by G. R. Lyons
A sudden tightness in her chest threatened to spoil Vorena's good cheer. She remembered feeling numb as she bent to rescue that bloody page from the ashes, then folding it carefully and stowing it away in her pocket. She swore that someday, once she reached Agoran, she would buy a copy of that book for herself, but in the meantime, she carried that page with her everywhere.
She'd only turned it over to Asenna when the girl begged to be useful, and told her it was a mighty treasure that she had to keep safe. Vorena often caught her pressing a hand to the pocket where she'd stowed the page.
If only she'd left it with Asenna that day; then it wouldn't now be in the hands of the Hawks, who would probably destroy it.
At least Vorena still had her memories.
Losing the man with the book had been painful, much more so than the cuts and bruises she had sustained during the ambush, but at least most of the rebels had survived that night. The officers who'd attacked them hadn't been so lucky.
After that, the camp had turned to Vorena for the stories. Sometimes she combined the telling with practice of their lessons, speaking the barest details and instead projecting the full image into the minds of all her fellows simultaneously. Other times, she told them in full, just the way the man had read them. Every once in a while, she would tell them as vibrantly as she could, adding in any sensory details that seemed pertinent, really bringing the tales to life.
Even though she'd told every single one at least a couple times over the months and years, the rebels never grew tired of them. They clung to the stories, hoping to live some of those tales themselves, if they could only ever find the hidden Gate.
Well, she thought, there'll be no finding a Gate while I'm stuck in here.
Narrowing her eyes in concentration, Vorena looked to the little pebble just outside her cell, and resumed practicing.
* * *
JEVON SAT down and wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand. All around him, his fellow rebels also stopped for a rest, breathing heavily and passing around a skin of water.
After first finding the rutted path, they'd followed it for two hours, only for it to fade away to nothing in the overgrown terrain. Days of searching had eventually brought them to the path where it continued higher up, and once found, the rebels kept moving without pause to rest or eat.
Now, hours from camp, and with the light fading, many of them just couldn't move anymore.
“Let's call it a day,” Jevon panted, taking a swig of water from the skin and passing it along. “We can resume tomorrow.”
Some of the men nodded agreement, but others looked longingly up the mountainside.
“We're so close, though,” one swore. “I just have this feeling we're so close.”
Jevon looked up through the trees at the fading light, then around at the men.
“Another hour, or go back?” he asked them.
The men looked at one another, some shrugging and shaking their heads.
Jevon rose to his feet and wearily brushed off his trousers. “Whoever wants to go back can do so. I'll go a bit farther and mark a stopping point.”
Some of the men nodded and made their way back down to camp, while the others stood and joined Jevon as he continued up the faded trail.
They trudged on for half an hour, stopping only to build a small fire and make torches to better light their way. With the fire snuffed out, they continued on, and by the flickering firelight, they found the rutted trail eventually give way to a wider path.
It was overgrown and faded, but still clearly was once used for travel up and down the mountain.
Jevon looked around and saw looks of hope on all the rebels' faces.
A few steps more, and the path became more defined just before it suddenly split in two directions: one, off to their right, and they could just see in the light of the setting suns that it ended in a clearing; the other went off to their left and disappeared in the shadowy darkness of the trees.
“Well, there's certainly no Gate out there,” Jevon joked, pointing at the clearing.
He turned to the left and held out a torch, slowly creeping forward into the dense growth of trees. His fellows were close behind him, creeping step by step into darkness, where the setting suns couldn't pierce their way through to light the ground beneath their feet.
Looming up before him, Jevon saw an immense blackness, and it wasn't until he got closer that he saw the path ended abruptly at what looked like a sheer rock wall.
He lowered his torch with a sigh.
“This can't be right,” he breathed, looking at the dead end.
Jevon looked back over his shoulder at the others, who all looked dismayed at the sight of the vertical obstacle before them.
One man crept closer, ducking around some low-hanging branches, and rested his hand on the wall.
“Gods,” he gasped.
“What is it?” Jevon asked, rushing forward with the others.
“It's not rock,” the man said, running his hand over the surface. “It's cloth.”
“Cloth?”
The men moved closer, lifting their torches and shoving branches aside so they could get a better look. Holding his breath, Jevon reached up and gathered the cloth in his hand, shifting it slightly to one side.
A collective gasp sounded all around him as the rock of the mountainside suddenly sparkled gold under the light of the torches.
“By the gods,” Jevon breathed, looking at the gold frame that was built right into the rock.
With racing heart and shaking hands, he yanked the cloth aside, and blinked, dumbstruck, at the glorious sight before him.
Jevon dropped to his knees in awe, and wept for joy.
Chapter 22
BENASH STRODE into the Council chambers in Vhais and dropped to one knee, bowing his head.
Officer Benash, one of the Elders greeted him. What do you have for us?
Benash stayed where he was, having not been told to stand, and kept his eyes trained on the floor as he said, Not much, as yet, I'm afraid, but there is a potential information source…
A long pause followed his words, and he could practically feel their disappointment as he waited.
Go on, another Elder finally said.
Swallowing hard, Benash told them, Our newest prisoner…is a runaway female–
A collective gasp echoed around the chamber.
She is guessed to be in her twenties, Benash continued, yet is unclaimed. How she evaded her duties, I have not yet been able to ascertain, but her ideas are…unusual, to say the least.
Unusual, how?
Benash hesitated, thinking of the page tucked into his coat pocket, and said, Blasphemous. Even treasonous.
The Elders were silent for a long while, and Benash had to resist the temptation to look up, let alone shift his weight off his aching knee.
Do you have any evidence that we can use against her? To set an example of her?
He felt no pressure against the blocks in his mind, but Benash trembled nevertheless, wondering if the Elders could see the information he was withholding.
Not yet, he answered carefully, thankful that his inner voice was even.
Silence weighed heavily in the room again. Benash took a slow, deep breath and held it, waiting for the inevitable condemnation.
Officer Benash, the chairman finally spoke, is there any chance this woman could be part of the rebel movement?
Benash gave a slight shrug. It is certainly possible. And considering her whereabouts when she was arrested, and her unclaimed status–
Use whatever means necessary to get information from this female, one of the Elders ordered. We are curious as to her movements, especially if she is as old as you say she is.
Benash nodded. I will do as my Elders command.
You are dismissed.
Benash lowered his head in obeisance, then rose and spun on his heel, keeping his eyes on the ground as he left the chamber.
What is wrong with you, you fool?
he thought once he was a safe distance from the city. Why didn't you tell them more?
You know exactly why, he argued with himself. You want answers first.
You are playing a damned dangerous game here, Benash.
He came to a stop, putting his hands on his hips and taking a deep breath as the sky darkened into evening.
Get your damned answers, and then do your duty. You can't risk the anger of the Elders.
With that, Benash took quarter in a citizen's apartment for the night, and continued his journey home the next morning, determined to finally get Vorena to talk.
* * *
BENASH LET himself into the cell cavern and went directly to Vorena's cell.
He found her folded into some odd stance that left her looking up at him practically from the ground, her legs spread wide and both forearms on the floor.
“And a good morning to you, too,” she teased after he stared at her for a long moment.
Her body flowed easily into another complicated posture that left Benash wondering if she was in fact human, since he couldn't fathom the kind of flexibility on display being possible.
“I'm not even going to ask,” he muttered mostly to himself, and saw her give him a cheeky grin as she turned to face him, standing with her legs spread apart and bending in half so her hands gripped her ankles. Shaking his head, he pulled the oilcloth package out of his coat pocket and held it up.
“Explain this to me,” he said.
“Explain wh–”
Still holding her ankles, she lifted her head, the smile still on her face, until her eyes fixed on the page, at which she fell onto her backside and openly stared.
“Why did you carry this?” he asked.
Vorena stared at the oilcloth, her lips parted, but saying nothing. With a sigh, Benash unwrapped the package and extracted the worn page, noticing that her eyes followed his every movement.
“Answer me,” he growled. “Why did you carry this?”
Vorena swallowed hard, sparing a brief glance for him before returning her intense gaze to the page.
“Gods, you're an infuriating woman,” he muttered, slamming a fist against her cell door. “Answer me!”
She continued silent, moving only to take a deep breath and force her gaze to his face.
“Woman, I will torture the answers out of you, if I must,” he said, taking a step closer to the bars and leveling a look at her. “Now tell me what this is.”
Still, she said nothing.
“Very well.”
Benash turned the page so he gripped the middle of one edge with both hands and acted as though he was going to tear it in half.
“Don't!” she cried, launching to her feet and holding out both hands.
He stopped, raising an eyebrow at her.
She panted, watching him, and murmured, “Please. Don't.”
Benash watched her for a moment, then made a deliberate show of wrapping the page back within the oilcloth and tucking it into his pocket.
“We'll try again later, shall we? In the meantime, I suggest you consider answering my questions.”
He turned and strode away, feeling her eyes on him the entire time.
* * *
LATE IN the afternoon, Benash got up and made a circuit of the room. Vorena had restored her usual good cheer after spending the day telling stories to the other prisoners, but Benash's mood had only turned fouler.
What is wrong with you? he thought. First, you withhold information from the Elders, and now this? You can't even successfully interrogate a prisoner? And a woman at that! Gods be damned, Benash, what is happening to you?
“It must be dreadfully depressing to be so useless.”
He lurched to a stop at Vorena's cell, startled by her words breaking the silence.
And by how much they struck home.
“Meaning?” he growled, narrowing his eyes as he glanced over at her.
Vorena shrugged. “You sit here, hour by hour, day by day, staring at the wall and occasionally beating a man for shouting at you. All you officers, down here every day, doing hardly anything more than sitting on your asses. Meanwhile, the prisoners are double and triple locked in, with no means of escape, yet you sit here guarding us as though such effort is necessary.”
Benash blinked at her, and felt his hands tighten into fists. He held her eyes for a long moment, trying to think of something to say, trying to find the words to prove her wrong, but he realized she was absolutely right. His face flushed with the heat of anger.
“Then again…” Vorena began, and her eyes shifted slightly away.
The iron bars between them rattled, and Benash jumped back with a gasp, the shock draining the anger out of him.
Inside the cell, Vorena had a self-assured smile on her face.
Panting, Benash stared at her, then asked, “You did that?”
“Gods be damned, you're a quick one.”
Benash ignored the jab and looked from the woman to the bars and back again.
“How?”
She grinned at him and shook her head.
He opened his mouth to yell at her for once again not answering his questions, but didn't have the energy for it. Instead, he returned to his desk and threw himself into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and leveling a glare at her.
“So where ya been, Hawk?” one prisoner called from the other side of the cavern.
“Yeah, how in seven hells did you get a few days off?” another spat.
“Come on, Hawk, tell us!”
“Where were ya?”
Benash squeezed his eyes shut with a groan. The prisoners went on and on, taunting and teasing him until he couldn't stand it any longer.
“Alright!” he roared, silencing them. “I was in Vhais, at the Elders' command.”
“Oooh,” someone teased. “Get in trouble, did ya, Hawk?”
Benash narrowed his eyes at the speaker, but didn't say anything.
“So what's the capitol like?” another prisoner asked.
“None of your concern,” Benash snapped.
“Ah, come on, Hawk. It wouldn't hurt you to tell us something.”
The voices rose up again, drawing a few other officers into the room, including Garl, who went right up to the loudest prisoner and caught him by the shirt through the bars before the man could back away. Garl yanked the man forward so his head struck the door of his cell, then released him to fall dizzily onto his backside.
“You could do better to silence these bastards,” Garl growled, turning on Benash.
Benash rolled his eyes. “We'd have to shoot them all to get them quiet. It's not like the other caverns are any better.”
Garl stormed toward him, hands fisted at his sides. “I'd get these men to be quiet if given the chance.”
Raising an eyebrow, Benash swept his hand around in a mock bow from his seat and crossed his arms again.
“Be my guest.”
Garl glared at him for a moment, then turned to face the cells, immediately launching into a shouting tirade.
Benash shook his head, fighting a bitter laugh, as the prisoners simply responded with even greater volume, hurling insults at Garl until he was shaking with rage.
In the midst of it all, Benash just picked up the sound of Vorena's voice threaded into the mix, and the entire cavern went silent, though Garl was the last to stop speaking when he realized no one else was saying a word.
“What was that?” someone asked quietly after a long pause.
Benash looked over and caught the cheeky smile on Vorena's face. “I've been to Vhais,” she repeated.
“You have not,” Garl growled. “Don't lie–”
The cavern filled with the hissing sound of all the prisoners trying to silence the angry officer so that Vorena could speak again.
“I have indeed,” she said, getting up from her cot and standing casually at her cell door, confidently facing Garl. She nodded toward Benash with her chin. “I'll tell you what I saw and the
Hawk there can tell you if I'm lying.”
“You're just a pathetic excuse of a woman,” Garl sneered. “There's no way–”
“Hush!” someone growled.
Benash watched as Garl spun around, looking flabbergasted at the sight of all the prisoners eagerly looking toward the female.
“Well, I must say you've done an excellent job at getting everyone to quiet down,” Vorena teased, and after a pause, she added, “Oh, no, wait. That was me.”
“You couldn't possibly–”
“Shush!” several voices growled at once.
“Simple economics, you see,” Vorena said with a shrug when Garl turned back to her. “Offer people something they want, they'll give you something you want in return.” She flashed him a smile and glanced around at the room, asking, “So, Vhais?”
The cavern was so quiet, Benash could hear Garl fuming.
Vorena waited a moment, watching the officer, then sighed whimsically. “Ah, Vhais. A fading remnant of the greatness this Isle might once have achieved. Its shimmering marble that begins to reach for the skies!” Vorena lifted an arm, looking up, then let her hand fall heavily to her side. “And gives up the effort halfway, tumbling into tattered and threadbare squalor where the glorious circle of light surrounding the Elders' chambers fades away, leaving nothing but dust and shadow and the indistinct shifting mass of dull grey shoulders upon which the Elders perch. If you ever wanted evidence that a government is not in place to protect its citizens, but seeks only to protect itself at the citizens' expense, just look at Vhais: the council chambers in the center of the city, surrounded by armed guards, and further surrounded by citizens. Should anyone ever attack, the people would die first while the Elders huddled in their chambers, protected on all sides, using the people as a shield, as all governments do. Yes, our exquisite capitol, a shining beacon of truth and pride, honor and patriotism. And the Council chambers! A veritable fortress of idealism, surrounded by the worthy and exalted Eagle guard, where the red-robed Elders hide themselves as they impose restrictions on our lives and keep us under the yoke of slavery.”
“Your sarcasm is treasonous, wench,” Garl growled, but his voice was drowned out by a prisoner asking, “The Elders wear red?”
