“You’re wasting our water,” Lark said in a breathless voice, her stress at the loss of the liquid offset by the beauty of the sight of the glowing water, and the sense that something sacred was occurring.
The drops poured out, and as they fell on the disks, the animals stopped moving. They too began to glow, momentarily, one or two at a time, the light in the cavern shifting around as first one on the right glowed, and then a pair on the left.
Kestrel continued to hold the skin aloft, and the last drops of the nearly empty skin flowed out and splashed off the carapaces of the natives of the land, and then the only light left was the energy glow that shone out of the spout.
For a long moment Kestrel wondered what had happened. He wondered if he had just squandered the water they would need to drink, if not to heal.
Have faith, the voice told him.
And then the skin grew heavier, and water began to dribble out again. The skin itself began to glow, and the powerful energy of the glow extended down into the flesh of Kestrel’s hands and forearms. The steady stream of water came out of the skin, but the skin grew heavier instead of lighter, and the water that poured forth grew more abundant. Kestrel felt his whole body react to the power that flowed into the water skin, energy that seemed to seep in from the air on all sides of him, and be absorbed in him and in the water skin.
“What is happening?” Stuart asked, as the glow of the skin and the water faded, so that only Kestrel’s hands glowed.
“It’s Tullamore,” Kestrel said solemnly. He lowered the water skin. Down to his chest, and offered it to Lark. “Here, have this drink, and remember that he is on our side.”
She took the skin from him, her eyes staring at his face the whole time, and she swallowed a long pull from the skin, then passed it to Gates, who also took a drink, and passed it on. The skin went around in silence, a solemn, ceremonial sharing of the water, a mute testimony to the power of the divine act that they had seen carried out.
“It will never be empty,” Kestrel said. “It’s just like the skin of Decimindion, which always flows with water to drive away the influence of the Viathins.”
He could sense that the energy of Tullamore was fading away. His own momentary sense of power grew weaker, returning to the tenuous state he had felt before. The disk creatures began to stir and speak to one another, as they crawled off of Kestrel and communed with one another.
“You really did hear a god speak to you,” Lark stated. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe.”
Kestrel accepted the returning skin from her and took a drink of his own, then closed the stopper and re-slung it over his shoulder.
“Tell the creatures to go on, and tell them we’ll travel where we can stand up for as long as we can,” Kestrel told Wren.
She began to pass the directions along. She listened to them respond, and began to cough and choke, then spoke again. Afterwards, she turned to the others, who were growing less visible as the residual glow in Kestrel’s hands continued to diminish.
“They said you must be a favorite of the god,” she told Kestrel. “I told them their god took pity on you.
“They will lead, and we will have to tell them if the ceiling drops down or if they go away from the passages that we can walk in,” Wren explained. “And you’ll have to keep providing some light for us to see, so we don’t walk into a wall.
“Remember, you’ll have time to rest after we reach the end of the trip,” she comforted her cousin.
And so they started the last part of their journey, re-energized by the extraordinary event they had witnessed.
Chapter 14
Hours later, the disks called a halt to the journey, and the travelers ceased crawling through the low-ceilinged passage. The spaces with walking height had only lasted for an hour, before the trail they followed deviated from the high passages, and the humans, gnome, elves, and imp had returned to crawling.
They were resting in a cavern where they could sit up. Their guides told them that it was immediately adjacent to dungeons in a castle that the Viathins had taken possession of. The Viathins had savagely altered the architecture of the castle to create spaces in which they could walk upright. Hidden among the ruins and debris of the Viathin destruction there existed an unnoticed opening that connected to the cavern passages the rescue party rested in.
Kestrel felt a hopefulness about the planned prison adventure, buoyed by the intervention of Tullamore, his exercise of powers, and the inspiration that had blossomed in the black disk creatures as a result of witnessing the divine blessing of the water skin. Wren and the disks had spoken during the course of the rest of the journey through the caves, and during breaks. She was sitting near Kestrel, talking to Stuart, telling him the things she had learned.
“They are called the Skyes, and there used to be very many of them, but nearly all are gone now, killed by the Viathins either directly, or when they drained away the water and the vitality of the whole land,” Wren explained. “And they like heights. They like tall buildings, they like looking up at the sky, they are jealous of us because we seem so close to the heavens.
“They told me they lost touch with their god because their whole society was really more focused on trying to reach the sky,” she added. “There are old temples that no one goes to anymore; the Viathins have taken them over and use them as temples to their god. They make a great many sacrifices of the Skyes in the temples.”
“Kestrel,” Lark spoke up as Wren finished her narrative, “when this is over, and the gods are free, and we go back to our own world, what will you do?” she asked.
“I,” he paused, considering a question he had pushed out of consideration since Kai’s charge to him had grown so dangerous and all-consuming, “I’ll go home to Oaktown and enjoy a peaceful life, I hope,” he answered.
“Would you come to Uniontown, to help my father?” Lark asked earnestly. They had no light, as Kestrel rested from the stress of trying to use his powers, but as he sat in the darkness, he clearly detected the emotion in the girl’s voice.
“He could use your help. Your powers would make a huge difference for him,” she said.
Kestrel remembered his encounter with Duke Listay. In a palace that had been a center of evil and cruelty, the duke had been honorable and decent in his dealing with Kestrel. He had seemed like a man of both intelligence and morals.
“Perhaps,” Kestrel said in a neutral tone. He really had no desire to commit to another violent adventure in Uniontown; he simply wanted to complete the task at hand, and to return to Oaktown, to see Putty and Whyte and Remy, and to do mundane things like visiting all the villages of his domain in the Marches, as he had intended to.
“I’ll want to go home, but perhaps afterwards,” he told the young duchess.
“It may be too late if you wait too long,” Lark said.
“Let’s take all of this one step at a time,” Kestrel told her, avoiding commitment. “We’ll fight the next battle for the gods, and then figure out what comes next.”
“The lad is fighting a good battle now, young duchess,” Stuart told her. “Let him focus on this, and then you’ll be able to charm him later,” he told the girl.
“I don’t want to charm him, I just want him to help my father,” she responded immediately. “I can charm anyone I want when we get back to Uniontown and the war comes to an end. I’ll be back in court someday and then folks will see how charming I am,” she spoke with a seriousness and determination that made Kestrel glad the darkness prevented her from seeing the grin on his face, although his heart was moved.
Time passed further in the darkness, as all were settled in, resting. Kestrel dozed, until the Skyes began to increase their activity, speaking to one another as the sounds of their moving feet softly shushed through the cavern.
“It’s time to go,” Wren said in a quiet, controlled voice.
“Let me take the lead,” Kestrel said. “Wren you and Woven come right behind me, and Stillwater too. Stuart you
and your men will guard our back side, and protect the duchess.
“The Skyes are going to lead us directly to the place where the gods are held?” he asked Wren. “Make sure they understand we need places we can stand up in.”
Kestrel crawled past the others, and approached the spot where he heard Wren speaking to the Skyes.
“They understand, but they make no promises about the ceiling height, and they are concerned that the Viathins may regain control of them, once they are spotted,” Wren’s voice sounded in the darkness. “They’re really very nice creatures; they think as a group and they work as a group,” she commented.
“Tell them to lead on,” he said as he passed Wren.
The Skyes began to move, and Kestrel began to crawl along behind them. He felt tired of caverns and closed in spaces, and he hoped that there would never be another cave he would have to enter again, unless it was the very end of the journey home to Oaktown. The path they followed was a straight one, but after several minutes the surface they crawled upon grew rough, as they began to climb upon rubble, and their path began to dodge and turn among the large and small stone fragments that both blocked and shaped their path.
Kestrel suffered a number of bumps and scraps as he made contact unexpectedly. He whispered his findings back to Wren at first, to warn her of the unpredictable trail.
“I hear you cursing,” she whispered back. “I can tell when you hit something.”
The minutes of their journey passed, until the floor below Kestrel’s hands and knees suddenly became smooth. The Skyes in front of him momentarily commented on the new surface to one another, just before Kestrel heard the small sounds of their feet suddenly dispersing in several directions.
One clacking voice spoke briefly,
“This is the dungeon; they’ll lead us to the prison cells,” Wren said softly to Kestrel.
“We can stand up?” Kestrel asked.
“Try, and tell us what happens,” Wren snickered in his ear.
He harrumphed, then raised his hand cautiously, and as it struck no ceiling above, he rose to a crouch, then stood. “There’s standing room,” he whispered back.
“Stillwater,” he called in elvish.
“Kestrel friend?” the imp replied from very nearby.
“Come ride on my shoulder, so that you can go scout quickly if we need you to,” Kestrel whispered. He heard all the Skyes starting to move in one direction, and knew it was time to make the dangerous move onto the territory of the Viathins. They were about to potentially expose themselves to the enemy, in a place where they would be outnumbered and overpowered, he feared.
“Here, take this water skin,” he fumbled the now-enchanted water skin and pressed it against Stillwater’s hands when he felt the imp take a seat on his shoulder. “If we run into any Viathins, pour the water on them,” Kestrel explained.
“I will do it, Kestrel friend,” Stillwater replied.
Cautiously, holding his staff out in front of him like a blind man’s cane, Kestrel began to walk along behind the sound of the Skyes, wishing desperately that he could safely raise some light to illuminate their path. The Skyes came to a stop, and spoke softly, just as Kestrel’s staff bumped into an unknown object.
“This is a door, and there is a hallway, and stairs, on the other side,” Wren told Kestrel.
He reached out to the dark space in front of him, and felt his fingers brush across a cold, rough-surfaced metal slab. He let his hand swing to the left searching for a handle, then he swept back to the right, and found a latch. It was a heavy, awkward mechanism, and he needed both hands to open the door, which pulled inward.
The Skyes went ahead of him through the portal, and he proceeded to press his staff ahead of him once more. After only a dozen steps he stopped abruptly, as he heard the Skyes start to bounce and strike and clatter physically.
“Is that how they go down stairs?” Kestrel whispered to Wren.
“They didn’t discuss their methods with me,” she whispered gently. “But they knew it was coming. They said so.”
Kestrel tapped his staff on the floor and found the first step. “This is the first step down,” he whispered backwards, as he carefully lowered his foot and found the tread. He tried to quietly, cautiously stride down the steps, listening to the people behind him each shuffle onto the downward flight and begin to descend.
At last he reached a floor level below, and he discovered that his elven eyes could detect a glimmer of light, something that was gray instead of black, not far in the distance ahead. A pair of Skyes spoke to one another momentarily, and the only other sound was the scuffling of the feet of the others descending the steps.
“Do you see the light up ahead?” Kestrel whispered to Stillwater.
“I do Kestrel friend. Let me creep along the ceiling ahead of you to see what it is,” the imp proposed, and then he departed from Kestrel’s shoulder without waiting for an answer.
“Be careful,” Kestrel said softly. He began to advance, sensing that the others were crowding behind him at the foot of the stairs. His staff continued to sweep and probe for obstacles, but the floor was clear of any problems, and he slowly approached the grayness, which grew more distinct, changing and defining itself to show that it was a doorway beyond which was a dimly lit room.
Kestrel pressed his back against the wall of the passage as he approached the doorway. Though the amount of light was very little, to his sight-starved eyes it seemed like a midday illumination, and he feared that those potentially beyond the opening might see him approach. He turned his head to look, and saw that his companions were likewise against the wall, minimizing their profile.
Stillwater was nowhere in sight, until Kestrel saw a bump of dark profile pass against the ceiling of the doorway and then disappear into the top region of the other chamber beyond.
When he was within a few feet of the doorway, Kestrel stopped. From his vantage point he could see a small slice of the room. There was an unseen source of light, and a dark wall with three heavy doors that were shut. Kestrel stepped forward, and pulled his knife loose. He wished Stillwater would have returned with information, but he felt too nervous to wait. He pressed forward, his staff held in one hand and his knife in the other.
At the doorway he stopped and looked into the next chamber. It was a roughly round room. The doors he had seen from his vantage point were set along one side of the circle, with other doors beside them. In the center of the room an empty podium rose. And across from the first set of doors, off to his right, were a separate pair of doors.
The two doors set off by themselves glowed with a lurid orange color. There was no evidence of guards in the room.
The Skyes were gathered at the doorway with Kestrel; he leaned back to Wren.
“Is this where the gods are held?” he asked. “Behind those glowing doors?”
She spoke to the creatures, then listened to the response.
“Yes, they say the prisoners are there. They are very afraid; they say they feel Viathins trying to control them,” Wren said. “They don’t understand why they are not under their influence.”
“Tell them that the water their god touched is protecting them, so that they will have free will,” Kestrel explained. “And ask how close the Viathins are.”
She held a further dialog, then spoke to Kestrel. “The Viathins are very near, but they don’t know where.”
“We’re going into the next chamber, and I’ll try to set the gods free,” Kestrel whispered. “Be ready for anything.”
He looked into the room, but did not see Stillwater anywhere. He looked up, and realized that the high ceiling was crosshatched with numerous beams, creating pockets of dark shadows. Stillwater was up among them systematically moving from one set of shadows to another, examining the ceiling. The imp apparently saw nothing threatening in the room, Kestrel concluded.
He entered the room, and as he started walking towards the glowing doors, it suddenly struck him that he was about to me
et his father. He had heard Kere reveal who his father was only a few months before, in a time and a place that seemed so far distant he barely remembered them. But he did remember the shocking revelation that his father was a divinity, the elven god Morph.
And now he was about to meet Morph – he was ironically about to meet the god by rescuing him. There was great irony. Kestrel had never known the god to pay any particular attention to him, nor had he ever prayed to Morph seeking favors and assistance. Kestrel had ignored Morph as a god, just as Morph had ignored him as a child. After Kere’s revelation, Kestrel had felt anger, bewilderment, and disbelief as he had grown to accept the notion of Morph as his father. Now he would be in a position to rescue his desperate father, if he could manage to carry out the risky rescue, though it remained to be seen whether Kestrel could actually open the cells that appeared sealed with unknown power.
What would he say, or hear, Kestrel wondered.
He reached the first of the two doors, and stood before it, a part of him examining the door and the glowing energy, while another part continued to turn over the question of the reunion with his father – what he should say, what he should do, what he should anticipate.
A steely, rasping noise sounded behind him, and he turned from his bemused trance to see that the doors on the far side of the room were all opening, and a dozen Viathins came bursting out of the doorways. They seized his companions, who had gathered in a semi-circle to watch him, then one of the Viathins stepped forth, pointed its clawed hand at Kestrel, and shot forth a beam of red light that struck him and paralyzed him in place as it inflicted terrible pain upon him.
“You are persistent,” the Viathin spoke. “Even Ashcrayss doubted that you would be able to penetrate to this place. But I knew that you had killed my brother priest at the high lake, using a resourcefulness and an assortment of allies that allowed you to over-achieve, so I did not doubt that you might manage to surprise us all again, and I waited for your arrival.
An Unexpected Deity (Book 7) Page 19