by CW Thomas
“It will take as long as the lady needs,” Ustus answered. “You have been paid well enough. Conduct your business out here until we are finished.”
Mungo closed his mouth and bowed low.
A guard nudged Brynlee in the back with a grunted, “Move.” She stumbled ahead, casting repeated glances over her shoulder at Scarlett.
Brynlee and Neesah were escorted through a door into the dark, narrow hallway of a lavish home. At least, Brynlee thought it looked like a home, though she would’ve feared to meet the owner. A heavy pallor of perfume and alcohol hung in the air. The red walls were adorned with paintings of nude figures hugging and kissing each other. Ahead of the entryway, at the other end of the hall, lounged two half-naked women in wispy strips of clothing, perched on a sofa like lionesses awaiting their prey.
A disgruntled looking man in a long dark robe stood apart from them. He pulled a hood down off his bald head. Brynlee thought he looked like one of the wizards she’d seen in her books.
The man named Ustus strode up to him and shook his hand. “Verraten Suden? Did you not find the women of this kingdom to your liking?” He motioned to the two prostitutes on the sofa.
Verraten made no effort to even acknowledge the women. He snapped his hand away from Ustus, irritation emanating from every inch of his face. In a raspy voice he said, “I traveled all the way from Tranent to be left waiting here all morning? I do not wish to waste another moment more than necessary in this filthy place.”
Ustus sighed. “You wizards sure do rile easily enough. Follow me.”
Behind Brynlee and Neesah, the same mirthless guard who had ushered them inside nudged them to follow the two men. Brynlee went first, through a door in the main hallway and down a narrow set of stairs. Ustus took a torch from its place on the wall to light the way into a chilly dark abyss far under the city. The stone steps seemed to descend forever down a square shaft.
Once at the bottom, Brynlee watched Ustus push open a thick door made of wood and metal, its aged groan echoed into the deep dark around her. A large room appeared through the doorway occupied by nothing except a long wooden table that looked old and dusty. A hundred candles cast shiny reflections on the greasy black walls that imbued the room with a sinister energy.
Demulier snapped her fingers and pointed to the table. Ustus and the guard removed the top exposing an iron tub filled almost to the brim with a dark liquid.
“You, child,” Demulier said, pointing to Neesah. “Come here.”
Trembling, the girl stepped forward.
“In the tub.”
When Neesah didn’t move, the guard took matters into his own hands and lifted her with a quick jerk, eliciting a sharp wail from the child’s lips. She squealed again when she landed in the water where she started shivering.
Demulier walked up to the tub and set her palm against the girl’s head. She uttered something in a strange language, and after a moment the girl calmed, her eyes closed, and she appeared to have fallen asleep. Demulier pushed her down, submerging her.
Brynlee realized with a shudder in her heart that Demulier was a witch.
“Verraten,” Demulier said in a breathy voice filled with excitement and anticipation, “come here and look. The glimpse will not last long.”
“What are you talking about?” Verraten said. “What madness is this?”
Brynlee slunk back against the frigid black wall of the room, shivering from cold and fright. Something evil lingered in the air, turning the room cold and her breath white. She wanted to shut her eyes to avoid seeing whatever she was about to see, but she couldn’t take her gaze off the tub, or her mind off wondering whether Neesah would be all right.
“You are about to glimpse beyond our world,” Demulier said, “a show of power that I hope will draw you to place of understanding.”
“What are you talking—”
From behind him the guard grabbed the wizard’s head and thrust it down into the water. Verraten fought and flailed against the thick arms of the guard, but he was powerless to break free.
Demulier began muttering a strange spell that further chilled the air until a massive explosion of fiery light burst from the tub and illuminated the room. In that instant Brynlee glimpsed three silhouettes projected onto the ceiling above: she saw Neesah’s tiny body lying motionless in the water, the head and shoulders of Verraten leaning over the tub, and, thirdly, a dark shape with a horned head rising up toward the surface. It’s appearance sent a terrifying wave of cold through her body that pimpled her skin.
The light went out and the shadows vanished.
Verraten reeled back, eyes wide as saucers, mouth spitting and coughing tub water. He dropped to his knees before Demulier, heaving.
“What have you done?” he managed to say.
The witch stepped away from the tub, her face as beautiful and serene as it was the moment Brynlee had first laid eyes on her. She stood over the wizard, eyeing him with an icy stare that seemed to calm and frighten him.
“By the gods, you are the harbinger,” he whispered. “The herald of the Adarc, of Ahkidibis himself. How—”
“You dare say his name?” Demulier snapped.
Verraten bowed. “Forgive me, great one. I do not understand how–how is this possible?”
“I was reborn many years ago with the help of your high king,” Demulier said. “In exchange I promised to help him begin his conquest of Edhen, but he is little more than a puppet to me. The armies of the nine hells are ready. We need only pave the way. I brought you here to show you a glimpse, to convince you that the time was near. Are you with us?”
“Of course. Yes. Yes! Of course I am.”
Ustus strode toward the kneeling wizard with slow, careful steps, his hands clasped behind his back. “Have you ever heard of a regenstern?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“We sent a man to steal one from a wizard on Efferous. Word has reached us that the wizard is dead, and the stone is missing, along with our thief.”
“I want a bounty put on the head of this man,” Demulier said, looking to Ustus. “Merek Viator. Get the word out as soon as you can.”
“Merek Viator?” Verraten said.
“You know his name?”
“There once was a Merek Viator of Turnberry,” Verraten answered, “but he left after he dishonored his family’s name. He was supposed to take the blood march, but he refused. He left and was never seen again.”
“Turnberrians and their foolish notions of honor,” Demulier moaned.
“You will keep your ears open,” Ustus said, “and if you hear anything about this gem, or Merek Viator, you will promptly send word.”
“Yes. Yes. Anything. But, please, tell me, is the time near?”
Demulier frowned. “Not near enough, but soon.”
“We must have the gem,” Ustus said.
Brynlee understood little of what they were talking about, but their words terrified her almost as much as the image of the haunting horned shadow on the ceiling.
Her thoughts returned to Neesah and she looked back at the tub. Brynlee wondered if the girl had drowned.
Demulier dismissed Verraten and then, as if for the first time, noticed Brynlee cowering in the corner.
“A second sacrifice won’t be necessary,” she said, waving her hand. “Get her out of here. Let the dimwitted bawd do what he wishes with her.”
The guard huffed over, picked Brynlee up off the floor, and hoisted her over his shoulder. From her vantage point high above the floor she looked down into the tub of still, clear water as the guard carried her from the room. Other than water, the tub was empty. Neesah, it seemed, had disappeared.
The light outside blinded Brynlee as the guard dropped her back in place among the row of shackled girls. They were all soaking wet now, having been christened with buckets upon buckets of cold bath water.
As Brynlee’s feet were being locked back in place to the stone pillar, Scarlett jumped up and wrapped her in a t
ight hug. Relief washed through Brynlee like sunshine and she returned the embrace.
Mungo was talking with a trio of handsome men adorned in fancy attire. The men were youthful, with polished leather jerkins and regal-looking white capes. She recognized the gold leopard crest on their sleeves. They were men from the kingdom of Tay, a province known throughout Edhen as immoral and quarrelsome.
They were pointing to Scarlett as they talked.
“What’s happening?” Brynlee asked. “What are they talking about?”
Sitting to her right was Maidie. The girl had gotten sick twice since leaving Aberdour and even now looked pallid and emaciated. “He’s a prince, that man in the middle there. He wants to buy her.”
Brynlee looked at Scarlett, horrified. “What? No. She’s not for sale.”
“We’re all for sale,” Maidie said, “and we don’t have much choice.”
Scarlett started crying into Brynlee’s dress.
The man in the middle shook hands with Mungo, finishing their deal. He turned and started walking toward the girls. He looked at Scarlett, smiling a mouth full of gorgeous white teeth.
Brynlee’s grip on her sister tightened. “No,” she whispered, and then louder, “No. No!”
The prince grabbed Scarlett by the chin, forcing her face to look up to his. His eyes examined her with a wide-eyed amazement that Brynlee found perplexing.
“The resemblance is uncanny,” he said.
“Indeed,” said one of his companions.
A guard unlocked Scarlett from the post.
“No,” Brynlee said. “She’s not for sale. What are you—”
The prince tugged the five-year-old girl away, ignoring Brynlee’s protests.
“No, no, no!” she said in a rising scream.
Mungo swatted her in the face, a moderate slap, but one she didn’t see coming. The shock of it knocked her to the ground and out of reach of Scarlett. The prince hoisted the little girl up into his arms and carried her away. Scarlett reached over his shoulder toward Brynlee, mouth open in silent wail.
Brynlee lost control. Sprinting after her sister she took two steps before the chains bit into her feet and pulled her down. She screamed and thrashed against her bonds. She beat on the metal links and tugged at the shackles until bloody cuts developed on her skin, the pain of which lost all significance when measured against the agonized cry in her chest.
She felt Maidie’s hands embracing her and pulling her out of the street.
Brynlee called her sister’s name again and again. Eventually the sight of Scarlett being carted off into the market crowed evaporated into a blur by the tears in Brynlee’s eyes.
SCARLETT
Scarlett Falls flinched when Rab dropped a white plate on the ground in front of her, which bounced, sending the few pieces of roasted ferret scattering onto the forest floor.
“Give her a break, will you?” said Paden as he lounged against a mossy log.
“She won’t eat it anyway,” Rab said. “Stupid kid.”
As predicted, Scarlett ignored the food, just as she had done for the past two nights. She was too tired to eat, too angry, and, more than anything, too heartbroken. Not a moment went by that she didn’t long for the comfort of Brynlee’s embrace or the look in her compassionate brown eyes reassuring her that everything was going to be all right.
Now the property of Prince Taggart Elle, of the western kingdom of Tay, Scarlett had become the object of torment for his traveling companions, Rab and Paden, both of whom were young men with too much money and not enough wit.
“How would you like it if you were tied up, helpless, and at the whim of a man three times bigger than you?” Paden asked. He at least had a sensitive side, even though his mannerisms were strangely feminine.
Rab smiled a stupid, playful grin. “Mmm, I might actually like that very much.”
“Oh really?”
“Uh-huh. Really.” Rab winked.
Paden sat back against the log, rubbing his face. “By the gods, what I would give to be back at the castle right now, in a room somewhere with you. Oh, what I would do.”
“We’ll be there soon enough,” said a third man as he trudged up the slope and reentered the campsite. Taggart Elle. Prince of Tay. He was a dignified and handsome man, clean-shaven with a strong jaw and dimpled chin framed by a head of dirty blond locks. He walked past Scarlett as he retied his breeches, and then sat down in front of a small campfire.
“Is the princess not eating again?” he asked, casting a glance at Scarlett.
At the word princess, Scarlett felt her heart shudder. Othella and Brynlee had told her to keep her identity a secret, but it appeared Taggart already knew who she was, but how?
“I think she means to starve herself,” Rab said. He sat down on the ground next to Paden.
“Speaking of princesses,” Paden began, “I heard in Perth that the children of Kingsley and Lilyanna Falls are still alive. Word reached the rebellion that they escaped the attack on Aberdour and there’s this big secret campaign to try and find them.”
“Who cares?” Rab said, stretching his hefty legs out and yawning. “A bunch of children. Not much of a threat.”
Scarlett felt her nerves calming. Maybe they didn’t know who she was after all.
“Eat up, child,” Taggart said. “I don’t want you to go wasting away on me.” He sat down cross-legged in front of her. He scooped up the pieces of ferret meat and offered her some. “Go ahead. It’s tasty. Cooked it myself, you know.”
“That’s hardly selling her on it,” Paden joked.
Taggart leaned toward Scarlett. “Look, we have a long journey ahead of us and I need you healthy and fit for my brother.” A mischievous glint flitted across his face. “You see, we want to plan a little surprise for him.”
“You should tell her,” Paden said.
“No, don’t tell her,” said Rab, groaning. “Just make her do it.”
“Will you two stop being unhelpful?” Taggart said over his shoulder. He shifted his attention back on Scarlett and tore off a nibble of the roasted ferret meat. “My brother is… oh, how should I put this?”
“A moron?” Paden said with a smirk.
“He is not the sharpest sword in the family,” Taggart finally concluded. “A bit of a clumsy fool, quiet, like you. Doesn’t have many friends.”
“Did the doctors really break his foot when he was little, or is that just some sob story his mother tells?” Paden asked.
“It’s true. My brother was born deformed—a curved back, a weak left arm, and a leg, his left leg, grew backwards.”
Rab hobbled in a straight line behind Taggart, hunched over, clutching his left arm, and dragging a twisted foot. He scrunched up his face and made gagging noises as he performed an imitation of what was, apparently, Taggart’s brother.
“When he was a little younger than you, doctors tried to correct his leg by breaking the ankle and twisting it back around,” the prince exclaimed. “Well, I’m sure you can imagine just how painful that was. And it didn’t help.”
“It actually made things worse,” Paden said. He tossed a bit of meat into the air and caught it in his mouth.
“Show off,” Rab said.
“I called him my pet,” Taggart said. “He was like the family dog, except he looked like a boy. Sort of.”
“Looked like a freak,” added Rab.
“The only one who ever made him smile was our little sister.” At the mention of his sister, Taggart’s eyes grew sad. Whatever enjoyment he had been receiving from telling his tale faded away. He cleared his throat, and then continued. “She was, uh, about your age, a little younger maybe. One day my brother was supervising her as she was taking a bath. They got to playing some game where he would dunk her head under the water and she’d pop up spitting a stream of water at his face. She would laugh and laugh and laugh. Then, one time, he dunked her and WHAM!” Taggart slapped his hands together so loud it made Scarlett flinch. “Slammed her head against the sid
e of the porcelain washtub. She slipped under the water and never came back up.”
“That’s where you come in,” Rab said, pointing to Scarlett and lifting his eyebrows in rapid succession.
“Quiet, you halfwit,” Taggart said.
“Or what?” Rab goaded.
“I’ll tell you what!” Taggart jumped up and tackled the man. They fell to the ground and wrestled around, with Rab giggling as Taggart dominated him.
Ignoring them, Scarlett found herself haunted by Taggart’s story. She didn’t wish to meet a deformed halfwit. She quivered at the thought of seeing him dragging his crooked foot down the corridors of a strange castle, his gnarled hand at his side, leering at her through an evil gaze.
Scarlett winced at the hunger pang that swept through her. For the first time she caught herself eyeing the food they had given her, now strewn in the dirt in front of her. On Edhen, it was considered a huge insult to be forced to eat food off the ground. Only the lowest of the low ever did so. Still, Scarlett could not longer ignore the ache in her stomach. With an unsteady hand, she picked a piece of the roasted meat off the dirt and brushed it with her tiny fingers. She spent the next few moments nibbling at it until the savory meat ignited her desire for food, at which point she popped the whole thing into her mouth and reached for another.
“That a girl,” Taggart said once he’d finished tormenting Rab. “We’ve got another thirty days on this road, and I want to see you eat something every day.”
Like she had done for the past two nights, Scarlett slept little. Without Brynlee’s lap to curl up in she felt cold and exposed. In her mind every forest sound became a hungry creature sneaking up to devour her, and every creaking limb a hiding predator. She didn’t sleep much the following night either and her weariness made her feel sick all through the next day. After about a week, however, she surrendered to a sleep so heavy that it took a physical shake by Taggart to rouse her the next morning. He smiled, amused, his blue eyes appearing kind and friendly for a moment behind a few strands of blond locks.
Scarlett continued traveling north with the prince and his two companions for another three weeks, enduring more restless nights and further mocking from Rab. Her legs and buttocks grew sore from riding on the back of Taggart’s saddle. Thankfully, the young prince had been kind enough to remove her tiny shackles, though only after he’d made it clear that if she tried to run she should would be eaten by a forest monster.