by Brandon Mull
“Do you try to turn all your enemies to your side?”
“All of the most valiant ones.”
“Then Galloran refused.”
Maldor shrugged. “To Galloran, his stubborn ideologies were more important than wielding real power. Had he joined me, he could have regained his kingdom and accomplished most of his goals. Instead he chooses to grow old in a rotting keep. Incidentally, he was my only other adversary to obtain the entire Word. Truth be known, he said it to me in this very dungeon. Of course it had no effect except to erase the syllables from his mind. I convinced him that he uttered the Word to a decoy, to explain why it failed to destroy me. He had been recently blinded, so he had no reason to doubt me.”
Jason furrowed his brow, his heart aching for Galloran. “Why toy so much with your enemies? Why not just kill them?”
“You keep asking why. Curiosity can be admirable, but yours is so lazy. Can’t you deduce the obvious answers? No, too late, I will divulge further unearned knowledge. ‘Toying with my enemies,’ as you phrase it, is simply another experiment in statecraft. Murder begets murder. I want the world to fear me, without inflaming that fear into rebellion. I slay many inconsequential enemies. But slaying powerful enemies creates martyrs, rallying their followers, allowing fear to become emboldened into anger. So I do not kill my most effective enemies. Great men who oppose Maldor know they will be ruined. Not killed, but utterly broken. They end their lives addicted to the pleasures of Harthenham, or, after long imprisonment and extensive conditioning, they are released into the world as feeble shadows of their former selves, burdened with physical and mental handicaps. Walking testaments to the futility of resisting my authority. Rather than spark rebellion, they are pitied and forgotten.”
“Unless they switch to your side,” Jason pointed out.
“Correct. And nothing is more demoralizing to my opposition than when their leaders join me.” Maldor poured a little more juice into his glass. “My opponents have no heroes. Their best men and women either sell out or fail catastrophically.”
“Ruthless.”
“Only if you are foolish enough to oppose me. My power has never been seriously threatened, nor will it be.” He sipped some juice. “Often the most dangerous enemies are former allies. My potential enemies, within my ranks and without, are kept separated and monitored. In conquered provinces I establish competent leaders of limited vision who will never aspire to the absolute power I wield. Their highest aspirations are to find favor in my sight. Something you have already accomplished.” Maldor set down his glass.
Jason scowled thoughtfully. “If I joined you, how could you ever consider me a trustworthy servant? How would you know my loyalty was real?”
Maldor pursed his lips and placed his palms together. “Admirable. You have cut to the center of the issue. Your probable disloyalty is my chief concern in welcoming you into my inner circle of colleagues. The principal solution entails you receiving an eye and an ear from a displacer to replace your own, thereby rendering you incapable of secrecy. The temptation toward disloyalty would thus be removed.”
“Now I get why Galloran refused your offer to restore his sight.”
Maldor shrugged. “I could have forced a grafting upon him, but since it appealed to his sense of dignity to live out his life as an anonymous blind pauper settling petty disputes in a ruined castle, I was willing to accommodate that desire.”
Maldor took up his glass and drained it. Jason shifted in his seat as much as the restraints permitted. “Those people at the tables by your throne are all displacers?” Jason asked.
“Better. A conjecture rather than a why. They are all displacers. They sacrificed body parts to serve as my intelligence network. I keep the most important ones close to me so I can receive significant tidings instantly. You are a Beyonder. Tell me why you came to this world.”
The request jarred Jason.
“Honestly, it was an accident. I worked in a zoo, where I fell into the hippopotamus tank, got swallowed, and came out of a tree beside a river.”
Maldor rose from his seat and walked over to Jason, looking down at him.
“A peculiar quirk of fate. Why did you elect to oppose me?”
Jason got the impression Maldor was very interested in this response.
“I read the book because I was curious. I knew it was forbidden, but I was hoping it might contain information about how to get home. Anyway, I read it, then met up with Galloran, who explained that my best chance to stay alive was to pursue the Word like the book said.”
“I believe you,” Maldor said. “Your tale fits the evidence, and I have a knack for spotting lies. Because your involvement against me was the result of unfortunate luck, I may show you mercy. But first tell me how you came to possess the second syllable. I know you never went near the Temple of Mianamon.”
Jason considered the request. Kimp was dead, so he was no longer protecting a valuable secret. Unless Maldor would exact revenge on Galloran for placing the tattoo. That was a huge breach of his rules and would probably get the Blind King in trouble.
“I can’t tell you. But honestly, nobody could ever discover the second syllable the way I got it.”
Maldor considered him for a long time. “Again I believe you. And I can interpret much from your answer. Galloran must have disregarded my rules. I will learn more of this later.” He began pacing back and forth before the chair.
“What now?”
Maldor stopped pacing and grinned. “Only men in your unfortunate situation are permitted to sit while I stand.”
Jason stared in silence.
“I have a fondness for Beyonders,” Maldor said. “I formally invite you to serve me. There is much I can offer. I will exalt you above the petty squabbles that trouble my lesser servants. You have proven you deserve to live beyond such nonsense. Using the secrets that extend my health and youth, I can prolong your mortal life to many times its normal duration. We will work together directly, until I find the best way to employ your talents. You will have to work hard, but will also enjoy many rewards. And you will retain a measure of freedom. You will be released immediately, and I will forgive all of your friends for any crimes involving you.”
Jason contemplated the trust Galloran had placed in him. He thought of Jasher sacrificing his life and Drake risking his final life at the gong. He pictured Tark and Rachel riding desperately to escape Maldor’s soldiers. He saw Tristan being ravaged by a pack of dogs. He remembered Norval infected by a poisoned knife. He imagined Aster the hobo being mutilated by manglers. He considered the arrogant, spiteful evil of men like Copernum and Conrad, along with the spinelessness of Dolan. He remembered the deceit Ferrin had employed. And now the man who rewarded evil people and punished good ones wanted Jason to serve him.
“What will happen when I refuse to serve you?” Jason asked.
“You will be turned over to my tormentors, to begin your reconditioning. Believe me, you cannot imagine the exquisite suffering they elicit. They have terrible methods involving magic and toxins along with a wide array of more traditional discomforts. You will languish for years under mind-rending tortures that will eventually decimate your very identity.”
“My identity would be more decimated if I joined you.”
“Well spoken, however unwise the sentiment. You are determined not to serve me, even at the cost of unspeakable torture?”
Easy to act brave now, Jason thought, before the consequences of this decision came to fruition. Would this private moment of valor be worth long years of unguessable torment? But how could he pledge himself to Maldor? How could he let displacers graft eyes and ears to him, to ensure he would live out his days doing evil?
He recalled Galloran stating that being a hero meant doing what was right regardless of the consequences. The thought sent a thrill through him. Galloran had been in this same situation and had made the right choice. Jason felt less alone. Maldor had claimed that his opponents had no heroes among them. But Gallo
ran was proof to the contrary. And Jason would be evidence as well.
Jason took a deep breath. “I will not serve you,” he said. “Your servants are frauds and murderers. You say your opponents have no heroes, but I disagree. The only heroes I have met here have been your enemies. Besides, you’ve already proven yourself an expert liar. How can I know whether anything you have told me now is any truer than your fake key word? How can I expect any good to come from making a deal with you? We have a saying where I’m from. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”
“We have one here as well. A lie twice believed is self-deceived.”
“It rhymes. That’ll help me remember.”
“Where in the Beyond are you from? You sound American. California, maybe?”
“Colorado. Do you know how to reach the Beyond?”
“I do.”
“Why not just send me home?”
“I do not reward my enemies unless they serve me.” Maldor smiled and produced a small vial with a crystal stopper. “You have my admiration for resisting my offer. My esteem will bring you no mercy—quite the contrary—but you have it, as did Galloran. All who oppose me must be broken. I trust your convictions will be good company once your conditioning ensues. Adieu.”
Maldor unstopped the vial and held it under Jason’s nostrils. Jason held his breath, refusing to inhale. Even so, the fumes rising from the tiny hole were making him woozy. When he finally inhaled, unconsciousness overcame him abruptly.
CHAPTER 24
PRISONER
Jason awoke on a cold stone floor in a bare cell, wearing only a flimsy cloth. The single door was so thick that when he pounded with his fist, it sounded like he was hitting a wall. High above the door the light of a lantern shone through a barred window. One wall had a mysterious round hole the size of a baseball, at about the height of his waist. The only other things in the room were a small loaf of dark bread, a reeking hole in the floor near a corner, and a shallow depression near another corner where water had pooled.
Jason shivered and rubbed his bare shoulders. He picked up the bread. It felt petrified. He gnawed through the tough crust to the softer inner portion. He began tearing pieces off and cramming them into his mouth. Any bite that included crust took a long time to chew.
The bread was bland with an unpleasant aftertaste, but Jason kept eating until it was gone. He went over and squatted by the puddle. Leaning down, he sniffed the fluid. He touched his tongue to the surface. It tasted relatively clean. After a tentative sip, he began gulping it down.
He sat back and wiped his mouth. There remained enough water in the depression to last a few days, even if some evaporated.
Jason crossed the room to examine the hole in the wall. No light came from it. He could see that it curved away upward. He could not quite fit his hand inside.
He wondered if it allowed his jailers to hear what he was doing.
He put his mouth up to it. “Yeah, I’d like a cheeseburger and fries with a large Coke, easy on the ice.”
No response came.
Could it be a drain? What if it connected to a toilet in a higher cell? Jason backed away.
He paced out the dimensions of his cell. It was a rectangle, seven paces wide, nine paces long. The ceiling was high, maybe fifteen feet. The barred window was well out of reach.
After his brief exploration Jason scavenged for crumbs that had fallen from the bread, collecting them in his palm. Then he sat with his back to the wall, nibbling on them. He wondered when he would get fed again. He wondered if they would bring him water, or if he’d have to just rely on the puddle. He wondered when the torture would begin. Maybe they would just let him sit and stew for a few days. Or weeks. Or years. Or decades.
Jason had been awake perhaps three hours when the snake squirmed out of the hole. It was at least five feet long and had a sleek azure body with dark violet markings.
As the serpent entered the cell, Jason scrambled to his feet. He had been sitting against the wall opposite the hole. The snake curled on the floor beneath the hole.
Jason moved as close as he dared. The head of the snake bulged on the sides, suggesting venomous pouches. A slender ribbon of a tongue flicked out of the mouth, testing the air. Jason backed away, glancing down at his bare feet and legs.
He scanned the cell with new intensity. There was no loose article he could use as a weapon, not even a pebble. Though not perfectly smooth, the stone walls were unclimbable, devoid of any handholds.
The snake uncurled and slithered lazily toward Jason. He backed away. Suddenly it advanced toward him with alarming speed. He had to run in a wide circle to keep away from it, splashing through the puddle.
Jason stood watching the serpent, his body tense, as if he were about to steal a base. The snake raised its head, its flat black eyes expressionless, and probed the air with its tongue.
Without warning the snake streaked toward him again. It seemed to be trying to shepherd him toward the corners of the room, but Jason kept dodging around it before he became trapped.
Moving strategically, he got the puddle between himself and the snake, but the snake went right through it.
Eventually the snake stopped again.
This was a pretty devilish torture. He could evade the snake for a long while, but without intervention the aggressive serpent would eventually strike him. He couldn’t stay awake forever.
“My only hope is to kill you,” Jason told the snake. It had curled up, tucking its head away in its coils.
“Are you peeking at me?” Jason asked, squatting.
The snake did not move.
“You really came after me. I had no idea any snakes were so aggressive. Did they train you to hunt people?”
The snake offered no response.
Jason scratched above his ear. How could he kill a poisonous snake when he had lots of exposed skin and no weapons? He wished he had retained the bread. That crust might have been hard enough to do some damage. Of course, his jailers had probably confirmed that he had eaten it before placing the snake in with him.
What about the tiny cloth he was wearing? Wrapping it around his hand might offer a little extra protection. Then again it was nice to have a little extra protection right where it was.
Jason supposed that if he could grab the snake just below the head, he could crush it against the walls or ground. Or if he got it by the tail and kept swinging it really fast, he might be able to bash it to death against the floor.
Now seemed like a good time to try. The snake had not stirred since it coiled up.
Jason could not see the head, but the tail was in plain view. He would have to grab it and start twirling violently. Even then the serpent might be strong enough to turn and strike him, no matter how vigorously he whirled it.
Holding his breath, Jason crept closer, one hand stretched forward. He was only a couple of feet away. Suddenly the snake struck, the head moving in a blur. Jason jerked his hand back and leaped away, letting out an involuntary shout.
The snake had moved too early. It had missed.
The serpent reared up, and for the first time a hood unfolded. It was some kind of cobra.
The snake stayed coiled, but the hooded head rose higher, swaying gently.
Jason backed to the far side of the cell.
Head high, hood spread, it came at him. The hood made it scarier. As before, Jason ran around and around until the snake stopped pursuing. It finally curled up again.
Jason stood panting, staring at the sinuous loops of blue and violet coils. There was no way he could grab the snake faster than it could strike. He considered going over to the snake and letting it bite him. It was bound to happen eventually. Unless this was some sort of test. Maybe if he lasted long enough, his jailers would come take the serpent away.
Incalculable hours passed. Periodically the snake would charge him, but never with the prolonged vigor of the earlier attacks.
Jason dreaded the drowsiness he felt overcoming
him. He slapped himself. He splashed water in his face. He spit water at the snake, which hissed loudly in response, for the first time baring a pair of slim, curved fangs.
“Nice teeth,” Jason said. “Hollow, right? Like a pair of syringes for injecting venom. Oh, I know a thing or two about snakes, pal. Just because you’re going to kill me, don’t pretend I’m not onto you.”
As time passed, Jason caught himself nodding toward sleep standing up. His head would sag and then jerk up, his eyes blinking. Finally he awoke as he was toppling over, but he managed to catch himself. The snake attacked, and it was all he could do to hop clear of the striking serpent.
The near miss helped refresh his senses.
But the clarity did not last. Before long he became sleepy again. All he wanted was to steal a brief nap. The snake was still. Maybe he could sneak a few winks.
No! He slapped himself on the cheek, then began beating his bare chest and legs. As soon as he stopped, his eyes were drooping.
He had felt like this once on a road trip with his family. They had decided to push through late, and at almost four in the morning Jason was riding up front with his dad as they drove along a featureless stretch of highway outside of Mesquite, Nevada. His mom and brother were asleep. His job was to stay awake and watch his dad. He had caught himself nodding and had kept pinching himself to stay conscious. He repeatedly warned himself that if he fell asleep they would all be killed, and that seemed like sufficient motivation to avoid snoozing.
But deep down he had realized he was only the safety net. Every time he’d looked over, his dad had seemed alert. Jason had leaned his head against the window. The next thing he knew he woke up with the car tearing along the shoulder, churning up a huge fan of dust. His dad had overcorrected, screeching across the highway almost to the opposite shoulder. They easily could have died. His dad had taken the blame, but Jason had felt horribly guilty.
