by Wight, Will
“Well,” Chaka said, “looks like he decided to stick with us after all.”
Denner looked up, surprised, and Simon gave him a sheepish smile. “How long was I out?” he asked.
“Only a few hours,” Denner responded. “We got you in the pool fairly quickly.”
“Shouldn’t have bothered,” Chaka put in. “He’s gotta be tougher than that if he wants to make it here.”
Simon deliberately ignored Chaka, instead turning to Denner. “Thanks. I must have been in trouble if I passed out like that.”
“You were badly burned. It took quite a while even for the pool to heal you. The imps were very excited.”
Simon shuddered, imagining being at the mercy of the water-imps while unconscious. “Thank you,” he said again. “Hopefully I won’t need your help for the next room.”
Denner frowned and turned a bit to Chaka. “Is Makko still the guardian of the courtyard?”
“How should I know? I’m stuck here, right? Not a lot of social time.” Chaka glared rigidly at Denner, who continued waiting for a response. After a moment, Chaka relaxed. “I can’t imagine she’s gone anywhere else, though. She’s a tough one.”
“Then you’ll need at least a good night’s rest, Simon. She may not be as dangerous as some of the others around here, but you don’t want to face her when you’re not sharp.”
Simon hesitated. He hated the idea of wasting any more time when Kai could be moving forward, but even the Nye essence and the liquid steel strength could only go so far. His fingers were trembling slightly and his arms felt like he had been pulling stumps all day. “First thing tomorrow, then. I don’t want to waste any time.”
For some reason, Denner looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Yes,” he said. “About that. If you don’t mind me asking, how far along are you?”
Simon stared at him blankly. “With what?”
“What have you earned so far? In the House, I mean.”
With a little hesitation—Denner was a stranger, after all, but on the other hand he was Dragon Army—Simon told him about the black box and the vial. Denner frowned at him.
“A wooden box? I don’t...hold on. That wasn’t from the Nye, was it?”
Feeling like he was stepping into a trap, Simon nodded slowly. Denner gave a low whistle; Chaka let out a choking sound.
“What is it?” Simon asked. “Didn’t the Eldest give you one, too?”
Denner shook his head. “One of the silver vials, sure. We all have to face the skeleton if we want to move forward. But the Nye choose who receives their gift. Perhaps two or three of us, at most, have earned that privilege. Only one that I know of for sure.”
For a moment Simon’s heart swelled with pride that he had been chosen. Just for a moment. Then a thought struck him: if the Eldest had given him something so valuable, that made his bargain more serious. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had made a mistake. But he shook that thought aside; without the Eldest’s help, it would have taken him weeks to clear Benson’s basement. Weeks, at least.
“It’s been a great help to me so far,” Simon said, tucking the objects back into his pockets. “Now that I have what I need, I’d hoped Kai would give me my own sword.”
Denner sighed and shook his head. “It’s not enough, I’m afraid. I have some news for you. Kai made me promise to let you know as soon as I could.”
“What news? Wait. You’ve spoken with Kai? Where is he?”
“I’ve been scouting in Bel Calem for almost six months now. The Overlord Malachi didn’t raid your village for slaves; he’s responsible for this year’s sacrifice.”
A sick feeling began to grow in Simon’s gut. “Sacrifice?” he asked.
Denner looked blankly at him, as though Simon were speaking nonsense. “The sacrifice. It’s Malachi’s year.”
“But what does that mean?”
The book spoke up from underneath Denner’s arm. “I, for one, would be delighted to explain.”
“I’m sure you would,” Denner said, “but let me—”
“Almost three hundred years ago,” Hariman went on, completely ignoring the man carrying him, “the first King of Damasca sealed away a destructive force in order to preserve the security of his realm. He was a Traveler of Ragnarus, however, and you know what that means.”
“No,” Simon said. “No, I have no idea what that means.”
“Kai didn’t tell you?” Denner asked. He sounded surprised.
“Kai doesn’t tell me anything,” Simon said. He sounded more bitter than he intended.
“Ah!” Hariman exclaimed. “You really don’t know? Well, the Enosh Grandmasters call Ragnarus the Crimson Vault. It’s a Territory exclusive to the Kings of Damasca—that is to say, only those of the royal bloodline can open its Gates. It holds powerful weapons, but each comes at a cost. In this case, of course, the seal placed by the first King of Damasca requires a blood sacrifice every year.”
Simon’s mind raced down the possibilities. Obviously the sacrifice hadn’t taken place yet, or Denner wouldn’t need to warn him about it. But if the King had sealed something away...
“What is King Zakareth trying to keep sealed?” Simon asked.
Hariman responded eagerly. “Ah, now that’s a matter of much debate. The true identity of the destructive force was only a subject of myth until almost fifty years ago, but now I can say with certainty—”
Denner cleared his throat. “Hariman,” he said.
“Oh. Yes,” the book responded. “I can say with certainty that we have no way of knowing. Maybe the Overlords know, but who can say for sure?”
They were leaving something out, but time weighed heavily on Simon. Maybe he’d have time to ask more questions later.
“When?” he asked. “When are they going to be...sacrificed?”
Denner looked distinctly uncomfortable. “The sacrifice ends at midsummer each year, but it begins eight days ahead of time. Nine days, nine sacrifices. And midsummer is in only two weeks.”
Numbers had never been Simon’s greatest friends, but he could do these sums easily enough. Five days until the sacrifices began. And fourteen until they ended.
Not nearly enough time.
He had tried to hurry, but there was only so much he could do. He needed more time. Was Alin ready? Maybe Alin could do it. Maybe Simon wouldn’t have to lift a hand.
No. This time, Simon would do more than just sit back and cry. If Alin wanted to save the people of Myria, he would just have to catch up.
“I’m going to need one of the Dragon’s Fangs,” Simon said, heading for the door. “How do I use it? Can I take one of the ones from the entry hall?”
“I s’pose you could,” Chaka called, “and I won’t stop you. So long as all you want is a hunk of sharp metal.”
Denner hurried over to Simon’s side. “He’s got a point. It’s like anything else in this House; if you don’t earn it, you don’t get it. You won’t be able to summon the sword if you haven’t earned its respect, and it won’t let you open a Gate.”
Simon kicked open the door to the bathroom harder than was absolutely necessary, but he didn’t slow his pace. Ripples marred the surface of the healing pool as something writhed underneath. “Then how do I do that?”
“You can’t. Not yet. You’re not good enough, and you haven’t spent enough time in the House. If you try, you’ll likely die.”
“Try what, Denner?”
Denner sighed. He did that a lot, Simon noticed. “There’s a graduation ritual. It’s a survival test; if you’re alive at the end of seven nights, you graduate. One of the Fangs is yours. It’s even more brutal than the House; I almost died, during mine. Several of us did.”
Simon threw open the door to the main hallway and strode through, past the rows of bedroom doors, trying to project outward confidence, but inside he hesitated. If it was the final challenge for the Dragon Army, each more qualified than he was, how could he hope to su
rvive?
But he had made his decision when he had walked away from Myria.
“What do I do?” Simon asked. His voice, to his own ears, sounded firm.
Denner hesitated. “Orgrith Cave,” he said at last. “Seven nights in Orgrith Cave.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN:
ORGRITH CAVE
Orgrith Cave crouched like a burrowed tick at the southeastern corner of the Latari Forest, corrupting all the nearby land. Simon and Denner were still a good mile out, traveling on foot, when the trees began looking smaller and more shriveled. The grasses blackened and dried up, and the dirt that crunched underneath their feet was more sand than soil.
The land didn’t open up much, though; it was as hard to see here as it had been in the thickest of the Latari forest. Jagged spikes of rock dozens of feet tall stabbed into the ground, like the spears of giants. It looked as though someone had stripped the leaves and branches from thousands of trees, leaving only the trunks, and then turned the whole lot to stone.
Denner stopped at the first of the stone spikes, leaning with one hand on its rough surface. Under his other arm he held the red-and-gold book that was Hariman. “I must leave you here. I’m sorry, but it gets dangerous from here on out, and you should face the dangers of the Cave alone.”
Simon eyed the stone forest warily. “This doesn’t look like a cave.”
“The battle that gave birth to Orgrith Cave was long and terrible. The Cave was where it ended; here is where it began. You’re much safer out here than you will be inside, but there is still danger.”
Denner pointed directly into the rocks. “Keep walking as straight as you can and you should not get lost. In only an hour or two, you will reach the cave entrance. Trust me, you won’t miss it.”
“So I just have to survive for one week’s time?”
“More specifically,” Hariman corrected from underneath Denner’s arm, “you must survive inside the cave itself for a week. This is an important distinction. You can’t stay outside longer than the time it takes you to walk there, and then, after seven nights, to walk back.”
“How will you know?” Simon asked. “If I actually go in or not. I could just wait out here until seven nights have passed, and then come back out.”
Denner gave him a sad smile. “Trust me, you’re not the first to think of that. It would be worse for you if you tried, and there are those in Valinhall who have ways of knowing.” Simon shuddered. “I will meet you here seven dawns from now,” Denner continued.
Simon glanced at the sun setting over the older man’s shoulder. Seven nights. Almost unconsciously, he loosened his sword in its sheath. Another undersized replica of a Dragon’s Fang, this sword had come from the Valinhall armory and was the only weapon he was allowed to bring besides a belt knife. Aside from his knife and sword, he carried nothing. He would have to forage for food and water inside the Cave itself.
Denner and Hariman had given him some tips, of course. He would not head in completely blind. But they had spent less time preparing him and more time reminding him of his own weakness and inexperience. Which did nothing for his confidence.
“Strictly speaking,” Denner said, frowning, “Kai should be the one to meet you here after you’re done. If I can find him, that is. He’s more elusive than usual, lately.”
“He went deeper into the House,” Simon said. “He said he was trying to force me to clear rooms faster.” He still felt a flash of anger at that, even if he had to admit it had worked.
“Strange. I checked up to the attic and saw no sign of him.” Denner shrugged. “Still, I suppose I could have missed him. Some of those rooms are quite large, after all. And he could have wandered out of the House for a while. At times, Kai can be...well, you know.”
“Yes, I do.” Simon glanced at the sun again. He had perhaps an hour and a half until full dark. “Denner, I have a question for you.”
Denner seemed startled, but he nodded.
“Ten years ago, around this time of year. It was raining at the edge of a forest. Did you save a boy from Travelers?”
Simon hadn’t realized how much he cared about the answer until he felt his heart speed up. It probably wasn’t Denner. There were eleven other people it could be, after all. But Denner did seem to wear brown a lot, and the swordsman who had saved Simon’s life wore a brown cloak...
“Not me,” Denner said slowly. “But I can ask around, if you like. I’m sure one of us will know.”
Simon shook his head immediately. “No, it wasn’t important. I should probably get going. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
Denner opened his mouth to reply, but Hariman interrupted him. “Well, of course. It was our pleasure. Do try to survive.”
Simon walked all the way to the Orgrith Cave entrance with his sword out and a sharp eye on his surroundings.
The sun had fallen below the horizon but had not entirely left its light behind when the forest of rock spikes began to thin, revealing the entrance. It was a tall, irregular dome of rock jutting out of the otherwise flat ground around it. The entrance gaped so wide Simon thought half the people of Myria could fit inside, but the dome itself barely seemed broad enough to cover the grassland in the garden of Valinhall. If that was the extent of Orgrith Cave, then it couldn’t be so bad.
It was a nice thought, though he was forced to admit that it almost certainly extended deep underground. There might still be hope, though; maybe Denner had exaggerated.
He certainly hadn’t mentioned this: the mouth of Orgrith Cave blazed with light, revealing a half-circle of carts and covered wagons almost completely blocking the entrance. Pairs of oxen grazed on the sparse grass outside the wagons. At a distance, Simon could make out a few people running around inside the circle, apparently excited about something. Not enough people to justify that many wagons, it seemed.
He hesitated for a moment, then walked forward, sheathing his sword. He didn’t know what their business was, and they would probably be friendly to one young man alone, especially with so many of them together. If they weren’t...well, he kept his mind on the brink of calling steel. As long as none of the strangers were Travelers, he was sure he could handle them.
As he approached the circle of carts and wagons, Simon saw only three people. A woman, perhaps ten years younger than Simon’s mother, ran frantically from wagon to wagon, peering inside and shouting. Her eyes were wide, her long chestnut hair mussed, and her simple gray dress disheveled. “Andra?” she called. “Lycus? Come out here this instant! Andra!”
She dashed over to the nearest wagon like it held a fortune in gold. “This isn’t funny, Andra! Please...please stop...” Her shoulders shook silently, and Simon realized she was crying.
His stomach sank.
The other two people in the camp, both men rolled on the ground by their bonfire, apparently wrestling. One was younger, though judging by the touches of gray in his hair still old enough to be Simon’s father, and the other even older. At least, his hair was entirely silver. The older man sat on the other, holding his arm pinned behind his back. The younger man screamed, and it was a moment before Simon could make out the words.
“LET ME GO! LET ME GO, PLEASE! THEY’RE IN THERE...THEY HAVE TO BE IN THERE! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!”
The picture resolved itself in Simon’s mind: the younger man was trying to crawl to the mouth of the cave, but the older was holding him back.
The older man’s reply was firm, but Simon barely heard it over the other’s screams. “You’ll die, Caius. You’ll only die.”
Simon stepped into the firelight and intentionally scuffed his feet against the dirt. Hopefully the noise would keep them from thinking he was trying to sneak up. He could have spoken, but he didn’t have the words for this situation.
The older man whirled around immediately, pinning Simon with bright blue eyes. He wore a short sword on his left hip, and though he didn’t stand up or release his hold on the other man, there
was something in his posture of being ready to draw.
“I’m sorry,” Simon said. “Is there someone in the cave?”
The screaming man stopped shouting and began to weep, sobbing from deep in his chest, but the other paid him no attention.
Gray-hair spoke, voice like flat iron. “Who are you? What is your purpose here?” He sounded like Nurita, giving an order and expecting to be obeyed. Simon’s words caught in his throat, and he suddenly wasn’t sure what to say.
“They’re my babies,” the woman said from behind him. He turned to face her. Her eyes were bright and feverish, and her face was a mask of tears. “My babies are in there.”
“What are you doing here, boy?” The gray-haired man demanded again. He had risen to his feet, keeping one boot firmly planted on the grieving father’s back. One hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his hip. “Speak or be gone.”
Simon looked around, at the weeping mother and the distraught father, at the demanding man with a sword. He never did know what to say at times like this. So he turned and walked straight into the mouth of Orgrith Cave.
As the shadows of the cave swallowed him, he drew his sword.
***
Kai crouched on top of the stone dome that marked the outer barrier of Orgrith Cave, watching the Damascans down below, scurrying around their bonfire like so many moths fluttering over a candle. So much fuss over missing children. But what would he do if one of his precious little ones managed to run off? The thought almost brought him to tears.
He reached down to Otoku, cradled carefully in his left arm. He ran his right fingers down her dark hair, the silky red of her dress.
“I would never leave you,” he whispered.
Sometimes I wish you would, she responded, an acid edge to her hazy mental voice.
Kai felt himself smile. She had said something this time; sometimes she would stay silent for days at a time. That was much worse. “I love your spirit and your fire. That is how I know you care.”
