The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  “Will the gate stay closed when unlocked?” Rokwolf asked.

  “Yes, but anyone could walk through,” Tevvy replied.

  Rokwolf shook his head. “It is not very likely; how many people know about this entrance?”

  “My sense from the Headmaster,” Tevvy said, “was that it was a secret known only to the Headmaster.”

  Rokwolf thought for a moment. “Let me go and check that shelf again, just to be sure,” he said.

  Tevvy nodded, opened the gate, and accepted the reins of his pony. Rokwolf stepped through and stopped at the end of the tunnel. After a moment of looking from the shadows, he slipped out of the tunnel and into the light of the sun nearing midday. He went first to the edge of the shelf looking down. He could see that climbing up would be difficult; he moved to where the shelf had fallen away and saw that Tevvy was correct in his assessment: the distance was too far to jump, and would have to be bridged somehow, which would require several people to climb first up to this side. He thought that one of the seklesem’s engineer companies could probably manage it, given the time. He shaded his eyes and scanned the area. He turned to go, then turned back suddenly, looking again at a point far down the river, right at the edge of his vision. He frowned and re-entered the tunnel.

  “Go out and take a look down the river,” Rokwolf said as he stepped through the gate. “I swear I caught a glimpse of something moving, and your eyes are sharper than mine.”

  Tevvy nodded, handed him the reins, then stepped through the gate. He returned a few minutes later, shaking his head.

  “Nothing,” Tevvy reported to Rokwolf. “Maybe you saw a stone fall, loosened by the heat of the sun.”

  Rokwolf frowned again. “We need to get Klare to the sanctuary.”

  “Will she be safe there?” Tevvy asked.

  “What do you mean?” Rokwolf asked in turn. “I thought you said that only the chosen could enter there?”

  Tevvy nodded. “That is true, but Thal was sure that Gar knows about it, and he believes that Gar could enter there, if the door were open.”

  “What does the door have to do with it?” Rokwolf asked.

  “I don’t really understand how it works,” Tevvy replied, “but when we close the door, while we are inside, time on the outside of the room stops; when we are on the outside of the room, time within the room stops, which is why we found things inside the room that were left by the founders, as new and fresh as if the founders put them there yesterday.”

  Rokwolf nodded. “My brother mentioned it to me, and he seemed to think that if one of us were inside, while the others were outside, that the room would be sealed from intrusion, except for us, and time would move normally on either side of the door.”

  Tevvy frowned. “As I’ve said, I have no idea how it works or what would happen; if he says so, I can only agree with him. What did you have in mind?”

  “We need to put Klare in there, to keep her safe,” Rokwolf replied, “but I think that we should enter the city and find the Headmaster, to let him know what has happened.”

  Tevvy thought for a moment. “Makes sense to me,” he agreed.

  “We can come back by here,” Rokwolf added, “maybe you can figure out what’s wrong with the lock.”

  “This way,” Tevvy said, leading his pony forward, her hooves echoing sharply on the stone. He stopped and rummaged through his saddle bags, pulling out several odd-shaped leather, cup-like objects. He bent and tapped his pony’s left fore-hoof, and she obediently lifted it. He slipped one of the leather objects over her hoof, tying it in place.

  “Aah,” Rokwolf said, “those are useful.”

  “More than useful,” Tevvy replied, moving around his pony and tying one on each hoof, “they protect her hooves from stone roads.”

  “And,” Rokwolf interrupted, “mask the sounds of her hooves on the paving stones, particularly at night, when one desires to leave town in a hurry and without being noticed.”

  Tevvy looked sheepish. “Well, yes, of course,” he stammered, “they also have that benefit.”

  Rokwolf laughed softly. “Don’t let Blakstar see them,” he warned, smiling widely. “He’ll surely have a self-righteous fit.”

  Tevvy frowned. “Don’t remind me,” the awemi snapped, “he is the reason I volunteered for this assignment: anything to get away from his eyes, always watching me, accusing me of thievery every chance he gets.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him,” Rokwolf said, “he is a product of his order. And,” Rokwolf went on, stopping the awemi’s protest, “extremely valuable in a fight. Whenever you feel you cannot take him anymore, just think of what he did, by himself, to an entire company of purem.”

  “With that sword,” Tevvy remarked, his eyes wide, “he could take on an entire legion. All he has to do is ride through their ranks, dragging that sword across any exposed skin--a scratch is enough--and the entire legion would surrender on the spot.”

  “Is it really that powerful?” Rokwolf asked, his eyebrows rising.

  “Have you forgotten what he just did?” Tevvy asked in surprise.

  “Uh, no,” Rokwolf replied, “but we could attribute that to being berserk–I was talking about his sword.”

  Tevvy nodded. “I saw it take the will from any creature it touched, like those mindless stone creatures that attacked us in the earth realm: one nick and the creature was prostrate on the ground, begging for mercy.”

  Rokwolf frowned. They turned left on the bridge, heading west through the sewers. “So why didn’t he let the purem surrender?” he asked.

  Tevvy shook his head. “I only saw him behave that way once before,” he noted, “in the dungeon under the school, when the kwalu-controlled council member was telling his apprentice that he was going to . . . ,” he stopped, looking thoughtful.

  “What?” Rokwolf asked.

  “Klare was in that room,” Tevvy went on, “and they were bragging about raping her there, and when he found out that you were captured, and what your captors were doing to Klare . . . ,” he stopped.

  “He went berserk,” Rokwolf supplied.

  “Is it because he’s sensitive toward Klare?” Tevvy asked.

  “Not just Klare,” Rokwolf replied, “but all wetham. His order puts wetham on pedestals and worships them; to the kortexi, a wetha is an object of beauty, like a delicate glass sculpture that should be protected from all hurt. When the seklesi order was founded, the kortexem refused to recognize the new order . . . ,” Rokwolf began, but Tevvy finished the sentence for him.

  “Because your wetham share the work equally, fighting and dying alongside you,” Tevvy finished.

  Rokwolf nodded. “It took many consultations with both the kailu and maghi masters before the kortexem grudgingly agreed not to attack us. I don’t think they accepted my order until the first time we fought together in a battle, at the Crossings of Reema, as I recall, that they saw the value of our way.” Tevvy turned to the right, moving north; Rokwolf followed. “That is probably why he went berserk, because to them, rape is like purposely crushing an object of art. Not that we find it any less offensive, but that the kortexem are particularly offended by it.” Rokwolf fell silent, and after more time passed, something in the back of his mind clicked into place; he groaned.

  The awemi reached the secret door, putting his hand into the roughly-shaped hand indentation in the wall. The door slid silently open. “Here we are,” he said brightly, leading his pony through, then waiting for Rokwolf before pushing the door closed. He pointed to the hand print indentations on the back of the door. “Put your right hand there,” he told Rokwolf, pointing to the larger.

  “Why?” Rokwolf asked, looking slightly puzzled.

  “It’s how the door recognizes you are one of the chosen,” Tevvy replied, “so that you can leave and enter at will.” Rokwolf felt a tingle in his palm on placing it against the door, and a jolt of excitement coursed through him; he removed his hand and stared at it in wonder. Tevvy led him down the ramp, past t
he waterfall and to the door. “Let’s see if you are recognized,” he said, pointing to the indentation on the door into their sanctuary.

  Rokwolf nodded, putting his right hand on the door, feeling a slight tingle in his palm; the door opened. Tevvy looked around.

  “I wonder,” Tevvy said, glancing back at the waterfall and ramp descending to their sanctuary, “if we could open a doorway to this room?”

  Rokwolf shrugged. “I got the sense from Thal that this area would be protected by the same teka that protects the city above.”

  Tevvy shook his head and led his pony into the doorway and the room beyond. “Don’t close the door,” he said to Rokwolf, “I don’t think we should stop time.”

  Rokwolf nodded and followed colliding with the pony. “Why have you stopped?” he asked.

  “The room has changed!” Tevvy exclaimed. “There was no doorway over there,” he pointed.

  Rokwolf slipped past the pony and into the main chamber, looking around. “It looks the way it was described to me,” he noted, “but you say that door wasn’t there before; it looks like a stable door,” he finished, walking around the central table. He opened the new door. He turned back to Tevvy smiling. “It is a stable,” he said, and he turned and entered the new room, “complete with everything we’d need to keep all of our horses here,” and he laughed, seeing another, larger chamber beyond the stable.

  “What is so funny?” Tevvy asked, leading his pony through the room and into the stable. Rokwolf pushed open another door.

  “There is another large chamber here,” Rokwolf said over his shoulder, “looks like it is set up so we can exercise our horses. It looks to be lit somehow, by the sun.”

  Tevvy opened one of the barrels, then scooped grain into one of the feeding troughs, smaller than the others. He pulled off his pony’s bridle, so she could eat. Rokwolf entered the larger chamber, finding an exercise track with a stream running through the chamber; in the center of the track he saw a flat section of plowed earth, surrounded by a fence.

  “Look over here,” Rokwolf called.

  As he moved closer the center of the exercise track, he saw that the stream crossed the track in two places–one by a low stone bridge and the other by a flat ford over which the water passed musically–and passing through the center of the field; grass grew around the track and the edge of the field, where the large square had been fenced off.

  Rokwolf leaned on the fence. “I think you could grow a garden in here,” he said.

  Tevvy walked up next to him and looked around. “It is quite strange,” he agreed, “it looks like we are outdoors in the sun, but I can see the ceiling of the cave overhead, and the walls all around us.” After a moment, he shook his head. “We better take care of Klare.”

  Rokwolf nodded and they both returned to the smaller cave where Tevvy’s pony was happily munching on the grain; Tevvy paused to add some hay to the manger, breaking open one of the bales stacked in one corner of the stable. Rokwolf lifted Klare carefully off and carried her back into the main room; Tevvy followed, leading him to the room and bed in which she had before rested, opening the door for Rokwolf, who laid her carefully on the bed and covered her with the blanket.

  “I’ll go finish unsaddling my pony,” Tevvy said.

  Rokwolf nodded and followed him back into the main room, leaving the door slightly open. Both of them stopped suddenly.

  “Did you hear that?” Tevvy hissed, looking around.

  Rokwolf’s brow wrinkled; he nodded. “I did, but I think it was a whisper inside my head.”

  Tevvy let out his breath suddenly. “Good,” he noted, “I thought I had gone mad, hearing voices. I think we are supposed to stay here, rather than look for the Headmaster.”

  “That’s what I heard,” Rokwolf replied, “which seems strange, since finding out what is going on in the battle above seemed important before, but now . . . ,” he stopped, thinking and looking around.

  “But now,” Tevvy picked up where Rokwolf stopped, “it does not seem necessary or important. And each time I try to think about leaving, I am suddenly thinking instead about Klare and this room.”

  “I, too,” Rokwolf went on, “feel that way, but I don’t know why.”

  “Nor I,” Tevvy said, “but I think it would be safe for one of us to rest, while the other watches.”

  “Yes,” Rokwolf said, “and I think I should rest first.”

  “There is another room, over there,” Tevvy pointed. He looked up at Rokwolf. “This is strange,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you this was a wondrous room?”

  A sound penetrated the darkness, lazily floating to the surface of his mind: creak-creak, followed by silence, then, creak-creak bump shake shake. Someone was sneaking into his room, Klaybear’s sluggish mind thought, it must be Rokwolf. Creak-bump-creak-shake bump-bump-shake-shake-shake. He’s trying to wake me, Klaybear thought, but I’m tired and want to sleep, and my head hurts. Creak-creak. Why did that sound persist? Why couldn’t he leave me alone?

  “Klaybear?” a voice asked, but it wasn’t Rokwolf. Maybe it was Delgart, but no, Delgart had been taken away in the raid. Creak-creak, bump-shake-shake.

  “Klaybear?” the voice asked again. It was familiar, but the pain in his head--creak-creak--was too much. “Leave me alone!” he tried to shout, but heard no words–the creaking, the bumping, and the shaking were the only sounds audible, besides the intrusive voice.

  “Are you all right?” the voice asked. He thought he knew that voice, but how? Where? He rolled to his other side, hoping the voice would leave him alone to sleep, but now the creaking was punctuated by a clinking nearby, almost in his ears, he thought.

  “You must wake up,” the voice insisted. Bump-bump, shake-shake-shake. “Blakstar is injured: I cannot help him,” the voice went on imploring. Blakstar? he thought, who was--creak-creak--Blakstar? Then images flooded his sluggish mind; he sat up, blinded for a moment by the bright light around him, but the creaking, bumping, and shaking persisted. As his eyes struggled against the light, then struggled to focus; the back of his head throbbed painfully, every bump increasing the pain. He needed to do something about the pain--creak-creak. He raised one hand to the back of his head, seeing a flash of green light move through his blurred vision; he felt the lump on the back of his head, felt it warm, then cool, then the pain diminished to a dull ache and his eyes focused; a face swam into focus, framed by wild, red hair covered with twigs and dirty leaves: Thal, the name surfaced as his eyes cleared. He looked around, saw crude but thick wooden bars, light moving over them as they passed under the shade of trees, the regular creaking of the axle and the bumping and shaking of the wagon as it rolled slowly over bumps and holes in the road. His eyes fell on the unmoving form of the kortexi, and he reached out with his still green-glowing hand, laying it on Blakstar’s sweaty forehead, feeling the healing energy passing through his hand as he hummed the words of a healing orthek, drawing power from the air around him. The kortexi groaned and sat up.

  “What happened?” Blakstar asked.

  “We were trapped,” Thal said dully, “they were waiting for us to appear, with nets ready.”

  “My head still hurts,” Blakstar noted, one hand going automatically to his belt, but his belt, sword, and the vessel of the Waters of Life were gone. “My sword!” he hissed.

  Thal nodded and pointed. “There, at the front of this wagon,” Thal said softly, “along with the staff, my rod, our packs and belts, in short, all that we possessed that might be useful to us now.”

  Harsh laughter punctuated the creak-creak of the wagon. Their troop of horses was tied to the back of the wagon and following along in a single line; the wagon and horses were surrounded by a group of purem.

  “Behold the mighty kortexi,” a harsh puri voice exclaimed, “caged!” Seeking the source of the voice, Klaybear saw that the one who had spoken was not a puri as he first thought, but a stocky ponkolu, with a broad chest and long arms bulging with muscles, huge hands, looking stron
g enough to crush any wethi, no matter how strong.

  “Caught like a rat in our trap,” added another voice; more harsh laughter followed.

  “You let me out of this cage,” Blakstar retorted, “and we will see who laughs.”

  The purem surrounding the cage roared with laughter.

  “We are not fools,” the ponkolu said, grinning widely and showing his broken fangs and missing teeth.

  “We know what you did to the others,” the second said.

  “So you will remain safely caged,” the ponkolu said. The others laughed again. “Then you will pay for what you have done.” He pointed at Blakstar with one of his long arms, revealing its unnatural length and girth; the other hung at his side, reaching to his knee.

  “Yes,” the second voice said, licking his lips, “we will slice away your flesh, one small strip at a time,” the puri went on, holding up his finger and thumb, “broiling it and eating it while your blood leaks slowly away.” The others laughed at this.

  “Or better yet,” a third voice croaked, “we’ll call the breeders and their mistresses, and let them have their fill of you before we eat you!”

  “Blakstar, no!” Thal shouted, trying to stop the kortexi from hurling himself at the wooden bars. Red light flashed and Blakstar was thrown back, hands burned and smoking. Klaybear reached out his hand and healed the burns.

  “That’s right, kailu,” the ponkolu said, “you keep him whole and healthy until we are ready to break him, and you. Perhaps by then we’ll find where your mate is hiding,” he added, the others laughing harshly, “and we’ll have some more fun with her. I’m sure her screams were,” he paused, licking his lips with relish, then whispering, “stimulating.”

  Rage burned within Klaybear, and he started to throw himself at the bars, but his anger burned out as quickly as it had come; he slumped, thinking of Klare and the damage done to her.

  Blakstar moved as close as he could to the bars, so that they started to glow red, nearest to where the ponkolu stood. “Mark my words, spawn of Gar the accursed,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “you will make a mistake, you always do, and when you do, I will not stop to pick up my sword or any other weapon, but I will tear you limb from limb with my bare hands!”