by A. R. Wilson
“Ha!” Arkose shouted, running towards the trap, flapping his cloak.
“You abomination!” The minotaur roared.
It can talk?
“I possess the strength of an ox, not its mind!” The minotaur’s voice rumbled in the clearing.
“Then come here and let me brush your hair so you can be a foxy oxen.” Jurren further taunted him with a gesture of fluffing up his own face.
The minotaur released a ground-shaking roar and charged. Jurren waited until the last possible second then sprung out of the way. Stepping into the loop, the minotaur triggered the release. The rope swooped it into the air. Arms flailed helplessly.
“Do you want me to do the honors or should I?” Arkose pivoted his sword in his hand.
“Wait.” Jurren walked around, trying to find an angle where he could see the creature’s face. “Why were you and your friend hunting us down?”
“Human filth!” The minotaur spun from continued wriggling.
“I am no human.” Strangely, it felt empowering to admit that.
“You think me a fool, then kill me!”
Jurren rubbed his ears, the tips now feeling raw as well as itchy. Were they swelling? “I killed your friend out of necessity. Had he entered the trap first, you would be the one dead.”
“Jurren, what are you doing?” Azredan eased closer to them.
“I want to give this creature a chance.”
“He has no chance. If he doesn’t carry out the warlock’s command, he dies.”
The minotaur stopped struggling. “I serve The Master and none other. My life and death is to bring him glory.”
Azredan shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, we know, thank you.”
“Where is your master now?” Jurren took a few steps to the side to meet those round, wide eyes.
“When he finds you he will turn you into a minotaur too.” He spit at Jurren’s feet.
“You were once a man?”
“Kill me.”
“Answer me.”
“Kill me!”
“Tip for tap. Tell me what I want to know and I will give you what you want.”
The minotaur put his hands over his eyes. “I can’t.”
Jurren took a step to lean in and Azredan grabbed his shoulder. Brushing off the warning, he leaned in closer. The minotaur slashed out a hand and grabbed Jurren’s throat. An instant later the grip released, and Jurren felt himself being dragged backwards.
“I tried to caution you.” Azredan stooped to look under Jurren’s chin.
After coughing a few times, Jurren tested his throat with his fingertips. No real damage done. “I thought if it could speak it could be reasoned with.”
He glanced over at the minotaur. A furry throat lay split open releasing a river of red. Arkose used a clump of grass to wipe off his blade. Jurren nodded his thanks.
Azredan lifted Jurren’s chin to get a better look. “The creatures in Einiko’s realm are not beings formed by the Ever One with a free will and a conscience. They are slaves. Minions brought forth with no purpose other than servitude.”
“There is no hope for them?”
“Not that I know. You only have a couple bruises, thanks to Arkose’s quick thinking. Another two seconds and this would have ended very differently. You need to be more careful.”
“I thought I was.” Jurren brushed himself off and stood. “Following my vision led me to this place. I guess there is a fine line between my inner knowing and my own thoughts.”
“Where are we?” Kidelar’s voice caught at the beginning of each word.
“Einiko provides a few places for his creatures to feed and rest.” Azredan scanned the grove. “The smell of blood will bring others to investigate.”
“Should we bury the bodies?” Arkose rubbed the back of his shaved head.
“No need. They will most likely assume Einiko did this.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what he is. He ever enjoys death and destruction.”
“Such a waste.” Kidelar shook his head, turning away from the impromptu gallows.
“Speaking of waste, let’s get going. Any time not spent moving towards Ransom, is only adding to our journey.” Azredan moved to retrieve his pack.
“Which way now?” Jurren shrugged into the straps of his pack.
“Since you brought us here, how about you guide us out?”
His first thought was to turn and glare at the elf. But before the idea could result in action, Jurren realized his judgment unfair. Azredan tried to be a proper teacher and guide. To help them reach the castle, to help them navigate the peoples they encountered, and for Jurren to understand the strength of his birthright. Learning to seek truth proved far more valuable than trusting his gut instinct had ever been.
Focusing on wanting truth, Jurren closed his eyes and walked several steps away.
Nothing.
He adjusted his pack and wondered which path they needed to take.
Still nothing.
Walking back to his friends he sensed something in the ground. A feeling like being on a well-established path. The way his feet always felt when leaving the wild and stepping onto the road.
“We go this way.”
CHAPTER 8
Tascana sat curled up in a chair in the west library. On the floor rested a wide vase the size of her head. She had already thrown up twice that morning. After the servants came a second time to clean up after her, Jerricoh ordered the vase to be set by her side. How embarrassing. The urges came without warning. One moment she felt fine, and the next she clutched her mouth, failing to make it more than three steps. That vine of dread perpetually reminded her of her new reality. Having it rest on top of the other thing inside her only added to her queasy stomach. How much evil could one person hold before they exploded?
Slapping the book shut, she leaned over the edge of the chair. The vase caught the remains of the water she swallowed earlier.
Great. Maybe if this keeps up I’ll die from dehydration.
Rothar handed her a rag for her face and a glass of water for the taste in her mouth. Picking up the used vase, he replaced it with an empty one.
“Perhaps some air would do you good.” Jerricoh stood from his chair.
“I’m fine.” She yanked open the book.
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
She looked up at him. Though his tone had darkened, his eyes remained deep blue. “If that is what you wish, my lord.”
“The Master has given me charge over your care. His orders were for you to be content. Relentless purging cannot allow anyone to be content.”
All she could do was shrug. Reading, vomiting, dying. What’s the difference? Each detail lay wrapped up in a part of The Master’s plan. And to what end? What purpose could a child possibly have to someone like him? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Nothing in his castle resembled anything good. All of it was cold. The kind of cold that slunk into her bones and made her joints ache. Like the way she couldn’t get dirty. Was it The Master’s spell or Jerricoh’s that always kept her skin clean and her hair kept? Almost as if they taunted the dishevelment within her soul by keeping up her appearance.
Jerricoh walked over and held out a hand. She imagined grabbing it while using her other hand to slice a dagger into his belly. Split him from navel to throat. No doubt The Master would frown on such a task. He might crash her skull into the wall a dozen times, each throw bringing her back from the dead only to do it again. Like the sadist he was.
Setting the glass of water on the table beside her, she took his hand. She stumbled as she attempted to rise, and he steadied her. The world spun in her mind. Jerricoh put a hand to her forehead and the sensation left instantly.
“We need to teach you how to heal yourself.” He guided her hand into his elbow.
I already know, I just don’t care.
They walked through a maze of halls, stairwells, and corridors. She lost her footing again, and Jerricoh paused
to get her another glass of water. Eventually, one of the doors opened into an expansive courtyard. Stone paths cut through the most well-manicured gardens and flowerbeds. Trees grew with perfect rings of flowers surrounding them. Vines trained to run along archways and trellises in absolute precision. Row after row of neatly groomed shrubs stood like beautiful little soldiers. Some of the rows displayed a single color of flower while others dazzled with an array of every shade possible. All manner of trees stood proudly in the squares of grass established for them. Fruit trees, red-leafed trees, tall, and dwarf. A gardener’s paradise.
Jerricoh stopped at a stone bench and offered for her to sit. Since few of his offers actually included an option for her to refuse, she reclined at the far end. He leaned back his head as though taking in a long, slow breath of the fragrant air. Tascana couldn’t bring herself to even think of enjoying the aromas. Sweet smelling air. Pungent air. No difference existed to her. All of it declared proof of her imprisonment, under the control of a man she loathed. His presence tainted everything he owned. Even the flowers were little more than painted manure to her. The only pleasant thing out here was the lessened sensation of being watched.
“Feeling better?”
She didn’t look at him. His questions never demanded an answer unless he asked it twice.
“Would you like to meet the unicorns?”
She turned. “What?”
“At the south gate. There is a pasture cultivated especially for them. Two of the mares gave birth to foals right before you arrived.”
Was this some kind of trick? Unicorns were the stuff of legend. If a girl remained pure she would have eyes to see a unicorn. A tale meant to encourage waiting for marriage.
“You keep unicorns in your south pasture? Seriously?” She hoped her tone would be interpreted as weary from illness and not sarcasm.
“No one keeps a unicorn. They choose to stay here. The lands beyond these grounds are dangerous. Here they are safe.”
Like their own little Tretchin Valley. “How did they find this place?”
“Do you want to see them?”
His eyes remained a deep blue. He had actually given her a choice. She could go see them if she wanted to, or she could stay where she was. The choice was completely up to her.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Sure.”
Without offering to take her hand, he walked away. Both relieved and annoyed, she followed him. The twists and turns of the castle grounds dwarfed the halls of the castle. She walked through a maze of expertly groomed hedges with a series of fountains scattered throughout. On the other side yawned a swath of paths, flowerbeds, and rows of trees. When they finally reached the south gate, Jerricoh paused. Dense, thorny hedges ran on either side of a gate, partly obscuring it. The only plant life not trimmed to perfection. Jerricoh hid his hands while doing something to the ornate iron separating them from the grass on the other side.
He swung open the gate and stepped through. Pausing a moment, she followed. A meadow of waist high grasses spread as far as she could see. In every direction away from the castle wall ran wave after wave of green heads bobbing in the wind. Like the ripples of water across a lake, the grasses yielded up and down.
That freedom-shaped hole inside her tore open anew. Fresh pain, regret, fear, hunger, thirst, loneliness, frustration. So many needs and longings overwhelmed her in this place of forced solitude. That constant yearning had finally split wider than her flesh could contain. Only blood didn’t pour from this kind of wound. Rather it caused her soul to spill out every hope and joy she had ever clung to.
Her eyes started to sting.
Jerricoh didn’t notice her silent pain. “Wait here until you know it is safe.”
Folding his hands under the back of his cloak, he walked away from her. A white flap of hair rose from the grass. A large, white horse with a single horn sprouting from its forehead, stood up. Its tail resembled a lion’s. Straight and smooth with fur and a puff of longer hair at the end, unlike the tails of horses back home. A long mane flipped back when it pulled up to rear.
The man in black paused.
The unicorn stallion snorted then took several high steps towards him. The display seemed to signal the others to come over. Two more rose out of the grass. Three others came out from behind a hill to the right of them. They moved to circle around Jerricoh. The stallion drew near enough to be petted then reared up on his hind legs.
Jerricoh didn’t move.
Thudding his hooves to the ground, the stallion sharply bobbed his head down and whipped some hair across Jerricoh’s face. Then he nudged the man in the shoulder. Jerricoh stroked the underside of the stallion’s jaw then looked over his shoulder, smiling. Tascana heard the distant sound of a horse whinnying. A few hundred yards away, another two came to join the rest of the group. As they approached, she noticed two smaller heads barely cresting the top of the grass walking alongside. Their white hair gleamed through the sea of green all around them. Neither of the foals had a horn yet.
Somewhere in her mind, Tascana registered the notion she should be in awe of such a sight. But she couldn’t remember why. As the last drops of hope escaped her soul, she lost the strength to stand. Drooping into the grass felt as natural as death itself. Simply another part of life. Green stalks bumped into her face. How she wished the unicorns would see the stain on her soul and trample her to death. But even in such a fantasy she held no hope. Surely Jerricoh would bring her back from the brink, as he always did, and force her to live another hour. Another day. Another lifetime in this place.
A white leg pressed in the ground near her arm. She closed her eyes. Something warm bumped into her face. Leave me alone. Just let me dream of death in peace. The bump came again. A wet tongue streaked up her face. Shuddering away, she caught sight of a smallish horse head nosing towards her. The foal shifted its head this way and that. Tascana looked up to see what was probably the foal’s mother coming to investigate.
“Don’t move.” Jerricoh crept towards her. “Don’t back away or she’ll be offended.”
Clenching her fists, Tascana kept her eyes on the green grasses waving around her. What would a unicorn want with her? If the legends were true then it should ignore her, or at the very least avoid her.
The mare took a few more steps forward until her leg planted arm’s reach away. Those ice blue eyes reminded Tascana of Jerricoh’s temper. She pulled her elbows up against her sides.
“Don’t be rude. Extend your hand.” Jerricoh squatted behind her, placing a hand on her back to give her a nudge.
Tascana pulled a clenched fist up her chest. With focused effort, she opened her hand then held it out. Butting a white muzzle nose against her hand, the mare stepped forward.
“Let’s get you on your feet so you can give her a proper greeting.” Jerricoh tucked his hands under her arms.
Not wanting his help, or a greeting, she almost resisted. After all, this had been a voluntary excursion, right? But with the loss of hope came the loss of caring. Whether she lay in the grass or stood on her feet didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was she no longer had a choice. Avoiding the pain of another punishment remained as the closest thing she had to hope now.
When they stood, Jerricoh took a step back. The mare raised her head over Tascana’s shoulder and pulled her close in a sort of embrace. A chill gripped Tascana’s neck. The mare nuzzled her white head against Tascana’s back, drawing closer still. Energy passed between them. A shared bond of some kind. As though the unicorn dared her to believe in hope one last time. Tascana put her hands on either side of the mare’s neck. The closest thing to a hug she had received in three weeks. Her mind reeled back to that day on the steps of the Council of Hess-Bren. The day she and Kidelar went to tell their leaders about the goblin trespassing in Gaulden Forest. When they arrived, her father rode up with the Hess-Bren militia. He had fought off several youths infected by goblins. When he saw she was safe, he pulled her in and kissed her o
n the top of her head. That day felt like a lifetime away.
Had the mare sensed her sadness? Her brokenness? Tascana didn’t know, but at least for this brief moment she wasn’t alone. After a few minutes the mare lifted to pull away. Tascana let go. Dipping her head, the mare bumped her muzzle into Tascana’s middle. Understanding the gesture, Tascana shielded an arm over her stomach where that thing grew inside her. The mare shook her long mane then bumped into Tascana’s middle again.
Pushing against the gesture, Tascana took a step back. “Stop.”
The mare pawed a hoof on the ground then tilted her head to made eye contact.
Tascana sucked back into that dream. That sickening dream she could never escape from even though she knew who that stranger in the mist really was. Only this time, she did not live the dream so much as watch it. She saw herself rise up and crumble mountains over and over again. Then the dream switched to the one she had in Tretchin Valley. The person ravaging the land was no longer her, but her son. He thrust out plague after plague, devouring all life in a ceaseless thirst for death.
Then it stopped. The mare stared, lowering her head to bump a third time.
Tears burned at the corners of Tascana’s eyes. “I know.”
“What do you know?” Jerricoh’s tone suggested curiosity.
She blinked away the sensation, suddenly remembering he stood near her. “I know the fate of this pregnancy.”
Jerricoh’s gaze hardened. Closing the distance between them, he put his hand against her stomach. Knowing the punishment for refusal kept her from batting away his touch.
“You are pregnant.” His voice faltered a moment.. “With his child.”
Furrowing her brow, she set her jaw. “Like you didn’t know?”
“I did not.”
“You heard me ask him how this happened. Don’t play the fool. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I knew he intended a joining of your bloodlines. I assumed his actions referenced a time when you would be older and better trained. I didn’t—” Jerricoh pulled his eyebrows together. Raising his hand a second time, he held it in midair, hovering over her middle. “May I?”
