by Cole Pain
Marva heard him coming and spun. Her blue eyes widened in surprise, but before she could scream he struck her across the face, knocking the wind from her. She fell, clearing the fire by a hair’s width. He jabbed his knee into her stomach and stuffed a rag into her mouth. He heard Renee gagging behind him and knew he’d have a few heartbeats if he released her.
Ickba tossed the rope aside and pushed the silver band on Marva’s head. He didn’t want her trying to use the power; Marva would be trouble enough without the power, and he also had the queen to contend with. He quickly tied Marva’s hands together and looped a rope around her neck.
Marva kicked him in the groin. He was used to pain and only grunted before he hit her across the jaw, knocking her unconscious. Renee gasped behind him. He spun, grabbed Renee’s rope and quickly pulled it taut. Taking another rag from his pocket, he stuffed it in her mouth and flipped her over. She inhaled deeply, the rope causing her face to splotch. He loosened the rope. She coughed out the rag. Ickba swore and knocked her in the head with his elbow just before she screamed. Her body went slack. A thin trail of blood oozed from where her head had hit a rock. Ickba licked his lips and ran his hands down the queen’s sides. She was shapely but slender, just the way he liked them. He felt the pressure building inside him. Crouching, he lifted her flimsy dress and fingered her. He threw his head back and laughed. The queen was only the beginning of his rewards.
Bentzen still hadn’t returned. Ickba quickly tied the women’s hands and feet before he threw them over the horses. With spare rags he tied them to the stirrups. The longing to kill built inside him. He hungered to release his rage and lust upon the women, but Ista would want the queen. Marva he could have his way with. He may even leave her body as a warning for the Chosen.
Ickba grabbed the reins of the two horses and jogged to his stallion. Bentzen and Tol emerged from the creek just as Ickba mounted. Bentzen looked up. When their eyes met Bentzen broke into a run, lips opening in a silent scream.
Ickba spurred his horse into a trot, leading the other two mounts behind him. “Tell the Chosen his mother will be with Ista!” he shouted. “With each day that dawns the more she will suffer!”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crystal. Ista’s image was already contained within its depths. Behind him he heard agonized moans of terror.
Ickba glanced back at the silver band on Marva’s head and smiled.
- - -
Pine needles, nuts, leaves, sticks, twigs, and dirt twirled in small cyclones. Ren held his hands up to shield his eyes and shouted, “Neki! Stop!”
“I can’t!” Neki choked on some of his own emotional weave. “I don’t know how!”
After the wolven attack no one had slept and they had decided to stop early that day to gather ample amounts of wood. Galvin built the fire while Markum had begun searching through the books Michel had gathered at Ista’s camp. The first was a history book dating back to the Dark Ages. The final two were training books: one containing lessons only useful to sorceresses, the other explaining the basics of the Quy. But one training book was all they needed.
Those with the Quy were trying to harness their emotions to elicit a specific response.
The four of them differed in both force and talent. Michel had only been able to do small things such as stir a small breeze or bend a flower.
Markum could do nothing. He had felt pain when Ren had reconnected the thread, but nothing happened when he tried to focus his emotions. Markum’s eyes held a hint of fear. Although the books indicated those with the sight may be unable to do more than the smallest tasks with the Quy, the dreamweaver prophecy still haunted him and he feared being unable to do what he must without the aid of magic.
What surprised Ren, and everyone else, was the fact that he was also unable to make anything happen. He had thought once he had written instructions he would be able to use the power with ease, but it seemed his mind was blocked.
He tried to encourage the others, but he knew they could sense his worry. Galvin stayed close to him, offering a silent comfort.
Neki had the power like none other. He could do everything on the first try like it was an innate ability, sometimes without the instructions being finished. That was precisely what had happened with the storm of particles. Markum had been reading how to create a dust storm when Neki had sprung into action.
The particles whirled faster.
A small rock pounded Ren on the head. “Ouch!” He could barely see the others, too much debris spun about him. He could hear the kota’s drumming hooves as she pranced nearby. “Neki!”
“I’m trying!”
Suddenly, the air calmed. Particles either dropped or whisked softly to the ground. When Ren was brave enough to open his eyes, he laughed.
Neki stood with Galvin’s silver necklace looped around his head. Beside him, Galvin grinned like one who had just won a joust.
“Your theory is sound, Ren. Silver absorbs everything coming in and out,” Galvin said, emphasizing the latter.
Neki looked at Galvin with disgust. “So I’m not an almighty sorcerer yet, but I will be.”
“I have no doubt,” Ren said.
Leaves and debris stuck to Neki’s clothes. One small stick protruded from underneath the necklace. Ren chuckled again.
“Will you look at that,” Quinton said.
Ren looked up from where he was dusting off his breeches. Quinton pointed to Ren’s sword. The sun’s rays siphoned through the trees and played on the emblems of Choice, Chance, and Fate, but instead of merely casting the hilt in a golden sheen, the light reflected a rainbow into the atmosphere, illuminating the depths of the forest in a spectrum of color. Ren slowly brushed the rainbow with his fingertips, marveling as the light moved with his touch.
“Burning cinders,” Neki whispered, reaching toward the colors with a tentative hand.
“The Oracle,” Ren whispered.
Neki’s fingers caused the rainbow to flicker on his face, lighting him with blues, purples, and yellows.
“Don’t go, Ren.”
Ren turned to the sound of Markum’s voice. The seer sat in the shadow of the woods, concerned etched into his tired eyes. Ren was surprised Markum had guessed his thoughts, but he supposed he shouldn’t be. A seer could deduce a lot from his dreams.
“They Quy wants me to seek the Oracle, Markum. I can deny her nothing,” Ren said. The rainbow continued to dance through the forest, but with the look in Markum’s eyes it seemed ominous. Neki drew back his fingers.
Markum stood. “I haven’t told you my dream. I had it the night you met the Quy.” As Markum stepped into the clearing, he cut off the sun, vanquishing the rainbow. A blanket of darkness settled in, granting power to Markum’s words.
“In my dream I followed you into the woods. You were in a trance and I was worried you would go astray, but before I reached you, you stopped at a fork in the path and tossed a pair of astragali on the ground. You took the path to the right. I tried to follow, but as soon as I stepped on the path, a stone sphinx came alive before me and stopped my entrance. You had already disappeared.
“I sat in the middle of the path and waited until I saw you coming back. Hearing a noise behind me, I turned. You walked down the other path as well. You emerged from the two paths at the same time. The you to the right looked like you did when you left, but you had a wound by your heart and it was bleeding black blood.”
“And the me on the left?”
“Was deformed and hideous, snakes were slithering all over your body and…”
“And?”
“Half of your face wasn’t yours.”
Markum’s words hung in the air like a stench.
“The Oracle plays with people’s minds, Ren. Some come out crazy. Some don’t come out.”
“But some come out with answers,” Ren said, thinking of Aidan. “If the Oracle shows itself to me, how can I deny it?”
“You would risk death?”
Markum’s w
ords chilled him, but didn’t sway him. If the Oracle appeared to him he would have to answer a riddle given by the sphinx, the herald of the Oracle. Most didn’t pass the challenge. If you failed to answer the riddle you died instantly.
Despite the danger, as Ren thought about the Oracle a sense of purpose filled him. The Quy wanted him to seek the Oracle; the Maker wanted him to seek the Oracle; and that was what he would do.
“Don’t go,” Markum said again. “Too many things could go wrong, Ren. You may never come out. That has happened.”
The fear in Markum’s eyes gave Ren pause, but he still felt the need to seek Choice, Chance, and Fate. They could help him. He was sure of it.
“Ren, even if you do make it out, people have been reported to return crazy.”
“But they’ve done what they needed to do. They’ve altered the future,” Ren said.
“Then they kill themselves or forget their names! Some who emerge from the Oracle never regain their complete sanity. Many die trying to enter, and many others have never returned.”
The others stared at Markum with wide-eyed fear.
Markum’s eyes flashed angrily. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”
Ren shook his head, sure his decision was the right one. “I need to know what the guardians have to say. They are the Maker’s messengers, Markum. The Maker isn’t evil. He won’t bring me harm. Those who die trying to enter or leave the Oracle are deserving of death. If I go with a true heart, seeking nothing but guidance, the guardians won’t harm me. I’m certain of it.”
“But they’ll give you shadows of prophecy.”
Ren shivered at Markum’s words. But even if the Oracle spoke in riddles, he had to try. He had many questions.
Galvin shifted in worry. “Ren, I don’t like this.”
“I second that, Ren. I don’t like this at all,” Quinton said.
Ren sighed and fingered the hilt of the Quy’s sword. “I know you’re worried, but if the Quy gave me this sword it has to mean something. I need to find answers, and the Oracle can give me the answers I need.”
No one objected. Everyone knew he was right. If the Quy had given him the sword, branded with Choice, Chance, and Fate’s symbols, he had to try.
- - -
Bentzen took the knife from his belt and sliced his arm. Fresh blood poured over his other cuts, still throbbing in pain. He stumbled forward, weak from lack of blood. He had to find Ren. Then he could taste death.
It would feel good.
His eyes blurred as the thought of Tol, screaming as his small body was racked with pain. Bentzen had been desperate to find something solid silver, but there was nothing. The kettle at the fire was steel, his sword was steel, and his belt was made of pewter. He had nothing solid silver like the silver band Ren had given Tol.
Why hadn’t he noticed the band was missing when Tol came to him, crying from the thistles on the bush? If he had he would have known something was wrong. He would have demanded Tol tell him where the band was. Now Tol was dead.
Bentzen sliced his arm again. As the blade entered a previous wound, his vision blurred. He caught himself before he fell and stumbled back to his feet. He had to reach Ren.
Tol was dead. Renee was taken. Marva, her unborn …
Why didn’t he notice the missing band?
He kept seeing Tol’s bright blue eyes looking up at him, pleading for help. The convulsions had been violent, and when the blood had begun to seep from Tol’s ears all Bentzen could do was hold him, tell him it was going to be all right – lie to him.
Bentzen wasn’t really sure where he was going. It was hard to see the landscape. All he knew was the sun was to his left shoulder. He was heading south, back to the others. He had to reach Ren.
He didn’t deserve to live. He had let Tol die, let Renee and Marva be taken. How could he have been so stupid?
He sliced his arm again. He would keep punishing himself until he had suffered enough for his foolishness, for his vanity in thinking he could protect Tol from harm. But nothing would ever be enough. No pain would ever be enough.
He hoped he found Ren soon. He hoped he would really be able to feel the knife next time.
Chapter 19
Chris’ screams were finally silenced. Manda opened her eyes. Two Quar soldiers lifted the tent’s flap, dragging her brother behind them. Chris was unrecognizable. He had thinned to a skeleton, his skin was blistered and sun-worn, and the spark had disappeared from his eyes. If someone had shown her a picture of the broken body a week ago she wouldn’t have dreamed it could be her brother. The soldiers tossed Chris in the corner and chained his hands and feet to iron stakes. Manda’s own chains rubbed fresh wounds from where she had tried, time and again, to lift her stakes from the ground. The urgency to escape was now an inferno in her mind. Alezza didn’t care if she or Chris lived or died, and if they lived Alezza would make each of their lives a living nightmare.
Every hour of the day Alezza practiced touching the needles in Chris’ mind. Although Chris was now silent, Manda could still hear his screams ringing through her ears.
Chris rolled on the floor, still convulsing from Alezza’s internal torment. Manda could almost feel his anguish. The look on his face reminded her of when she had witnessed a death by fire, but this time the fire was on the inside, not the outside. Exhaustion was etched in every line of his face, as if his torture had been going on for years and not days.
His eyes fluttered open. Their brilliant green was now dull and muted, and the pain lingering in their depths was more than she could fathom.
Chris sighed in contentment from the reprieve. Anger boiled inside her. Their father had allowed this to happen. His death wouldn’t be kind; Alezza’s would be brutal.
Almost on cue, Bort and Alezza sauntered into the tent, laughing at some private joke. Although it had only been days since their father had betrayed them, it seemed an eternity. She didn’t know how much longer Chris could remain sane; she didn’t know how much longer she could watch his torture.
Her eyes found Alezza’s.
Alezza smiled as if in friendship. “Gag them both,” she said to Bort. “I grow weary of their screams.”
A rare smile stole over Bort’s meaty face before he turned to Chris.
Manda closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer to the Maker. Chris couldn’t bear more pain this evening. He would go mad. Maybe madness was what Alezza wanted.
Bort drew a rag out of his doublet and kicked Chris in the ribcage. Chris had no strength to resist. His entire body arched from the force of Bort’s blow.
“Please,” Manda heard herself say. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”
Alezza knelt beside her and stuffed a cloth smelling of horse dung into her mouth. Manda gagged as the thick, foul taste coated her tongue.
“Granted.”
Manda blinked back her surprise and tried not to swallow her tainted saliva. What had already seeped down her throat left a rancid trail that would linger for days.
Alezza gathered her long, luxurious hair from her shoulders before leaning forward and brushing Manda’s cheek with a kiss. “It’s your turn, my dear.”
Manda’s eyes widened as Alezza released a throaty laugh. A multitude of horrors flashed through Manda’s mind. She would be burned, beaten, gutted, or worse. Alezza was capable of anything. The heir felt neither compassion nor remorse. It was as if she was aroused by their torture. As Manda looked into Alezza’s eyes she saw only enmity and revenge. Alezza hated her, not only because of Manda’s own tongue but also because of her birth. Now that Valor was king of Newlan, Manda predominated Alezza.
A clamor of steel broke Manda out of her thoughts and soft grunts tore at her heart. Chris was fighting back. Manda tried to convey a warning with her eyes. Alezza would only send Chris more pain if he resisted. When his eyes found hers she recoiled from the severity of his desperation. He knew what they were going to do.
Chris twisted on the ground, straining on the chains. As his ey
es flickered past Alezza, Manda followed his gaze. Alezza rocked back on her heels, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she watched Manda’s reaction.
Bort stood, naked, pulsating with need and leering at her with lewd, dark eyes. Manda squirmed backwards, coughing as her scream was quenched in the rank cloth. The chains gnawed her wrists, slicing her flesh with each movement. Even though her mind whispered there would be ramifications she continued to try to pull free of the stakes in a feeble attempt to escape the inevitable.
Chris’ screams came to her from a distant place, her own breath too heavy in her ears. The taste of dung and the smell of sweat made her lightheaded, as if she was looking in on another’s nightmare.
Alezza reached down to unchain her legs. Manda kicked in desperation. A speck of blood seeped down her throat as she bit the inside of her mouth. It augmented not only her fear but also her rage. She kicked harder, and though she couldn’t make out Chris’ words she knew he urged her on.
Alezza’s face twisted in malice just as Chris released a savage cry of torment. Manda ceased her struggle, understanding all too well. After agonizing heartbeats of painful screams, Chris collapsed. Without even glancing at Manda, Alezza finished unchaining her legs, patting Manda’s shoulder as if in pride.
Manda’s vision blurred as her rage heightened. She imagined herself breaking the chains and twisting Alezza’s neck, watching it snap like a twig beneath her grip. As quickly as the rage came, it evaporated. If she acted rashly Alezza would punish Chris.
The night was warm, almost stifling, and Bort’s massive body glistened with sweat as the lights of the torches licked the night air, giving no reprieve from the heat and casting ominous shadows around Bort’s approaching bulk. Her struggle had caused old scabs on her wrists and ankles to reopen. The biting smell of blood overpowered the smells of sweat and dung.