Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the Sun #2)

by Brad Magnarella

  “Your walls for my machines. I have done my part.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Iliff said. “And we will get your machines installed. Soon.”

  He continued backing away.

  “Do not be deluded,” Lucious called. “Your walls are strong but their will is stronger.”

  Iliff turned and headed from the furnace.

  “You know this, Iliff!”

  He hastened his steps.

  “You fear this!”

  Iliff emerged into the stark morning with a gasp. It was only when the chill air gusted into him and beneath his tunic that he realized he was soaked in perspiration.

  * * *

  The first days of the new month came and went without incident. Iliff spent most of his time on the walls. Even though the scouts still reported no movement in the east, Iliff expected at any moment to look out and see the fields stacked with Garott. Though his walls were thick and sturdy, and though he still believed confrontation with the Garott to be preferable to an uncertain truce—and certain strife, if Lucious had his way—Iliff could not stop his own nagging questions. What if the walls were not as solid as he believed? What if he had underestimated the enemy? What if he had made a horrible mistake?

  One evening, as Iliff was returning to his cottage, he encountered Skye emerging from the main field hospital. It had just rained, and she lifted the hem of her gown as she stepped out onto the wet cobblestones. Her sudden appearance caught Iliff off guard. His first impulse was to leap into a side lane, but she was already turning toward him.

  As their eyes met, he nodded, fighting to quell the shame that threatened his cheeks. Weariness pulled on her gentle smile. For a moment neither spoke.

  “I see your walls are finished,” Skye said at last.

  “Yes, I believe they are ready.”

  “That is good.”

  Iliff observed the clean linens draped over her arm and reflected on how selflessly she had labored these last weeks, helping to prepare for a conflict she opposed. The thought of it made him sad.

  “I don’t mean to rush off,” she said after another moment’s silence. “But I am needed in the Keep.” She brushed his arm with her hand and smiled once more. “Goodnight, Iliff.”

  “Skye?”

  She stopped and turned. Though he could feel her blue gaze inquiring toward him, he could not bring himself to look up.

  “I… I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Whatever for?”

  “When I spoke to you, when I spoke before the Assembly, it all seemed so plain.” He rubbed his forehead. “I thought, if they can just be kept outside, if they can be deterred once and for all, it would be well with us and well it would remain. But now…”

  Light fingers enfolded his hand.

  “Iliff,” she whispered, “the future is not cast as iron is cast.” He could feel the warmth of her. “It may still be well with us.”

  When he lifted his head, she was right there, her face projecting soft light. Without thinking, he leaned in and pressed his lips to her mouth. For an instant there was nothing. No Garott, no Fythe, no walls, no gathering threat. There was only the swelling space of their union, intimate and absolute. It was not until he reached for her cheek that he realized the subtle taste of her was gone.

  Iliff opened his eyes to find her standing a step away. She was slow to come into focus. “I must go,” came her voice, as if from beyond a veil. “I’m needed in the Keep.”

  Iliff could not speak. He could only watch as she turned and walked quickly up the lane, her diminishing figure passing alternately through lantern light and falling night. He stood looking even after she had disappeared.

  At last, he turned and trudged down the lane toward home.

  Chapter 18

  That night Iliff lay in bed, unable to sleep. His mind turned from the impending arrival of the Garott, to Skye, to the defenses, to the treasures beneath his bed, then back to Skye. Always back to Skye. The memory of her retreating from him, though only hours old, felt deeper than that somehow, more enduring, and had settled inside his chest like a dry chill.

  At last he got up, wrapped himself in his robe, and went to the sitting room where he lit the kindling in the wood stove. After adding some larger pieces of wood and opening the flue, he scooted his chair as close as he could. But the heat that spread from the stove neither warmed nor comforted him. When he could no longer sit, he dressed and went out the front door and stood on the stoop.

  The hour was late, the cottages dark around him. He could see the silhouettes of guards on the nearest towers, their soft, solitary exchanges like falling leaves. Stepping into the lane, Iliff turned and looked up toward the Keep. He remembered how he used to be able to see Skye’s window from where he stood, the light inside glowing beyond the panes. But now, fortressed inside thick concentric walls and steep towers, her window was well beyond his vision. Even if she had a light burning, he would not be able to see it.

  Iliff started to go back inside, but the thought of being alone with himself was too much. Instead, he went up the lane to Gilpin’s cottage, where he was cheered to find light pulsing from the window. He knocked softly. Gilpin appeared shortly, lantern in hand, and squinted out into the night.

  “Iliff?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to be visiting so late. I hope I haven’t woken you.”

  “No, not at all,” Gilpin said. “Here, here, come inside.”

  He ushered Iliff to the table beside the stove where they usually ate their breakfast, then moved a kettle to the stove’s center. Iliff sat and looked around the tidy kitchen, at the small stacks of plates and bowls on the shelves next to the cupboard, at the wooden ladles hanging from a row of pegs. Gilpin took the crackling kettle and poured a cup of lenk.

  “What is it, my friend?” Gilpin asked, setting the steaming cup before him. “What is the matter?”

  “Have I done the right thing?” Iliff asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The walls I’ve built, the rejection of the Garotts’ truce offer…”

  Gilpin pulled his chair closer to Iliff. “You’ve done what you believed to be right.”

  “Yes, but is it right?” When Iliff looked up he could tell by Gilpin’s furrowed expression that his friend did not understand him. “See, all along I’ve told myself that I raise the walls for your benefit,” he said. “For the benefit of the Fythe. My worry has long been that the walls would not hold, that they would succumb and you would suffer as a result. But now I am almost as worried that you will suffer because the walls will endure.”

  Gilpin smiled. “But the walls are just until the Garott are deterred, right? It’s what you told the Assembly.”

  Iliff wrapped both hands around the warm cup, but his fingers remained numb. “Yes, I did say that.” He looked at his friend’s trusting face. “But there is more than the Garott out there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have asked how I know so much about stone.” He paused and sighed. “I was a prisoner once, Gilpin. I was a troweler on a repair crew. It was my job to reinforce the walls, to keep them from falling. That’s where I learned about stone. In a prison.”

  Gilpin’s brow wrinkled in concern. “Why were you imprisoned?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Those are my earliest memories. I was still young when I escaped from there.”

  “You escaped?”

  “I wished for the walls to fail,” Iliff said, nodding. “And then I tunneled through the rear of one. I landed in a woman’s dwelling. She nursed me to health and urged me to journey onward. She warned me of the dark places and the creatures that abide there. But my curiosity got the better of me, and I ended up in a gold mine. It was a miserable existence, Gilpin. Always worrying about the treasures I possessed. Always wanting more. It shames me to even speak of. I escaped there too, this time in the company of a troll.”

  “A troll?” Gilpin said. “I thought they lived only in legends.”

&nbs
p; “No, they are real, and horrible to look at. But this one was good to me during my time in the mines. Indeed, were it not for him, I might still be there. He showed me the violent heart of the place, and for that I promised to take him with me. But something happened when we entered the world. Little by little, I lost control over him. And my failure to govern him led to the destruction of the forest, the one in which we were traveling.”

  “So the fire…”

  “Yes, it was our doing,” Iliff confessed, lowering his head. “It was what drove me into the swamp.”

  Gilpin placed his hand over Iliff’s. “I’m glad you told me,” he said. “But I don’t see what you have to feel ashamed for. You were just a boy, Iliff. You did what you felt compelled to do at the time. You couldn’t have known the consequences. And look, you ended up here, among us.”

  “Perhaps,” Iliff said. “But the consequences have followed me.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The treasures that the scouts found in the far clearing…”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of them.”

  “They’re the same treasures I acquired in the mines,” Iliff said. “The same ones Troll carried through the forest. I had long thought them destroyed in the fire, but now, like curses, they reappear. That can only mean that he is near. And that’s why I cannot contemplate dismantling the walls, Gilpin, not even after the Garott have been deterred. For this creature I speak of has unleashed destruction before—terrible destruction—and given the chance, he will do so again. I’m certain of it.”

  Gilpin pulled a pipe from the pocket of his robe. “Have you ever considered where your prison came from?”

  The question surprised Iliff. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it can’t have always been there.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “What if the person who built it was afraid of something he’d encountered in the world? Afraid that it would come and harm the people he loved most?” Gilpin packed some dried leaves into the pipe and struck a match. “Perhaps the prison had started out as something small. A keep, a walled township. Something that wasn’t a prison at first, see?” Gilpin puffed until the leaves crackled, then shook out the match and moved the stem from his lips.

  “But perhaps the defenses hadn’t seemed enough. Perhaps this person felt he had to build more. Wall after wall, tower upon tower. And perhaps with time, the people he vowed to protect became shut so deep inside that they forgot that a world ever existed beyond the stone. Their only knowledge would have been of the walls and their duty to maintain them.” He drew on his pipe and sat back. “And perhaps where the guards once used arms to keep the dangers out, they now employed those same arms to keep the people in. Bit by bit, the concept of the Enemy changed, you see. People might even have begun to watch one another.”

  Iliff started to speak, then stopped. Such a thing had never occurred to him. He stared at his friend, who seemed more interested in his pipe at the moment than his own profound words.

  “There are horrible things in the world, Iliff, but there are beautiful things too. You cannot deny one without denying the other.” He tapped the pipe’s bowl and frowned. “And in your case, that would be a special shame.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But Iliff could see in the way his friend’s eyes twinkled that he knew of his feelings for Skye. The moment in the lane came creeping back into his thoughts. His head sank into his hands.

  “What should I do?” he asked.

  “You do what the heroes in all of the great legends do,” Gilpin answered. “You go out and you face him.”

  “Who?”

  “This creature you speak of.”

  “Troll?”

  “Perhaps you will find that he is not so horrible as you have made him.”

  Iliff considered this. If we only ever heed our fears, then we will only ever remain in opposition. If Skye could meet with the Garott, why could he not do the same with Troll?

  “You’re right,” Iliff said at last. “Both of you. I cannot go on hiding from him.”

  “Would you like me to go with you?”

  “No, my friend,” he said. “No, I need to do this alone. But thank you.” He clasped Gilpin’s hand and pulled him into an embrace. “You’re far wiser than I think even you know.”

  Gilpin laughed. “Or far older. In any case, you’re doing the right thing.”

  But by first light the following morning, the Garott had already begun to arrive.

  Chapter 19

  Their numbers were so great that it took most of the morning for the Garott to encircle the town on its three landed sides. They arrived on foot and on black horseback, many with loaded carts. They swarmed the far fields, near enough to the town to be threatening, but distant enough that the Fythes’ arrows could not reach them. More of the Garott occupied the wood beyond the fields, their presence dark shadows among the trees.

  Iliff joined Horatio, Stype, and Lucious on the roof of the west gatehouse. Archers lined the protected wall walks to either side of them.

  “There are more than ten thousand,” said Stype, who had been surveying the fields since the Garott began arriving that morning. “If that is all of them.”

  Ten thousand, Iliff mused. If the number sounded immense, the sight of them was even more so. Everywhere he looked, there they were, ringing the town in a swelling, climbing band, making them appear a darker, more distant wall. Their numbers were especially thick to the west. Iliff tried to focus on the individual Garott there, to see each one as minute and inconsequential, but this proved difficult from his high vantage. And more were arriving.

  Late that morning, a gang of horsemen broke from the hoard and thudded up the road leading to the west gate. Iliff watched them, transfixed. Horatio shouted and the crenels of the battlement bristled with arrows. As the riders drew closer, Iliff could see that though all were armored, none were armed. The last rider held aloft a white flag. When they had come to within fifty meters of the gate, the lead rider raised his hand, and the horses trotted to a stop. He removed his helmet, revealing a sweep of dark, graying hair. He reared his head and squinted his scarred face toward the gatehouse.

  “I come to request a meeting,” he called.

  “Grier,” Iliff muttered. “Their general.”

  Lucious’ eyes started wide and he pressed himself to Horatio’s side. “Let fly the arrows, captain!” he whispered. “We can decapitate their force here and now. The opportunity will never be more golden.”

  Horatio waved down to the general. “Wait there,” he called. “We are coming out.” He turned to Stype and Iliff. “Come with me. I’ll send a guard for Skye since she has met with him already.” Horatio turned to Lucious last, his eyes wide with warning. “And you will wait here.”

  The three of them descended and stood beside the gate while the guards lowered the drawbridge, then raised the iron-clad portcullis. Iliff glanced toward the outer cottages, his heart pounding in his chest. Soon Skye came rushing down the lane in her healer’s gown, a guard beside her.

  “The leader of the Garott wants to meet,” Horatio told her when she reached them.

  Skye nodded and looked around. Her eyes touched briefly on Iliff’s before moving away.

  Horatio emerged through the gate first, followed by Skye and Stype, then Iliff. More than a dozen guards flanked their sides and back. Grier and several Garott, who Iliff guessed to be captains, had already dismounted. Iliff saw how their sleek armor was designed to protect their torsos while still affording them speed of movement, with rows of studding in their leather sleeves and leggings. He looked from the Garotts’ black cloaks to their sharp, weather-worn faces. A little softer, a little lighter of color and they might well have been Fythe. But Iliff tried not to think about this. Grier handed his helmet to the man behind him and strode forward.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” he said, seizing Horatio’s hand. He greeted the others in turn. When he came to Skye, he
lingered before her. “It’s good to see you again, my lady.” He bent and kissed her hand, his dark eyes remaining on hers. Iliff stiffened.

  Grier straightened himself and looked up at the wall and archers before returning his blunt gaze to the group before him. “You know why we are here,” he said. “You know our offer. I come to tell you that the choice remains with you. If it’s warfare you desire, we are well prepared. But if there’s even the least chance for truce, let us talk of it while we still can.”

  Iliff looked beyond Grier to where the Garott rippled darkly in the far fields. Apprehension rose inside of him.

  “Your gesture is noted and appreciated,” Skye said. “But you are mistaken.”

  Grier appeared surprised. “How so, my lady?”

  “The Assembly may have voted against the truce, but it did not vote in favor of warfare.” Her eyes shone. “That choice remains with you.”

  The general recovered himself and shook his head. “It’s only ever been one or the other with our races,” he said. “But I needn’t tell you that.”

  He signaled to the Garott holding the flag, who stepped forward now and passed it to him. “Should the Assembly change its mind,” he said, “show this from high on your gatehouse. We’ll be watching for it.”

  Grier handed the flag to Horatio and mounted his horse. His captains followed. Holding his helmet in his hands, Grier looked across the deep trench to the wall that loomed over them all.

  “Your defenses are imposing,” he said. “We’ll lose many in their breaching, but breach them we will.” He lowered the helmet onto his head. “It’s what we do.”

  With that, he and his captains wheeled their steeds and spurred them toward the far fields, where still more Garott were assembling.

  * * *

  As daylight waned, the town braced for attack. Across the fields, Garott tents went up and camp fires flared. From the numerous licks of light came rumbles of laughter, which seemed to roll up and froth against the stone walls before dissipating again. The mood among the Fythe guards was tense. Iliff could see it in the way the air around their blonde bodies whispered red.