“Boy, I am going to ask you a few questions and then give you a moment to think about them. Answer fully and honestly.” He glared venomously. “I will know if you lie. I will know if you are withholding. I will know.” He nodded to attest to this statement, teeth bared in a white grimace. “And then I will hurt you until you believe your lies are the truth.”
Brenol swallowed hard.
“Let us begin.” He clapped his hands and began rubbing them together. “Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get here? Do you know us? How did you find out about us? Who else knows about us? Are more coming here?”
Jerem scrutinized the boy’s face. His back was to Deniel, who had cautiously slid his eyes open in feline softness. The young man locked his shockingly yellow eyes with Brenol for a moment and made a gesture—rolling his hand around in a repeating circle—that seemed an instruction to distract Jerem. Brenol was all too willing to comply.
“My name is Bren.” He stopped to breathe. His voice had wobbled as if it was his first time using it.
“Bren, my name is Jerem.” He bowed his head in cloying politeness.
The boy turned his gaze momentarily to the floor; staring into those hard eyes made him dizzy. Jerem cleared his throat, and Brenol forced out a few more words from his reticent tongue. “I came to Massada with my friend. He has a portal in his house and we came through it to the lake.”
“Ah. A portal.” He tried the word out on his lips, tasting it.
Brenol suddenly had an idea. “Yes, a portal. We have only been here for a septspan or so but have yet to get to the mainland. We were exploring the tunnels here because we wanted to find a way over.”
Jerem raised a sandy eyebrow.
Brenol continued, a bit too fast, “Yes. It’s been awful too. Digging around here in the dirt, looking for life. We haven’t found any food for ages…” He glanced up quickly to see the man’s reaction and was greeted with amused eyes. It sent his head spinning and left his tongue wagging nonsense. “That was when we discovered these two chained. And I stepped into this.” Brenol swallowed again. He never had been good at lying.
The man did not even pretend to credit the story. He sneered. “I told you lies were useless. And now I shall punish you.” He slowly drew his blade. It was a sinister looking weapon, as wide as the butchering knives Darse stowed in the barn, but longer. Symbols marked the flat of the metal in a rusty black flourish. It glinted a cold gray in the lamp light.
Jerem toed nearer to Brenol, and his smile widened. His eyes sparkled in pleasure, and Brenol could smell the sharp odor of musty spice that clung to the man’s costly clothes. The boy looked desperately to Deniel, terrified and ready to claw away from the Jerem. He could see, though, that the young man was too far away to offer any kind of assistance.
Deniel gazed about with a calm assurance. His hand twitched as his glance fell to Colette, but he did not reach out to touch her. Instead, he nodded to himself and somberly pressed his lips together. He met Brenol’s eyes with an intensity and purpose, as though he could convey the world to him in a mere glance. He continued that vehement and golden stare until Brenol finally broke from it.
Jerem closed the remaining space and crowded into Brenol’s entire vision.
All was going to end. The boy shut his eyes and felt his entire body shaking as it cringed, awaiting the cold serration of Jerem’s blade. Suddenly, instead, a flash of lightning pain seared across his mind. It was acute and powerful and drew down a mass of confused thoughts and emotions. He felt as if he were drowning in the sea of his psyche, unable to see or think or breathe. The surge intensified beyond endurance, and the world fell black.
CHAPTER 29
Saving one soul is often all that is required to save the world.
-Genesifin
Brenol awoke in confusion. Deniel? Jerem? His head ached. It was a strange pain too, for it was inside his mind. His skull felt like it had been opened—the top half of his brain sawed off just to get to the center—and then swirled around into pudding with a jagged metal spoon. It was awful. His hands tiptoed up to cradle his tender temples.
Flash! Flash! A barrage of pictures. Emotions swarmed. Brenol’s head spun.
It stopped. He again cradled his searing head.
Flash!
It was dusk. Leaves littered the forest floor, crunching despite his efforts to be stealthy. He panted and felt his lungs protest in their exertion. He did not care though. No, he cared only about finding her.
She was in his arms. His sweet sister, his Colette. Her dark hair brushed lightly against his forearms and she clung weakly about his neck. She was no stronger than an infant. He stared down at her. Her cheeks no longer held the freckles from when they had played and run the lengths of Veronia. It made a hot fury fan through him.
He scanned the terrain. He knew he must be quick. He ran again. He looked over his shoulder. Again and again. He did not see anyone, but that failed to reassure him; he knew better than any how easily the eyes could be tricked.
He stopped to take a breath, for his chest was heaving. He listened. Nothing. A hope filled him, but he did not allow it to distract him from his purpose.
He ran again. No pain was going to stop him. Nothing would stop him.
I will run until I fall dead, he thought.
The scene disappeared from Brenol’s mind as suddenly as it had exploded into it. The images made little sense. This had obviously never happened. I’ve never carried Colette. And she was younger there…
Brenol elbowed up to a sit with painstaking care. One blanket lay under him and another atop. Directly before him crackled a low but ample blaze that caressed with comforting heat, but beyond that was rising stone. The monoliths were familiar, though it took him a moment to place them. He was above ground, in the campsite they had used long, long ago.
So it is actually night, he thought. The darkness immediately lifted its oppressive hold on his chest, and he inhaled the scents around him. Actually night.
His foot was bandaged and propped up upon—yes, it is his—Jerem’s pack and throbbed terribly. He touched it gingerly with his fingertips, and the motion sent him reeling. He reined in his breathing until it evened and he could carefully open his eyes again.
The boy drew his mind back to the fragmented moments before his blackout. None of it made sense. Jerem, the knife, Deniel’s golden eyes intense and forging into his own with such determined purpose. Brenol groaned and laid his head upon the knee of his uninjured leg.
The noise beckoned movement from around the stones’ corner. A man hastily swept in to stand at the boy’s side. Brenol could hardly bring himself to look up, shuddering at what would possibly befall him, but when he did he could not speak for his heart was so full.
Darse is alive.
It was impossible but wonderful, even though his face was severely beaten, and his jaw was disfigured. He looked old. And tired.
“Bren?” The word sounded distorted emerging from the broken face.
Darse knelt, unconcerned with his own state. “What hurts? Are you ok?” He spoke softly, but the noise was agonizing to the boy.
Brenol winced. “My head. Everything in my head.”
“What did he do to you? Where did he hit you?” The man began gingerly exploring Brenol’s scalp for damage.
“I’ve no idea. I don’t think…” He groaned. “I just remember my mind exploding suddenly… I mean…he was coming to hurt me…but I don’t think… Did he touch me?” He peered down stupidly upon his unscathed limbs. The cruel blade had left no trail or mark.
What happened?
“I…I just don’t know, Darse. I just don’t know.” His last words issued out in a whisper. Everything was such an effort. He could feel sleep calling, snaking its long fingers around him and making everything hazy.
Brenol glanced up once more at Darse, whose golden eyes bespoke wonderment, before collapsing into oblivion.
~
Several days elapsed before Brenol
awoke again. When he did, he was no longer on the isle. He lay in a room, furnished and tidy. His bed was downy and warm, and a soft brown rug clothed the center of the white tiled floor. He brushed the smooth linens beneath his fingertips, realizing that even his nail beds had been scrubbed and manicured. He sighed. He had never before felt this comfortable and safe. And clean.
He rose and dressed himself in clothes neatly folded upon bedside table. A door opened softly, and a graying man entered. His face lifted in surprise as he surveyed the boy but then fell into a genuine smile.
“Bren, I am pleased to see you awake. I will find your friend.” He ducked out the open door, but his head appeared again to issue out a brief plea. “But please, rest!”
Brenol could not give order to his thoughts. Something was unusual about the man, but the boy lacked both the time and presence of mind to reach any conclusions.
Darse marched through the door presently. He produced a wide-mouthed grin, highlighting the absence of several teeth, and laughed in joy. It was very good to see Brenol both awake and alive.
“What is this place Darsey? And where?”
“You certainly waste no time, do you?” He chuckled. “It is a town, Limbartina, in the terrisdan Selenia. You’re in the soladrome. It is a healing dome. I’m told there are a few in Massada, but this is the best. The healers and people, well, I should say the umburquin, have been very good to us. We’ve been here for nearly a septspan.”
Brenol blinked at the staggering amount of time he had lost. “But how? What happened? Where’s Arman? Ordah? What…” Brenol’s voice trailed off, his eyes searching his friend’s face for answers.
“Ok, ok, Bren. But sit down! Sit down!” He paused for the boy to lower himself onto the bed before he would proceed. “I woke up in the cave after what I can only assume was several hours.” He flinched slightly as his hand unconsciously traced his healing face. Brenol wondered at the pain that must have jarred him awake in those first moments.
“You were alive but wouldn’t wake. You didn’t seem to have any injuries that I could see—aside from your leg, of course. I thought it might be shock. Or drugs. Colette was alive and heavily sedated. Deniel and Jerem were both dead.”
“What?” Brenol clambered up, sheets bunching beneath him.
Darse extended his fingers in a placating motion and continued. “Yes… It hadn’t been too long—their bodies were warm when I went to examine them… I’d been hoping you would explain when you awoke.” He shook his head, stress still straining his brow. “But that came much later than I expected. Ordah and I brought you and Colette out of the cavern.” He stared at the stark-white tile, recalling the difficulty of shuffling through the low corridors with the limp bodies. It had made him certain that Jerem utilized another entrance to the caves. “Colette and Ordah were brought first, and then the maralane transported us across Ziel.”
“But dead?” Brenol was incredulous. “Did they fight each other?” He remembered back to the trim case. “Drug each other?”
“No. I examined Jerem. He had no needle marks from what I could tell. Granted, I could have missed much between all the damage from our fight, but he didn’t seem to have any untended injuries. Deniel was riddled with needle holes and every spare section of skin was sliced and bruised. It didn’t seem like any of the torture could’ve been enough to cause death, but I couldn’t be sure.”
Brenol raised his face imploringly, grasping for any element of sense. “I just don’t get it, Darse. I… I… He looked at me—Deniel—he looked at me. Jerem was coming toward me and then…the pain became unbearable. It was like my head exploded from the inside. And I don’t remember anything else. It doesn’t make sense.” Brenol stared at his hands.
Did he save me? Did he save us? Will I never know? He sighed.
Suddenly Brenol’s mind skidded in memory. “How is…she?” He did not want to taste her name in his mouth. The image of her treachery still seared his heart. Did I really leave all for her? For someone so awful? Her face is poison to me.
Darse looked down at Brenol with eyes clear and free from any bitterness. “She woke up for a moment yesterday. Disoriented, confused. Lost consciousness shortly after… She’s been drugged for the better part of eight orbits, with only moments of terror when she awoke from it all. That’s orbits, Bren.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She is more child than woman, despite the face. Can you blame her for not knowing what she was doing in the cave? She responded to the person who called her name. I doubt she knew who he was or what she was doing.”
Brenol’s frame quivered in hot ire. “She knew.” Oh she knew. Again he pictured the chain smashing over and over into Darse’s face. The results stood before him in the newly set jaw and green bruises littering his friend’s features. Brenol shuddered involuntarily.
They sat together for a few minutes, and Brenol wrestled silently with the bizarre lack of closure he felt, paired with the relief and hollowness that comes with a mission’s completion. Do I go home now? There was little appeal in that prospect, not that he could even be certain Ordah would hold true to his promise of opening the portal. He was unsure what he wanted. Nothing felt right.
The elderly attendant snuck back into the doorway. “Time for rest now, Bren.” His smile was kind but firm.
Darse took his leave. The boy was wired with energy, but he obediently situated himself again under his blankets and allowed his mind to sift through the events and swirling emotions.
Brenol glanced through the small, clean pane of his window. Green leaves swayed in the gentle breeze that flowed about the little meadow. He closed his hardening heart to the beauty.
I don’t care. I’m going to die hating her.
Flash! Another scene overtook his mind.
He scanned the map, fingering the worn edges as he muttered softly under his breath. He calculated the distance in his mind and adjusted his direction slightly to the northeast. Tree fall crunched under him, and the sun overhead was pleasantly warm, but it made him nervous to be out in the open, so visible. He tugged his brown coat tightly about his body, hoping it would serve as camouflage, and tramped down a smooth deer-made overpass. He continued on through a sparse glade of green.
He saw it.
There, he thought. There.
The small house clothed with moss and vines as though it had donned disuse as a cloak. It looked as if no one had been there in a very long time. As though no one were living there. As though no one was holding Colette there.
He knew better.
Stealthily, he swept closer, halting to listen with suspended breath every few footfalls. His eyes were aware of every movement, his ears of every sound. The branches above creaked in the soft breeze. The damp moss smelled of pine and must and earth. He bent down to examine a footprint. It led south into a pale thicket. Jerem had been here. He knew it. He touched the print gingerly. Yes, it had to have been him.
He is getting sloppy…
His legs glided quickly to the cabin. He did not even bother to try the front door. It would undoubtedly be boarded. No, there was some other way in. And he knew it was used regularly. He brushed his eyes along until the footprints and scuff marks led him to a rusty, heavy metal box next to the house—very uninviting. It was filthy, foul. It seemed to promise that a venomous spider’s lair hid inside.
And so it does, he thought.
He opened the box, unsurprised to find a diminutive stairway leading into the house. He closed the lid behind him with a soft thud and gazed about.
The house was empty. He could hear the settling of boards, but not a breath of life stirred in the vicinity.
Panic swelled. Where is she? Where? She is here. She has to be!
He felt like upending furniture and ransacking the place to find her but reined in his desperation.
Breathe, breathe, he intoned, calming his senses. “A stone in fury cannot be a stone.”
His anguished mind grappled to grasp the missing link. The house was empty… N
o, it was made to appear empty. He smiled grimly and looked yet again for signs of wear that would lead to a hidden door.
It did not take even a minute now that he was looking.
That roach is growing clumsy indeed, he thought.
He pulled the frayed and dusty carpet aside slightly to reveal a cellar door. It opened easily and without sound. He descended into the darkness.
He groped around and finally found a grimy lantern to light. The dirt below him was hard and dry. It smelled of iron and sweat. And Jerem.
I hate the stink of that leech.
He was in a room. It looked like a laboratory. There was a table to his left with papers strewn across it. Journals lined the bookshelf to his right, and straight ahead, the entire wall was filled with large metal cabinets, roughly an arm span high and another wide, each individually locked. There were eight along that wall, stacked in twos, with an additional two set down on the floor by the south wall.
His chest tightened. No.
No.
It can’t be. Even he wouldn’t. No…
His sweating hands clenched, and he labored against his spinning vision. He staggered forward, knowing he must move quickly. Much more was at stake than he had realized.
My cartess. This is my cartess.
~
Darse stood over Brenol, gently rousing him, “Brenol! Bren, it is ok! Wake up! Are you ok?”
Brenol groaned. His head throbbed in torment. What is happening to me?
“Bren, can you talk? Does something hurt?” His kind eyes passed over the slouched body, the pained face, the fingers clenched at the temples.
“Darse… I… I keep remembering things… It comes with the pain…but…but…” Brenol’s mind released its hold on the present, and the shroud of unconsciousness bound him up tightly in its grasp.
~
When Brenol awoke again, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, rubbery and dry like a frog in a summer’s drought. Darse, waiting by his bedside, fetched him glass after glass of water until his thirst was slaked. When he was finally able to take in his surroundings, the look of concern on Darse’s face was unmistakable.
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