by Sanders, Dan
He felt different, almost naked. He reached around his back and realised his Reven blade was gone. A question flicked across his mind; how would they have moved the blade once it was removed from his back? It weighed the best part of a carriage.
“Good to see you are well, Sabina,” Bevan croaked through his scorched throat and cracked lips.
“What happened? I don’t remember much,” Sabina said without turning her head to him.
He crawled and sat next to her. “What’s wrong with him?”
Then he saw. Daimon’s head writhed in Sabina’s lap in an agonising sleep. His right arm lay across his chest, pulverised into a bleeding strip of dead carcass. Bits of bone and sinew sat exposed under the eerie light. Bevan retched but nothing came.
Sabina looked through the darkness at Bevan wiping the invisible bile from his mouth. Her face was expressionless when she spoke. “I gave him some of the Ostriata leaf he had in his pocket,” she said. “It helped him sleep. It was the best I could do.”
Bevan remembered the special leaves the little Mithrian men had given Daimon to help him relax and connect with the land. It was ironic she knew what they were called and he didn’t.
“How did he end up with such a potent herb anyway?” Sabina said.
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain later.” He wanted to work out what they should do. “What happened to his arm?”
“Not sure. I heard him muttering about holding me in the carriage and his arm being hacked by these monsters.” Sabina gestured into the dark tunnels connecting the cages.
“You should bandage that ear,” Sabina said, pointing to Bevan’s head.
Bevan touched his ear and withdrew blood.
“Just a scratch,” he said. “How are you feeling? We… he was worried about you for a while.”
He was grateful Sabina didn’t notice his bumble with emotions. She replied simply, “I feel strange. Empty. Not myself.”
It was clear to Bevan that the girl was still weak. Each word rasped in her chest. Her once brilliant emerald eyes now looked like a stagnant puddle of moss.
He said, “We need to fix the young one.”
“I don’t have the knowledge to undo this sort of damage,” Sabina said.
He gently lifted and inspected Daimon’s lifeless limb. “We may have to amputate,” he said.
She snapped, “How would you know? We will seek qualified help.”
Bevan was surprised at her intensity. “If we don’t get help for him soon, that arm could infect and spread poison to the rest of his body. I have seen this before.”
“We need to get out of here then. Simple.”
“Simple, really?” he said. “How do you propose to accomplish that?”
“You are the warrior. Do something.”
This girl frustrated him. She was the one who knew everything. Why couldn’t she help? Sabina’s emaciated body rasped in another fit of coughing. He decided not to make it worse by telling her to figure it out. He glanced through the purple bars at the entrance to the cages. Nothing. When would the cowards show themselves? He could deal better when he knew his enemy.
Sabina played absently with her Seltan necklace, deep in thought. Her eyes lit with an idea. She tore a piece off her tunic, held it above Daimon’s face and whispered to the space above his cracked lips. The air shimmered as Bevan felt her energy transfer into the particles. Water droplets formed and filled the cloth in her hand.
“Get me the bowl over there, quickly.”
Bevan scurried across the floor and retrieved the empty food bowl. She sure was bossy, but he was impressed by what she could do with Water Lore. Like many Ibendari, he only ever studied Rock Lore.
Sabina kept her focus on the shimmering space above the bowl until it filled. She almost dropped the dish in exhaustion when the water lapped over the lip. Bevan grabbed the bowl and filled Daimon’s mouth. He then held the bowl and the back of her head so she could drink. She was too weak to object.
She was right though, he had to figure a way out quickly or else both of them would die. Forget this quest they were meant to be on.
“There is one way we could help the boy,” Bevan said. “But we would need to do it before he wakes.”
“Well, what is it?” Sabina rasped as she sat against the wall. Her head lolled loosely while her hands hung on the stone floor.
“No need to be snotty,” he said more harshly than he intended. “I have seen this done by a Lore master only once. I believe it is the only chance his arm has. I can try to transform his arm into living stone.”
Sabina looked incredulously at him. He shrank under her glare but didn’t let it show. “Without his permission?’ she said. “That’s wrong, we can’t.”
“Are you serious? What is right and wrong under these circumstances? We have till sundown to get him help before his life is under threat. Can’t you feel the infection spreading in his body?”
Bevan felt Sabina send her will into Daimon’s young body. “I can’t believe it,” she said, “not another death.” Her eyes drilled into his. “Are you able to do it?”
“I know the Lore, but I’ve never done it personally. Maybe you’re right, maybe I shouldn’t do it. If I fail…” He had never tasted the word on his own mouth before.
Sabina coughed and waved her hand in resignation. “You must try. We have no other choice.”
Bevan moved over to Daimon’s body and said, “I am afraid I need that water. You will have to make more later if you can.”
Bevan glanced beyond the purple glow of the bars and into the shadows again. There were no captors. Maybe they intended to let them rot there. He was relieved for the silence. What he was about to attempt would take all his concentration. He hoped she would appreciate how much of him this would take.
He poured a small puddle of water onto the rough stone floor. Closing his eyes he placed his fingers on the floor and concentrated. He visualised the particles, even the tit and tads of each rock, as the Lore required. He had connected with Rock Lore every day of his life, but not under such pressure. The floor vibrated until it became as liquid. He slowly pushed his fingers into the stone floor up to his knuckles and merged the water particles with the rock.
Sweat gleamed on his forehead. He opened his eyes and withdrew his hands. He stretched and pulled at a creamy elastic substance.
“Mudfoam,” Sabina whispered.
His vision was dark, only the elastic slurry in his hands and Daimon’s pained face were visible under the purple shadows. He hoped their captors didn’t intrude now. He inched over Daimon’s arm like an artist spreading colours on a canvas, from fingers to shoulder. Now for the hard part. Mudfoam was meant for healing cuts and minor injuries. What he was trying pushed the Lore to the limits. He took the Mudfoam and began massaging it into the soft muscles of the boy’s arm. His mind connected with the particles of the arm, holding the Mudfoam in his mind. And he pushed ever so gently into the particles of the arm, and into the ancient power of stone; the bedrock of all worlds, millions of years of ancient power locked in the rock. He had to unlock it. Water trickled on his face from concentration. He could see nothing now but the two sets of particles dancing about each other. His mind sang, cajoling them to become one. He used the ancient Reven language to suggest, to command. Nothing.
What was he doing wrong? He could picture the girl’s disapproval on his back. He climbed to his knees. He worked harder. This time he pushed more of himself into it; his own power and life force, to bridge the elements. He was powerful. Everybody said he was. Did he believe it, really? He pushed the doubt from his mind. He was tired of living up to everybody’s expectations. He pulled the particles around him, with his mind and his muscles. He felt it flowing around him, through his feet, through his arms and into the new particles. His back arched as he held the glowing arm before him. A sudden explosion filled his mind as all three came together.
Somewhere in the darkness Bevan felt his face being slapped. He forced his ey
es open, peered through the dim light and was shocked at what he saw. Daimon’s curled blond locks now had a neat brown streak that reached from front to back. The boy seemed different. Daimon tried to smile.
“Wake up,” he said to Bevan.
Bevan shook his head and squinted into the new light source in the dungeon. On the other side of the crystal bars stood two thick men with quiffed hair, wavy like a miniature hillside. Their shiny yellow hair matched their shiny black clothes and shiny black crossbows.
Bevan jumped to his feet and fell back with a cry when he grabbed the bars. He ignored the worried look from Daimon and bellowed, “Who dares assault the Prince and his companions?”
The middle man with a pointy yellow beard snickered, “We do, Your Highness.”
Bevan looked at Sabina who hadn’t moved from sitting against the wall. He pointed to Daimon as he said to the man, “You almost killed us. We have a gravely ill woman in our midst. I am sure you even have my servants in captivity.”
The man laughed through thin lips and said, “You mean these two.”
The other men pointed to a new shadow against the light.
“Ketty, Zenon?” Bevan grabbed the bars and a powerful shock zapped through his body. He cried out again.
The bearded man said, “We have them to thank for finding you, and more from what I hear.” The man looked at Sabina and laughed.
Bevan didn’t comprehend what he was hearing. “When I get out of here you will feel the might of the Ibendari crown on your head,” Bevan said to the man. He went to rattle the bars again, but winced at the memory, and clenched his fists at his captors instead.
“Where are we?” Sabina coughed from the shadows.
“Korak, for now,” one of the men sniggered.
Ketty stepped forward and kept her face to the floor as she spoke to Bevan. “I’m sorry, my Prince. They made me…”
Bevan was confused. He looked to Daimon for answers. “I don’t understand…”
The bearded man said with delight, “What she is trying to whimper is that she betrayed you and tried to assassinate your woman friend here.”
“Ketty, is this true?” Bevan was incredulous. “How… you have been like a mother to me!”
Bevan felt he had been punched in the gut. How could this happen? When? Why? Pictures of his life under this woman’s love and care flashed like a nightmare across his muddied head.
He composed himself and said, “Zenon, what role have you in all this?”
The King’s advisor stood back in the shadows. He smiled nervously and said, “My liege. My service to your kingdom has come to an end.”
“By Enki, I will hunt you down until–” Bevan grabbed the bars again. This time the shock was so severe his whole body shivered for minutes before he could compose himself.
The man with the yellow beard said, “We will leave her to rot with you until your visitors arrive and you can be dealt with properly.”
Daimon said, “Visitors?”
“We were hired to bring you here.”
“By whom?” Daimon demanded. He reached for his CBlade that wasn’t there.
“You lookin’ for this?” Another of the men pulled out Daimon’s blue C'Blade. “This is a beauty. Adros certainly know their Crystal Lore.”
“I’ll get what is mine,” Daimon threatened. “Have no doubt, you simpleton.”
The men laughed. It was the laugh from Bevan’s dreams, and it ran through him like ice. “You are valuable,” they said. “You are sought by Melders of Torek. And may the agony of eternity run through your veins when he is finished with you.”
Bevan demanded, “Why do they want us?”
“You don’t get it do you?” the yellow-bearded man said. “The CIS has joined the war against the Chosen One and the Circle. The Korakians are united with Torek. You will lead my masters to the Chosen One.”
Bevan was staggered. Melder Whiteoak and Sabina were right. The real battle was with Emily, the Chosen One. And they were the Circle, the Circle of Six. Sabina…
They shoved Ketty into the cell with them. The sound of their laughter rang off the wall as the three men left with Zenon following in the shadows. Ketty wept on the floor. His lifelong carer pleaded for forgiveness, and when Bevan ignored her she pleaded for death; which he considered, but also ignored.
Instead, Bevan knelt beside Sabina. “What have I done to you?”
Sabina looked through black rimmed eyes and said, “We need to get out of here, now.”
“Yes, yes, you’re correct.” Bevan pulled himself straight. He couldn’t think of Ketty right now, sobbing in a corner of the cage. He had to think of a way to escape before the Melders arrived. “Do you know of whom they spoke?”
Sabina pulled her knees to her chest. “They’re the same who attacked us and murdered Aldrick.”
Bevan thought for a moment. “Does that mean they will have the Adros Dagger you spoke of? Perhaps we can retrieve that.”
Sabina’s eyes flashed with the idea before withdrawing again. “They’re too strong.”
Daimon said to Bevan, “I know this doesn’t get us out of here, but while you were unconscious, Sabina taught me how to Thoughtspeak. I thought it would be good for us to connect, so if we need to communicate we could reach each other silently.”
Bevan reluctantly agreed. He knew that when connecting through Thoughtspeak one is vulnerable and with a novice like Daimon, he could accidentally injure him in his weakened condition.
Bevan and Daimon connected first. The door to Daimon’s mind was a simple wooden door, with streams of yellow light seeping through the cracks. But inside Daimon’s mental chamber an exquisite song resonated. Bevan drew a breath at the power of this latent song. He wondered if the boy knew it was in him.
“Welcome, Prince,” Daimon Thoughtspoke excitedly at this continuing exploration of power.
Bevan smiled wanly into Daimon’s mind and withdrew. “You seem different.”
“You mean this,” Daimon referred to his new brown streak through the middle of his hair, “or this?”
Daimon flexed his healed arm. Gone was the limb of torn flesh. Light from the bars now gleamed on an arm made completely of polished cream stone. It had a darker tone than the rest of his skin. “When you fixed me, my arm changed. Stronger, like rock, but flexible. Watch this.”
Daimon knelt, pulled back his arm, and punched with all his strength into the stone floor.
Bevan winced at what should have crushed his hand, but instead the stone floor buckled under Daimon’s new gemstone arm.
“Shh,” Bevan said. “You’ll bring them back.”
Sabina curiously ran her fingers along Daimon’s new arm. “They’ll not come back without the Melders. This arm is impressive, Daimon. Bevan used Mudfoam and recreated your arm. Rather fine work, young Prince.”
“It feels strange,” Daimon said, “but thanks.”
Bevan smiled. He thought it lucky that it became stronger and not the alternative. He faced Sabina. Her breathing was more laboured than before. “I’m ready to connect,” he said to her.
She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. She removed a strand of loose silver hair caught in her mouth. Bevan reached out to her mind. The connection was tentative at first. Her mind was not like any other being’s, let alone women he had experienced before. In place of a door was a small waterfall humming and splashing in a gloriously controlled elegance. He grabbed his breath as his own mind was allowed to float through the water door into her mind. This could not be the mind of a peasant. How could she be of Loric? A great chasm opened before him filled with knowledge. Words and histories and numbers floated past his mind. It seemed endless. How could she hold this in? He looked down into the silvery abyss and saw, beneath knowledge, a glowing heart. He was drawn inexplicably into its hidden pulsing tenderness.
Suddenly he was thrust from her mind with the firm but tender notion, “Enough, for now.”
And before he knew it, she was in
his mind rummaging through his memories and his knowledge. He stood in awe of her ability to consume him so completely. He didn’t try to stop her. He wanted to let her in. He only wanted to hide the deep feelings he had been denying. She frolicked in his mind, and for what seemed like years in a heartbeat, he joined her to take him through his life; even the painful memories that had stopped him from loving somebody before. She uncovered the betrayal by his father of his mother with another woman.
Sabina’s mind reeled when she realised she had seen Bevan as a young boy, accidentally walking in on his father’s betrayal. She stopped, ashamed at her intrusion for the sake of knowledge. As she withdrew she said, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…”
“Don’t be. I allowed you. I had forgotten that myself until you went there.”
He withdrew, and they looked at each other sheepishly. Bevan went to adjust his cape, which had been stolen. He smoothed his hair and looked around awkwardly. Sabina smiled. He had never seen her smile while she was awake. And in that moment he realised he had fallen in love. And his heart swelled and yearned and sang, and the earth moved underneath him. The Rock Lore, the bedrock of his mind and heart crumbled under the fluid power of love, dragging his heart on currents of everlasting passion. And suddenly an eternity buoyed by her heart and their life bound together would be achingly short.
Daimon broke the embarrassing silence. “How are we going to escape?”
Sabina said, “I have an idea. Follow my lead, but keep quiet.” She pulled herself up by Bevan’s outstretched arm.
Sabina handed Bevan the bowl of water. He smiled when he realised her idea. Next to the glowing bars, he poured the water onto the stone floor, pressed his fingers into the floor and, rather than creating Mudfoam, he placed his hand on the floor and willed the earth into quicksand. Bevan pushed Sabina’s distressed breathing from his mind. He had to get them to safety and get her treatment. He would not fail this time. He pushed his mind and the water into the stone, under the bars of their cage and onto the other side. In the darkness only his mind could tell the difference. He kept pushing deep below the surface of the floor until it was nearly the depth of a man. As part of Sabina’s plan, she and Ketty screamed for help. Bevan kept his concentration below the depths of the sandy earth. He heard muffled cries and sandals slapping on stone.
