by Bryan Davis
“The gateway is genetically locked?”
“Apparently. At least, that’s what Prescott’s notes say.”
Tibalt slapped his leg. “My pappy’s a smart one! Oh, yes, he is! He locked that gate, and ain’t no one can open it but Pappy himself.”
“That was a smart move,” Jason said. “But what I can’t figure out is why Prescott left papers like that in his desk where any snoop could find them.”
“Not just any snoop, Jason. The drawer was protected by a combination lock.” Elyssa flexed her fingers near his nose. “I had no trouble sensing the movement of the tumblers.”
“Okay. One mystery solved.” Jason looked at Tibalt. “You said the litmus finger was a guide to truth and direction. Can we use it now to decide what to do?”
“Not yet.” Tibalt rubbed his hands together. “Oooh, it’s all coming back to me now. First the finger must be energized. It makes an attachment with you and learns the quality of your character. The more acts of wisdom and heroism you carry out, the more it trusts you. With each act, the color of the light will change, from yellow to orange to red and finally to bright blue, and with each change you will feel its guidance more easily.”
“So it was still yellow for Prescott, because—”
“Because he never did a heroic thing in his life,” Elyssa said. “He’s a selfish egomaniac.”
Jason nodded. That was probably true, but it still didn’t prove that the litmus finger really worked. “You mentioned setting some bait. What’s your plan?”
She took Jason by the arm. “Both of you come with me.” She led them back two turns in the maze, ducked into a dark, dead-end corridor, and pushed the torch into Jason’s hands. “The extane was densest back one more turn. Light this and throw it around the corner.”
“But it might explode before I can throw it.”
“That’s why you’re doing it and not me.” In the near complete darkness, the grin on Elyssa’s gaunt face made her look like a smiling specter. “It’s your code of chivalry, Jason. I know you wouldn’t want me to risk lighting it, so I’m skipping the steps where I tell you what I want to do, and then you stop me and insist on doing it yourself.”
“Is that a Diviner’s trait?”
She nodded. “It annoys my father to no end. I’m always cutting straight to the bottom line.”
“Okay. I’ll try to remember that.” He dug the flint stones from his pocket and strode back toward the dungeon. When he reached the next turn, he stopped and lit the torch. Hundreds of green sparks leaped from the flame and arced to the floor, popping and spitting. With a heave, he launched the torch around the bend and sprinted back toward their hiding place.
A loud foom sounded behind him. As soon as he ducked into the alcove, a rush of flames burst past and then shot back, like a dragon’s tongue zipping out and in. A loud crash followed. Sand and pebbles fell from the ceiling and pelted their heads.
“Sounds like a collapse,” Jason said. “We could get a chain reaction and get buried here.”
Elyssa reached up and touched the low ceiling. “No. It’s stable.”
Loud footsteps echoed, then three men dashed past, too fast to recognize.
“Hurry!” Elyssa grabbed Jason and Tibalt, and all three rushed down the corridor and through the open exit.
Jason slammed the gate. A key ring dangled from the lock, a long, thick key still inserted in the hole. He turned the key, jerked it out, and peered between the bars for a moment. Too bad he couldn’t stay long enough to see who had been waiting in ambush. They might have photo guns, and the locked gate wouldn’t be enough protection.
After attaching the key ring to his belt alongside the other, he drew his sword and whispered, “Quiet. There might be more.”
Now in the forest on the hill’s gentle northern slope, Jason led the way down a narrow path illuminated by dappled moonlight. Pine needles silenced their steps, and wind whistled through the swaying trees, further masking their footfalls.
Jason halted and raised his hand. Someone was out there, waiting, watching. No. Two someones. Although they made no sound, Jason’s keen warrior’s sense raised prickles on his skin. The odor of a man’s perspiration drifted in from his left. A slight rise in temperature passed across his skin. A pocket of space in the woods deadened the breeze, an area too big to be filled by one man.
As he lowered his sword and pretended to slide it back into his scabbard, he turned his head but kept his eyes on the spot in the woods. Suddenly, two men leaped out. With swords swinging, one aimed high while the other swung at Jason’s legs.
Jason leaped, tucking his body into a ball as he flew between the attackers and slashed the legs of the man on his right. The attacker cried out, and a loud thud punctuated his fall. After a quick somersault, Jason leaped to his feet and flew at the other man. When their swords met in a loud clang, Jason looked at the attacker’s face—Bristol, the guard who had stabbed Prescott!
Bristol thrust a knee at Jason’s groin, but Jason leaped to the side and sliced into the attacker’s calf. He staggered for a moment, apparently not badly hurt, but then suddenly crashed to the ground.
Tibalt took off down the slope like a jackrabbit, while Elyssa stood with a hefty branch clenched in both fists, the top half dangling.
“Thank you,” Jason said, bowing.
Elyssa dropped the branch. “Trust me. It was my pleasure.”
As the two attackers writhed on the pine needles, Jason stepped toward the first one and pushed him with his foot, shifting his face toward the moonlight. The dungeon guard?
“Why did you attack us?” Jason demanded.
After a pitiful groan, the guard spat out his words. “You know why, you murderer!”
Elyssa’s brow knitted. “Murderer?”
“I’ll explain in a minute.” Jason spun and pointed his sword at Bristol. “So you haven’t let your partner in on all the facts, have you?”
With a hand on the back of his head, Bristol scowled. “You will hang from the gallows! We will see to that!”
“Jason Masters!”
Jason turned. Three men stood behind the dungeon entrance, illuminated by a torch. One man shook the bars and yelled, “Don’t go with that witch! She will lead you into a trap!”
Jason took a step toward the gate. Viktor Orion? The newly seated Counselor? His usually neatly brushed white hair had flown astray and blew back and forth across his steely eyes and sloping nose. Anger blazed in his red cheeks.
A luxuriously dressed cathedral guard stood on either side. One drew a photo gun and pushed his hand, gun and all, between the bars. A ball of blue flames shot out and blazed by Jason’s ear. Like a comet, it streaked into the woods, letting out a shrill whistle until it struck a tree and burned a hole into the bark.
“You fool!” Orion jerked the gunman’s hand back through the bars. “I told you he is not to be harmed, and he has our keys!”
Jason pulled the ring from his belt and lifted it. “What am I offered for this means of escape?”
Orion clenched the bar. “I will beg the judge to let you live, and you can have a front row seat to watch the Diviner swing from the gallows.”
“Wrong answer.” Jason slung the keys into the woods and grabbed Elyssa’s hand. “Let’s go!”
“Perfect,” she said as they ran down the path. “Instead of getting hung, we’ll get shot in the back.”
“It takes time for the photo gun to recharge, and they’ll probably try to shoot the lock first. We need to get as far away as possible.”
“Let’s hope there’s only one gun.” Now puffing, Elyssa swung her head from side to side. “Where did Tibalt go?”
“Don’t worry. I can find him—after Orion and his guards go back for help. I hope he has the sense to stay hidden.”
He slowed his pace and guided her off the path. After trudging into a rain trench, he found a spot where the roots of a huge tree overhung a low, shallow cave. They ducked inside and sat behind the curtain
of spindly roots. The moon cast a dark shadow over them, while illuminating the path about a stone’s throw away.
Elyssa leaned forward and watched the path. “They’ll bring dogs,” she whispered.
“No doubt. That’s why we have to take off as soon as they leave for the castle. While they’re getting the dogs, we’ll get the best head start we can.”
A peal of thunder rumbled somewhere behind them, and the moonlight faded. The wind picked up and whipped the fallen leaves and needles into a swirl. Light rain pattered the canopy above, and large droplets splashed the ground here and there. Nestled in their cubbyhole, they stayed reasonably dry, but the breeze swept through with a swath of cool, moist air.
Shivering, Elyssa unclasped Jason’s cloak, pulled it down his shoulders, and draped it over herself.
“Skipping steps again?” he asked.
Giving him a smile and a wink, she pulled the cloak in close. “I wouldn’t be so forward with just anybody, Jason. Just you, Adrian, and my brothers. Remember how I followed you and Adrian like a little puppy until I was eight?”
Jason grinned. “I remember. We didn’t mind. We needed a fair maiden to rescue whenever we stormed the sand castles.”
She lifted her index finger, barely visible in the dark hideaway. “Do you remember this?”
“How could I forget?” He looped his finger around hers and chanted the verse she had taught him years ago. “We’re hooked by these fingers together, as brother and sister forever. Like gander and goose, we’ll never break loose, no dagger or dragon can sever.”
She pulled her finger slowly away and whispered, “I put dragon in there for a reason.”
“Because Adrian was already talking about them and getting me interested.”
She nodded, and her words floated by like a sad song. “You went the way of the warrior, and I heeded the call of the scholar. We couldn’t be more different.”
“I guess it was my fault. I should have noticed we were drifting apart. I liked having a sister.”
“Well, I always knew you’d be a warrior. Remember what I used to say when we were getting ready to wade across the Elbon?”
“I remember. ‘Lead the way, warrior.’ And I knew you’d be a scholar. You liked speaking with a formal air. Whenever I asked you a question, instead of ‘yes,’ you always said, ‘By all means.’”
“Those were good days.” She hooked her arm around his and sighed. “I feel like they’re back. I’m a little girl again, a maiden rescued from a witch hunter.”
He looked at her eyes, barely visible in the dimness. “What’s that witch talk all about, anyway?”
“Orion is the priest who interrogated my mother and me about my gifts. He was waiting for my sixteenth birthday so he could legally take me and have me examined without my parents’ permission.”
“Let’s see. You’re three months younger than I am, so you turned sixteen while you were in the dungeon.”
“You have a good memory. It’s almost a blessing that I was taken prisoner. Orion must not have known where I was until tonight.”
“Right,” Jason said. “With Prescott’s death, he probably got access to the records and set up the ambush.”
“Prescott’s death!” Elyssa clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I get too loud sometimes, but you didn’t tell me. Is that what the guard meant when he called you a murderer?”
“Yes, but I didn’t kill Prescott. I tried to explain where I got the litmus finger, but you said to tell you later.”
“I think now’s a good time.”
Jason quickly told his story, including details about the excised finger and Drexel’s warning that he could never return home without facing prosecution.
“So Drexel wanted the governor dead for some reason,” Jason concluded, “but there are too many unanswered questions. Why the unlocked gate? It gave Orion away. And when we went out, there was a key in the lock. Why would they put it in if they knew it was already unlocked? My guess is that Drexel got wind of Orion’s ambush, and he unlocked the rear gate. It was the only way he could get a signal to us.”
“I recognized the dungeon guard,” Elyssa said, “but who was the other goon who attacked us when we came out?”
“Bristol, Drexel’s henchman, the guy who actually murdered Prescott. I think attacking us was a ploy to convince Orion that I was the murderer.”
“Yes, I see.” Elyssa leaned her head against Jason’s shoulder. As she moved, a pendant necklace slipped from behind her torn shirt.
“I don’t remember seeing that,” Jason said, pointing at the swinging pendant.
“It’s something my mother made for me.” She set her fingers under it and pushed it closer to Jason. Embedded in a background of black coral, it looked like a pair of ivory hands clasped together as if hiding something in their grasp. “When the priest started questioning me, she was worried that I would be incarcerated. The hands represent a prison, and the captive is smothered, unable to taste the breath of freedom.”
She turned the pendant to the other side. The hands were now open, and a bird was taking wing and flying away. “This side represents the release of the captive. It signifies liberty. My mother says that liberty is the Creator’s greatest gift—freedom from slavery to any and all things that keep us from reaching out to him. So I wear it to remind me that no matter what happens, even if I have to go to the dungeon, someday I will be free.”
She caressed the pendant with a finger. “And it’s true. You came and set me free.”
Jason gazed at the bird, a white dove with feathery wings spread wide, then looked into Elyssa’s eyes. “It’s the best thing I ever did.”
They leaned their heads together and listened to the sounds of the night—birds, falling leaves, and the sighs of the wind as it passed through the trees. After a minute or so, Orion and his two guards appeared on the forest path. With light rain still falling, Orion waved his arms around and griped at the guards for a few seconds before marching back toward the castle. The guards followed, and soon, the path was clear.
Jason ducked under the roots and, keeping his head low, watched the three men until they disappeared in the darkness. He reached into the alcove and helped Elyssa to her feet. “Now to find Tibalt,” he said, “and outrun the dogs.”
After hustling back to the path, Jason and Elyssa jogged down the moistened slope and plunged deeper into the forest. Now that they had descended into the valley, the trees were more closely crowded, with lower, thicker branches that blotted out the moon’s glow.
Jason stopped, sniffing, listening. “I smell Tibalt,” he whispered. “I’m trying to pick up the direction.”
Elyssa rubbed her fingertips against her face, smearing the dirt as raindrops drew lines through the smudges. “I sense water.”
“Uh…yeah. It’s raining.”
She shoved him playfully. “I can see that. I mean we’re close to a lake or stream.”
“You can still sense a body of water, even in the rain?”
“It’s more difficult, but, yes, I know there’s one around here somewhere.”
“Well, your gift is on the mark. Nelson’s Creek runs through this valley. Once we find Tibalt, we can use it to our advantage.” Jason closed his eyes. Vision wouldn’t help now, so it was time to concentrate on the other senses. With the din of pelting raindrops and the swirling wind rustling the trees, hearing Tibalt’s breathing or detecting a block in airflow would be impossible.
He took in a deep draw from the cool dampness. Tibalt’s odor came from somewhere left of straight ahead. Even in the shifting air, the smell stayed constant, so he wasn’t moving. Could he be hiding? If he wasn’t hurt, wouldn’t he jump out and make himself known?
Drawing his sword, Jason stepped into a stand of thin underbrush, angling away from the path and toward the odor. “Tibber?” he called in a whisper. “Are you out there?”
A quiet moan sounded from beyond a thick tree trunk. Jason dashed toward it
and found Tibalt sitting on the other side. The old man had pulled up his torn pant leg and was rubbing his ankle. “Old Tibber can’t run like he used to. I was a fox, I was; I could outrun any hound in the kingdom, but now my old legs are as thin as twigs. I tell them to run, but I might as well be asking a crow to sing a lullaby.”
Jason touched Tibalt’s ankle. “Is it broken?”
“I think not. Twisted, to be sure, but I think I can walk. I thought it better to hide until you showed up. Didn’t want Orion to sniff me out with that ferret’s nose of his.”
Jason helped Tibalt to his feet. “Do you know Orion?”
As he limped back toward the path, Tibalt cackled. “He visited me so often, I accused him of being a door-to-door merchant. I had no money to buy his brooms and no place to sweep the dust.” His voice lowered to a tone of mystery. “He asked me questions, many questions about my father and the gateway. He knows, I tell you. He knows it’s all true.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Why, I told him lies, of course. But I told him many truths, too, just enough to make him believe me. Now he thinks that I am not the son of Uriel Blackstone, but that I still might truly know how to find the gateway. He was to come to see me again today. That’s why I was awake when you came through the dungeon. I was working on a new story to tell him. Would you like to hear it?”
“Maybe later.”
Tibalt’s countenance fell. “It was a doozy. It would have convinced him to let me out for sure.”
“And lead him to the gateway?”
“That’s what he would think!” Now back on the path with Elyssa, Tibalt pointed at Jason. “But make no mistake. Old Tibber would lead Orion into a pit, and Tibber would be free!”
A hound bayed in the distance. Jason looked toward the castle. The governor’s dogs were about a mile away. They would be there in moments.
He touched Tibalt’s shoulder. “Do you know the way to Nelson’s Creek?”
“Of course. Back in my day, we called it Hornets Creek because of all the hornets—”
“Never mind that.” Jason unfastened his cloak from around Elyssa’s neck. “Sorry. Safety before chivalry.” He rubbed her face and arms with the cloak and did the same to Tibalt. “Now go to the creek, wade into it, and walk downstream in the water. It’s shallow enough until you get to where it flows into Elbon River. Another creek runs into the river just a little ways to the left. Walk upstream next to that creek until you see a lumber cabin on the right. You’ll have to cross again to get to it, but it should be shallow, too. The workers won’t be there at this time of night, so it’ll be safe. I’ll meet you there.”
