by Duncan Pile
“Morning Tarek,” he said wearily. “You here to replace me?”
Jonn grunted. “No, I’m here to clean the cages.”
“Seriously? What did you do?” Daryl asked. “You’re the Wrench’s favourite!”
“I’ll be in worse trouble if I talk about it,” Jonn answered.
“Fair enough. These are for you,” Daryl said, nudging a large wooden bucket with his foot. It was filled with soapy water and had cleaning rags draped over its side.
Jonn bent down and picked up the bucket of soapy water by its handle, taking care not to slop any over the side. “I’d better get in there.”
“Bring the bucket out when the water needs changing,” Daryl said. “It won’t be long.”
Jonn grunted again and grasped the door handle. He gave it a turn and pushed it open, his heart in his mouth as he stepped inside. The stench of human filth assaulted his nostrils the moment he was within the room, making his eyes sting as he peered into the gloom. As his eyes adjusted, he made out large, bell-like shapes spaced evenly across the open floor – they must be the cages. He counted them, making twelve in total, but the room was too dim to see much else. Chinks of light leaked through cracks in the closed shutters at ceiling level, but it wasn’t enough to see by. Jonn paused, remembering seeing those shutters from above when he’d first approached headquarters. It was the shutters that first made him realise he was looking at Belash’s lair, and caused him to wonder if Adela was within the warehouse walls. Little had he known at the time that she might have been right beneath his feet!
He needed more light. Jonn looked around, searching for a torch, and found one by the door, set into a bracket on the wall. Placing the bucket of water down on the floor, he reached for the torch and drew it free. Its hollow frame was crammed with tightly-rolled Hessian, soaked in wax for the flame to consume. Resting in the space at the top was a tinderbox. He opened the box and took out the oilcloth, dropping it on top of the hessian. He took out the flint and struck it hard against the side of the box. Sparks rained down onto the oilcloth, which set alight and burned brightly until the wax took flame too and the torch flourished into fiery bloom.
Squinting against the sudden brightness, Jonn held the torch away from him and walked slowly across the floor. His hands were trembling in fearful anticipation, making the torch cast a jittery, flickering light. He approached the first cage, his heart in his throat, but it didn’t seem to be occupied. It was only when he drew right up to it that he realised he was mistaken. There was someone in there alright, but she was huddled on the floor of the cage, her face buried in her hands. A subdued, whimpering sound escaped from between her fingers and she sat up, scrambling away from him until her back was pressed against the bars of her cage.
“Don’t hurt me!” she pleaded, her eyes as wide as saucers. Her face was filthy, open sores weeping freely on her cheeks and around her mouth. She looked at Jonn with fear so abject it ashamed him.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said gently, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
“Don’t hurt me,” she whispered again, her head falling back against the bars and her eyes closing, as if the small exertion of crossing the cage had exhausted her. Jonn felt fury rise within him, fury and compassion. What had been done to these girls? He wanted to rip the door of the cage open and free her, but what would he do then? He couldn’t rightly walk through headquarters with her in his arms!
Horrified by what he was seeing, Jonn almost hoped he didn’t find Adela. If they’d mistreated this girl so badly, they might have done the same to Adela!
“Where’s Adela?” he asked, but the girl wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her eyes were still closed and she wasn’t moving. It was then that Jonn noticed the dark stain on the canvas floor of the girl’s cage, spreading to the edge of the small platform and disappearing off the side. He walked around the cage and found a stinking pile of faeces on the floor. White hot anger flared inside him. This girl was being treated worse than an animal! His fists clenched, skin stretching tight over bone-white knuckles as fury burnt away his fear and left him with a cold certainty. Belash was going to die. Jonn was going to rescue Adela, and then he was coming back to get these other girls too, and finally he would take Belash’s life, even if it meant tearing down the warehouse brick by brick.
He hurried to the next cage, looking for Adela, but it was empty. He stopped in his tracks on the way to the third. Long blond hair trailed through the bars. It was filthy and greasy but there was no disguising that colour. Adela! Jonn stepped forwards, but slowed again as he approached the cage, despair filling his heart. She was lying on her front, her face pressed against the canvas beneath the obscuring tangle of hair. Rats were running in and out of her clothing, nibbling at her flesh, and yet she wasn’t moving. Fluids had leaked from her body, soaking into the canvas around her and giving off the worst stink imaginable. There was no denying it – she was dead! Jonn stepped up to the cage like a man caught in a dream he couldn’t escape. With shaking hands, he reached out and smoothed her hair away from her face. He stared at her for a moment, and then with a great gasp fell to his knees, gulping foul smelling air. It wasn’t her! It wasn’t Adela!
He stayed like that for several minutes, shock releasing its hold on him as his breathing returned to normal. He’d dropped the torch but it was still alight. Grabbing it, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled from cage to cage, looking to see if Adela was there. She wasn’t. Stopping by the last cage, he reached out and leaned against the rusty bars, bending over at the waist and breathing heavily. He didn’t know how to feel – on the one hand he hadn’t found her but on the other hand she wasn’t dead. Neither was she living in such terrible squalor. He looked up and saw two dark, almond-shaped eyes staring back at him from within the cage.
“You’re not one of them,” the girl said, moving into the light of his torch. Even in her filthy, ruined state she was clearly a great beauty - petite and pretty, with large, liquid eyes, a slender neck and long, dark hair.
Jonn paused. If he gave himself away, perhaps she would betray him to one of Belash’s henchmen. He had no choice – he had to find out what he could while he was there. “I’m looking for a woman called Adela.”
“She was here,” the dark-haired girl responded, her slender fingers curling around the bars. “She was my friend.”
“She was here? Who took her? When?”
“She was right there,” the dark-haired girl answered, pointing at the cage behind him. “I don’t know who took her – there were two of them. They came about three weeks ago.”
“Where would they take her?” Jonn asked, desperate for more information.
“To the roof-garden,” she answered. “Where Belash keeps all the other girls.”
“How do I find it?”
“It’s built on top of Belash’s apartments. He visits every night and chooses a girl – sometimes several.” She looked him in the eyes as she spoke, but he saw her shoulders shake as she was gripped by an involuntary shudder.
“What’s your name?” he asked gently.
“Lia,” she responded without hesitation. “And you are Jonn.”
“How did you know?” he asked.
“Adela said you would come. She said you would set her free.”
…
Tears sprang to Jonn’s eyes at Lia’s words. Adela knew he would come. She had kept faith in him. He could only hope she kept faith still.
“I will set her free, and if I don’t die trying, I will come back for you too.”
Lia drew near the bars, looking at him with her beautiful, liquid eyes. “I believe you,” she whispered. She reached out through the bars and Jonn took her fragile hand in his own, caressing it with his thumb for a moment before letting go.
“They sent me here to clean the cages,” he said. “I must get to work or they will grow suspicious.”
“Go,” Lia said, stepping back from the bars and disappearing into shadow. Jonn walked b
ack to the entrance to pick up the bucket of soapy water. He lifted it carefully, approached the first cage and started to clean.
…
Jonn didn’t speak to any of the other women for the three days he was there. However much he wanted to assure them he’d come back for them, he couldn’t risk anyone else knowing his identity, or about his connection to Adela. It might jeopardise his whole plan and put her in greater danger. Accepting that he couldn’t afford to give them hope, he put all his energy into cleaning the cellar. The whole place was disgusting – so foul in fact that he’d retched several times as he cleaned and had to clean up after himself too, but he didn’t mind at all. Quite the opposite. He considered it an honour to be able to do something for these mistreated women, and he cleaned up after them as if they were royalty. After taking out the corpse, he cleansed their filth away as thoroughly as he possibly could, going for endless changes of water and setting to his task as if it was an act of love. They cowered away from him at first, fearful that if they spoke to him or even looked at him, they would be beaten. But as the days went by they saw how hard he worked, how carefully he cleaned up even the foulest of their messes, and they began to whisper to him as he worked. One begged him to save her, but the rest simply thanked him, showering him with quiet blessings as he worked. He didn’t need to tell Lia to keep his identity or intentions secret from the others. He knew that she wouldn’t do anything to bring harm to Adela, even on pain of death. At the end of the third day, when the last of the cages was clean, Jonn passed by her cage before leaving the cellar for the last time.
“I’ll return for you,” he whispered.
Lia approached the bars and grasped his hands with her own. “I know you will,” she said. “Good luck Jonn.” Her slender fingers slipped away from his own and she withdrew into the cage. Jonn walked to the entrance and took a long look around, fixing the image in his memory. Adela came first, but he would come back to rescue these women, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
Twenty
A strange rattling sound preceding three silhouettes which emerged from the murk. Two of them were trident-wielding guards, flanking the third figure protectively. It was this third, central figure that caught Shirukai’s attention. Taller than any Skelkan he had seen so far, he was emaciated to the point of being skeletal. Of middling years, he was covered in corded, stringy muscle that nevertheless looked like it held strength. His physical presence was exaggerated by ceremonial shoulder guards that flared out and adding breadth to his otherwise narrow frame, along with a pleated leather skirt, from which dangled dozens of bone ornaments – the source of the rattling. Like all Skelkans, his eyes were a muddy green colour, but unlike the rest of his race, his skin was marred by the raised ridges of a hundred self-inflicted scars. They formed patterns, covering his arms and much of his face. Shirukai had to assume they were the marks of his office – this could only be the High Priest. Shirukai looked at him with an equal mixture of interest and apprehension. Here was a tradition to be studied, a new practice of magic to understand, but he also couldn’t shake off the unease these people aroused in him.
“Revered one, I have fulfilled that which you asked of me and brought back a magic user,” Ossthak said. Shirukai did a double take. He said magic user; not healer; magic user!
“You will be rewarded,” the High Priest said, dismissing Ossthak with a curt wave of his hand. Ossthak scurried off without so much as a word. The High Priest’s eyes hadn’t left Shirukai for a moment. Shirukai’s heart began to beat faster. There was something decidedly wrong about that last exchange.
“I understand some of your people are afflicted by illness,” he said, trying to regain some control of the conversation.
The High Priest smiled faintly. “You are a fool to believe so.”
Shirukai took a step backwards. “What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly. “A fool, why a fool?”
“Look around you. There are no sick people here.” Shirukai stared at the High Priest stupidly, immobilised by shock. This couldn’t be happening! “The last magic-user died. Ossthak was sent to find a replacement.”
Shock was replaced by anger. “What do you want from me?” he asked, summoning fistfuls of power.
“That,” the High Priest said, indicating the arcane glow surrounding Shirukai’s hands. The High Priest drew power of his own. He was considerably weaker than Shirukai, but where there was a High Priest, there would be regular priests, and even acolytes, all of whom were probably magic users too. What in the world had he got himself into?
“I’m leaving,” Shirukai said, filled with cold fury. “If you try to stop me, you will regret it.”
“You are not,” the High Priest said, swelling with palpable menace. Trident-wielding warriors slid into place, hemming them in with gleaming blades. “The tridents are coated with a special poison,” he continued. “Even if you were to escape us, you would be harried all the way across the island. All it would take is for one of them to nick your skin, or for a single arrow to land, and you would be dead in moments. Without knowledge of the poison’s qualities, you would be unable to heal yourself.”
Shirukai glanced at the blades and saw that their metallic sheen was yellowed by a thin layer of something sticky. There was no reason to believe it was a lie. Shirukai calculated his odds. He could draw a cloak of invisibility over himself and sweep his attackers away in one go. They had no idea what they were dealing with! He drew more power, using his full strength to ready a blast that would flatten everything within twenty feet.
“Think again healer!” the High Priest said forcefully, and the power surrounding his fists began to pulsate. “Death comes from above as well as below.”
Involuntarily, Shirukai glanced upwards, and what he saw chilled his blood. Dozens of spiders were spinning their way down from the trees above, legs twitching and fangs open, ready to bite. They were huge, bigger than the span of his hand, and he had no doubt that their bites would be fatal!
“My magic controls them,” the High Priest said. “If you run, they will drop from every tree along the way until one finds your exposed flesh.” Repulsed, Shirukai hesitated another moment. It was a moment too long. The spiders dropped the rest of the way and landed all over his body. He felt hard, hairy legs scraping his neck. One slipped down the inside of his shirt. It took everything he had not to scream!
“Fear not,” the High Priest said. “As long as you do what you are told, they will not bite.” A bead of sweat ran down Shirukai’s nose. Without moving his head, he glanced left and right. Spiders had attached themselves to his arms, fangs poised above the thin cloth of his shirt, which would not serve to preserve him from their bite!
“What do you want from me?” he repeated through gritted teeth, but this time he was ready to comply. The stories he’d heard about the Skelkans were replaying themselves in his head; tales of perverted religious rites, where ecstasy was achieved by ingesting exotic poisons, no doubt extracted from these spiders. Those rites were said to end in human sacrifice, an offering to the dark god the Skelkans worshipped. Shirukai remembered the indignance Ossthak had shown when he had lent credence to those tales. The Skelkan was a good liar!
“Let it go,” the High Priest said, eyeing the swollen balls of power Shirukai was still holding. Shirukai had no choice but to do as he was told. He was at the Skelkan’s mercy and he knew it. He released his power, the balls of arcane force winking out of existence.
“A wise choice,” the High Priest said. “As long as you serve, you will not be harmed. To the temple!” The warriors pressed in behind him, forcing Shirukai to move in the direction of the temple. Heart in his mouth, he took short, hesitant steps. The temple loomed above him, a shadowy finger beckoning him onwards. As he approached, the shadow resolved into a building, pentagonal in shape with a single, crooked tower, the very walls of which seemed to be moving! When he realised what he was seeing, Shirukai cried out in fear. Every part of its structure was covered in spide
rs, crawling in and out of a thousand holes. They swarmed up and down the tower, making the inanimate building look as if it was alive.
“Keep moving,” the High Priest said. Shirukai had no choice. He was more revolted than he had ever dreamed possible, but there were poison-coated blades at his back and dozens of poisonous fangs poised over his flesh. He had to go forwards. He had to go into the temple.
…
Emmy awoke in the middle of the night, her eyes widening in the dark as she tried to get her bearings. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, but then it all came back to her. They were in Ironhall.
Her eyes adjusted slowly to the faint light until she could see the humps and bumps of the rest of the party around her. That massive shape was Baard, his chest rising and falling with each deep, slumbering breath. Lydia had fallen asleep next to her, but when she turned to look at her friend, she couldn’t make her out, hidden by Taurnil’s much larger silhouette. He must be curled around her protectively as always. Emmy felt a touch of sadness.
She glanced across the room at a smaller shape – Gaspi. She was so envious of Lydia, being able to curl up with her boyfriend at night and fall asleep in his arms. If only she could forgive Gaspi for what he’d done, but she found that she couldn’t. What worried her most was that she might never be able to do so. Since they’d talked about it, she’d come to understand why he’d seen the need to lie to her. He hadn’t understood that he could have gone on the quest even if she’d objected. That was nice in a way - that he couldn’t imagine ignoring her opinion - but it didn’t change the fact that he’d looked her in the eye and lied to her face. She could still remember it now. He’d answered the door and she’d toyed with his shirt, wanting to spend time together, but he’d turned her away. At the time she’d thought it was weird. Gaspi almost never said no to her company, even if he was tired, but on that occasion he’d sent her away. Little had she known that the yawn he’d pulled was a big fake, and that he was actually getting ready to leave the city. She repressed a shudder at the thought of it. He’d looked her in the eyes and lied to her. She just didn’t know what to do with that. It felt like such a betrayal. Emmy sighed in frustration. She wished she could just shake it off, but the truth was that it made her feel differently about him. Before he’d felt like part of her, almost like they were one person, but now he was this other person, separate from her, who could think alien thoughts and lie to her if it suited him. Perhaps it shouldn’t make as big a difference as it did, but she didn’t seem to have a choice about how she felt.