“Your reflexes, aim, strength, and stamina all just got kicked up a notch.”
“Great,” he grinned. “How much is a notch, exactly?”
“Not enough to make you invincible. So don’t do anything stupid.”
“How long will it last?”
“Long enough to get Krillos and Jarryd out of the forge. You’ve got a shield around you, too, but it’ll fade with each hit. I had to devote most of my energy to another spell.”
When I didn’t elaborate, he gave me a strange look. “Is it safe?”
“Probably not.” I crept out onto the bridge to retrieve my belt. “But in case you haven’t noticed. We left safe a long time ago.” I put my sword belt back together and buckled it on. Liel took a nice, forked dagger from one of the guards to add to the Kaelish long knife tucked in his trousers, and we left.
I would have been happy to traverse the tunnel in silence, but Liel never seemed to run out of questions. “What happened back there,” he whispered, “in the water?”
“You saved me from drowning. Thanks, by the way.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m not sure.” It wasn’t much, but it was honest. Somehow, the crown that was supposed to be empty had touched me. I wasn’t rid of it, either. With the chaos of the moment over, the cause of the lingering sound became obvious. I was sensing the far-off rhythm of the crown. I could feel a vague impression of it even now, throbbing through the magic-scars on my skin. Pulsing. Burning. Calling to me.
This complicates everything, I thought.
We stopped at the end of the tunnel. “Are you going to kill them?” Liel asked.
“Not unless I have to.” I put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Wait here. When I have their attention, then you get to Krillos.”
“Got it,” he nodded. “What about Jarryd?”
“Jarryd’s one of them. Right now is the safest he’s ever been in this wretched place.”
THIRTY FIVE
I made no effort to conceal myself. I was obviously lucid and not doused with Kayn’l. I didn’t look like a prisoner or a guard. I stood out. Yet, as I strutted through the forge like I had a right to be here, no one looked twice. The inmates were preoccupied, dancing around and guzzling buckets of water like they hadn’t drank in a month. Most upended the containers on themselves in celebration. Some were actually concerned with wiping away the grime. Others had taken it upon themselves to raid the garrison. Tossing their plunder out the door, they fought violently over each piece.
Neither Krillos, nor the cage, were where I last saw them. Scanning the smoke and mayhem, there was no sign of Krillos. But I did find the cage. It was on the ground now. The door was open. There was some distance and about two dozen pairs of legs between us, but there was definitely someone inside. Whether the hunched-over man curled up in the back was Jarryd, I couldn’t be sure.
A pang of not knowing burned in my chest as I walked the other way.
The forge was larger than I’d thought. The inmates couldn’t have been loose long, but they’d wasted no time in destroying the place, turning it into a maze of overturned shelves and smashed worktables. Still-smoldering coals were strewn about. A layer of ash covered everything. I finally got a close up look at some of the bodies I’d spotted from the doorway. One had nothing remaining of a face. Several had been gutted. Filleted without an ounce of finesse, their entrails were strung up above their heads and nailed into the rock wall with long, steel spikes. Two others had been thrown alive into the smelting fires. Their blackened, blistered forms hung half out of the flames, as if they’d died trying to crawl free.
I found Aram last. His legs had been severed. There were crisp, dark hollows where his eyes had been. A poker had been shoved in through his mouth and out the back of his head, pinning him to the ground. Not sure why I felt the need, but I pulled the poker out as I passed by.
I dived deeper into the mass of men. I surveyed the fresh wounds and old scars that marred their dirty skin. I stared into the frantic, haunted eyes that sunk into their shaved heads. The same manic look was carved into all their faces. It was a hyper, giddy, slightly worried, expression that stated their greatest desire was unfolding—and they didn’t know what to do with it.
They should have run. Their enemies were dead and the bodies desecrated. Trophies were divvied up. But they couldn’t let go of their need for revenge. It hadn’t been slated properly, not with so few targets. That was why they were savoring their last one. They’d collected the appropriate tools: hammers, tongs, chisel, nails and bits, and a selection of knives arranged by size next to a bubbling firepot. They’d stretched the object of their wrath out across a work table, stripped him down to his breeches and tied him. Nothing permanent had been done yet, just a nasty beating. But they were getting to it. All they had to do was stop arguing over who got to torture Krillos first.
I pushed to the front of the crowd and shouted, “Fools—all of you! Draken isn’t going to talk forever!” A few heads turned. They seemed more concerned with the state of my magic-scarred face than my words. I tried to alter their focus. “Carving up bodies, jumping around like the fucking animals they tried to make you into. Are you escaping, or looking for ways to make them want to hurt you more?”
One man responded. His profanity-laced inquiry into my parentage would take too long to answer, so I didn’t.
“Why are you wasting your time with this filth?” I gestured at Krillos. “You need to go. If the guards come back and see what you’ve done to their kin, they will strip the skin from your bones an inch at a time and you will never leave this place.” More were staring at me. But they weren’t getting it. “Are you deaf? I said GO!”
Muttering, the prisoners all looked at each other. Then they all looked at one man. He was an average-sized Rellan, about my age, with red, rutted skin disfiguring his bare chest. The burns were recent, making him wince as he waved his bloody axe at me and shouted. “No one tells us what to do anymore!”
I held my sword ready, but I didn’t challenge him. There was sincerity in his voice, and plain old fortitude in his harried, brown eyes. “I just want to help.”
“Why?” His grimy face scrunched as he examined me. “You aren’t one of us.”
“I was. I know what they did to you. The hell you’re going through.”
“Hell? We’re celebrating!” A rowdy laugh ripped through the crowd. Their mirth died down as he added, more solemnly, “It’s over.”
“Is it? Just like that? You think freedom will erase it all? You think slaying a few guards will make you whole again? That becoming a butcher like them is going to help you sleep?” Maybe I should have stopped. But the sad understanding in his eyes pulled the words out of me. “This place, what happened here…it’s a part of you now. You can slaughter the monsters. You can wash the stink off your skin. You can leave the smoke and the heat behind. A few days out and you’ll shed the pain and the hunger. But the memories, the fear…they will walk right out the goddamn door with you whether you kill this one last Langorian bastard or not. But,” I said loudly, “if you let him live, you can be better than them, better than a monster. You can start to be men again.” I paused, letting him think. “Can you even remember when you last breathed air that didn’t taste like shit and smoke? How long since your bellies were full?” Lowering my weapon, I went up to him. “I can help you. I can help all of you. But you need to leave now.”
For a moment he eyeballed the streaks in my hair, as well as the ones on my face. “You don’t look like any magic user I’ve seen before.”
“I’m not.” I put a hand out.
He shied away. “What are you doing?”
“It’s all right.” I gripped his shoulder. At contact, the second spell I crafted in the bridge room flowed over him and he began to shake. A handful of prisoners rushed me. I aimed my sword and my hard, pale eyes at them, and snarled. “Wait.”
They did. I wasn’t sure if the men thought better of trying
me, or if their bravado was stymied by the glossy sheen taking over the Rellan’s skin. We all watched it dull and harden. It enveloped his entire body, sunk in, and the tremors slowed to a stop. The man’s eyes were suddenly clear and alert.
He took a deep breath. “I feel strong.”
“You are. You’re faster, more powerful, more resilient. Your skin is shielded. They can’t hurt you. But you need to be quick. You have three days to get as far as you can and then it’s gone.”
“Three days,” he nodded, flexing his hand.
“Crafted within the spell is the ability to pass it on, as I did to you. My only condition is that you share it. Empty every cell. Don’t leave anyone behind.”
“I won’t.” His eyes lingered on mine. “May I know your name?”
The answer came without thought. “L’tarian Reth.
“Thank you, L’tarian. I’m called Dolan.” A grateful smile overcame him. “Someday, I will repay you.” Dolan turned away and melted into the mob. He distributed my spell with his touch while I dealt with the sinking aftermath of my admission.
It was so clear now: my mother’s line made me an erudite, but it was my Reth ancestry I found most compelling. I’m not the only one, I realized.
My father believed the crown recognized me. Draken alleged it knew my erudite blood. But it was my Reth blood the artifact was drawn to. I was a descendant of the last caretaker of the Crown of Stones. If the crown could identify that in me—if it thought I had taken Tam Reth’s place as its guardian—that could explain so much. Like why the crown’s call had become a distant drumbeat that was pulling at my scarred skin.
I looked over at the stairs that led up into the keep. I’d thought my father would have kept the Crown of Stones with him. But I was wrong. It’s close.
A shout drew my attention. Rallying together, the inmates were cheering as they filed out of the tunnels. They grew quieter, and I heard the familiar, abrasive sound of Krillos yelling. It was a good sign. It meant he was all right.
Standing stiffly up from the table, Krillos swatted his young rescuer away with a gruff, “get off me boy. Save your fussing for someone who needs it.” He limped over toward me. I winced in sympathy at his battered face and the large, dark bruises forming on his chest and stomach. “You could stand to pick up the pace a bit, Shinree,” Krillos griped. “These last second rescues of yours are getting on my nerves.”
“Are you calling me slow?” I said, approaching him.
“Like a two-legged mule.”
I grunted a laugh. “Anything broken?”
Krillos shrugged. “My pride.”
“Troy?” Liel was standing in front of the cage. He glanced at me, looking pale and frazzled. “I can hear him breathing in there, but...”
We joined him. Liel moved aside and I squatted down in front of the open door. “Jarryd? Nef’taali, it’s me. You can come out now.” Getting no response, I went around the side of the cage. Through the bars I saw him: curled in a ball, head shaved and tilted to the side. One, dull blue eye was visible. It was open. “He’s awake.” I wiggled my fingers through until I reached him. I pushed my spell in.
He didn’t even stir.
“Damn it. Draken has him on Kayn’l. My magic can’t get through.” Going back to the front again, I stared through the bars. “Look at me, Nef’taali. Please. I’m right here. Just lift your head and look at me.”
“Troy,” Krillos said. “We can’t stay here.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I ran my hands over my face. “Let me try again.”
“No,” he said. “I’ll do it. He’ll respond to me.”
“To you?” I shot to my feet. “As far as Jarryd knows, you’re still Draken’s man.”
“As far Jarryd Kane knows, he’s still a prisoner. Look at him. He’s used to being told what to do. He’s waiting for it.”
“That’s not true. He didn’t hear me.”
“He can’t hear you.” Krillos sighed. “Kayn’l is its own demon. I saw what it did to you. I know how it messed you up. But for those of us who have to feel the pain as it happens, sometimes shutting down is the only way to survive.”
My stomach full of rocks, I stepped back and gave Krillos access to the cage. He walked up at a brisk pace and gave the door a kick. “Out!” He kicked it again. “Get up you stupid, stinking, cock-sucking, Rellan pig!” Krillos picked up a sword on the ground. Walking in circles around the cage, he dragged the blade against the bars. “Get your goddamn, lazy-ass the fuck out of bed, or so help me…” he kicked the cage harder; nearly knocking it over. “I will cut off your puny, Rellan balls and stuff them down your throat!” He leaned down near Jarryd’s head and laughed. “Want some meat for dinner, boy?” Abruptly, Krillos thundered, “UP! UP! UP!” as he banged his sword on the bars, louder and louder.
I wanted to break his neck.
But Jarryd was moving.
Half crawling, half scooting, Jarryd began inching toward the open door. He came closer and my already racing pulse, sped faster. He looked so small and slight. His bald head was down. His arms were at odd angles. My mouth went dry, watching him.
My stomach twisted.
I couldn’t do it.
I turned to Liel. “Help him. Give him some water.” I shifted my gaze to Krillos. “Do what you have to. Just keep Jarryd moving.” I left them and headed for the exit. I didn’t care what they thought. I had to keep my head straight—which was impossible if I let my sympathy for Jarryd take over. It was hard enough with the incessant noise the crown was making. It had my scars twitching as much as my nerves.
They caught up to me at the first bridge. I kept the lead and maintained some distance as we retraced ours steps. Jarryd’s gait was weak and unsteady. Krillos prodded him along, hurling shouts and insults. I did my best to shut him out. I tried, instead, to take heart in the boisterous cries of the freed prisoners ricocheting back through the tunnels.
Arriving at the room where we met Aram, Liel opened the door and ducked inside. Jarryd was next, with Krillos at his back. I stepped over the threshold last. I closed the heavy door behind me, and the prickling of my scarred skin became impossible to ignore. The vibrating beat amplified as we moved through the room and into the tunnel beyond; yanking on my nerves, tugging at me—pulling me back.
Telling me I was going the wrong direction.
We covered our faces at the Gullet. Krillos put Jarryd against the wall and made him sit. He took the last of the rope out of his bag and started measuring it out.
Feeling my stare, Krillos explained. “I’m going to loop this over that guide rope you strung across. Then tie the other end around your friend.”
“You don’t think he’ll walk?”
“He’ll walk. Just looking for a little extra security to keep him on track. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s as wobbly as your damn bridge over there.”
I went to the edge and looked over. My wind was losing steam. The planks were still floating, but they were starting to angle down some. A little more and it would be too dangerous to cross.
Krillos took out a knife to cut the rope. I only had a minute or two before it was time to leave so I went over and sat down beside Jarryd. I looked at him then—really looked at him—and shock dimmed the crown’s steady cacophony in me for a moment as I thought: this can’t be him.
Layered in filth and ash, wearing nothing but soiled, tattered breeches, Jarryd’s once strong, slender form was skeletal. His stomach curved inward. His ribs and collarbone were sickeningly close to the surface. Fresh welts and old scald marks riddled his skin. Dirty sores covered his bare feet. Abrasions and cuts striped him. One ran from the side of his forehead, down to his jaw, intersecting the scar left by the arrow I’d watched cut across his cheek so long ago. His eyes, as I tried to catch them, lacked anything resembling focus. The ever-present emotion and intensity that had once livened his stare, was gone. But it was the state of his hands that did me in.
Broken and allowed
to heal without being set, over and over (I couldn’t guess how many times), Jarryd’s fingers were gruesomely bent and warped, locked in a sort of permanent half-clench. His joints were knobby and swollen. The nails had been peeled off. The skin was rutted, ugly, and abscessed. Damaged nerves made the useless appendages tremble and jerk in his lap.
The suffering Jarryd had been forced to endure, the pain he must have felt at watching his once deft hands be made into hideous, shattered, talon-like claws—I would have given anything to take that agony from him and make it mine.
“Jarryd?” I swallowed. The pain didn’t go away the first time, so I tried again. Choking it down, I cleared my throat before I went on. “I don’t know if you can hear me. Maybe it’s better if you can’t. Maybe you should stay right where you are. Because coming back…” I glanced at his hands again and whatever I was going to say left me. “I thought once I found you, once I got you out, that everything would be okay. But it’s not,” I said, my voice starting to shake. “You’re not. You’re not fucking okay. And neither am I.” I leaned over and rested my head against his. I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t know how to help him. So I sat, feeling beaten and cowardly, and hollow.
I didn’t even realize my face were wet until Krillos tapped my leg.
He squatted down and offered me a flask. “Here.”
I yanked the bandage down and wiped at my eyes. Taking the flask, I tipped it, and handed it back empty. “Thanks.”
“It’s time.”
I stared down at Jarryd’s ring on my finger. “I was going to give this back when I found him. But I don’t think he can wear it.”
“We’ll get him fixed up.”
I nodded. “You sure you can get him across?”
With a weary, “Aye,” Krillos got up and once more assumed the role of Jarryd’s jailor. I could tell he didn’t like it. But it was effective. Krillos knew exactly how a Langorian guard would motivate his prisoner. It made me wonder how much of his act was taken from his own personal experience in this terrible place.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 27
