The Inner Realm

by Dale Furse

  Chapter 13

  What creepy, crawly things scoured over Hankley’s exposed skin? He thought the things might have been ants. They could have been ants. How many legs did ants have? No, they had at least a hundred legs each. Centipedes. He tried to shake them off, but he could not move. None can move a muscle or nerve until they arrive in the Outer Realm, so he stopped trying and waited. Complete darkness enveloped Hankley. He wished he could close his eyes so he could imagine being in an artisan’s café, smelling the scents of foods cooking, eating a sandwich, and listening to the chatter.

  An involuntary cough told Hankley he had arrived. Or was it a gasp? The darkness parted as a sharp pain shot through his flesh and collided with his anklebone. A bite? An insect bit him? He had been to the Outer Realm before, and nothing had ever crawled over him, let alone bit him. Once his eyes accustomed to the dull light he lifted his leg. A slight puncture wound. Nothing more.

  “Hankley.” Oln’s voice spoke.

  Hankley looked around, but could see nothing until Oln’s face of light blossomed before him. He started. Composing himself, he bowed his head. “Sir, something bit me.”

  “When?”

  “As I traveled through the void, something bit me on the ankle.”

  “Show me.”

  Oln looked at the bite mark and chuckled. “It seems like more than one of my siblings are up to mischief. That is the bite of a fire flee and they inhabit a Half Realm world. How goes my realm?”

  “The wall is still missing, sir.”

  “Perhaps by my brother’s hands. Gart has pushed for the Inner Realm for some time.” He laughed.

  Hankley did not think it was a laughing matter. “Should you tell Azu?”

  A wash of irritated orange passed over Oln’s face. “You are my longest serving, and I am fond of you, but you will not suggest the manner of my actions.”

  Bowing deeply, Hankley sucked his cheeks in. He should have known better.

  “Don’t frown, Hankley, I am not willing to give my realm to any of my brothers or sisters.” Oln blushed powder blue in thought. “I fear we have a spy in our midst.”

  “A spy?”

  “None can see into the realms, save Azu. The only way Gart gained any information was by it relayed to him. He has hidden the courier from me.”

  The Shanks came immediately to Hankley’s mind.

  “Mmm.” The blue deepened to sapphire. “The Shanks came to me from the Quarter Realm.” Oln’s face darkened to navy, and then quickly returned to white light. “No, not the Shanks, it must be someone else. Someone who can hide their true selves from me.”

  Hankley thought about Rone. She turned up wherever he was. She was at the cafes, passed or stopped to chat to him in whichever street he happened to be in, and in the designer’s offices. His hand patted the back his head and he glanced at Oln, who watched him intently.

  “Picture her image each time you saw her,” Oln said.

  Doing so, Hankley ran through every time he met or saw Rone.

  “Stop,” Oln ordered when Hankley’s image involved Rone at the designer’s offices. “Did you notice that?”

  “I hadn’t at the time, but now I see she is taking notes about something.” Hankley saw her, but he could not believe Rone was the spy. He liked her. A lot. He trusted her.

  “Hmmm.” Oln’s face flushed yellow.

  Having never seen the color of anger in Oln before, Hankley stepped back. He had heard gods do terrible things when filled with yellow. While the color does not come easily to the gods, when it does, it can be catastrophic. He also knew the anger was never directed at a god, only at servants. He knew this because the gods were a strange lot. They loved each other so much each one looked upon anything another god did with humor and adoration.

  “You are safe,” Oln said, powder blue returning. “You keep an eye on Rone. However, you still need to get those boys back to their worlds. How is it going?”

  “You know?”

  Another chuckle. “Gart couldn’t wait to tell me you had the gem of language.”

  “He knew I had it?”

  “Of course.” His color deepened to sapphire. “If Gart has anything to do with the boys’ adventure, I must step in. I understand he is bored in the Quarter Realm, but he cannot go around playing with my citizens. We must thwart him, the sneaky god that he is.”

  “Sir, I think the Cord and his designers are close to finding the reason why the wall is acting strangely,” Hankley said, and believed it to be true.

  “Cord was the wall’s original designer. I am certain he will repair the problem.”

  Hankley nodded and wondered again about Gart. What if the god had ventured to Cillian?

  “Gart is my problem,” Oln said.

  He didn’t smile, but Hankley saw the glint of laughter in his eyes.

  Another face appeared beside Oln’s head. Where Oln’s light was pearl, Gart’s glow shone ivory, and his eyes too held laughter. Hankley shifted a foot and straightened his robe. They were two brothers who opposed each other on nearly every subject, yet neither seemed in the least perturbed about that fact.

  “Did you find your wall?” Gart guffawed at Hankley. “Though I don’t know how you could have lost it. It isn’t exactly small, is it?”

  Oln chuckled. “Leave him alone, Gart. Where is our missing wall of doors?”

  Gart refused to answer, and Hankley knew it was because he could not lie.

  Oln said, “You will tell me, little brother. I will not relinquish my realm to you, or anybody else.”

  Gart smiled, too sweetly.

  Oln laughed and shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Perhaps I’m just trying to get your attention,” Gart said.

  “You always have my attention,” Oln said.

  “No, I don’t.”

  Oln shook his head and chuckled again. “You act like a spoiled human.”

  “That’s a cruel thing to say.”

  A disembodied hand appeared palm up toward Gart. “We’ll continue this discussion in private.”

  With a slight nod of his head, Gart closed and opened his eyes in agreement and disappeared.

  “You may go,” Oln said to Hankley.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Oln’s light faded and immediately brightened once more. “And keep a watch on Rone. I believe she is our infiltrator.”

  “Are you sure?” Hankley could not believe Rone would do such a thing. She would never.

  “It’s nothing to be surprised about, Hankley.” Oln chuckled again. “Even you would find it hard to resist Gart when he wants to be persuasive.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hankley said, but could never imagine himself being swayed to go against his benevolent god.

  Oln faded, and Hankley stood still for a moment staring at the place where the face was. He would never understand gods. A pearl light flashed, zipping across the space above him. Less than a second later, an ivory light retaliated. Backwards and forwards, the lights came and went until they soon collided. Hankley screwed up his face. Were they fighting?

  Oln’s deep, contagious laughter filled the void followed by Gart’s higher, but no less contagious, guffaw. Hankley smiled, shaking his head. He took a deep breath of nothing and stepped back into the void.

  The insects, or whatever the things were, swarmed over Hankley’s body. More must have been all over his robe. Knowing it was useless, he tried again to shake them off, but he still could not move. A bite on his neck. A minute later, another on his wrist. Unable to flinch, he could only silently ask Azu to stop the pests from tasting his flesh.

  Chapter 14

  Mike willed his left arm to stretch a little further. Another knot formed in his lower left arm, not much smaller than the other. He sucked back the tears already forming in his eyes. More salt and water meant more itching. He did not want to give up, but his body might fail to obey his thoughts. He screwed his eyes shut and searched with his hand—panting, sweating, scraping
, reaching, but there was nothing. Until finally, his fingers found the rocky ledge of the cliff. He clawed and employed every abused muscle in his fingers to support his increasingly leaden frame. He had to concentrate. Death still waited below.

  Praying his feet didn’t slip, he straightened his legs until he stood erect. His right hand found the same ledge as his left and, with all the strength he could muster, he hauled his aching body up and over the last hunk of the mountain.

  Shank Two spoke again while Mike sprawled across the dirt. “He can use strips of bark from the trunks to tie the branches together.”

  “Yeah, good idea.”

  Before Mike could calm his heart, Shank Two yelled. “Mike, look.”

  Mike had to focus to breathe evenly. In, out, in, out.

  “Mike,” called Two.

  One more breath in—out. He peered up at the Shanks. Both heads were bent over the far side of the cliff.

  He ignored his protesting body, but could still only scramble onto his hands and knees. He crawled to where the Shanks stood, fell flat on his stomach, and inched forward just enough to see what had Shank Two so distressed. Five black hooded riders were about to go around the bend leading to Vala and Noor.

  Without thinking, Mike leapt up and shouted. “Hey.” He bent, ignoring the explosion of pain in his back, and scooped up a hand full of stones. He pelted the riders. A stone struck a horse’s rump. It kicked out and its hoof hit another rider’s knee. The rider yelped and pulled too hard on his horse’s reins. The horse reared so high, it lost its footing and fell back onto the rider.

  “Crap,” Mike uttered. He stared at the fallen horse and willed the rider to be all right. A sigh of relief. The rider squirmed out from under the horse and pulled it to its feet. The horse wasn’t hurt either.

  That was lucky. An arrow whizzed past Mike’s ear. He’d been so intent on the fallen horse and rider he hadn’t noticed the lead horseman raise his bow.

  Another arrow flew past his arm as he fell to the ground. The sword. Charging to the other side of the canyon, he launched himself over the cliff. Half-sliding, half-climbing, more skin and flesh scraped from his face to his legs. He was one last jump from the canyon floor. SMACK. The jarring pain sped up his legs to his spine. He paused with clenched teeth and waited until the wave of agony waned.

  “Do something, Shanks.” Mike picked up the sword. He couldn’t wait for the riders. They would find the girls. Noor’s arrows would not stop them for a second. Instead, he darted, sword held in front of him, to the opening of the dead-end canyon and into the path of the riders.

  “There he is,” one yelled.

  “Get him,” another shouted.

  Mike’s heart thwacked against his chest as he stood his ground. The lead horseman halted, drew his sword, and charged at Mike.

  His sword brushed the bandit’s blade away as if it was nothing more than a fly. More than a dozen arrows flew toward him. He swished the sword through the air, severing tips from shafts. He dashed forward, away from the girls, and into the arrows. To his right, an arrow flew at Mike’s thigh and instinctively, he ducked, slid toward it, and sliced the bandit’s shin. Another whizzed past his ear so close all he had to do was twist and knock the bow out of the archer’s hands with his sword. Eyes and ears alert, he ducked, weaved, and dealt with the shafts until he was on the other side of the group. He stopped and spun around.

  The men turned their horses to face Mike, but did not move forward. Although he couldn’t see their faces under their hoods, he guessed they weren’t as impressed with his moves as he was.

  The leader held his sword high in the air and shouted something unintelligible.

  Mike only paused long enough to see the other riders draw their swords and shout in turn. He wheeled on his still aching legs and pelted away from the riders and the girls. The thundering behind made him pick up more speed. Was he running as fast as Terni could? He thought he must be, the horses hadn’t trampled him.

  He dipped down a course to his left, hoping it wasn’t a dead end.

  The riders shouted their rage as their horses hooves crashed past the path. Mike slowed, perhaps they hadn’t seen him. But how could they not? His chest exploded with every breath as he moved close to the edge of the gully and dropped to his haunches. Aware of his sore spine, he pressed his back close to, but not against, the dirty rock wall and listened for the retreating marauders, straining to hear above the thumping of his heart in his temples.

  The horse’s hooves smacking against the hard earth didn’t sound as if they were still riding away. They must have stopped, maybe to regroup. Shouts filled the air and echoed around the canyons. Among those shouts came a familiar voice. Mike frowned. Derek? Hooves crunched nearer. Mike shrank as small as he could against the rocky cliff.

  The lead horseman pulled up his horse as soon as he spotted the turn and wheeled around to face Mike.

  “He’s here,” the rider called to the others before jogging up to Mike.

  Mike slowly straightened, replaced his sword in the holder on his back, and held his hands out, palms up, as if he was out of moves. The leader laughed. It didn’t sound like Derek’s laugh. Mike frowned. Derek had laughed when he spoke to the king. His chortle held no hint of malice like this man’s cackle. Not Derek. The familiar throb of pain in his thigh interfered with Mike’s memory. He couldn’t place the familiar voice.

  Mike choked down the hurt. “Who are you?”

  The leader snickered again. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  How old are you, Mike thought, but asked, “Where is Terni?”

  “Ah, the messenger is safely tucked away,” the leader said. His men laughed. He indicated with his hand for some of the men to ride to the other side of Mike.

  Once the men surrounded Mike, the leader kicked his horse closer. “I don’t see we have a need for another off-worlder, but you might come in handy. Hmm, as a trade… or something to that effect. He waved the men forward. “Bind him.”

  Two riders dressed in loosely fitting black shirts and trousers dismounted. Mike kicked out at the nearest bandit. The man blocked his foot.

  “He knows the way of the arts,” the man who deflected Mike’s kick said.

  Mike refused to let them see his pain and brought a small smile to his lips. They might know some sort of martial art, but they weren’t well practiced in the moves. Mike wasn’t either, but he knew he was better than they were.

  “It will do him no good,” the leader said. “Bind him.”

  The two men advanced. Mike gritted his teeth against the agony in his leg, swung around, and kicked first, one head then the other, in quick succession. Both men crashed onto the ground. By the time Mike had finished his spin, the leader was almost on top of him.

  Mike waited, knees slightly bent and his sword at the ready.

  The bandit stopped and laughed. “Do you think you can fight all of us?”

  Mike eyed the men that had appeared behind their leader. Mike smiled and nodded. “Hand to hand?”

  Mike grinned and slipped his sword in its case on his back.

  “Now,” the leader called, and all three attacked.

  His injury forgotten, Mike’s mind was steeped in amazement as he ducked, spun, and blocked with his arms, hands, feet or legs until he thought his muscles would turn to jelly. He had never fought so well. The sword seemed to hug his back and its strength and knowledge washed through Mike like a tap turned on full-bore. The sword knew what to do and how to do it, and it taught Mike better than the best instructor in the world as it relentlessly led Mike into the fight. His body pulsed with the sword’s potency. His mind was clear and alert.

  The assailants fought well. Mike danced to the side, separating one man from the pack—a quick kick in the head, and he joined his sleeping mates. Mike jumped, twisted, and blocked until again, he lured a second man from the side of his leader. Another kick and the pawn stilled his attack. Then another and another until only Mike and the l
ead bandit stood in the canyon.

  “Do you think it’s just you and me, peasant?”

  As soon as he heard the word peasant and the sneer behind it, Mike recognized the voice, but he wanted to be certain. “Isn’t it?” he asked, tilting his head toward the four fallen men. The leader’s eyes flickered to his comrades. Mike kicked his opponent’s knee. As the man stumbled, Mike used his sword to flick off his hood. Prince Ludo. “Why are you doing this? Have you joined Derek?”

  “Derek?” Ludo laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh. He moved back, stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The sound echoed through the ravine. He jerked his head back and raised his eyes to indicate Mike should look above.

  More than a hundred black clad figures lined the canyon and all had arrows nocked, ready to rain down on Mike.

  “He knows my face,” Ludo shouted. “Kill him.”

  Mike withdrew his sword and whispered, hoping the Shanks’ were still about. “I can’t block that many arrows can I?”

  “No,” Shank Two’s voice said as shafts whizzed toward Mike.

  He blocked, evaded, spun. Agony seared his left cheek. Mike blinked back the pain.

  The next second, he stood stunned behind the bowmen. He gaped as the arrows embedded in or ricocheted off the cliff wall where he had stood a second before.

  Down below, Ludo turned in all directions, his face comical. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open as if his bottom jaw had lost contact with his upper.

  The firing stalled and men gasped, heads looking in all directions.

  “He is gone.”

  “Black magic.”

  One of the bowmen turned around and spoke straight at Mike’s face. “We are cursed this day.” His eyes did not focus on Mike. Instead, he turned back to his comrades.

  They couldn’t see him. He was as invisible as the Shanks.

  Ludo shouted. “Shut up and get down here.”

  The men hesitated and glanced at each other.

  “Now,” Ludo roared.

  His tone jolted the men into movement. The archers drew back and clambered down the opposite side of the cliff to their horses hidden in the canyon. Their trail down was much easier than the one he had to climb earlier.