by Bo Burnette
She took a deep breath and plunged into the darkness.
Arliss squinted as her eyes adjusted to the stony murkiness in the chamber. Although light was filtering in from somewhere, the room—or whatever it was—still lay blanketed in shadows. It wasn’t outdoors—it was too dark—but the flickers of light and the freshness of the air made her assume that the passage eventually led out the other side of the hill. If so, it would spit an adventurer out right at the base of the volcano. Unless, of course, there was more to the darkness than met the eye. Nothing was meeting her eyes at the moment.
She felt around in the dark for walls or sides of stone. Her right hand smacked against solid rock. She reached out with her left and found that she could touch the opposite wall without moving her other hand. With her hands sliding along the cool stone, she took several steps farther into the vague grayness.
The space between the walls widened until she could no longer touch both walls at once. She dropped her arms. The grayness had grown more gray and less black, but she still couldn’t tell how large the room was—or if it was even a room at all. Perhaps the passageway simply widened at this point.
Voices murmured somewhere near her—male voices. She slowly placed an arrow on her bow and pulled some tension into the string.
The voices came again, wafting in from the entrance of the tunnel. Whirling around, she took a step backward.
Her lower back bumped something. She started, her heart pounding. Hooking her left finger over her half-drawn arrow, she felt behind her. Silly, silly Arliss. It’s only a table.
A table. Someone lived here—or at least had lived here, and recently enough for the table to feel intact. In fact, the smooth wood felt almost new.
The voices had entered the passage now. Arliss pulled her bow back to full draw, expecting the worst. If Orlando had somehow escaped…
Someone suddenly spoke distinctly enough that she could hear him. “I’m serious, I’m going to kill her.”
Someone struck a flame into existence.
“Killing me would be a bit drastic, wouldn’t it—Philip?”
Philip held a torch which illuminated only half of his face, making him look even grimmer than he probably was. Arliss liberated her bow from its tightness and restored the arrow to its quiver. Philip and Ilayda stepped all the way into the chamber, and Erik followed tugging a smug-looking Orlando.
“And how did the bloody fight go?” Arliss laced her voice with sarcasm.
“It wasn’t bloody,” Orlando replied. “And it didn’t go anywhere. It ended.”
“And who ended it?”
Philip crossed his arms. “Let’s just say the prisoner and I have a mutual respect for each other now.”
“Good. Now that you’re done squabbling, we can get down to business. First off, I need a little more light. Then, I need some explanations from you.” She glared hard at Orlando. “Then, I need to find those treasures before you-know-who does.”
Orlando nudged Erik away, holding up his own bound wrists. “Starting with the latter, you’re looking for a dead end. Thane is far cleverer than you and will steal your treasures with or without your cooperation. Second, I don’t give explanations to people while I’m tied up. It’s against my code. Finally, I can help with the light right away, if you’d be so kind as to untie me.” He held up his wrists again.
Arliss huffed a breath out her nose as she avoided Philip’s warning glance. “Untie him, Erik. But stand guard at the entrance to the passageway.”
Orlando smirked as Erik yanked the ropes off his wrists. Once they were gone, he snatched the faltering torch and strode over to table. He muttered for a moment over something Arliss could not see. The torch died out completely for a split second.
The entire room suddenly burst into existence, every inch of the stone walls and wooden table and glass vials and yellow fruits reaching Arliss’s eyes at once. She gaped at the sophisticated, homelike room that filled the cavern.
To the right of the table, dried fish, seaweed, and fruit rinds hung from the wall. More fruit—all burstingly yellow—filled a blue bowl in the corner of the notched stone.
Orlando darted along the wall, examining countless bottles and vials and petals and leaves, some fresh and some dry. He gave the swarm of vials a satisfied nod before turning back to the table. Two more lamps spaced evenly down a wooden tabletop twice as long as Arliss’s height. He lit these, and the room became bigger and brighter still. In the far back of the cavern, a simple wooden bed lay draped with purple linen. A burgundy cape—much cleaner than the one he now wore—hung from a hook attached to a skinny chest of drawers.
“This is your home?” Arliss asked.
Orlando nodded as he strode around the table to the open pantry. He picked up two fruits and held them out. “Want a citrus?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Philip looked like he had just been offered raw snake. “You can keep it.”
“He’s not trying to poison us, Philip.” Arliss tore into the peel. A few acidic drops sprayed onto her tongue.
“Well, if he is, I suppose you can test it.”
“Some bodyguard you are!” She bit viciously into the fruit. A delightful tang filled her mouth. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She took another bite and glanced around. “Where does it all come from—the vials, the herbs, the lamps…” Her throat tightened. “The lamps.” She felt suddenly frozen, as if her limbs had been turned to stone. Her body stayed on the isle, but her mind fled back to Reinhold, back in time more than a year.
“The lamps,” she repeated.
“What about the lamps?” Orlando asked.
“Philip.” Arliss lowered her voice. “Do you remember the lamps? The ones in Thane’s old fortress? They were like these—elegantly carved from glass. They amplified the light throughout the whole room.”
Philip nodded.
“The lamps…the room…Thane.” All at once everything rushed back at her—every word, every detail. She could almost feel the pain in her ribs from her near fall. She looked up at Orlando. “The beautiful bedroom in Thane’s fortress. The one I stayed in. There was a lamp, like this one. A bed covered in finery. On a hooked stand hung a burgundy cloak.” Arliss shivered. “That was your room.”
Orlando nodded.
“Why was that your room?” Suspicion seized her. “And why do you have a room here on the isle?”
“I have rooms in many realms.” Orlando’s voice was calm. “I told you, I don’t stay in one place long.”
“But what about your parents?”
“I don’t have parents.”
“Everyone has parents.” Arliss set the half-eaten citrus down on the table.
“I don’t have parents, I tell you!” Orlando seethed. “Maybe I did once, but I don’t anymore.”
“What happened to them?”
He slumped into a chair beside the table. Arliss also sat, but the rest remained standing.
“My mother died almost before I can remember,” Orlando said. “I never even knew who my father was.”
“So Thane became your father?”
“He became my everything—father, teacher, guide.”
“I’m sorry you had to follow such a bad example.”
Orlando’s gaze snapped up. “You do not know him.”
“I know him.” Arliss spoke through clenched teeth. “I have seen who he is, and what he does.”
He stood and walked over to the elaborate apothecary along the left wall. “You mean his studies?”
“Studies?”
“Surely you observed some of them? Thane prefers to study control and manipulation of living creatures—beast and human.” He inverted a vial of greenish contents. “I, on the other hand, have studied plants and herbs and their medicines.”
Arliss stared. A killer…and a healer. How could that be?
He exhaled. “The ancient books say that one of the secret gifts of Reinhold is a v
ial of powerful medicine that can cure even those on the brink of death. I have not yet come up with a potion that has that kind of power.”
“Do you know of Lasairbláth?” Arliss asked.
“Lasairbláth?” Orlando’s nose wrinkled. “It’s a myth.”
“Not exactly.” She unfastened the pocket of her jerkin and pulled out a sampling of dried leaves, letting them flutter onto his gloved hand.
He sniffed at them. “Impossible.”
“It grows faster than you’d believe in Rein—”
A hornblast echoed through the passage.
Philip tensed. “The carynx! I left it with Brallaghan.”
The musical groaning came again, blasted several times in a row, before finally dying out with a hideous squelch.
“Brallaghan!” Ilayda’s eyes grew wide. She clenched her skirts and dashed for the opening.
Arliss dashed after her, with Erik following and Philip dragging Orlando behind. Ilayda’s legs had found a new speed. She ran like a deer around the lake, up the ravine, and into the forest.
Threatening rainclouds now darkened the sky. Arliss hardly noticed. She pressed on. Limbs tore across her face and clothes as she shoved through the foliage after Ilayda.
“Brallaghan!” Ilayda called. “Brallaghan!”
“Ilayda!” Arliss yelled, trying to catch up with her friend, trying to calm her, trying to do something. But Ilayda could not hear her.
The blur of trees suddenly evaporated. They had returned to the camp again, but the sight had changed. A dark ship flying the dragon flag was speeding northwards, away from the Isle.
And Brallaghan lay limply on a patch of beach stained dark with blood.
Chapter Eighteen: Deception
ILAYDA KNELT OVER BRALLAGHAN’S BODY, NOT KNOWING WHAT to do with her hands. She clenched her eyes shut. If Thane had done this—if Brallaghan was dead—he would pay.
She summoned the courage to lift Brallaghan’s shirt and examine the wound. She nearly gagged again.
A crossbow bolt—which Brallaghan now clenched in his hand—had pierced his right side. Blood oozed onto the sand even as it slowly crept across his shirt. She put her hand to his heart. He was barely breathing.
Arliss knelt beside her. “Quick, take off his his shirt so we can treat him.”
Ilayda clenched her stomach muscles. How did Arliss stay so calm? She sucked in a breath and helped tug off Brallaghan’s shirt.
Erik slit across the beach, his long legs flying. Philip and Orlando ran not far behind him.
“Erik,” Arliss motioned, “help me carry him to camp.” She took Brallaghan’s legs, Erik took his shoulders, and they stepped gingerly across the beach. Brallaghan regained consciousness halfway to the campsite. A pained moan escaped his throat.
Ilayda stiffened, biting her lip. At least he was alive. She stumbled after them, her hair whipping around her head in the cool breeze.
Arliss and Erik set the captain of the guard down on a pallet by the dead fire. Ilayda wrenched her hair into something of a gather and tied it with a strand of cloth from her pocket. She had work to do.
As she knelt again beside Arliss, the princess produced a few Lasairbláth leaves from her jerkin pocket.
“I don’t really know how to use these as a medicine,” Arliss said. “Perhaps I should feed him some—”
“Don’t feed them to him, idiot!” Orlando strode towards them, his hands again bound. “More than a mere sprinkle will kill him deader than he already is.”
Brallaghan coughed. One of his eyelids cracked open. “I’m not dead.”
Arliss snapped her head towards Orlando. “How should I use it then, O great healer?”
Orlando squinted at the wound as he stepped forward. “Press a few crushed petals into the wound itself. It won’t stop the pain, but it will help with healing.”
“I thought you’d never seen Lasairbláth,” Ilayda said.
“Of course not. But I have read a few books.”
Ilayda could barely watch as Arliss pressed the petals into Brallaghan’s side, so she focused on his face. He swallowed a scream, and Ilayda offered her hand. He squeezed it so tightly she thought the blood had stopped flowing through her fingers.
Arliss focused on her task, trying to ignore the blood that seeped around her fingers. The dart had pierced deeply. She only had so much Lasairbláth, and without some sort of treatment Brallaghan would only grow worse. The wound would fester. Brallaghan could die.
And it would be all her fault for coming to the isle, for staying at the Isle.
She finished pressing the petals into the wound and scooted back, examining her work. “It’s the best I can do for you.”
“Thank you,” Brallaghan gasped.
“Can you tell us what happened?”
Ilayda scowled at her. “He’s been injured. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk.”
Arliss nodded gently. “Only if you feel well enough to tell it.”
Brallaghan shifted his weight, wincing. “I will try.”
Philip knelt by the pallet with the others, pulling Orlando down with him. “Where are the rest of the guards?”
Arliss’s heart lodged in her throat. The guards—why hadn’t she noticed that? Brallaghan was the only one at the campsite. Her chest drummed as she looked to him for an explanation.
“Some of the men needed to sharpen or trade out weapons. They also wanted to bring back a barrel of fresh water for dinner this evening. They went to the ship in two of the longboats.” Brallaghan’s eyes looked glazed. “I stayed behind to guard the camp. Father was still on board—he’d been checking ropes and whatnot since this morning. They had just reached the ship when it happened.”
“What happened?” Ilayda still pressed his hand in her own.
“Thane came. His ship cut through the fog, and this time we weren’t ready. His men had boarded the Swan before I could tell what was happening.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I ran from here to the shore, hoping to get in the remaining boat. Thane saw me and sent that dart towards me. Just like that, both ships were gone.”
“He took our ship.” The realization of it crashed over Arliss. Her chest heaved. “He took the Swan.”
“All the guards…” Philip stood. “Lord Brédan.”
Brallaghan’s lips trembled. “We have to go after him, Arliss! We have to save my father.” He coughed out the words.
Arliss calmed him. “Rest, Brallaghan. Your life is likely in more danger now than your father’s. We have no way to go after him—only one longboat. And we don’t know where he’s going.”
Philip jerked at the rope that bound Orlando’s hands. “Someone knows.”
Arliss looked up at Philip. “He already told us where Thane’s fortress is. But supposing Thane isn’t going back to his fortress?”
Philip tugged the rope again. “Your new best friend would know. I have a feeling he was in on the plan all along.”
Orlando’s face remained expressionless.
Arliss leapt to her feet. “Philip, may I have a word with you?” Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the circle of listening ears.
Philip’s lips parted testily. “Look, don’t be so blind. This was their plan all along—have him get captured, gain your trust, then lead you astray.”
“He hasn’t lead me astray. I went exploring because I wanted to. Anyway, it doesn’t make sense for him to get himself captured.” She shoved her hair behind her shoulders. “I have to trust him. Didn’t you see all those medicines? He may be the way to save Brallaghan’s life.”
Philip brought his shoulders back. “He’s a villain. You cannot trust him. He’ll stab you in the back just when you need him most.”
She shook her head, her face hot. “I can’t believe that. I have to believe that he could change, that he could turn back.”
“You can spend a long time waiting for someone to change,” he said bitterly, “only to find they never will.”
&nbs
p; He stomped away from her and towards his tent.
She swallowed tightness in her throat. Her ship was taken. Her captain and crew were kidnapped. One of her closest friends was badly injured. And now Philip had to sow doubts in her mind about the one person who might be able to save Brallaghan?
Yes, Orlando was dangerous. His smirking face was taut with double motives. But he was smart, and he knew this island better than she.
She crunched across the sandy grass of the campsite and faced Orlando. “I need you to find a medicine that will heal Brallaghan. Quickly.”
She unfastened a crevice in her jerkin, pulling out one of Orlando’s twin knives. The mother-of-pearl handle felt soft against her palm as she sliced his bonds free. She stuffed the knife back in the pocket alongside a length of rope. “Heal him, and you get your knives back.”
Orlando smiled. Then he sidestepped in front of her, taking long strides into the citrus forest around the beach. A sharp eastern wind swept up Arliss’s hair as she followed him.
For the second time that day, Arliss found herself entering a dark passageway and the chamber within. She stood still and let Orlando do his work. He hadn’t spoken a word on the way, but now he burst into life, muttering to himself in another tongue as he darted along shelves carved into stone.
“What language are you speaking?”
His cool eyes turned to meet hers. “Not the common tongue.”
“I knew that—otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. But what language is it?”
“A secret language,” he said simply. His hands fumbled through the vials and leaves.
“I’ve heard it before, you know.”