by C. J. Aaron
He was led through a small entranceway into a long hallway with doors leading off each side. Art depicting various themes hung in the space between each set of doorways. A roaring fire at the end of the hallway heated the interior, evaporating any trace of the chill that was ever-present with the constant moisture from the waterfall. The guard stopped at the first doorway on the right, rapping his knuckles three times on the solid wooden door. Ryl looked at the artwork hanging to the left of the door, awaiting a response from within. The scene depicted the moments before a great skirmish during the Battle of the Erlyn Woods. In the foreground on the right side of the picture, Ryl clearly recognized the figure of Taben. Twice as tall as his compatriots, he was urging them on toward the overwhelming black mass of the horde that darkened the background of the picture.
The response of the sub-master’s familiar voice came from within. The guard opened the door, saluting before stepping in and holding the door for Ryl as he passed. The small room was dominated by a massive desk in the center, so large that it must have been constructed inside the room. The two modest chairs in front of the desk looked miniscule in proportion to the hulking table beside them. A long bookshelf ran across the back wall, lined with tome after tome. The sub-master was standing hunched over a smaller desk along the side wall reading from a stack of papers.
“That will be all, Corporal. You can wait outside,” Millis ordered. With a salute, the guard exited, closing the door behind him, the lock falling into the latch with an audible click.
“Have a seat, Ryl,” the sub-master said, pointing to the chair in front of the desk.
Ryl followed orders, slowly lowering himself into the chair. Millis crossed the room, taking a seat in the veritable throne that stood behind the desk. It was clear that the furnishings were not of his choosing. Compared to the mender, the sub-master's desk was an unorganized chaos. Uneven stacks of paper lined each side, a book lay open in the center, next to it rested the broken remains of the baton.
“You’ve made a powerful enemy,” Millis said, reaching into the desk, extracting a bottle of amber liquid, followed by two glasses. He unstoppered the bottle with a pop, holding it below his nose, closing his eyes and savoring the smell as he inhaled a deep breath. After pouring himself a modest amount, he repeated the pour with the second glass, sliding it across the table to Ryl.
Millis took a small sip, then leaned back in his chair, swilling the liquid gently in his cup. Ryl tentatively took the cup, inhaling cautiously before tasting a small sip. The flavor was surprisingly mild yet, at the same time, contained hints of an unexpected spiciness. Ryl swallowed the liquid, following the warmth of the drink down his throat into his stomach. It left his mouth feeling parched, almost dry.
“I’m sure you’ve never had the pleasure of Milstead Rye,” Millis said plainly. “Although in your cycles here, I’m sure you’ve harvested a fair share of the grain they use to make their precious spirit. I hear they only use grain from The Stocks. This treasure comes from the small village called Milstead about a half a day’s ride outside the palisades. Much more pleasant than the spirits they distill in here, I imagine.”
Caught off guard by the statement, Ryl almost choked on his next sip. Did the guards and sub-master know about Quinlen’s brew? He hadn’t seen his friend in moons. He repressed the sudden worry for his friend’s safety, hoping his surprise didn’t show. If Millis had noticed, he gave no indication as he continued.
“What are we to do with you?” Millis questioned.
“Well, you could open the gates and let me free,” Ryl said. “Let us all free.”
It was the sub-master’s turn to be surprised. He coughed as the sip he’d taken burned the inside of his throat.
“Now, that wouldn’t bode well with your sponsor, or the king, I’m afraid,” Millis continued. “How are we going to keep you alive inside here for the next cycle? Sending you back to Cadsae would be a death sentence. More guards still share a similar sentiment to that of the fool, Delsith, and he’s assured to have them riled up by your latest slight. Mind telling me what actually happened to your arm?” Millis lifted the baton, inspecting it again like it was the first time he’d seen it.
Ryl took a small sip of the spirit. The tale of his most recent encounter flowed unimbued from his mouth. The sub-master listened patiently, nodding his head slightly as the story came to the conclusion.
“It’s as I figured,” Millis stated plainly. “Sturdy sticks these are though. Lucky you can still use that arm at all.”
“Yes, sir. I was lucky,” Ryl agreed with the sub-master.
Millis paused as if waiting to hear more. The silence stretched on before he spoke again.
“Now, I’d ask that the true nature of this conversation remain between you and me,” Millis stated, the commanding voice reappearing without warning. “The details will have to be worked out and approved by the captain, but I have no intention of sending you to the Harvest this cycle.”
Ryl was taken back by the statement. Without exception, the Harvest was attended by all inside The Stocks, and a greater number from the surrounding city and countryside. The palisades were lined with a mix of sponsors, nobles, commoners and guards. He hoped upon hope that the sub-master’s planning wouldn’t be for naught, yet he feared the truth was more realistic. He would play along with the ruse, yet prepare for the worst.
“I’ll have you under guard of ones I trust,” Millis said. “Where we’ll secret you away, that’s another detail we’ll have to work out.”
Millis rose to his feet, scooping his glass of liquor up with him, pacing behind his desk.
“Your life has been unfair to you in ways I could never hope to comprehend, Ryl.” Millis’ voice came out sympathetic without a hint of being condescending. “You toil and endure it all as a result of an intangible compound within your blood for which you had no choice. I’ll not willingly feed you to the wolves.”
Ryl was shaken by the statement. He felt the tears forming in his eyes. He blinked rapidly while breathing deep to hold the emotion in. Millis, who had his back turned studying the binding of a book on the shelf, failed to notice the display.
“Now, we should get you back to your fellow tributes, they’re undoubtedly worried about you,” Millis said. “Once I have the details ironed out, I’ll let you know. For now, I want you to continue working with the twins in the orchard. Keep your wits about you. I doubt Delsith will try anything too foolish. If he does, there will be sentries posted at the entrance to the woods.”
Ryl finished the last sip of the liquid. He’d grown accustomed to the burn. He placed the empty glass gently down on the desk and rose to his feet.
“Thank you, sir,” Ryl said. His voice wavered slightly as the emotion from earlier threatened to return. Millis smiled and nodded his head, returning to stand in front of the small desk. Ryl turned and exited the room. The waiting guard escorted him back out of the building.
Rly left feeling conflicted inside, a combination of the spirit and the sentiment from the sub-master warmed him, while his growing dread of the test results and the upcoming Harvest chilled him to the core. Again, the words of Da’agryn worked their way into his head.
You must never give up hope.
Hope he had.
Time, he feared, he did not.
36
Ryl returned to the common house to an unsurprising volley of questions. He was uncomfortable having to lie about the conversation with the sub-master in addition to all that he’d learned from Da’agryn and the Erlyn. Exhausted and sore, he retired to the hard cot in his sparse room.
Troubled sleep came with effort that night. The throbbing in both his left arm and nose forced him to sleep in roughly in the same position. When sleep did come, it fell in small increments. His dreams were plagued by the same nightmare time and time again.
Ryl stood alone in the square of Cadsae. He was surrounded by a semicircle of indistinguishable bodies, row upon row deep. Their faces were impassive,
yet the hatred flowed from them, crashing into him like waves on the shore. In front of him loomed the Pining Gates, the only exit to The Stocks.
The ring of bodies slowly closed in on him from all sides, bringing with it a noiseless fury that intensified with every step. Behind them, the world faded into an impenetrable blackness as he was forced closer to the gate.
When he felt the ring could shrink no smaller, that he could take no more of the animosity that washed over him, their advance ceased. A groan from the massive gate broke the silence. Ryl watched as the doors shuddered violently, before slowly opening with a bone chilling wail. The agony in the scream increased in volume as the doors parted until it was nearly deafening.
Ryl was drawn forward. He felt as if a gigantic unseen hand had wrapped its steely grips around him, reeling him slowly toward the opened mouth of the gate. He struggled with all his might, digging his feet into the ground, leaving gouges in the hard earth as he was pulled forward against his will.
Beyond the gate, there was nothing but darkness. He moved ever closer to the void, his struggle becoming more frantic. A shadow within the darkness shifted position directly in front of him. The indistinguishable shape contorted as it grew, twisting and writhing as it increased steadily in stature before resolving into the shape of a man.
The force pulling Ryl onward stopped at the boundary where the light met the darkness beyond the gate. The black shape moved forward pressing itself against the darkness, bulging toward Ryl. Its face was featureless save for the sunken eye sockets and large gaping mouth. Its long, pointed fingers pushed outward reaching toward him.
The face was inches from Ryl's, its mouth snapping open and shut in random succession. The putrid smell of death and decay was overpowering. The shape slowly sank back into the blackness which settled like a ripple on the water. For a moment, all was still, all was silent.
Without warning, the figure surged forward again. The tortuous scream, the putrid odor, and agonizing pain accompanied the darkness.
Ryl shot up in bed gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. All was silent in the common house. The thunder of his heart in his ears was deafening. He slid himself back against the rough wooden wall, trying to regain control of his breathing. The last embers of the dying torch cast flickering shadows across the room.
Every time he collapsed back into sleep, the same dream would assault him. Exhausted, Ryl made his way down to the main room on the first floor. He stretched his body as best he could, thankful the mobility in his legs had been fully restored. He shook his head, as he had traded one partially debilitating injury for another. His arm pulsed with pain, seemingly following the cadence of his heart, his nose hurt terribly and eyes felt swollen.
It was some time before the first of the tributes made their way downstairs. He was met with friendly greetings that poorly covered the concern written across their faces. The thought crossed his mind that he must look as terrible as he felt. The same greeting played out again and again. Ryl grew tired of the conversation and looks.
The twins arrived together, as always. Palon's normally pensive face was distorted with concern and Ryl picked up a wave of sorrow from Tash as they approached.
“Looks as good as it feels, I suppose?” Ryl asked the twins. Palon gave him an uncharacteristic small smile, resting his hand on his shoulder. No words were necessary to communicate the unconditional support conveyed by his eyes. With a slight nod of the head and a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, Palon stepped back making way for Tash.
“It’s bruised and swollen pretty bad,” Tash said honestly with more than a touch of concern. “Did you sleep last night? You look exhausted.”
“Not nearly well enough, my friend,” Ryl admitted.
“Lucky we got to you before Luan,” Tash joked. “She’d be liable to go after the Master herself. Good luck stopping her when she gets her mind set on something. Anyway, where are they having you work now?”
“I’m afraid you’re still stuck with me,” Ryl said. “Not sure I’ll actually be much help though.”
“We can always use the company,” Tash smiled. “Let’s get moving.”
Tash made for the exit with Palon on his heels, Ryl trailed a few steps behind. They crossed the square following the same path they’d taken for over a moon. As they approached the officer’s quarters, they noticed the sub-master leaning against the gate, arms crossed across his chest. He hailed them over before they could pass, standing up straight as they approached.
“Last night was a mistress that did not treat you well, I see,” sub-master Millis exclaimed. “I realized this morning that the mender hadn’t left you with anything for the pain. I’ve instructed the guards at the waystation to give you some with your daily rations.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ryl said.
The sub-master nodded before reassuming his position, arms crossed, leaning against the gate.
Ryl and the twins collected their supplies at the waystation. Ryl eagerly drank the small tincture provided by the guards for the pain. The relief came within moments. Though not complete, it was a welcomed change from the current agony. The trio quickly left Tabenville, heading into the Erlyn.
He contemplated the Erlyn as they walked through its midst on the way to the orchard. If he chose to do so, it would be simple to disappear into her depths, build a small home among her trees and hide out the rest of his days in peace. Not a soul would find him.
No. That would be too easy.
Da’agryn had made it clear that his only exit from The Stocks would be his Harvest. There was much he wished to accomplish before that date. A date that now potentially loomed less than a moon away.
Final preparations were being made before the Harvest, the remaining crops picked from their fields before the short winter season. Would sub-master Millis and his squad remain in isolation in Tabenville, or would the winter with the rest in Cadsae?
With his time potentially running short, Ryl vowed to spend every free moment he could training, practicing and preparing before the Harvest. There were a few problems that came to mind that he had still yet to address.
First off, there were the Leaves. Since returning to Tabenville after the incident that nearly cost him his life, he had yet to touch the weapons. He was confident that they remained safely hidden away inside the cache, yet he had not dedicated any time to practicing with them. He still had no idea how to control the mythical weapons, and little to no actual experience fighting.
In fact, his only experience fighting had been reliving the memories of Caprien. The transference of power was still nearly a complete mystery to him.
Even if he was able to train with the Leaves, become proficient at activating the magical weapons, he couldn't exit The Stocks armed. Tributes were permitted to carry their belongings with them, yet he was sure anything considered a weapon would be confiscated immediately.
The other more pressing concern was the so called treatment that had been forced down his throat on a weekly basis. Finding the antidote was an option so impossible it bordered on myth. The poison wouldn’t kill him, however, the debilitating and excruciatingly painful side effects would last nearly a moon. He knew no one outside of The Stocks. Where would he go?
With much on his mind, the trip to the orchard was over in a flash. They were nearly done destroying the moths that had infested the fruit. The meager harvest would begin following the completion of their current task, although there was barely any edible fruit left on the trees.
Ryl reached for a shovel when they arrived at the remains of the fire from the night before. Tash slapped his hand out of the way, hefting the worn spade himself.
“I can still help. I'm not completely useless,” Ryl pleaded with his friend.
“Ryl, you suffered a broken arm and nearly a broken face yesterday,” Tash argued with his friend. Palon nodded his head in agreement. “You look as if you haven't slept either. You go find a nice shady spot under a tree and sleep it off today. Until you can u
se that arm of yours, you'll just get in the way.”
Ryl acquiesced to his friend’s wishes without further argument, accepting that the rest would be a benefit. Losing the temporary use of one of his arms left him feeling more helpless than when he had been hobbled by two recovering legs.
With a pat on the back, Tash and Palon gathered the cart and headed out into the orchard. Ryl watched them leave, laughing out loud when he realized Tash had inadvertently left the shovel sticking out of the rotting pile of fruit. Though he needed the sleep, he couldn’t stand the thought of letting the twins do all the work. He would find a way to help, no matter how trivial it was. He gathered wood from the nearby pile, a task that took considerably longer with the use of only one arm. With great effort and frustration, he managed to start a fire just in time for the twins to return.
Tash shook his head as he approached.
“You certainly are stubborn,” Tash droned. “Now enough, I don’t want to face the king’s wrath when you drop dead on us. Go. Rest.”
Ryl accepted this offer, nodding his head in agreement. A gentle southeasterly wind blew down from the mountains, so he wandered a few rows north from the fire, ensuring that he stayed upwind from the putrid smell. Finding a large tree to rest his back against, he slumped to the ground, watching the twins work. Before long, he closed his eyes, falling into a peaceful sleep.
The sun had past midday when he awoke. The dappled light through the tree spread out around him. The rest, although short, had done wonders to rejuvenate his weary body. The effects of the pain remedy were still holding steady so, for the time being, he felt less discomfort from his nose and arm.
The twins were nowhere in sight, yet Ryl was able to locate them easily as he closed his eyes focusing on their entity. They were nearing the outer limits of the range of his mindsight. He guessed that they were starting work on the final row of the orchard. He stretched his body that had stiffened from maintaining the same position, deciding that a walk would do him well.
