“Quinn,” he whispered anxiously, shaking her from a dead sleep. The sudden startling prompted a bashing to his head.
“What in Soren's name are you doing?” she said, alarmed. “I could’ve done worse to you than that.”
“Somethings watching us." He mouthed the words.
“I’ve told you, there’s nothing here,” but no sooner than the words rolled off Quinn’s tongue, had a twig broken a few meters from where they were camped. She saw her stellascope clutched in his hands. “What are you doing with that!” she snapped it from his hands. “Are you crazy! This— this is a beacon in the night! It attracts things!”
Abbott’s words failed him.
“Ara?” she said aloud in her head, but there was no response. “Ara, where are you?” The tabby barn owl failed to make an appearance nor respond.
Unarmed and defenseless, Abbott and Quinn contemplated their fates. Run, but they would be hunted. Wait, and they may be torn to pieces by what stalked them. This was not the way they wanted things to end. Quinn’s revenge had yet to be extracted, and Abbott’s father would rot in a dungeon cell.
There was a strong gale of wind that wrestled the forest into a riot. Leaves and pine needles circled their campsite. The flames burnt in an outrage.
“What’s happening?” Abbott asked as a branch waved by to slap him.
Sharp thorns and burrs jumped into Quinn’s fire-red hair. She could barely see a meter in front of her. "I don't--"
A ravine cut deep into the ground. They were being sucked down a rabbit hole. Branches flew overhead like arrows, just nearly missing them. An army of shadows flickered in the fire around them. “No!” she cried. But before another word was spoken, the fire disappeared and Quinn and Abbott with it.
The forest calmed, and all was as it was before.
Silently deadly.
16
The weather-worn stone pillars pierced through the sand like the rib cage of a scavenged kill.
Charred markings surrounding the temple’s upper section— most likely due to a fire from one of its many sieges.
Elise grinned, lowered her headdress, and used her satchel as a sled to slide down the gritty hill. The ride sent clouds of dust flying all around her. It was a thrill.
When Elise reached the entrance hall, she saw inscriptions and markings chronicling the temples history. If it wasn’t for her royal tutor, she’d never have known what they said. This was the Temple of Aryia, there was no doubt about it. Elise was certain after seeing a chiseled outline of a Zane’s broadsword on the keystone of the temple’s entrance. A clear indication.
In the process of the sandstorm, wind’s moved enough debris to reveal an altar for worship and flat metal basins for burning flames at the mouth of the temple. There were, however, three separate tunnels leading in varied directions that had been dented from the elements.
“Where would I hide a sword?” Elise said to herself turning to find any sort of eye-catching features on the three doorways. Swords were typically buried with their owners in their tombs, but Zane’s sword was separated from his body. Elise knew that because the crypt in her childhood castle lay empty, apart from a set of ivory bones. That was the first place she’d looked when she accepted the assignment. But it would have been too easy if it were there. The Temple of Aryia had to have the sword. If not here, then it was lost to the land— a thought that could not be a reality to Elise.
This grand opportunity came to Elise after delivering the artifacts from a previous plunder. When word of mouth spread of her cunning skill and prompt delivery, Elise was approached for the “plunders of all plunders” whilst in the village of Fayhollow. A fat leather pouch was handed to her. “Half now, and half after. I want the broadsword of Zane,” the buying said biding his time in the shadows.
The pouch’s weight was enough to stress the seriousness of the inquiry.
Immediately, she left that night without asking another question. As a princess, she was familiar with the object’s lure. And it didn’t bother her not knowing who it was that wanted that sword. If she was paid enough, the smaller details meant nothing to her. Good, evil— it didn’t matter.
A tunnel on her left caught Elise’s interest.
It was closest to the altar and Elise knew that Zane was a worshipping man, just as everyone was when Soren created the land. What better place to hide an artifact, than where you spent most of your time?
Elise passed through a cobweb and went down the tunnel. She saw sealed vases of scents and oils piled on both sides of the dimly lit space. Part of the worshipping ritual she knew. The sun’s light had yet to reach to the tunnel’s end leaving the dark to dwell. “Where would I hide a sword?” she whispered again.
The desert winds whistled through the cracks. Elise took another swig from her flask to cure her parched lips. Emptying it in the process. This would be her last night in the Aryian Desert unless she could find water.
Time went on and the golden orb rose higher in the yellow sky slowly revealing more the tunnel as the day presisted. Finally after midday, the corridor’s end was visible. The tunnel ended in an uneven grounding where the ceiling caved in. Leaving whatever was on the other side to be impenetrable. There wasn’t enough time to dig through to the other side. Elise knew.
“For the birds,” Elise said when she was in a bind.
The blistering heat started to die. It would be pitch black before long and Elise didn’t enjoy the idea of sleeping in a set of abandoned ruins in the middle of the desert. What was to say, another cloud of dust didn’t cover her while she slept?
Elise prayed the Aryian Desert wouldn’t bury her whilst she dreamt and made the tough decision to abandon the tunnel for the time being. She returned back to the altar to see the setting sun.
The temple’s altar was meek in Elise’s opinion. A polar opposite of the one found at Embïr’s castle. That one was covered in gold and precious jewels, but it had long since been used. And this pedestal held a small chipped desert stone basin that may have once collected blessed water a long time ago.
Elise ran her finger over the worn stone and whilst doing so, her foot scrapped over a raised emblem in the temple’s floor.
“Ouch!” she clutched her foot in agony. Thankfully, it was not bleeding. Merely a scrape of her skin but when she gazed at the spot on the floor, her stomach fluttered around like babbling fireflies. It was a symbol. It was the symbol. The matching one from the keystone on the temple’s entrance. Zane’s broadsword.
A velvety night was overhead with glinting stars and a glowing moon.
Elise scrabbled to her knees to inspect the block. It wobbled, free from mortar and stuck out from the others. She grasped the block and removed it in slow anticipation. And there it was, the iron hilt of Zane’s broadsword. Under a thin layer of sand, the hilt was three of Elise’s hands in length and wrapped in narrow straps of leather, that had since been eaten away by the sands. The bladed-edge which still held true, was as tall as she was standing and looked freshly polished. A smile spread from ear to ear over her face. She’d done it. She’d gain her freedom. Now, came the easy part— delivering it to its buyer.
For being the sword of all swords, it wasn’t flashy to the eye. Although freakishly big, no one in their mind would have guessed this was the sword that helped Zane win the war in the Upper Kingdoms many centuries ago. There were no inlayed jewels and it was absent of etching. Elise half expected some kind of magical rune to be written on the blade, but she found nothing of the sort. On the other hand, the pommel of the sword looked odd. It was just a round opening. Maybe something went here, she thought to herself, inspection the steel. No matter, the sword was what they wanted.
Elise bound the sword in a bit of cloth she tore from the hem of her gown and agreed to leave at once back to Fayhollow where her buyer waited. There was a small settlement on the edge of the Aryian Desert where she knew she could purchase a horse. She’d passed through it on her journey into the desert. A horse
would ensure an early arrive to Fayhollow and an even earlier departure east.
Shuffling up the sand hill, Elise looked bak of the temple to give thanks. It was lonely now. With the sword in hand, the Temple of Aryian would most certainly be forgotten. No one would search for it now.
Elise tethered the sword around her shoulder next to her satchel and recounted her steps through the maze of the desert. She’d count all the stars back in the process.As she disappeared back into sand from where she came, a raven stood fixed on the temple’s roof stalking. A eye bloodied and careful observance.
The broadsword had finally been found.
17
Abbott woke to a mouthful of iron.
It was blood— his blood dripping down the bridge of his nose.
“Quinn?” he searched around him. She was nowhere to be found. Cold steel clanked around his wrists. “Where am I?” he said to rot in the darkness.
“Not somewhere you’re half expecting,” a thick groggily voice said from the depths of the invisible.
“Who are you?” Abbott jutted out his fingers in the dark. He could barely reach an entire length away. His chains were latched to a twisted branch dangling above his blond head. Am I underground? It was a fair question. There was a rich mineral taste floating through the air. It was stuffy with no source of fresh air. A curtain of dust, instead, rested in the wake.
The hollow tree where they camped was gone. The silver tube was missing, and so was Quinn. What had she neglected to mention when entering the forest?
His thoughts eroded him. He could not save his father if he was someone's prisoner.
“Worth an ask, who be it that shares my prison cell wing?” the voice replied, rustling up a cloud of dirt. “Must be important enough to be spared.”
“Where have they taken her?”
“Didn’t have the same pleasure as you,” the voice extinguished a sinister laugh. “If I had my guess, she’s long gone. They make quick work of new prisoners.”
Abbott’s stomach turned. “Gone?” He wrangled the shackles from his wrists in protest, but they did not budge. His mobility lessened each time he attempted to break them free.
“Easy there, you big dope. I’m only giving you a hard time. They’ve taken her moments before you woke. She’s been trying to escape ever since you both got here. Nearly had it, if it wasn't for those guards. Clever little fox, she is.”
“Guards, what guards?” Abbott spat the blood from his mouth. “Where are we?”
“The dungeon.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s what they all say. What’d you do? Steal? Get caught begging from a nobleman?”
“Where would they have taken her?”
“You, my newfound friend, ask far too many questions.” The voice coughed harshly to clear his throat of phlegm. “You’ve wondered into rather powerful hands. They’ll turn quite a profit with you. Can’t say the same about myself. Been here for ages.”
“Turn a profit? For what?”
The voice chuckled. “You’re going to be sold at the fairy markets. That’s what all the dryads do with their captured.”
“Dryads? A fairy market?“
“They don't like being crossed. And they deal in underground fairy markets. Haven’t you ever heard?”
“No." He was starting to have second thoughts about trusting Quinn.
“Don’t be upset when—“
The dungeon door slammed open, loosening soil from the rooted ceiling. Through a narrow slit, entered a pair of guards with faces half-covered in masks. The faint light of a torch followed closely behind. One of the guards pulled a twig-looking key from under his armor and unlocked the shackles from Abbott’s wrists. They drug him out of the darkness.
“Farewell!” The voice cried. “Soren be with you. Favor of the markets, too!”
The Mornians were a crooked and cruel thorn in Quinn’s side. Greedy little terrors, she told herself. Always inserting their rigid noses into other people’s business. So pig-witted and idiotic of me to forget what I was doing. Quinn was displeased with herself. Am I not cleverer than this?
It was no mystery to find herself in their custody now. She’d mindlessly camped right above one of their hidden checkpoints. A distraught mind she blamed and a misplaced owl. Where was Ara after all? She’d been disappearing a lot as of late, and always around the time Quinn needed her most.
“If isn’t the red-headed criminal,” said a voice Quinn was all too familiar with. It was Eldritch. She loathed his existence— preying on the defenseless and instigating were his master forte. Eldritch was no taller than a toddler and had major ego problems. He wore an eye patch over his left eye, a disfigurement that came solely from Quinn’s hand, and he hung his hands over an enormously large leather belt. “Yet, another time you’ve tried sneaking past, but this time with a companion. Tell me, where’s your magnificent father, eh? Has he left you too?”
Quinn did not rise to the bait.
“Oh come on. What have you done with him? Finally seen him for the weak and looney rat he is?”
“He’s dead!” Quinn said. It stung through the fibers of her heart to admit it. “You piece of—”
Eldritch’s patchless eye enlarged. “Dealt with him yourself?”
The accusation of killing her father disturbed Quinn. If only she had nippy right now, she would have dug it deep into his flesh to accompany his ugly eye. Eldritch could do well without a tongue, for everyone’s sake, she thought. “Why would I lie? I didn’t realize that people lied about death!” A perfectly targeted shot of saliva marked his sullen face.
“You little weasel!” His hand reddened Quinn’s cheek.
But she wasn’t frightened of him. No. He was just another line in the chain of command. Who he served was where Quinn’s real concern lay. The leader of Mornians was cruel and ruthless. They'd made acquaintances on an occasion many moons ago. It wasn’t a meeting she’d ever forget. “And what do you intend to do to me this time?” she spat.
“Not for me to decide this time. I would prefer to tie you upside down and watch your head pop from the blood,” he said. “But it seems that your mischief has spread far above my torture. You and your friend are to be dealt with by the council. But no matter, I’ve been offered a moment to inflict a bit of pain over you.” Eldritch grinned, and Quinn got a whiff of his putrid breath.
“You’d hurt a bound woman?”
“Bound or unbound, it makes no difference. How would you if I give you one less eye? We'd match. Or instead, take one of your hands, that way you have one less for stealing?” Numerous inflections crossed his wretched mind, but none as sweet as taking her eye. From his overly-large synched belt, he removed a short cutting knife, the equivalent of the one you’d use to spread jam on a biscuit. Eldritch had small hands.
“You cannot be serious?” Quinn pleaded. “You’re still not over your eye? That was ages ago. We talked about it.” There was a terrible look brewing on his small face. He had every intention of hurting her, but she had no interest in allowing it to happen. “Why don’t we talk about this? Like equals?”
“You’ve done your talking! It's time for carrying out my punishment, my revenge. If you just sit still.” Eldritch moved a stool next to Quinn. “I’ll try not to make a mess out of you.” He brought the dagger to her socket. “Lovely eyes you have— I think I’ll keep—”
The cell door slammed open.
“What part of unharmed did you not understand?”
Eldrich’s baby hands fumbled, and his blade fell onto the floor. “Samia! I strut these halls looking like a cyclops because of her.” He gritted his yellowed fangs. “I intend on returning the favor.”
“If you do, then I will recommend the removal of your other eye. She is our prisoner, not a piece in your sick game. You would not want to be a sightless dwarf, would you, wandering the world blindly? Even the beasts would take pity on you. They may even mistake you for a runt and kill you as an act of mercy.”<
br />
Eldritch sheathed his blade and growled. “You’re lucky this time.”
“That’s enough, be gone with yourself,” Samia commanded.
He exited the room, defeated.
“Tiny men always have the most damaged tempers,” Quinn said. "Thanks for the rescue."
"This is not a rescue. Your trial begins shortly, I will transport you there."
Quinn was escorted down a tunnel corridor by the light-voiced dryad. Judging by her appearance, Samia was of higher rank. Quinn could tell by the intricacy of the branched wreath on her head called a toska. All the dryads wore one expect for the children who had yet to earn theirs.
Samia led Quinn into a great hall where the Mornians gathered. At the eastern end of the hall, a large chair sat made of all things living from the woods. Crowded around the perimeter were dryads of all ages and ranks. Eldritch moved freely among them. He was an ant, in contrast, standing at the height of their knees.
Dialogue sprouted from every direction as the dryads attempted to piece together what two humans were dong in their keep. None of which seemed to make any sense to Quinn.
In the hall, there weren’t any fires for light. Only tiny little portholes drilled into the ceiling where a few rays of sun trickled through.
Samia led Quinn to face the huge earthly seat.
“It would be best to stay here,” she instructed, “if you attempt to run, Eldritch may just get to do what he wants with you.”
It was a wise council, but it fundamentally went against Quinn’s very nature. She was as good as dead if she did not try to escape.
“The trials will begin shortly,” announced a guard, his toska was a meter in length.
The Shadow of Our Stars: The Tales of Evinar Page 12
