The Hidden King

by E G Radcliff

Áed concentrated on a slow, deep breath. The cold air entering his lungs gave him something upon which to focus, but the movement almost made him cry out. “S’alright.”

  Judoc took a deep breath that echoed down the hallway like falling water. “Óengus came for you.”

  Áed didn’t answer. He faintly remembered his shoulder wrenching out of its socket as he’d struggled desperately against the bonds, and he lifted his arm ever so slightly to ensure it worked. The joint was tender, but everything else was so much worse that he could barely notice.

  “Are you alright?”

  He took a quick inventory, and then a shaky breath. He didn’t feel like he properly inhabited his own body, like he’d slipped out somehow, and he recounted the truth with a sensation of peculiar detachment. “No, I don’t think so. He, um…” Áed gave a short, humorless laugh, not sure where it came from. “He carved up my back.” He tried to lift his arm away from his side, and bit his tongue with the effort. “And arms too, I think.” He closed his eyes, though there was nothing to see either way, and caught his breath at the invasion of raw, unfiltered memories that threatened to drag him back under the black water’s swirl. Óengus’s tools had glinted in the candlelight, and the man’s teeth had been soft with filth like moss. The bite of the restraints had cut into Áed’s wrists.

  Judoc’s voice was heavy with empathy. “I am so sorry.” There fell a pregnant pause. “I have evidence of that butcher’s work on my shoulder. It heals, you know.” He paused, and Áed imagined a shrug in the beat of hesitation. “At least, the physical wounds do.”

  The conversation lulled to a long moment of silence. Áed desperately needed it to continue, to hear Judoc’s voice, to have a diversion to keep him afloat, but he could think of nothing at all to say. The freezing, stinging memories lapped at his consciousness, threatening him with feeling, and surely he would drown.

  To his relief, Judoc offered a lifeline. “Áed, who do you care about? Think of someone, and you won’t feel the pain so much.”

  That was a cheerful topic. Thoughts of Ninian brought dull, empty suffering where once love had flourished. Thoughts of Ronan brought tears to Áed’s eyes and made desperation boil again as he considered that the boy, who Áed had raised from the time Ronan was little more than an infant, might be somewhere in this pit, maybe even in the torturer’s chamber. He choked, couldn’t answer the old man’s question as another wave crashed over him, and he felt some inner light sputter. “How long have I been here?”

  Judoc answered readily. “This is the third day. You’ve been unconscious for a while since they brought you back.” How Judoc tracked the passage of time was a mystery that Áed hoped he would never have to learn.

  Judoc seemed to have a much better idea of the night-day cycle than Áed. Hours passed, night came and went, and Judoc woke in the morning and called out to Áed to wake him as well. Áed hadn’t slept. Food, evidently, came at ‘midday,’ whatever difference that made. Once again, nothing came for Áed but water, and Áed drank it carefully. He couldn’t detect any sweetness, not like the first time, but he paced himself anyway, waiting to see if he grew drowsy. He didn’t.

  He fell into a pattern of sleeping and talking. Each morning, he woke a little hungrier and a little more feverish, but tried to extend his mobility by small measures. Painful as it was, he needed the sense of purpose the exercise brought. He’d managed, step by painful step, to wrestle on Cynwrig’s sweater, which offered a familiar comfort. Nearly conquered by the effort, he’d lain on his stomach for a long while to recover, grimacing and panting, before he was capable of sitting up again.

  When he slept—which, after the first night, he did often, for lack of anything else to do—it didn’t take long before the nightmares began.

  After the first one, he found himself crying, found himself shaking, found tears rolling down his cheeks. Then tears turned into awful, hoarse sobs that burst into steam in the freezing air. He couldn’t stop them as they broke over him in waves, even as they made no sound but a rasp on his overtaxed voice, and the searing agony that gripped his back and arms only made the tears run faster.

  He became aware of Judoc’s voice calling to him through his misery, and he tried to calm himself so he could hear. He held his breath, forced the tears into hiccups.

  “Áed!” Judoc was calling. “Áed, talk to me.”

  Áed took a breath and tried to gather himself enough to reply. “I’m here,” he rasped, and he heard the deadness in his own voice. He wanted Ninian and Ronan and the gray flat in the Maze, and he wanted Ninian’s arms around him and Ronan’s simple fear of Máel Máedóc, he wanted the fires in the gritty streets, the worn-out armchairs, and the company.

  “Áed,” Judoc soothed. “Are you alright?”

  Weakened by sobs, Áed took a moment to breathe and felt it rattle in his chest as though he’d cracked something deep inside. “No.” He closed his eyes. He could not conjure a happy thought. “No, I’m not.”

  “Were you dreaming?”

  Áed closed his eyes again, preferring the inside of his eyelids to the inside of his cell. “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  “Everything” he explained softly, trying not to strain his voice any further. It caught in his throat and gave out in the middle of words. “Judoc, what if I never get out? There’s someone who needs me, he only has eight, and for all I know he’s down here somewhere too, and before that—” His voice broke, and he coughed. “Before that, I lost someone, and I know I can never get him back, and I swear to the Gods, Judoc, I don’t know what to do, and everything hurts.”

  “Áed,” Judoc murmured, but Áed could barely hear him.

  “There’s nothing I can do, and nothing that I know except that I have to get out and I can’t, and I can’t even seem to find myself anymore. Maybe it’s because it’s so dark. Gods, Judoc, it’s dark, and it’s cold. I think I’m suffocating; I think that’s it.” He took a deep breath, exhausted by the words, and held his head in his hands. He felt hot and cold at once, and his skin felt inflamed where the torturer’s blades had sliced.

  “Tell me anything,” Judoc said, and he offered the words like a hand for support, saving Áed from sinking. “I will listen.”

  “I’m scared, Judoc,” Áed managed.

  “I know,” Judoc’s reply floated down the hall. “I know.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Waking consisted of opening his eyes and nothing more, because it wasn’t worth the effort to get up off the cot. Once Áed considered it, he supposed that opening his eyes wasn’t necessary either, as everything looked the same either way. The next time he blinked, he left them closed.

  Judoc hailed him with a yawn from down the hall, and Áed muttered a ‘morning’ with his eyes still shut. He left it up for Judoc to decide whether it was a good morning or not.

  The old man seemed to be in high spirits, and he whistled contentedly as he went through his morning routine, whatever it was. “I’ve got a good feeling about today, son,” he said. His voice was chipper in contrast to their dismal surroundings and Áed’s dismal mood.

  “That so?”

  “That so. Something good’s gonna happen today, I know it.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I, my boy, am highly in tune with the fae. I ought to be. I’ve practically been stuck in a mound with the cunning bastards for seven years.”

  Judoc’s ability to lighten the mood evidently worked even on the darkest of fevered stews, because Áed heard himself snort.

  “I’m pretty sure this place is far from a faerie mound, Judoc.”

  “You wouldn’t know,” Judoc said sagely. “You’ve never been here on a festival night. How are you feeling this morning?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know.” Every movement still brought whips of agony, and every thought inevitably turned to despair, but he omitted that from his response. It was probably clear enough in his voice, anyway.

  The old man seemed to hear it, and his voic
e turned sympathetic. “It will pass.”

  “Thanks, Judoc.”

  Time plodded. Every heartbeat was a war between thirst and hunger, then hunger and pain, then pain and depression. Pain always won, but depression kept trying, probing around the outer edges of Áed’s mind.

  Judoc was right, though. There was something in the air, a change in the wind. It was all in his head and he knew it, but that didn’t make it less real. His head was a strange place at that time, and it created a feeling of shivering purpose.

  “Judoc?” he asked. “When will the guard come with water?”

  “Oh, let’s see,” the man mused. “Another hour or so.”

  It was strange, but something quite like determination skimmed over Áed’s consciousness at that. Good, he thought, not even sure he was really thinking. Time to prepare.

  Prepare for what, he didn’t know, but days in darkness—even weak, wounded darkness—had made him restless. The need for action was building against his ribs.

  Only one action interested him.

  How much worse he could make things for himself if he failed, or even if he succeeded, he didn’t consider. For too much time had gone by, and it was time to find Ronan. He had failed to melt the bars of the cell, and he knew that if he tried again in his condition, the effort would fall pathetically short. Another way had to exist. His urge to pace his cell was met with stiff pain, so he slouched on his cot and played with tongues of fire on his ruined fingertips. He was getting better at controlling it, or perhaps he was too weakened to muster uncontrollable flames, but either way, he didn’t think he would need very much power for his plan to work.

  “You said it would be a good day, Judoc,” he said thoughtfully. “I think at least it will be an interesting one.”

  “Oh? Is your back feeling better?”

  “No.” In fact, it was stiff and inflamed, and his movements felt heavy. But for the first time in days, a break appeared in the hopelessness. Not knowing how long it would last, Áed would take it. “But I’m thinking a little straighter.”

  “Ah! Well, that’s an improvement! How will it make for an interesting day?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  There must have been something in his tone, for when Judoc next spoke, his voice was low. “Are you planning something, Áed?”

  “I don’t know. I might be. I think maybe I should.”

  “Planning… what?” Judoc spoke carefully. “You asked about the guard. Tell me you aren’t planning what I think you’re planning.”

  Áed didn’t reply right away. When he did, he spoke slowly. “There’s nothing for it. I can’t stay here another day.”

  It was actually possible to hear Judoc shaking his head furiously. “No. No, put that thought from your mind.” There came a clank as the man leaned on the bars of his cell. “There is nothing you can do that I have not already tried, and you can tell how much success I’ve found. Do you know what they’ll do to you?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Judoc was undeterred. “How much can you take, Áed?” A pause sank, as heavy as a stone. “There’s an edge to this life. Get too close and you won’t come back. So I ask you: How much more can you take? Another session with Óengus? Starving for weeks?”

  Áed was silent.

  As if it needed to be said, Judoc spoke softly. “They’ll kill you. Please, tell me you understand that.”

  When Áed still didn’t respond, Judoc called his name, but Áed only shook his head at the darkness. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? Great Gods, are you mad?”

  “I don’t think so.” Áed let his head hang heavy, let his back protest, and tried to find the pain encouraging. It meant he was alive, despite having already been buried. “If I don’t try, I may as well already be dead.”

  “That’s fool’s talk.”

  “Is it? Am I living right now? Listen.” He felt surprise at the conviction behind his words. “There are things I have to do. There’s someone who needs me. What’s more, I don’t want to stay here for the rest of my life.”

  “It’s impossible,” Judoc exploded. “It’s suicide. You can’t get out, is there any way that could be clearer?”

  “You don’t know me,” Áed burst savagely, and the old man hushed. “You don’t know me, Judoc. You don’t know what I’ve done, you don’t know what I’m capable of. You have no idea.”

  Instead of a bristling retort, Judoc fell silent for several long breaths, and Áed closed his eyes and bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to release his frustration onto Judoc. The bars of the man’s cell clanked again as he leaned away from them, and, for another moment, the silence dragged on. “Well,” he said finally. “Care to enlighten me?”

  Áed laughed humorlessly. “Would it help to convince you?”

  “No.”

  “Then no. I wouldn’t.” Áed pressed his knuckles to his temples, where the exertion of raising his voice had sparked a throbbing headache. “I’m so sorry. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I know you don’t want me to leave you alone. I know I might not… well, I know it’s dangerous. So, I’m really, really sorry.” Swallowing, he let the decision wash over him. “But I have to try.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When the guard’s light began to bob down the hall, Áed pushed himself to his feet. The procedure was familiar enough: the guard would come to the door, bearing the tray of water, and he would bend to slide it through the narrow opening between the floor and the iron bars.

  The guard’s torch dazzled Áed’s eyes, and he squinted so that he wouldn’t be blinded. Holding his crumpled hands behind his back, he summoned the ember in his heart and slowly let heat run through his arms until his palms were hot enough to shine. He kept his hands hidden from the approaching guard’s sight.

  The guard who brought the food and water was a ratty little man with a face paler than a termite’s. He didn’t have very much hair, even though he wasn’t particularly old, and he walked with a lazy stoop and a slow, lopsided stride. Áed held his breath as the guard approached his cell, dragging the loudly-protesting cart of slop and water, and the scrawny man turned his back to reach for a tray.

  It was what Áed needed.

  Lunging with all the force he could muster, he grabbed the man’s neck and yanked him backward into the iron door with a crash. The tray fell, the water splashed, and the tin bowl rolled off down the hall as the man gasped and tried to pull away. In response, Áed let more fire into his palms. Not too much, not enough to damage the spluttering guard, but enough that the man squawked. “Be quiet,” Áed ordered. The world was spinning in the corners of his vision, but he would not show weakness. “And drop that.”

  The guard, in terror, let go of the knife he’d been edging out of his belt.

  “Now,” Áed said quietly through gritted teeth. “Using your right hand, unlock this door.”

  “But—but—”

  Áed poured a little more heat into his hands, and the man choked. “Unless you want to lose your head, do what I say.”

  Shaking, the guard reached into his pocket and drew out the keyring, which jingled with his hands’ frantic trembling. When he found the right one, he reached to the keyhole and hesitated. “They’ll kill me.”

  “I’ll kill you. Open the gods-damned door.”

  Without further protest, the petrified man did as he was told, and Áed pushed the door open with his shoulder. He was still holding the guard through the bars, so he carefully moved one hand at a time before kicking the door shut again and letting the heat in his palms fade ever so slightly.

  “Well done. Now walk with me.” Trying his best to hide the fact that he was using the guard for support, he steered him to Judoc’s cell. In the light of his faintly-glowing hands, he could see the old man through the bars, as white as a ghost. Judoc’s uncomprehending eyes were perfectly colorless, and his long, scraggly beard was not sufficient cover to disguise the expression of shock on its owner’s deeply-lined face.
>
  “Á-Áed?” he stammered. “What…”

  Áed took a half-step toward the barred door, but to his surprise, the old man backed away. Judoc’s eyes were so wide with fear that they made perfect circles beneath his creased eyelids.

  “No. No, get back!”

  “What are you talking about?” He gave the guard a push. “Open that door, too.”

  But Judoc was shaking his head, and had backed all of the way to the corner of the tiny cell, hands clawing over the walls as if seeking a defense in the stone. “You’ve kept secrets!”

  “What?”

  “Don’t say another word,” the old man ordered. “Not another word.”

  “I don’t—”

  “What did I just say?” Judoc exclaimed with surprising vigor. “I know what you are! Great Gods, I was glad of you, I comforted you! You lying bastard!”

  “Judoc!” Áed exclaimed.

  But Judoc only pressed his wiry body into the corner. “They should have locked you up deeper. Stay away from me.”

  Any wounds that may have come from Judoc’s words, Áed could not feel. His hands were trembling at the guard’s neck, and though they stayed hot, Áed knew his weakness was evident. The spinning at the edge of his vision had turned to vertigo, and he blinked, trying to keep himself oriented. “So… so what, you’re just going to stay here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand.” He shook his head and nudged his captive guard. “Unlock his door.”

  “Don’t,” Judoc begged, fixing his colorless gaze on the guard’s face. “Please don’t let that creature near me.”

  That creature. “Damn, Judoc,” Áed said softly. “Alright.”

  He very nearly tripped as he steered the guard away, but held himself as strong as he could. The guard was whimpering. “How are you doing that?”

  Áed raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know.”

  “It hurts.”

  “Yeah? It’ll hurt a lot worse if you don’t do what I say. Where’s Ronan?”

  The guard cringed. “Who?”

  “Ronan,” Áed demanded. “He was with me when we were arrested.” At the guard’s blank expression, Áed gave him a little shake. “Come on. Young boy, dark hair. Green eyes. Where is he?”