting for death. But Jerricoh had not granted him the same release Dellia received. Instead, Revel was brought in the castle and... what? Was his soul removed? Was a spell placed over him to prevent choice or desire? The blank stare from that night in the catacombs now hung on his face as he served in the castle. But where had he been all this time? And why bring him back now?
To taunt me as I go into this?
She excused herself to the privy. It was the only defense she could use to draw out the inevitable. How could she turn someone into a slave? And The Master expected her to find a way to direct someone’s freewill. As if such a thing were possible without torture.
At least I still possess a will.
A new idea pecked at her mind. If The Master knew spells to alter a person into a slave, why hadn’t her autonomy been taken already? Was it po
ssible her freedom to choose had something to do with the proper health of the pregnancy? There was no other explanation. The more she convinced herself that she chose to be there, the easier her studies became.
The world crashed to a halt. Numb awareness filtered in through her fear. She was being tricked into wanting this. When she fought Arnya, Tascana had chosen defended herself rather than give in to death. Why in the world would she do such a thing, if she wanted to die? Why not let it happen? Sure, The Master would have Jerricoh bring her back to life, but that idea had not even registered in her brain. She acted on instinct. In that moment, when she stood before Arnya, she didn’t want to die.
“A tool who learned how to stay useful.” Was it an insult or a hint? Perhaps everything had been a giant ruse to trick her into believing anyone could be on her side.
But the way he keeps trying to look at me...
What if deep down, beneath all the façade of rage and punishment, Jerricoh possessed a calculated distraction of his own? Had Jerricoh told that particular version of Arnya’s story on purpose to spur on the conversation in the grove? Which could mean that somehow he and Arnya were nudging her to their discovery. Had they already learned the missing piece she so eagerly sought?
Who could she trust? She was already pregnant. The only thing keeping that monster from his prize was time. In another seven months, she would be near the time to deliver, and the thing inside her would be his. What purpose did an heir serve to a halfling warlock who held no regard for life?
That’s my missing piece.
If she could learn what The Master planned to do with her pregnancy, she might be able to figure out the rest. Whatever he had planned was delicate enough to make asking questions the most punished form of disobedience in the castle. And yet, exercising her freewill, and learning magic, was essential.
She smoothed her hands across her stomach. Did she dare believe it possible? That another thread of hope had been placed in her grasp?
Stepping out of the privy, she kept a palm to her middle, feigning morning sickness. “The Master’s request sounds like quite a challenge. I hope I am up to the task.”
His eyes deepened to a much darker blue. “Your words do not suggest you believe yourself capable.”
“Merely awed by the opportunity. I am hopeful I can accomplish what The Master requires.”
The smallest tug of a grin played at the corners of his lips. “Your words have power. Use them wisely.”
Somewhere in that ocean of blue, a red flag waved.
“Yes, my lord.”
His mouth softened into a relaxed grin. “This way, m’lady.”
He offered her his elbow, to guide her outside. Not another word passed between them as they traversed the maze of corridors, and then gardens. About midmorning, they came to the solid iron door wedged between two expanses of hedge. A single loop hung from its right edge.
“I will be waiting here for your return.” He stepped to the side, hands behind his back.
“How long until I am late?”
“Do your best to hurry.” His eyes pulled to a light blue.
Ah! The Master gave no time frame, which meant either of them could be in trouble at any whim the warlock decided.
Yanking the door open, she passed through.
Walking as fast as she could, she worked her way down the mountain, through the grassy field, and into the village. She had returned it to ground level when she left that day. All the better to see every dallest screaming and running for cover the moment they saw her. She scanned their faces, looking for one in particular. Within a few minutes, the village turned as silent as death. Not even the flit of insects buzzed. Taking a few turns through the dirt-packed paths, she came to a particular door and knocked.
Silence.
“Zander, you must open the door.”
Something shuffled on the other side. A few moments later, a dallest who stood no taller than she answered. His elongated body stood hunched with shoulders high.
“It is time, Zander.”
His mouth pulled to the side as small whiskers twitched at his cheeks. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill her?”
“You know as well as I. The will of The Master cannot be resisted.”
Gaze dropping to the floor, his hand fidgeted with the edge of the door. “Have you come to kill me?”
“No.”
“Then, what do you want?”
“I want you to come with me.” She gave a soft emphasis to the word ‘want’. “And I want you to bring another with you.”
“Who?” His voice faltered.
“Whomever you wish. Male or female, young or old. You decide. But I want them to come willingly, to serve at your side.”
Fur gathered from the furrow pulling along his brow. How far did she dare push it? She picked him because of the response he gave during their last exchange. He fell into surrender so quickly, she knew he would surely do it again. There had to be another in this village who couldn’t bear to be parted from him. A wife or friend. Someone willing to take the same risk as him, to avoid the possibility of pain.
He rubbed his leathery hand under his chin.
“Have you made a decision?” Tascana shifted her right hip out, and put her hand on it. “You are my first choice to rescue, but my patience has limits.”
Zander dropped to his stubby knees. “I will go with you.”
“And who shall accompany you?”
“Triast. I will go find her, and bring her to you.”
Tascana didn’t remember a Triast from her stay in Tretchin Valley. Then again, apart from Arnya and the humans, she barely saw any of the other dallests.
As the minutes ticked by, she wondered if Zander had run. By the time she was ready to go looking for him, he returned. At his side stood a dallest nearly half his size. One of the children who escaped The Master’s castle, but was doomed to never grow or age.
“This is Triast. She is my younger sister.” Zander kept a protective arm around the young girl’s shoulders.
Unsure whether to admire his devotion, or be repulsed by his willingness to return her to The Master’s service, Tascana stared at the smaller one. Though the girl had the physical appearance of being young, she was over a hundred years old. As were all the dallests. This fact helped to bring Tascana back to her mission. Zander wasn’t bringing a child, so much as brining a loved one disguised as a child.
I choose to do this. Jerricoh will help me. I have to keep The Master distracted.
“The two of you will accompany me back to the castle?”
Zander nodded and stuttered out something which sounded like a ‘yes’.
“And you both understand, you are coming to serve me as I attend my duties?”
Triast looked up at her big brother, then at Tascana, and nodded.
“Follow me.”
She walked back along the path leading to the gate. Both dallests hesitated when they approached the trees on the mountain. Tascana explained she had power over the Soldiers of Basagic, and no harm would come to them. After some verbal urging, they finally complied.
When Tascana opened the gate to the gardens, Jerricoh stood wide-eyed on the other side.
“You have returned so soon?”
“I had good reason to make you proud of me. The Master is waiting for an update on my progress.”
The very edge of his mouth tipped. “This way, m’lady.”
Knowing The Master watched her every move, Tascana gave a curt wave signaling the dallests to follow them.
* * *
Zander’s expression fell into a vacant stare. Eyes glazed from complete lack of emotion, thought, or memory. Only the impulse to serve as commanded.
“Excellent!” Jerricoh moved to peer into Zander’s face. “Not even a hint of conscious energy. A blank slate. Even more submissive than a well-trained animal.”
His choice of words gnawed at Tascana’s gut, but she understood. This was all about appearances. If The Mast
er ever had reason to suspect Jerricoh’s treason, the halfling would unleash the full of his wrath. And not merely to give a show of strength, but because he liked it. The Master enjoyed inflicting pain and fear, as much as Tascana loved the feeling of running free through the grass. She had to choose a response to impress The Master, without lying. That was another key. The punishment for lying was far worse than the punishment for asking an untimely question.
“A pupil must pick their subjects well.”
“Indeed.” Jerricoh paced a circle around Zander and then Triast. “The Master will be greatly pleased at your work.”
“Does that mean you are pleased, as well?” Whoa, too far. Pull it back a little. “I have worked hard to prove my aptitude since my last meeting with him. It is your charge to evaluate my progress, and report to him.”
The deep color of his eyes betrayed the hard lines forming on his brow. “If The Master is pleased, then I am as well. It is a gift to serve him.”
So what was the truth behind that phrase? How could serving The Master be a gift by any definition of the word? “Then I will wait for his response in the library, as I continue my studies.”
“Take these with you.” He flicked a hand at the dallests, as though indicating a pile of soiled clothing. “They are yours to mind after.”
Tascana stepped back as he swept out of the room. Glancing at Zander, she felt the vine within her suffer a broken branch. Sap oozed into the pit of her stomach as the vine pulsed to repair the injury.
What have I done...? But he chose this. They chose this.
Hardening her face, keeping up the same expression of annoyance she learned from Jerricoh, she gave a sharp wave at the dallests. “Follow me.”
As she walked to the library, she was suddenly struck with Rothar’s ability to speak. Not that he spoke much. But if every slave in the castle was there to serve, why was he the only allowed to think for himself?
More secrets. More missing pieces.
CHAPTER 17
Jurren followed the butterflies with the same dread from when Neywan led him to the Mistress of Knowledge’s cave, nearly forty years ago. Around and through canyon paths, he hiked until he came to the place where the forest and undergrowth gave way to a steep, jagged ravine. After four decades, the sight still gave him the impression of a god reaching down from the sky to rake vengeance on the land. Rocky canyon spurs reached into the depths below. Dwarfed trees scattered along the canyon walls, leading into the belly of the mountain. He picked his way along the carved steps as the twisted stairs worked their way to the distant bottom. Of all the places for the Elders to assign an oracle to make her home on this island, it had to be in the most difficult place to get to.
