The walk to the Prime House is longer than he remembers, but when it appears, it’s much more daunting than the Minor House, with all its troubling memories. It will be Gale’s home soon, after her maturescence. He hopes she looks back on it one day with fondness like everyone else does.
“I think this belongs to you,” Jude says behind him. Erim turns around to see him tethered to Ben, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Caught her trying to blackmail one of my Neos.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. It was extortion, not blackmail.”
“I’ve never seen that urchin before.” Erim shrugs. “And I would never associate with anyone careless enough to get caught.” Ben snorts, slipping out from under Jude’s hand.
“Why the modesty?” Jude asks, walking up to Erim. “If they were going to kick you out for breaking the rules, they would’ve done it a century ago.” He breaks into a laugh and holds his arms open. Erim grins and pulls him into a hug. “What brings you, brother?” Jude pats him on the back.
“Would you believe it’s my deep-seated nostalgic love for the place?” Erim sports a wry grin.
Ben pipes up. “The albino psychopath kidnapped the girl he’s been fuc—”
“Adults are talking.” Erim points her to the house sternly.
Ben shrugs and disappears around the side to find a way in the back.
Jude groans. “You know how difficult it’s going to be to find her again?”
Erim chuckles. “We’ll just follow the trail of teen angst.” They walk towards the entrance, and he sits on the front steps with no desire to go inside.
“We’ve heard little of what’s going on out there.” Jude watches him intently. “But it was enough for the Caretakers to recall all the Neos from their volunteering in the terrarums.”
Erim nods. “Esht murdered one of my souls and many more in Harenarum.”
“Sorry to hear it.” Jude looks down, shaking his head. “He also took your… friend?” His voice elevates at the end, a flair of curiosity in his voice.
“My new Arc,” Erim corrects flatly. “She vanished a week ago. I’ve checked every terrarum but Obscuri.”
“Obscuri?” Jude tilts his head.
“It would be a smart place for Esht to hide,” Erim says. “The last place anyone would think to look.”
Jude’s brow furrows. “Yes, but he couldn’t be holding her there. The shields wouldn’t admit a soul that isn’t disordered.” Erim squeezes his skull between his hands, trying to drown out the logic. Jude puts a hand on his shoulder and says softly, “Erim, she’s probably….”
“Don’t.” Erim lifts his head. “Don’t say it.” Jude seals his lips. “Esht had this fascination with her.” The words feel disgusting coming out of Erim’s mouth. “He wouldn’t end it like this. He wouldn’t—she’s not… gone, just missing. And this is the last place to check,” Erim says.
“Well, you can’t think she’s here, brother.”
“I’ve checked everywhere else!” Erim shouts, his hands shaking. He doesn’t look at Jude, who says nothing for a while.
His following words are decisive; the exact right thing to say. “We’ll check the Elder House first, then the Claimant House. Next, we can go up to the caves, and then we’ll do the Minor House basements.” He stands.
Erim’s shaky breathing evens out. “Thank you.” Jude pulls him to his feet, as he always did when they were younger.
The front door squeaks open, and Caretaker Pavin pops his head out like a leathery snapping turtle from its shell. “Jude? I heard a shout.” When he sees Erim, his face falls with disgust. “Ah, Erim. Finally, come back with your tail between your legs, eh? What have you mucked up this time?”
“Always a pleasure, Pavin.” Erim smiles.
TRIGINTA TRIBUS
Gilman has no idea what to do with idle hands. He never considered his tasks in the prison very lengthy, but he’d do anything for one of those jobs now just so he could draw it out for hours.
When Esht first brought him to this cramped stone cellar space, Gilman tried to clean it as best he could with the only tools he had, his bare hands. But he had to stop when he began creating an even bigger mess, smearing essentia everywhere from his hands, scraped almost to the bone. He had nothing to clean up that mess but the shirt on his back, so that’s what he used.
Gilman doesn’t know where they are, only that it’s blisteringly hot and scattered with stone ruins. He’s content to be beneath the earth again, and he’s never had so much space to himself. Gilman doesn’t venture above the small underground dugout. The light is blinding, too painful. He hasn’t seen food since the day Esht took him, but he’s used to time without it. All he can do every day is wait for Esht, who returns every few days, sometimes longer.
On this day, Esht returns, rumbling with excitement.
“Welcome back, m’lord.” Gilman stands ready for orders.
“What a new world, what a new world, my boy!” Esht tousles his hair roughly. Gilman almost smiles. “Wars, modern weapons, famine, they’re even poisoning their own planet.” Esht giggles. “They’re so ready at each other’s throats, all it takes is a little bomb in the right place, and countries will massacre their neighbors.” Esht drops himself onto a table, sighing contentedly. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
Only then does he seem to notice Gilman. “How many days was I gone?”
“Four, m’lord,” Gilman says.
Esht stares at him carefully. “And you’ve been in here the whole time?”
“Of course, m’lord.”
Esht’s disinterest becomes surprise at Gilman’s answer. “Well,” he says, picking a hair off his blade, “how about I take you to pick which terrarum you want?”
“Terrarum?” Gilman asks, unfamiliar with the term.
Esht’s face darkens. “Are you a complete idiot?”
“Sorry, m’lord.” Gilman bows his head.
“No, no, this won’t do.” Esht heaves. “I cannot have my son know nothing about my kingdom. I’ll be a laughingstock. Come with me.” He growls, grabbing Gilman by the shirt and dragging him up the stairs into the light. Gilman winces at the sun, clamping a hand over his eyes. He feels the air twist around him, the same way it did when Esht brought him from the prison.
Flat smooth tile plants beneath his feet instead of the rocky soil, but everything is still too bright. He rubs his squinted eyes, seeing faint shapes move before him, perhaps at a table.
“I still don’t get it!” a shrill voice whines.
“Well, maybe if you stopped digging around in your nose, you could focus on the instructions,” an older voice snaps. “Once again, the werewolf chooses one villager to kill, and when we open our eyes, we see if the doctor saved them or if they’re wolf chow.”
“Ben, I don’t know if I like this game,” another smaller voice says.
“Don’t be such a baby, Gale,” the voice replies. “The kids play it in the Prime House. We just need a few more people to play.”
Gilman forcing his eyes open more sends shooting pain through his head, but he does it anyway. The curiosity of fresh voices is too much to bear. A girl with the oddest hair color sits at a table with two people even smaller than Gilman. Their backs are turned, so they don’t see Esht until his blade scrapes lightly across the floor. The girl with the funny hair gasps and yanks the two little ones out of their seats behind her. Gilman wonders why they don’t run, then realizes he and Esht are blocking the door.
The girl curses, not quietly. “What do you want?”
“What game was that?” Esht asks, his voice calmer than usual. “I like games.” None of the children breathe.
“It’s called werewolf.” The small boy pipes up.
“Shut up, Liu,” the older girl says.
“Do not quiet the child.” Esht sounds upset.
“Ben?” Two men emerge on the other side of the courtyard. They both have dark hair, one wears it shorter, and the other
keeps the long strands laced behind his head.
Gilman tries to cower, but Esht’s stone grip holds him in place. “A Soul Keeper and Neophyte.” He lets out a chuckle. “Not quite the calvary, are you?”
“Claimant,” the long-haired man corrects sourly, sliding in front of the children.
Esht doesn’t even seem to hear him. He’s focused on the other man. Esht makes a pensive sound in the back of his throat, leaning his head back and forth as if trying to roll the memory to mind. “Don’t tell me, Soul Keeper. Lapidis? No—Stellarum. Not Harenarum, I hope. That would be awkward.”
A wall of water slams into Esht’s head, and his back foot slips on the wet stone, dropping him to one knee. “Aquae, of course.” Esht grins, flicking his damp hair back. Gilman kneels to help him but is snagged around the collar and dragged up. “You should show more respect.” Esht grunts, resting the edge of his blade on Gilman’s shoulder. “I could have so much fun in this Realm.”
The Soul Keeper doesn’t strike again, hands still. His eyes narrow at Esht. Gilman realizes that the children and their guardian are gone. The assault was just a distraction for their escape.
“Where is she, Esht?” The man’s face is dark with a ferocity that Gilman’s only seen on Esht.
“Do not play me for a fool,” Esht snaps. “I know she’s hiding from me.”
The anger clears slightly on the Soul Keeper’s face. “We don’t know where she is.”
“Liar,” Esht sneers. “I admit, I did not think her a coward, but she’ll regret it. I’ll ensure that.” The guardian reappears in the doorway, blocking the way to the rest of the building. “Calm yourself, Neophyte,” Esht says, “I have not come for the young ones… this day.”
“Still a Claimant.” The man crouches to prepare a strike.
“Why must you all resist me so?” Esht looks at them both. “We are on the same side.”
The Soul Keeper scoffs. “You’re insane.”
“But I am not wrong.” Esht hisses. “The High Arc and I are the only ones who know the truth.” He tightens his grip on Gilman’s neck. “So, every night until she reappears, I am going to take a soul, starting with Aquae.” He juts a finger towards the Soul Keeper. “Your citizens will pay the price for her cowardice.”
The Soul Keeper’s face plummets. “Esht no, we don’t have her.” He shakes his head.
Esht moves along with his thoughts, like the matter is settled. “This is my new son,” he shoves Gilman forward. Another strike of light pain flashes through Gilman’s head, and he clamps his eyes shut again, rubbing them. Esht’s blade cracks down on his back, making him stumble. “Put your hands down, you imbecile. Stand up like a man!” Gilman lowers his hands and straightens his tingling spine. “See? I have no use for a sniveling simpleton. He needs schooling.”
“What?” the Claimant asks.
“Your Caretakers will teach him so he can rule beneath me in the new world.”
“Esht, don’t do this,” The Soul Keeper pleads. “Just give us some time. We’ll find her.”
“Sir?” Gilman’s voice trembles.
“Oh, and do exempt him from those grotesque compassion classes.” Esht’s face morphs with disgust. “He won’t need them.” He looks down at Gilman. “I’ll return for you.”
Gilman clutches at the bottom of his cloak with shaking fingers. “Please, sir, take me with you. I’ll do whatever you say.”
“Silence!” Esht rips it out of his hands, kicking him back.
“Tell me how to serve you!” Gilman begs, his eyes blurring. “Please don’t leave me, m’lord!” He can’t see, but he feels around for Esht, who’s gone.
An arm wraps around his middle and lifts him off the ground. He flails in the open air, detached from any security, blinded by light and tears. “Please don’t leave!” He hears his own screams echo like they used to in the caves. “Please, m’lord!”
TRIGINTA QUATTUOR
“I’m not getting any better at this game.” Sloane huffs, throwing down the circular pieces onto the game board.
“Have patience, azizam.” Bahram chuckles, collecting the pieces. He’s called her by that name since the second day when she took it upon herself to discover just how infinite his patience is. She was hoping to find a limit that she could exploit, but no luck. Her initial attempts at bribery just made him smile. Next, she tried to reason her way out of captivity. The repeated failure of that strategy quickly sent her into a belligerent decline. She yelled at him, demanded to be let out, did a lot of creative cursing. She even threatened him with bodily harm that she could not carry out, but it still felt good. His response to that was a gentle smile and an, “Alright, azizam.”
Sloane crosses her legs under her and hands Bahram the last of her game pieces through the gaps in her fence. “Remind me how you tricked me into playing this game with you?”
“I tricked you into nothing.” Bahram scoffs, a faint grin ghosting his lips. “I keep my promises. I will tell you one thing every time you win.”
“You knew I’d never be able to win,” Sloane says. “I bet you invented this game.”
Bahram laughs. “I did not invent backgammon.” He sets out the pieces again for another round, rolling the unused beads in his smooth palm. “Besides, you don’t need to get information this way. You do just fine on your own.”
The comment settles for a second before Sloane responds. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bahram stares at her and sighs like he doesn’t want to elaborate. “You fashioned a weapon from the wood of your cot your second day here and are hiding it somewhere on your person. You haven’t tried to attack me yet, which means you’re smart enough to know that you can’t physically best me. I see you watching my every move to see if I ever take the key off my neck, but I don’t.”
He points to the cell door. “You’ve likely tried to pick the lock when I’m not here, but you’ll know by now it’s impossible without the right tools. I’m certain that you’ve tried to leave your Arcaic abilities, but they won’t work, not here. And yet, you study the directions I come from in the temple, so you know where the exit is if you escape.”
Sloane stares at him blankly, trying to ignore the make-shift shiv digging into her from under her bra strap. “I also considered a Shawshank escape, but there are no sewer pipes to crawl through, so it wouldn’t be half as fun,” she says sourly. Bahram scrunches up his face with amused confusion, clearly unfamiliar with the reference. There’s a pause as he sets up for another game. Sloane decides to try another tactic. “The fact that you haven’t told me anything about why I’m here proves that you’re afraid I’ll get out.”
Bahram laughs lightly at her poor attempt to manipulate him. “I’ve already told you everything I am abl—”
“I know, I know. I’m here for my own protection; this is the only way I’ll be safe. You keep saying that. But that’s garbage, Bahram. I deserve answers.”
“I agree.” He nods.
Sloane lifts her chin at him suspiciously. She hadn’t expected that. “Then where is Sisiro? What is he planning?”
Bahram shrugs. “I do not know. That is the truth, azizam.”
Sloane reaches through the wood slats and grabs his hand. He looks up at her. “Bahram, you’ve treated me very well. You bring me good food, books, and fresh clothes, and you’ve never raised a hand or even your voice to me.” Bahram refuses to meet her eyes. “I know you’re a kind man, a good man.”
“I see you don’t want to play anymore,” he says, patting her hand gently before removing it. He closes the backgammon board.
“If I don’t get back to The Midst, Esht is going to hurt people, innocent souls. I know you don’t want that.” Sloane stands as he does.
His eyes sweeten as he reads her concern. “I have sworn an oath, azizam. An oath spanning thousands of years.”
“And that oath means more to you than the suffering, the slaughter of all those souls?” Sloane reaches both hands through to grab his shoul
ders. He looks up at her, eyebrows drawn together solemnly. His answer is clear.
She drops her hands, and he walks away. “Guess that goes for me too, huh?” Sloane yells at his back. “You’ll keep me safe from Esht, just so Sisiro can do the same, or worse to me anyway.”
He stops and turns back. “No harm will come to you. I gave you my word.”
Sloane slams into the wood of her enclosure once he disappears. She pulls her little wooden blade out of her shirt and flings it to the floor, raking her head with her fingers. It’s infuriating that another day has gone by with no actual answers. Sloane flops down on her cot, especially annoyed that all her hard work hadn’t gone unnoticed. Bahram was right about all of it.
Conducting was the first thing Sloane tried. She has since spent many hours focusing on it but to no avail. It’s like she can push and push, even stretch the fabric of life and death, but she can never breakthrough. It always snaps her back. When she tries especially hard, her body shakes uncontrollably. That, coupled with the fact that Bahram has to bring her food, tells her she’s not in The Midst, but on Earth.
The view outside her small cell window places them in the middle of a desolate desert. It doesn’t end as far as she can see. She’s kept an eye out for any passers-by, but there hasn’t been a single trace of life. Even if there were, they probably wouldn’t be able to see her.
Sloane glances over at the days ticked off on her wall, twelve days of this. As illogical as it is, she really does trust Bahram. He’s made it easy for her to fall into a rhythm during her captivity. But she doesn’t trust who he serves, and all the comforts of the cell can’t prevent her from worrying. She wakes every night with nightmares of Esht killing all her friends, leaving nothing for her to return to but unidentifiable piles of ash.
Suddenly Bahram appears outside the pen. The glimmer of swords in his hand alerts Sloane’s reflexes, and she springs to her feet. He unlocks the door, steps inside, and secures it again, returning the key around his neck. He stays on the opposite end of the cell and tosses one sword at Sloane’s feet. It takes her a second to realize that it’s hers, the one she picked out just before she was taken.
Interitum Page 30
