Mandala's Catalyst (Gardone Trilogy)

by Warren R. Henke

  “Watch the steps, it’s a steep drop,” he said to her and pushed open the door.

  She looked into the opening. The torchlight revealed a steep and twisted staircase descending into darkness. She turned around and faced Knudson.

  “Why are you doing this?” she said, trying not to cry.

  “You know why, don’t play stupid. Now get moving. Believe me, you don’t want to do this part the hard way.”

  She turned around and stepped down. After three steps, she was more afraid of tumbling down the stairs than she was of Knudsen. This would have been a frightening staircase even without her hands tied behind her back.

  “Hurry up,” he said from above and behind her.

  “I am,” she said. “It’s not easy with my hands behind my back.”

  He didn’t answer.

  After several steps, she concentrated on the darkness below, hoping to see even ground. Her foot caught the edge of a stair. She screamed and tried to use her arms to catch her balance. But they were bound behind her back and she plunged forward. For a fleeting moment she saw the stairs winding straight down and closed her eyes, this was the end. But the pain didn’t come. No tumbling. She peeked and the ground was still waiting to smash her body to pieces, but she wasn’t falling. Her shirt was tight, pulling her back, holding her in the air.

  “I’ve got you, don’t worry,” Knudson said, and pulled her back to her feet. “We can take it slower.”

  She was shaking; a hand rested on her shoulder. “I won’t let go,” Knudson said.

  With each step her knees trembled. But Knudson didn’t let go of her and she kept moving forward. After what seemed like an eternity, she stepped onto level ground. They walked into a room so large the torchlight couldn’t even reach the walls or ceiling. But what the light did reveal was ghastly. The room was filled with awful looking devices made of chains, spikes, and blades.

  “Keep moving, we aren’t stopping here. As long as you cooperate you won’t have to worry about this stuff.”

  Migun walked through the middle of the room, doing her best to ignore the torture devices on each side of her.

  “There,” he said.

  She turned around to see him pointing at a door.

  “Open it!” he said.

  She walked forward to obey but another guard stepped out of the shadows and began to unlock it. Knudson had been talking to him. She felt her hands being untied. Once freed, a shove pushed her through the opening into darkness. The door banged shut behind her and a clicking sound let her know she wasn’t leaving. A tiny, barred window high in the door allowed faint torchlight from the other side to creep in. She was in a small room. She squinted while her eyes adjusted.

  “Who are you?” The feeble voice from across the room startled her.

  “Tari?”

  She shuffled across the floor, feeling her way towards the voice. She made out a huddled shadow in the corner of the room.

  “Migun? Is that you?” Tari sounded awful.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m coming.” She touched the wall with her hand and followed it until she felt something touch her foot. She crouched and felt Tari’s leg.

  “What happened?” Migun asked.

  Tari’s hand touched her arm and slid up to her head. A gentle tug brought her face in closer and Tari whispered, “Don’t say anything too loud. They are listening. Did they hurt you? Did you tell them anything?”

  “No, I didn’t tell them anything. I fell on the floor and hit my head, but that’s all…are you hurt?” Migun tried to feel Tari’s arm, as if touching the wounds would make them better.

  “I’ll be alright.”

  Obviously that meant yes, she was hurt. Migun choked back tears. “Why are they doing this?”

  “Did you make it to the windmill in time?” Tari asked.

  “Yes,” she sniffed. “My father was there, too.”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes, he answered the door and I told him guards were coming. He yelled and everyone ran out. We ran all the way home, the long way through the fields.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He’s home, they didn’t catch him. After we got there I came back to tell you.”

  “Ah.” Tari squeezed Migun’s shoulder. “I don’t want to scare you, but you need to be prepared. Think about your father and Jasper and promise yourself that you won’t tell them anything, no matter what.”

  “Oh, I won’t, don’t worry—”

  “Migun, they are probably going to hurt you, I’m sorry and I wish they wouldn’t. But they want you to talk. Just remember, you’ll get through it like I did. It will hurt, but you will get through it.”

  She felt like crying. The tears were ready and waiting, but somehow…she didn’t. They could hurt her all they wanted to, she wouldn’t say a thing.

  “They will pretend like they know things to try and trick you, but don’t fall for it. They might tell you they already caught your dad and you can save him if you will just tell them what they want to know but don’t believe them.” Tari winced in pain.

  “They won’t get a word out of me, don’t worry. But how are you hurt, what can I do?” Migun tried again to lightly feel Tari’s body, to find where it wasn’t whole.

  “After you left, guards came to my door and wanted me to go with them. I told them to come back in the morning and they kicked my door open and dragged me down here. They asked me about Len but I didn’t say anything. Most of the questions I couldn’t have answered anyways.”

  “But where are you hurt?”

  Tari was silent. “I’m just glad it’s over, don’t worry about me. How is your head?”

  “Don’t worry about me, I am fine.” She tried not to think about the room outside, hopefully she would stay fine.

  Migun rested her head on Tari’s chest and felt arms wrap around her. The feeling of being held was too much; she couldn’t hold back the tears. They poured from her eyes and she cried silently.

  “We’ll be alright. Don’t worry. These guards will pay for what they’ve done.”

  Migun nodded. But Tari didn’t understand. It had been two years since she had been held like this, cradled in tender loving arms. The last time Mother held her was before bedtime, the night before the accident. She nuzzled in closer to Tari so her sobs would be muffled. Tari stroked her hair and rocked gently. She was nearly asleep when the shrill screams of a woman in the room jolted her awake.

  “I told you! I don’t know! Find my husband and ask him yourself. I have no idea what he’s up to, but you better find him before I do because I’ll kill him if I see him!”

  The door swung open and a woman tumbled into the room. She fell to the floor but jumped back up to try to catch the door before it closed. She was too late and banged the door with her fists and cursed the guards.

  “Who is it?” whispered Migun.

  “I don’t know,” answered Tari.

  “Are you hurt?” Tari asked and the screaming stopped.

  “I’m fine,” said a bitter voice. “But I don’t belong here, they made a mistake.”

  “Sharel? Is that you?” Migun asked.

  “Who are you?” snapped the voice.

  “It’s Migun, Endell’s friend,” she said. “And the queen is here, too.”

  “Tari and Migun? What are you doing here?”

  “The same thing you are,” Tari answered.

  “Well, I’m not supposed to be here. My idiot husband did something stupid and they think I’m a part of it. I’m going to rip his throat out when I get my hands on him.”

  “Don’t tell her anything,” Tari whispered in Migun’s ear.

  * * * Dorg glared at the rabbit and then at the jar of green Vitane. Months of work would be wasted tonight because of his failure to properly manage the people of Gardone. He walked to the cage, flipped it open, and grabbed the rabbit by the neck.

  “Since I can’t use it on you, I’ll use you on it,” he said.

  The rabbit kicked an
d twisted and as Dorg held it near the jar. The thick liquid slid up the glass and climbed level with the frenzied rabbit. His hands burned and the rabbit’s fur curled from a sudden burst of heat but Dorg held it closer. He felt its racing pulse slow and it stopped kicking and hung limp, breathing easy as it watched him with a big, brown eye. Then, the eye slowly fell shut, the breathing stopped, and the Vitane slid back down the jar.

  It amazed him every time it happened. Why couldn’t he do that? How could the Vitane draw a soul so easily? He looked at the dead rabbit, mystified. This much Vitane could drop a cow, yet he himself was barely able to take a spider. How did it do it? It could probably even take a human if they fed it enough, but they were careful about that. Although he doubted it was even possible, the last thing he wanted was to have his own soul sucked into the green ooze. So he was careful not to let it get too powerful.

  He walked across the room and tossed the dead rabbit into a dark hole in the wall and it fell. He listened, waiting for the distant sound of ravaging. But all was silent. He stuck his head into the dark opening and inhaled slowly, tasting the air cautiously. The familiar musty, foul odor was, thankfully, clean of death. With a frown, he walked back to his desk while disturbing thoughts taunted him. Was it sick, sleeping? It never hesitated to feed. But he couldn’t be distracted, not now. Later he would investigate the young dragon.

  He pushed the empty rabbit cage – a bitter reminder that his experiment was once again months away – until it fell off the side of the desk. After tonight, the Vitane would need rabbits, many many rabbits. It would take thousands of smaller creatures to build the strength for cattle. And then it would take herds upon herds of cattle to get back to this same amount again; he had been so close. And all because the imbecile humans could not follow instructions.

  He needed Gardone and the Toq both working to provide the resources for his research, so he had no choice. It was a required setback for his ultimate plan, unfortunate but necessary. He had to keep the humans in line and was fortunate to have enough Vitane on hand; otherwise, tonight would not be possible.

  He gathered herbs from his shelves and then ground and cooked them into a thick paste, which he smeared around the inside of two goblets, a sedative to help with the burning. He placed them next to the Vitane. Then he dragged two chairs from the shadows and arranged them in the center of the room. Each chair had leather straps secured to the arms and legs. He was almost ready.

  He walked to his shelves, reached up, and lifted a small chest from among his vials and bottles. He carried it to the desk and lifted the lid to reveal the dark brown powder inside. He leaned over and inhaled. Tomorrow would be the first practical use of his latest discovery; if only he could be there to watch. At least he would see the results.

  He sat at the desk and scratched fresh parchment with a quill, his final task. He wrote slowly, making the lettering bold, and official. When the message was complete, he rolled it and sealed it with hot wax and the official stamp of the Guide.

  He made one last walk through the room to double check his preparations and, satisfied, walked to the portal. Moments later, with eyes glowing red, he passed through and appeared back in the castle. As the glow faded, he reminded himself that he was the Guide again: the humble, spiritual leader of Gardone. He walked down the hallway, past where Delorah was sleeping, and turned into his sitting room. Knudson stood when he walked into the room.

  “Good evening, your highness,” Knudson said.

  “I hope you have good news for me,” the Guide said and sat in his favorite chair. “How has the night progressed?”

  Knudson sat. “The windmill was empty but a fire had been burning on the second floor. We went to the house of Thamus and his wife was alone. She said he was tending the flock and that Endell was asleep in his bed, which he wasn’t. We found them both in the fields with the sheep and brought Endell back. Marchello questioned him, but he’s not talking.” Knudson hesitated.

  “And Thamus?”

  “One of the guards didn’t return and we found him in the fields with a broken leg. He said Thamus attacked him and took his horse and sword. Three teams are searching for Thamus now.”

  This type of inaptitude infuriated him, but he masked it with a grunt. “And the queen?”

  “Marchello worked on her but she hasn’t opened up yet. Len is still missing and we have guards in his bedroom waiting. We caught Migun there.”

  “Did she talk?”

  “No, I put her in with the queen. We’ve been listening to them but not much has been said. They both know something. She’s scared and I think about ready for Marchello.”

  “You also brought in Thamus’ wife?” asked the Guide, although it wasn’t really a question.

  “She’d talk, if she knew anything. She’s ready to kill Thamus herself. We threw her in a cell to keep her quiet and out of the way.”

  “Good.” He thought for a minute. “We need Tari to talk, and I can’t waste time dragging it out of her. Has Trask returned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Send Marchello and a few others back through the mountain. Not the same crew that just returned; get some fresh legs. Have them take the three women and whatever they need to survive for a day or two. Tari will talk when she sees her son dying and tortured. Confirm with Trask that Jasper is alive and chained to the wall and tell Marchello not to return until Tari has told him everything she knows. Then, chain them all to the cliff.”

  “All of them?” Knudson asked.

  Playing the role of a compassionate leader had its drawbacks and this type of mild insubordination was one of them. And so instead of berating Knudson, he had to play him. Handled correctly, it made the humans even more dedicated and malleable. Knudson, despite his occasional hostility against those who betrayed the kingdom, was actually a kind, sensible man. So the Guide just had to use kind, sensible reasoning.

  “Yes and only because we know she is involved. I’d rather not, but we can’t take chances. It is better that a few die than our entire kingdom from returning to war.” The Guide leaned forward and looked directly into Knudson’s eyes. “They don’t understand the fine line between war and peace. The Resistance has noble ideals, but they are selfish and lack wisdom. They are up to something that I’m afraid could throw us back into chaos and I want to be ready.” He handed Knudson the parchment. “If they do anything direct or hostile against us, open and follow this decree. We will initiate martial law and guards will patrol the city to enforce curfews until we root out this evil. From this moment forward, our top priority is to find out who they are and what they are planning.”

  Knudson nodded, but the Guide sensed a level of uncertainty. He waited, letting his commander process and think about it. When Knudson finally made eye contact, the Guide knew he was on board and ready to hear more instructions.

  “Bring Endell to me. I’ll talk to him, pretend to believe him, then release him. When I’m done, let him go and follow from a safe distance. He’ll lead us to the others.”

  Another nod and more thinking.

  “I’m ready for him now, unless there are other matters we need to address.”

  “No, I’ll get him myself.” Knudson stood and walked out of the room.

  The Guide often wondered if he should have a more brutal man on his right hand; one who followed orders without thinking or asking questions. But this kingdom had been built upon trust and their leaders had to be sincere. Because the people loved and respected him, they would do anything for him out of loyalty. It was more powerful than making them fear him, but it made his job harder; he had to make sure Knudson always felt like what they were doing was right and that often turned a short order into a long conversation, like this. But in the long run, it was worth it. His brutal men, Marchello and Gorath, were feared but not respected. They filled a different purpose.

  Eventually a light tap on the door interrupted his thoughts and Knudson ushered Endell into the room. He was shirtless and his arms were bound beh
ind his back. His body was tattered with bruises, burns, cuts, and bloodstains. His face was sullen, defeated.

  “Should I stay?” Knudson asked.

  “You may go.”

  Knudson left and the Guide looked at Endell. “So, not even Marchello could make you talk?”

  Endell didn’t respond.

  “Well,” the Guide said. “I don’t suppose it will do me any good to try. We may as well not waste time.”

  The Guide stood and walked around Endell. He grabbed his bound hands and pulled him backwards through the hallway to the golden doorway. The Guide took three deep breaths and then, as the portal glowed red, pulled Endell through.

  * * * “I see you brought dinner,” ZieZee said.

  Dorg blinked to regain his vision. “Take him. Tie him down.”

  He heard ZieZee approach and felt Endell twist, probably trying to see why there were hoofs clapping against the tile. He let him go, grinning at the terror that would follow. It came fast, Endell screamed and tried to run, but of course ZieZee didn’t let him. His eyes adjusted to see Endell hanging awkwardly in the air as she held him with one hand clamped to his shoulder. She was looking at him, curiously.

  “This one feels strange.”

  “Just tie him up,” he said.

  She carried him across the room and dropped him into one of the chairs. She held him down with one arm and buckled the leather straps around his legs and arms with the other. Endell didn’t even struggle.

  “You’re his first,” Dorg said and crossed the room to the desk.

  She leaned over, her face level with his and hissed. “Never seen a dark one, eh boy? Take a good look. It’s going to be the last thing you ever see.”

  Endell didn’t answer and Dorg took the Vitane and removed the lid. The room was too quiet. He turned around to see Endell and ZieZee staring at each other; Endell’s eyes were steady and firm, his expression stoic.

  “There is something different about this boy. What is it?” she said.

  “It’s nothing. You just haven’t been around humans for a while. Now come over here and let’s gets started.”

  He poured Vitane into each goblet and resealed the jar. Such a waste, over half gone now…and for something that should have been avoided. He took a goblet and sat in the other chair.