The Rock of Ivanore

by Laurisa White Reyes

  “I’ve told you all I know!” the innkeeper shouted impatiently. “He is not here! Now be gone with you!”

  Tristan leaned close to Marcus and whispered. “Who are those fellows? I’ve never seen men so big and hairy before.”

  “Mardoks,” said Marcus. “They’re Hestorian assassins—inhumans.”

  “How do you know about assassins?”

  “Zyll has told me stories about them. We should be careful.”

  Tristan’s voice grew even softer. “Hestoria is on the mainland. What are they doing here?”

  Marcus did not know, but he wanted to find out.

  “I hope they haven’t spoiled our lunch,” said Jerrid, pushing past the other boys. “We should go in before the soup gets cold.”

  Kelvin grasped Jerrid’s shoulder and held him back. “This isn’t right,” he said. His voice was low as though he sensed some danger. “We should go back to the library ’til they’ve gone.”

  There was a silent consensus as the boys hurried back toward the library. Even Jerrid and Zody reluctantly agreed that Kelvin might be right. One by one, they slipped through the library door, but before Marcus reached the threshold, a voice stopped him.

  “You there!” The voice was deep and imposing. Marcus turned hesitantly. The man addressing him was the same man who had been arguing with the innkeeper. “Come here, boy,” he commanded.

  As Marcus approached, the man scrutinized him with dark, deeply set eyes. His left ear was missing, the jagged wound partially hidden by several days’ growth of whiskers. “You’re not a Noam,” he said. “Where are you from?”

  “Quendel, sir.”

  “Quendel? Is that north of here?”

  “No, sir,” answered Marcus, trying not to stare at the man’s injury. “East of the mountains, through the pass.”

  The man arched his eyebrows.

  “I see,” he said. “Then perhaps you can help me.”

  Marcus nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “My name is Arik,” the man continued. “I’m looking for a man who wears a black cloak—a half-breed. There is a bounty on his head.”

  Marcus glanced up into Arik’s face. “Bounty? Has he committed a crime?” he asked.

  Arik leaned forward until his face was mere inches from Marcus’s. Their eyes met, and the man held his gaze like a magnet to iron. “He has something that belongs to me,” he said, lowering his voice. “Have you seen such a man?”

  Marcus shook his head. “No,” he said. “No one like that.”

  Arik straightened himself and sighed with mock disappointment. He waved a hand in the direction of his companions. “Perhaps you haven’t,” he said, “but this creature has.”

  One of the Mardoks shoved a young boy forward. His hands were bound with ropes, and the other Mardoks laughed as he stumbled forward. Marcus instantly recognized him as Bryn, the Groc that had nearly killed Kelvin in Vrystal Canyon.

  Arik spoke again. “Don’t be fooled. This child is a monster in disguise. I was fortunate to have captured it, but not before it killed one of my men. It claims that a man in a black cloak attacked him only yesterday. What’s more, the beast says the man was not alone.” He walked over to Bryn and forcefully pulled up the child’s chin. “Is this one of the boys you saw yesterday?”

  Bryn stared forward with defiant eyes. Arik slapped him across the face, nearly knocking him to the ground. “Answer me or you will be severely punished!”

  Marcus held his breath. He could not, however, keep his heart from racing. What would happen if Bryn identified him?

  Bryn winced in pain and then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I have never seen that one before.”

  Arik lifted his hand to strike again, but Bryn curled his lips, revealing two rows of razor-sharp fangs. Arik dropped his hand, turning instead toward Marcus.

  “Sorry to have troubled you,” he said. “If you see the half-breed, tell him Arik is looking for him.” As he turned to rejoin his men, Marcus called after him.

  “And what will you do with him when you find him?”

  This time Arik did not turn around. He stopped beside Bryn and glared at him with contempt. “The same that I will do to this creature.” Arik looked back at Marcus. His lips twisted into a satisfied grin, and the scar on the side of his face contorted grotesquely. “I’ll execute him, of course.”

  Arik turned to the Mardoks. “Search the village! Every door, every stone must be explored! And find me some horses!”

  Arik and his assassins dispersed, leaving one behind to guard the Groc. This Mardok, however, seemed disinterested in his prisoner and wandered toward the tavern, leaving Bryn tied to the well. Marcus approached cautiously. As he did so, Bryn turned away, hiding his face with his arms. His shoulders trembled ever so slightly.

  “Why didn’t you tell them you recognized me?” asked Marcus.

  At first Bryn ignored him, but after a moment he lifted his head. Marcus was shocked to see tears trickling down his cheeks.

  “I hate you,” said Bryn, “but I hate him even more.” He held up his hands, and Marcus saw the raw patches on his wrists where the ropes had burned them. Bryn’s lip began to quiver, and a new round of tears began to fall. Seeing him like this, it was difficult for Marcus to think of him as the fierce creature that had attacked him only yesterday.

  “Thank you,” Marcus offered.

  “For what?” snapped Bryn.

  “For your kindness in not giving me away.”

  “It wasn’t kindness! I haven’t eaten in three days! I would have finished off that Mardok in the canyon, but how was I to know there were so many of them not far behind?”

  Marcus could see that Bryn’s lips were cracked and parched from thirst. He took a bucket resting on the edge of the well and filled it with water. He held it up to Bryn’s mouth. The Groc eyed him with suspicion but then greedily lapped up the water with an elongated tongue. When he had finished drinking, Bryn leaned back against the fountain, apparently satisfied.

  “Thank you,” he said meekly. “It is the first drink I’ve had in many days. And it will likely be my last since that man plans to kill me when he returns.”

  Marcus thought for a moment. He remembered what Jayson had told him about Grocs and their cunning and deception. Yet Bryn had protected Marcus from Arik. He owed him for that.

  Keeping one eye on the back of the Mardok guard who had his head tucked in the tavern door, he worked quickly to untie Bryn’s ropes. Once free, Bryn rubbed his injured wrists. Marcus thought he saw a slight smile on Bryn’s lips, but then in a single swift moment, Bryn dashed across the courtyard and was gone.

  Twenty-two

  arcus hurried toward the inn. He wanted to be alone. He needed time to think. But just as he reached the door, someone grabbed him from behind.

  “What did that man want with you?” Kelvin demanded.

  “Nothing,” Marcus replied, trying not to sound anxious. “He’s looking for someone—”

  “A half-breed,” said Kelvin.

  The word caught Marcus off guard. “You heard him from inside the library?”

  “He’s looking for Jayson.”

  “No.” Marcus forced a smile, but he suspected Kelvin could not be so easily fooled. “He was looking for someone else. I told him we couldn’t help him.”

  “Half-breeds are rare,” said Kelvin. “I’ve seen only one in my whole life, and I suspect it is the same one you have seen.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The book spoke of a half-breed who kidnapped Ivanore. Maybe it was Jayson.”

  Marcus thought about this. Kelvin could be right, and the truth troubled him. He was tempted to tell Kelvin all he knew about Jayson, but he dared not break his promise. Instead, he heard himself say, “Jayson would never do such a thing.”

  Kelvin’s response was harsh. “How can you say that when we know nothing about him, nothing except that he saved us from being eaten by that disgusting Groc, he had supper with us, and now he
’s gone?”

  “Will you betray him to Arik, then?” asked Marcus.

  Kelvin recoiled at the accusation, as if it had stung him like a hornet. “I won’t betray the man who saved my life. I am in his debt,” he said. “But I must know the truth about him. Tell me what you know.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” The deceit tasted bitter in Marcus’s mouth. He tried to keep his gaze steady, but he could not, and he looked away.

  “You’re lying!” Kelvin grabbed Marcus by the shoulders and pinned him against the building wall. “I don’t like liars,” he said menacingly.

  Marcus struggled to break free from Kelvin’s grip. He wrapped his arms around Kelvin’s neck and twisted with all his might. They collapsed on the ground, where they wrestled against each other’s strength. Marcus was surprised to discover how equally matched they were in the struggle. At last Kelvin broke away.

  “You aren’t worth the trouble,” he said. Then he spat on the ground and walked away.

  Marcus waited until Kelvin had gone before he tried to stand. He felt weak and his legs wobbled beneath him. He touched the side of his head. Blood trickled from a small cut. Though he felt angry, he blamed himself for Kelvin’s actions. He had lied to him, and Kelvin knew it. But though Kelvin meant well, Marcus was determined to keep the secret entrusted to him—at all costs.

  He was about to return to the inn to wash, when a glimmer on the ground caught his eye. The sunlight reflected off something near his feet. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. It was a stone, flat and triangular in shape. One edge was smooth and rounded while the other two were rough and uneven, as if the piece had been broken from a larger whole. It was translucent, like crystal, but clearer than any crystal he had ever seen. Its color was the palest green, or was it blue? It seemed a blend of both, just a hint of the color of the sea.

  Marcus held it up by the leather cord on which it was strung. It seemed familiar to him somehow, and he realized that he had seen it once before, but only for a brief moment. It was Kelvin’s pendant that he now held in his hand.

  Marcus touched the wound on his temple and flinched from the pain. Kelvin doesn’t understand that I have to keep my word, he told himself. He should have trusted me.

  Marcus placed the leather cord around his neck and tucked the pendant inside his shirt. Then he hurried through the inn door and ran up the stairs to his room.

  Twenty-three

  arcus shut the door of his room and closed his eyes in momentary relief. He wanted to be alone to sort out the many thoughts that were spinning inside his head.

  Xerxes stood propped up in the corner, unmoved from the spot where Marcus had left him the night before. Xerxes’ eyelids fluttered open, and he let out a soft squawk.

  “Where have you been?” he said. “You missed our lesson this morning!”

  “Not now, Xerxes,” said Marcus, sitting on his cot.

  “You look ill,” said Xerxes. “Have you been eating that horrid stew I’ve been smelling all afternoon?”

  Marcus laid his head on his satchel. “I think Jayson is in trouble,” he said. He wanted to tell Xerxes everything—about Jayson’s secret, that he was Ivanore’s husband come back to find her. But he had sworn an oath not to reveal it to anyone. “I met a man outside just now,” he began cautiously. “I went to the library with the others to research the Rock of Ivanore—”

  Xerxes interrupted him, his voice tinged with excitement. “What did you learn?”

  “Ivanore is a woman,” Marcus began, “the daughter of Dokur’s sovereign.”

  “A woman?”

  “The book claimed she was kidnapped many years ago and has not been seen since.”

  “Kidnapped by whom?”

  Marcus hesitated. If I tell Xerxes about the half-breed, he will surely think it was Jayson, Marcus thought. Marcus tugged at a loose thread dangling from the frayed edge of his blanket.

  “It didn’t say,” he lied.

  “Well, did the book say anything about a rock?”

  Marcus shook his head. He felt a pang of guilt for his deception but reassured himself that he was keeping his oath and that once Jayson had delivered his message, he would be free to tell Xerxes the truth.

  A knock at the door startled him.

  “Who is it?” called Marcus.

  The door squeaked open, and Jerrid Zwelger stepped into the room. He was wearing his cloak and that annoying new satchel of his. He’s so anxious to get this quest over with, thought Marcus, he’s probably come to hurry the rest of us along.

  “I thought I heard you talking to someone,” said Jerrid, “but I see that you’re alone.”

  “What do you want, Jerrid?”

  “I’m looking for Jayson.”

  “He isn’t here,” Marcus answered without even trying to mask his irritation. “I told you before, he’s gone.”

  Jerrid glanced at Marcus’s exhausted, dirt-smeared face and quickly closed the door behind him. “Where has he gone?” Jerrid asked, almost in a whisper.

  Marcus felt a strange uneasiness creeping into him as though a cold wind had blown over him. He looked toward the window expecting to find it open. It was shut tight. “I don’t know,” Marcus answered.

  Jerrid took a step forward, closing the space between them. “Jayson didn’t tell you why he was in such a hurry to leave, or where he was going?”

  “No.”

  The lies came more freely now. Marcus felt driven to them, in fact, as though they were shielding him from some unseen danger.

  Jerrid’s eyes remained fixed on Marcus for several moments. “It’s peculiar, don’t you think, that Ivanore was kidnapped by a half-breed?” Jerrid said, as he turned to leave. “There should be a handsome reward for the villain.”

  Jerrid opened the door. He paused and said, “Jayson is a half-breed, isn’t he?” Then he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

  Twenty-four

  nce the sound of Jerrid’s footsteps had faded away, Xerxes sprung back to life. “What’s this about the half-breed?” he screeched.

  Marcus tried to hush him. “Quiet! They’ll hear you!”

  “It’s not me they’ll hear!” Xerxes retorted. “I thought you said the book said nothing about who kidnapped Ivanore! And what does Jayson have to do with all this?”

  “He’s not responsible! He can’t be!” Marcus dropped his face into his hands and moaned. “Besides, I swore an oath to protect his identity.”

  The muffled sound of voices drifted into the room through the closed window. Marcus went to it, opening it just a crack. Below him, in front of the inn, were Arik and his men.

  “What’s going on out there? Who is shouting?” demanded Xerxes.

  “It’s Arik, that awful man I started telling you about. He approached me earlier and asked if I had seen a half-breed. I’m certain he’s looking for Jayson. Just a minute . . .”

  Marcus drew a shallow breath and held it. As he forced himself to expel the air from his lungs, heat rose into his cheeks. “Jerrid is with them!” he said. “I can’t make out what he is saying. He’s pointing at this window!”

  Arik turned his face upward to where Marcus watched from the window, and for a brief moment their eyes locked. Marcus turned quickly from the window.

  “Jerrid’s betrayed us!”

  Marcus grabbed his satchel and hastily stuffed his belongings into it, and then he picked up Xerxes with his free hand. Last of all, he snatched up the key.

  “Where are we going?” asked Xerxes. “We can’t just leave! There are bills to be paid!”

  Marcus threw open the door and descended the wooden staircase two steps at a time. When he reached the bottom, he paused beside the entrance and ventured a quick look outside.

  “Arik is coming this way! We’ll have to leave through the alley.”

  Marcus had just slipped through the kitchen door when Arik burst into the inn.

  “Search the rooms!” he bellowed so loudly that Marcus
could hear his voice through the exterior wall. “I want that boy alive!”

  * * *

  Gathered at the table in the inn’s dining hall were Kelvin, Tristan, Zody, and Clovis. They had been discussing their earlier discovery at the library when Arik and the Mardoks stormed in. Arik strode across the room, drew his sword, and stabbed their table with it, leaving the sword standing upright from its center. The crowded dining room grew silent as all eyes turned to the center table.

  “Tell me where he is, and I may spare your miserable lives,” he said. “You there!”

  Tristan struggled to swallow the lump of bread he had been chewing. His mouth had gone dry. “Me?” he said, tugging at his yellow scarf to loosen it somewhat.

  “Where is the lad I spoke with this morning?”

  “I haven’t seen him in the last hour . . . sir.”

  Arik’s attention turned toward Clovis. “I asked you where your companion is!” Arik’s voice strained with frustration. Clovis stammered, unable to get even a word out. “Speak up, boy!” Arik shouted.

  “M-my n-ose is b-bleeding.” Indeed, Clovis’s nose had begun to drip blood as if on command.

  Disgusted, Arik raised his hand to strike him, but Tristan stood quickly, placing himself between Arik and Clovis.

  “Don’t touch him,” said Tristan in a calm, steady voice that surprised them all. “Like the rest of us, he hasn’t seen Marcus since this morning.”

  “I saw him half an hour ago.”

  Zody, who had been silent until now, was shaking like the last leaf on an autumn vine. Arik’s sword had buried its point only inches from his plate.

  “Quiet!” commanded Tristan, but the command had come too late.

  Arik walked around the table and laid a heavy hand on Zody’s quivering shoulder. “Go on,” he said.

  Perspiration coated Zody’s freckled forehead and dripped into his eyes. “He was with Kelvin.”

  Arik removed his hand. Zody sighed with visible relief.

  “And where is this Kelvin?”

  The boys glanced about the room. Kelvin had been dining with them only moments before. Now he was nowhere to be seen.