by R D Wolfe
Chapter 14: The Sense
“Greetings, I am Ristvahkbain of Terrae, last of the Eld, member of the Four, at your service. That was a kind introduction, Your Highness.” The figure’s icy voice flowed over Darien like a cold breeze, airy and light, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He felt like he had just caught the first signs of a predator stalking towards him.
“No, no, I don’t want any of that formality here,” Aghemnon said, a wide smile crossing his face. “Your status is higher than mine, given the big picture. We are friends here, not diplomats.”
Darien barely heard any of it. He kept staring at the black-robed figure standing in the doorway.
That’s not one of the Four, it can’t be. Where’s Philip? Kara? Trey?
The black figure made his way to the table, sitting opposite Darien. The black hood still obscured any features of the man’s face, but Darien’s eyes never left the sinking blackness within. A few more pleasantries were exchanged, and Darien’s stare landed on Chorrun, who was looking back at Darien with curiosity. Or was it fear? Darien felt an unexplainable rage rising within him.
“Chorrun, I need to speak with you please,” he said, cutting into whatever friendly banter the King was making. “Alone.” His tone was neutral, but the uncomfortable urgency was felt by the entire room. Chorrun stared back at him for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change of pace. Composing himself, the centaur turned to King Aghemnon.
“With your permission?”
“But of course. We will do all we can to accommodate the needs of the Four. Is there something wrong, Master Darien?” Aghemnon asked, a true concern entering his voice for the first time.
“No,” Darien spoke quickly, “there’s just something I forgot to mention before. But it’s something personal that I want to discuss with Chorrun alone. He was the one I first met when I came to Olympus, so I want it to be him. Just him.”
That seemed to ease the tensions which flew through the room at the interruption.
“I have a private study, just beyond that door,” the concern left Aghemnon’s voice. “You may have as much time as you like.”
Thanking the King, Darien rose and entered the room Aghemnon had mentioned, Chorrun following close behind. The room was ornately decorated, with tomes of various shapes and sizes squeezed into tall bookshelves. There were lavish chairs, and a large, ornately carved wooden desk in the far corner. Lanterns scattered light around the room, accentuated by the ten or so tall, narrow windows.
Darien heard the door shut and turned to face the centaur, rage threatening to consume him. “Who is that?” he hissed, each word its own staccato note.
“Why, that’s one of the Four, of course. I know no more of him than you.” Chorrun said, clearly puzzled by the direction the conversation had gone. “That was the first time I had met him.”
“That is not a member of my team,” Darien fumed, analyzing the face in front of him for signs of deceit, or trickery. “I was expecting Philip, or Kara, or even Trey. You know, more humans? You said my team would be here!”
Comprehension washed over Chorrun’s face, followed by remorse.
“Oh. Oh, my goodness. You—”
“Spit it out already!” Darien shouted, louder than he ever had before, no longer containing his temper.
“You mentioned a team at your school, The Academy? It never occurred to me that it was them you were asking about.”
“You mean… they’re not coming?” He felt sick. “I have to work with… whatever that is out there? An Eld or whatever it called itself?” He really was alone.
“Darien, I—”
“Are they coming!?” Darien screamed.
“No,” Chorrun said in a fearful whisper.
Darien dropped to his knees, catching himself on his hands.
“I don’t believe it.” He swallowed. “I don’t believe you. This isn’t real. None… none of this is… this isn’t happening.” He struggled to catch his breath. “Please tell me this isn’t happening.”
Darien choked back tears, hyperventilating. His hands shook as he dug his fingernails into his scalp. He had held on to hope through imprisonment, through fear, through murder, enduring them all with the knowledge that each struggle would get him another step closer to seeing his friends again.
Now he knew that it had all been for nothing.
Chorrun gave Darien time to lie on the floor, reeling from the knowledge of his isolation.
“Darien, listen,” the centaur said gently. “It was never my intention to mislead you. You must understand, the nature of the spell, of the Cycle, is that the Four each come from a different world. That’s how it always has been.”
Rolling onto his back, Darien covered his face with his hands. Tears were now streaming down his face, emotion pressing heavy on his chest as his hands shook from the aftereffects of adrenaline. He didn’t care about his discipline anymore.
“Chorrun?”
“Yes?”
“I want to go home.”
Silence fell over them as Darien mourned the world he had been torn away from, a world he may never return to. There was a knock on the door, and Chorrun walked over to speak with whoever it was, guarding Darien, who was sitting now, his back to one of the cushioned chairs. The two spoke in whispers, but Darien could tell from the tone that it was the King. The door closed, and Chorrun returned to where Darien was on the floor.
“That was the King,” he said. “They heard your screaming, but I was able to convince him that everything was okay. If we don’t return soon, they’ll have questions for both of us.”
Darien stood and took several calming breaths. The rage had been replaced by pure sorrow.
“Darien, I told you before that you should keep your ignorance of Olympus to yourself. I want to give you that same advice again. If the other members of the Four realize that you are different from them in that regard, it could endanger your purpose for being here.”
Nodding, and not particularly caring at that moment about the Cycle, Darien took several steadying breaths. “Is there anything else I should know before we go back out there?”
Chorrun considered for several seconds, looking away and out one of the castle windows which lined the study. Then, not meeting Darien’s eyes, Chorrun said, “Nothing that I can think of now.”
Their eyes met, and Darien noticed something in the centaur’s face. Whatever it was disappeared just as suddenly as it had appeared.
“What is it?” Darien asked suspiciously, unsure of what he could trust from the centaur anymore.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Chorrun said, finally meeting Darien’s eyes.
Mentally deciding to better guard his trust of the people of Olympus, Darien made himself presentable, and they returned to the council chambers together. The table was empty save for the dark cloaked figure.
“Hello again,” the icy voice washed over Darien once more, the hair on his arms standing on end. Chorrun seemed unaffected.
“Hello, a pleasure to see you again,” Chorrun said. “Have the others gone—”
“The King and Queen were called away before our meeting could conclude,” the head beneath the black robes twitched subtly as the figure spoke, cutting Chorrun’s sentence short. “The pale one has yet to tell us of their findings on the beast which attacked Darien and Evatra. They informed me of your story.”
“Where is she?” Darien asked, worried she had left before he could say goodbye.
“She was given quarters for the night,” the shadowy man replied. “You will see her tomorrow at the feast that the King has prepared in our honor. He had hoped to plan it around the others’ arrival, however, they appear to be behind schedule.”
“I have to go find her,” Darien moved towards the door.
“Darien, I think you and… pardon me, I have forgotten your name?” Chorrun asked apologetically to the dark figure.
“Ristvahkbain.”
“Ah yes,” Ch
orrun said, sounding uncomfortable for the first time during their conversation. “I think the two of you should spend some time together. Allow me to go and speak with Evatra. I have some questions for her about the marauders. That will give the two of you some time to get acquainted.”
Darien hesitated. He wanted to talk with Evatra. She and Chorrun were the only two he felt he could really trust right now, and Chorrun had just fallen further down that list. Besides, the two of them had bonded, having fought for their lives together. Darien felt close to her, almost as close as…
Darien cut off the thought. It was just a reaction to being alone in Olympus.
Realizing that Ristvahkbain would probably think it rude of him if he ran off to meet with someone else, Darien agreed. Chorrun left the room, leaving them to talk amongst themselves.
“Can we go outside to talk?” Darien asked Ristvahkbain. “I need to clear my head.”
“Of course,” he replied simply.
Darien paused. The other’s voice struck a chord within him, as if he had a constant vision of the dark-robed figure stabbing him in the back.
He’s worse than Kort.
The two of them made their way out the door and, with the help of directions from the guards stationed around the castle, found their way into a garden and the open air. So much time had passed with their meeting, night had fallen on Farkland Reach. The city’s bustling noise from the day subsided under the light of the stars. The two walked side-by-side in silence through the dimly lit gardens, neither speaking as they walked.
Darien realized he couldn’t hear the footsteps of the shadowy figure next to him. He tried on several occasions to see what he could behind the rippling waves of shadow within the hood but had about as much luck as trying to see shadows in a dark room. Perhaps if he introduced himself again, it would spur on some conversation. He didn’t like the other’s voice, but it would be better than silence.
“I’m Darien.” He paused, feeling the strangeness of the words in his mouth before uttering them. “From Earth.”
“So you’ve said.” The hood turned towards him as they walked, and the icy voice crashed into his ears again. “Hello, Darien of Earth. Tell me, how long have you been here in Olympus?”
“I came here about a week ago, I think.” It had seemed more like months. His mind wandered back to his friends who, by now, were probably terrified about his disappearance, almost certainly fearing the worst. What would they think of him? Would they ever forgive—?
“Your mind is elsewhere,” Ristvahkbain noticed as they rounded a corner. Their path widened, elegantly sculpted topiaries in the shapes of unfamiliar animals decorating the way. “Are you well?”
Minding Chorrun’s warning that he should still not let anyone else know of his ignorance of the cycle, Darien pondered what to say.
“Ristvahkbain,” Darien struggled to pronounce the name. “That would be a very weird name where I come from. Do you have any nicknames? Something easier to call you?” Darien asked, trying to adopt a friendly, familiar tone.
“No.” The black hood turned again, pulling his hidden face away from Darien’s for the first time since they had begun talking. Conversation with his new partner was not going to be easy.
“Well, Ristvahkbain is a mouthful to say. I think a shorter name might be a good idea, since we have to travel together. Something easier to say. How about…” Darien bobbed his head from side to side thinking of what might work, “Rist, or Bain?”
Silence fell over them again and Darien thought maybe he had offended the dark figure. He turned forward to regard his surroundings, letting the subject drop. The gardens were meticulously crafted, and Darien found himself content to walk with the other in silence, distracting himself with the beauty around him. Eventually, they found themselves sitting across from each other, resting on the edges of stone flower beds.
Darien stared up at the larger of the twin moons, and the constellations decorating the sky. His mind wandered back to Kara, their last conversation he had with her that night in the arena the night before he came to Olympus. Grief punched him in the gut. He missed her. He missed all of his friends at the Academy, but he felt her absence most of all. This revelation that none of them would join him here was a loss, the likes of which he had never experienced before. The uncertainty of when he would return home, or if he even would, sat like an immovable boulder in his stomach. He jammed his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground quietly, looking at the path in front of his feet.
“Your heart looks heavy, friend,” Ristvahkbain said. His cold voice had warmed a bit from the first time Darien had heard it, but it was still chilling.
“Just…” Darien paused, remembering again Chorrun’s warning that others should not know how little Darien knew about his trip to this world. “Just thinking of home, and the friends I’ve left behind to come here”
Ristvahkbain said nothing, allowing them to return to their silence.
“Look, Ristvahkbain—if I’m even saying that right—I’m exhausted from the trip here and retelling the events of the last week took a lot out of me. I need to get some sleep. Do you mind if we get to know each other some other time?”
The dark hood looked up. Was it looking at him? Darien couldn’t tell.
“Rist.”
“What?” Darien said, puzzled.
“You may call me Rist, Bain is too dark a name, and that word has… meaning. You may therefore call me Rist, as my full name is such a… what did you call it? Ah, a mouthful, to say.” Rist’s voice gained a hint of amusement.
Darien smiled and extended his right hand, Rist doing the same, grasping Darien’s forearm. Darien felt Rist’s hand, which was cold even through his glove and Darien’s sleeve, grip tightly to his arm. Darien looked into the deep black of the hood in front of him.
“Rist it is then.”
The two made their way back into the castle and inquired where the sleeping quarters were. Rist hadn’t yet been able to memorize the winding passageways, and Darien knew his intuition would never be enough for this particular challenge. Two trolls appeared, and the one who they had asked beckoned Darien and Rist to follow them.
The trolls led them all through the castle climbing their way up several stairways, and through several corridors before stopping at a row of doors. The trolls each opened a door, motioning for them to enter their rooms.
The quarters were beautiful. The bed was a magnificent four-poster, with luxurious curtains hanging around the posts. Wardrobes and cabinets lined the walls, all strewn with fine fabrics and beautifully crafted objects, from bowls and candlestick holders to jewelry. Weapons and armor were displayed on various mannequins and wall mounts. Darien turned back to the troll, speechless.
“May I get anything for you, sir?” the troll asked.
“No, thank you,” Darien shook his head.
The troll bowed and turned to leave the room, pulling the door closed behind him, leaving Darien standing alone. Crossing the floor, he fell face first on the bed, letting his body relax and his head sink into the pillow. Within moments, he had drifted off into the first restful sleep he’d had in days.
Darien awoke the next day with the morning sun streaming through the windows. Looking around, he found a new set of clothes on his bed. A little uncomfortable with the idea of someone having been in his room while he was sleeping, he stood, and moved to the opposite edge of the bed to examine the material. It was finely woven, and soft like silk. The material reminded him of what Aghemnon had been wearing. Darien opened the door, looking out into the hallway. There was a troll at the end of the hall who hurried towards him.
“Did you need something, sir?”
Darien hesitated. “I was wondering if you had somewhere I could clean up?”
“Of course, sir. Right this way.” The troll gave a small bow and waited for Darien to follow.
He hurried back into his room, grabbed the new clothes, and followed the troll down several hallways. They sto
pped in front of a door and the troll motioned for Darien to enter. Inside was a dimly lit room which held a tub and two cords on one side of the wall, and a counter on the other. Moving inside, he looked back to see if the troll was still there, but he had moved away. Curious, he moved to the cords and pulled one tentatively. Steaming hot water poured into the tub from a pipe attached to the wall. Darien released the cord in surprise, and the water stopped. Curious again, he pulled on the other cord, and cool water began to flow into the tub from a second pipe.
Playing with the mixture, he got the tub filled just right, and grabbing what he guessed to be soap from the counter, he got in and began to bathe. Not having been able to properly clean himself for over a week, the warm water felt amazing. Once he was finished, he put on the clothes the trolls had left for him, which fit perfectly. Darien then left the room, and another troll in the hallway guided him back to his quarters.
“If I needed to get something or have something made, who could I ask about that?” Darien asked his guide.
“That depends, sir, what is it you’re looking to get?”
Darien thought for a moment. “I need an extra set of travel clothes, some better boots, something to keep me warm if we ever go through cold weather, and a few pieces of armor.”
“I will have a messenger brought to you as soon as possible,” the troll replied without objection. “You will be able to list the items for him, and he will go on your behalf to the shops and smiths.”
Darien was a little surprised at the lack of hesitation the troll had at the requests.
“Th-thanks, sorry, I’m not used to sending people to get my stuff for me. I’ve always just gotten it myself.”
“It’s our pleasure, sir. Is there anything else?” The troll asked, expressionless.
“No, thank you.” Darien said, and closing the door to his room.
He looked around the room for several minutes, examining the ornate bowls, carved wardrobe, and other finery around him when he heard a knock on the door. Wondering if the messenger was back already and trying to imagine how it was possible to get all the materials he requested so quickly, Darien opened the door. Rist was standing in the doorway.
