by A. R. Wilson
He stooped to put his forearms on his knees. How he loathed to admit he wasn’t strong enough to figure this out on his own. To be a in a place where the future warped cloudy and uncertain. Like a child listening to adults talk of a distant war. All he knew was the fight raged bigger than him, and he wondered who could help to win this battle.
“Please help me.” His hands clenched into fists. The corners of his eyes stung with emotion. “I can’t do this.” A lump caught in his throat, and he choked it down. “I’m scared.”
A faint voice echoed, calling his name. He pulled up to seek the direction. It called again. He went to the wall and patted at the cool surface. The voice came from the other side. Who was that? He pressed an ear to listen. This time he recognized Kidelar’s urge call.
“I’m here!” He slapped at the wood-covered stone. “Over here!”
“Jurren?”
“Follow my voice.”
“I cannot see you.”
“Keep coming!” His ears burned with excitement. “This way. I’m here. I can’t see you either, but I can hear you.”
“A wall separates us. I will find a path around.”
“No!” Jurren pounded his fist. “We might lose each other again.”
The faint outline of a hand pressed under the surface of the wall, as though the barrier were made of clouded glass.
“I see you.” Jurren smacked his hand at the image, trying to grasp it.
The fingers spread and came towards him. Warmth gripped Jurren’s hand, then pulled him in to the other side.
He wrapped his arms around Kidelar’s neck. “You found me. I’m free.”
“I assume your journey was as enthralling as mine.” Kidelar pressed into him.
“I knew you were smart enough to do this.” He ruffled the scholar’s sandy blond hair, holding them close forehead to forehead.
“To be honest, I wasn’t smart enough.” His eyes shimmered. “But it’s not a factor of my worth if there is wisdom I lack. Merely, an opportunity to learn even more.”
Nodding, Jurren gripped his friend’s shoulders. “That is the best kind of wisdom.”
Kidelar managed a weak grin.
“Where is Arkose?”
“I have yet to locate him.”
“I lost both travel packs back in that dungeon of a room. They’re gone now.”
“Something happened to them?”
“They’re on the other side of that wall.”
The scholar’s grin turned genuine. He walked to the next corridor and turned. Jogging after him, Jurren wondered what hope could be found. The pause in Kidelar’s gait was all the answer he needed.
“How can that be?” Jurren stared at the two packs leaning against each other.
“You were never truly in the place you thought you were.”
He shrugged into the first set of straps. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the comfort of knowing Tascana remained out of Orison’s grasp. The Elders could never know he had a daughter. At least, not until he had an opportunity to destroy the Ellium Bridge, and cut off their path to the mainland.
For a moment, he considered asking Kidelar where he had gone, but thought better of it. Jurren didn’t feel like reciprocating the question.
Kidelar adjusted his own pack. “I am not looking forward to the length of time required to find Arkose. My vision has shown it to be a far greater search than the one for you.”
“How long were you searching for me?”
“Four days.”
Jurren’s eyes widened. Four days?
“I found a grove five turns in that direction.” He indicated over his shoulder. “Fresh water, and some edible plants.”
“Good, I used up the last of my acorns a couple days ago. Didn’t trust the food where they held me.”
He mentally kicked himself for bringing it up. Taking a quick glance at Kidelar assured Jurren the scholar had no intentions of asking any follow-up questions.
“We can wait for him in the grove.” Kidelar turned to take the lead.
“How long?”
Kidelar pivoted to look at him. “You cannot sense it?”
Closing his eyes for a few steps, he focused. Then gasped. “Seven days?”
With a solemn nod, the scholar continued on.
“There has to be a way to find him faster.”
“You know that is not possible.”
Jurren muttered a few curses under his breath. Neither of them could find Arkose until the man overcame the Fear on his own. Until then, they had no other option but to wait. He gritted his teeth. The next seven days would be as agonizing a wait as the previous seven. Yet, he couldn’t leave his friend to fight the dangers of the labyrinth alone.
CHAPTER 18
Tascana sat at the table near her bed, waiting for breakfast. The sensation of eyes prickled along her shoulders, beyond the usual prying of The Master. How she wished she could shatter the image of that elven toddler carved into the upper portion of the door to her room. Every so often, that face would leap out at her in her mind. Sinister need emanated from the face, as though a living spell tried to cast some form of influence over her.
As she always did, Tascana took deep breaths and pretended to ignore it. Soon enough, Rothar would come, and the illusion would fade into the background.
After waiting for what seemed like an hour, she cracked the door open. No sign of him or Jerricoh. Had she woke up earlier than she thought? She hurried to the nearest stretch of rug on the stone floor, and made her way to the library. When she reached her usual place of study, she found Zander and Triast standing at attention near her chair. Even after three days, the sight still brought a nauseating chill. They had chosen this, right? Everyone had agreed to this. So why did the sight of two sets of vacant eyes continue to haunt her?
Perhaps, because she wondered if they ate or slept. Or maybe because she had done the one thing to them which she could never forgive another for. Occasionally, she worried if The Master used them as another way to spy on her. Someone to watch and listen, while he and Jerricoh tended to something else.
Where was Jerricoh? He should be here by now. The morning light coming through the window proved his tardiness. She had finished that enormous book late yesterday afternoon. Shortly afterward, The Master summoned Jerricoh. He didn’t return from the meeting to join her for dinner. Surely, whatever The Master wanted from him had been taken care of by now. Her studies were the top priority of the castle, and she currently had nothing to read.
“Where is he?”
“M’lady?”
Tascana spun to see Rothar in the doorway. She had not heard him come in. “Jerricoh. He has not returned to me.”
“Nor to me.”
“Did you leave the tray in my room?”
“I am not permitted to serve you, unless Jerricoh requests it.”
“Am I permitted to send my servants to fetch it for me?”
He furrowed his brow, pulling up his shoulders.
“I don’t want to cause you any trouble, which is why I ask. I’m still learning the rules of pleasing The Master.”
“I await orders from Jerricoh.” Rothar bowed and stepped out of the room.
Odd. It had never occurred to her that Rothar was Jerricoh’s personal servant. She always assumed The Master tasked the deformed man to tend to her. And though she didn’t want to incur another punishment, she had to eat. Food was becoming a controlling force in her life. Along with frequent trips to the privy. The pregnancy had yet to show, but its effects lined up with the symptoms she heard from other women back home.
“Zander.” She spoke his name with only the slightest hesitation. Jerricoh warned that each order had to be exactly that: an order. “Bring me a tray of food from the kitchen. Take Triast with you, to carry a pitcher of water.”
The dallests swiveled on their heels in unison to march out of the library. They returned almost an hour later, with a wide assortment of fruits and breads. Propping an elbow on the t
able, she put the side of her head in her hand to block out the view of her two servants standing at the ready. They kept reminding her of Revel, and the look on his face before the goblins dragged him away. That poor, broken, lost soul.
She took a bite of bread. Her jaw halted. Shifting her tongue, she paused to savor the flavor. She knew this exact variety. Revel made it to accompany every batch of stew he labored over in Tretchin. She gaped at the torn chunk in her hand. Could it be? The light outside hinted the approach of noon. If Jerricoh wasn’t coming now... But when would he come?
“Zander. Who gave you this bread?”
Stupid. He can’t talk.
As she placed her hands on the table to stand, the raspy voice of Zander spoke to her.
“The head of the kitchen staff.”
Her mouth fell open. She rose until they were at eye level. “Who is the head of the kitchen staff?”
Eyes still vacant, no movement in his face other than this mouth, he responded with Revel’s name.
She licked her lips, mind spinning with possibilities. “Go to Revel, now.”
Following Zander to the kitchen wasn’t exactly the same thing as ordering him to guide her there. It was all in the wording, so she wouldn’t have to lie if Jerricoh found out.
Rothar wasn’t standing in the hall. Perfect! She followed Zander as he moved with his bobbing mosey of a walk. His elongated torso swayed with half the energy he once used, but a dallest was still a dallest. Leathery feet and hands. Thick, dark fur covering all but the immediate area around his eyes, nose, and mouth. Aside from a vest devoid of any decoration, he wore no clothing. He pulled her out of the darkness the night she tried to escape from the castle and referred to himself as “friend”. Were they still friends?
Dozens of halls and stairs later, the smells of bread and salted meat tugged at her burgeoning hunger. Within a few turns, they came to a wide entry way. On the other side, many tables stood piled with bowls, scattered with flour, boasting all manner of cooking utensil, and servants wielding them. Countless empty eyes moved about their tasks of making food to The Master’s liking. Zander meandered through all of it, and came to a stop near a hearth at the back.
Tascana didn’t have to work her way through the crowd like Zander had. The moment she stepped forward, servants bowed out of her way, avoiding her gaze as they lowered their faces to their tasks.
How many people has The Master enslaved in this place?
As the sea of baking and mixing parted, she saw him. Revel stood over a large kettle stirring a batch of stew. Had she been eating his cooking this whole time?
“Revel?”
Nothing in his appearance showed he heard her.
What is the trick in this? “Speak to me Revel.”
Still no response. Zander stood dutifully next to him, as he had been ordered. Neither man looked at each other.
“Zander. Explain to me why Revel will not speak.”
“What is there to speak?”
“Perhaps you need to learn how to clarify your speech.” Jerricoh’s teaching pecked at the back of her mind.
“Revel. I demand to know how you are faring in this place. Answer me, now.”
“I am useful.”
She put a hand to her mouth. How many times had she treated him like some pathetic little boy? All those times he kept the stew hot for her when she came home late. All the times he gave her a sideways glance and a smile. Had she even said one kind word to him? He had been so scared the night they all made their escape from Tretchin Valley. She promised him she knew what she was doing when she agreed with Dellia to leave that night. Being useful to someone was all he ever wanted. Did this mean he found contentment with his new role? Was it possible not to hate the control of The Master?
“I appreciate your hard work in this castle. Know that my gratitude stays with you.”
No response.
Did it really matter? The spell Jerricoh had over him could not be undone. And even if she could, what would happen to him next?
“Zander, return to the library.”
Tascana walked ahead of him to part the mass of cooks and preppers. In the hall, she followed the dallest to traversed the maze of corridors. As they walked, it suddenly occurred to her that Zander knew where to go in the castle. He seemed to know his way around as well as any other servant. Was that possible? Surely he wouldn’t remember this many twists and turns after such a long time away in the valley. Did being a servant also come with having the knowledge to do whatever was commanded?
She stopped, almost tripping over her own feet.
What if Zander could—
The hum of voices broke in before she could finish the thought. Zander took another turn up ahead, but her curiosity overrode her desire to return. Besides, she knew how to get back to the library from here. Rather than follow him, she listened to the voices. They came from up ahead, and to the left. A door stood open. Then, suddenly the voices stopped. She tiptoed closer to peek inside.
Jerricoh gripped the rim of what appeared to be a well standing at waist height. Light rippled on the surface of the water. The door blocked most of her view and she squeezed to the side to keep it that way. She couldn’t risk him casting a single glance at her.
The Master’s voice rumbled from somewhere inside. “I cannot see them.”
“Neither do I, my lord.” Jerricoh’s answer almost tempted her into a wider peek.
“They entered nine days ago.”
“Yes, that is when the Seeing Pool alerted me.”
“Should the men survive the Fear, alert me at once. I will not accept your failure a second time.”
“I understand.”
“Why can I not see them?” The Master’s voice darkened.
Tascana felt the change in tone as the vine within her threw out another defensive layer of thorns. The air around her cooled to match the temper in his voice.
“There are many reasons why the Seeing Pool goes dim, my lord.”
“Do not explain my own spells to me.”
“I would never do such a thing. I only say it to assure you I am trying to understand. Failure to serve you is failure to live.”
A deep, inhuman growl came from the door. “Never forget it!”
Tascana inched back to the nearest turn.
Though muffled by distance, The Master’s voice continued to chill her from around the corner. “Their death will be the only thing protecting you now.”
The sound of rushing wind echoed with his last word. Then silence. Had he left through some spell? She waited a moment, then took the smallest glimpse around the corner. No Master. Up ahead, Jerricoh let out a sound like a frustrated grunt. The Master had to be gone. He would not risk such a display in front of him. Tascana slipped back to the open door.
He stood with his hands gripping the edge of the Seeing Pool. A faint voice, almost too delicate to hear, echoed from the pool. A voice resembling Kidelar’s scholarly wisdom. Then another like her father’s. Jerricoh’s knuckles tensed white, and the voices ceased.
All moisture sucked out of her throat. They were watching her father?
Hardly aware of the motions, she walked backwards shaking her head. Her father couldn’t come for her. It was too risky. The Master’s power exceeded any wizard at the Fortress of Erudition. If someone tried to rescue her, they would suffer the same fate as Dellia or Revel.
Wait. Was Jerricoh helping her father? The pounding of her heart felt like someone thumping her on the outside of her chest. Had Jerricoh’s grip on the Seeing Pool prevented The Master from seeing or hearing her father? Is that why the voices cut out when his muscles tightened? She had to get out of here. Had to get somewhere she could think.
Running up the stairs, she felt the first hint of The Master’s eyes searching for her. At the top, she clutched her stomach and collapsed to the floor. She allowed the surge of emotions to overtake her. Being away from home, concern for her father’s life, guilt of causing so much death, everything
she hated about this place. The vine writhed, and caused her to gag. Soon the nausea would turn into actual vomiting. Rolling onto all fours, she eased into a sitting position, one arm wrapped around her middle.
“What are you doing in this part of the castle?” Jerricoh jerked her to a stand by her arm.
Looking up at him, she placed a hand on his chest. “I was so worried I might not study today.”
“You wait in the library until I come for you. That is your duty!” He squeezed both her arms as he gave her a hard shake.
“As you wish, my lord.”
His pale eyes stayed ice blue. This was the usual display of showing The Master disobedience would not be tolerated. As soon as they were truly alone, he would soften his tone.
Back in the library, she waited in her chair while he selected another book. The one he gave her was as thick, old, and heavy as the other two.
“Permission to ask a question.” She kept her hands in her lap, along with her gaze.
“Denied. Return to your studies.”
“Permission to speak gratitude.”
Her chair lurched sideways. She braced herself into the armrests. Jerricoh’s face pulled in close, eyes piercing into her still pounding heart.
“What. Is. It.” The staccato of his voice rang with impending doom.
“Thank you for helping me to further my studies.”
His clenched jaw didn’t move as he spoke. “You’re. Not. Reading.”
She tried to reach a hand towards the book under his posturing. He clamped her forearm to the chair. Raising his body slightly, he lowered his head until his hair fell into her face. It’s only a display. He needs The Master to see this. No doubt of disloyalty. The pain shot into her elbow and wrist. He gripped her other arm. She breathed slowly, closing her eyes, trying not to cry out. His hold tightened.
Gasping, she looked up at him. Under the hood of his thick, black hair she saw deep blue eyes. With a shove, he pulled back and skid the chair into the table. The red marks above her wrists ached. Pulling her elbows into her body, she whispered the spell to heal herself. Pain turned to discomfort.
