Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the Sun #2)

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Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the Sun #2) Page 21

by Brad Magnarella


  * * *

  The fifth day dawned gray, but Iliff thought he could feel a slight stirring in the leaden air. They must be close. He sat up in the boat and stretched his arms. Taking the oars from the oarlocks, he began to row inside Troll’s wide wake. He noticed that Troll was moving more slowly this morning.

  “How are you feeling?” Iliff asked.

  Troll grumbled and pressed his hand over the wound. “It’s starting to hurt again,” he said.

  Iliff listened to the churn and gurgle of Troll’s giant steps and wished he could do something for him.

  “So tell me,” he said at length. “What made you decide to come to the town?”

  “Hm? Oh, I heard you.”

  “Heard me? What do you mean?

  “You called my name.” Troll tapped his temple. “In here.”

  The dream with Adramina, Iliff thought.

  “I told Tradd to stay, then I ran from the shelter. I ran through the trees and up the hill. I couldn’t wait to see you. But when I got to the walls, there were men all around it. Men with weapons. When they saw me, they tried to hurt me, Iliff. I got angry and I hurt them.” Troll hung his head. “Hurt lots of ’em.”

  It now dawned on Iliff that Troll hadn’t any idea that a battle was being waged.

  “It’s all right,” Iliff said.

  “I knew you were up on the hill. I could smell you. But there were men with weapons up there too. I thought maybe you’d put ’em there to keep me away.”

  “Is that why you left?”

  Troll nodded.

  “I did call to you that night,” Iliff said. “And I’m very glad you came.”

  Troll trudged on.

  Iliff dug his oars into the water until he was right behind Troll. “I want you to know something,” he said, touching his companion’s back. “I never hated you. Never. I was afraid. It was why I sent you back to the mines even though I knew you’d be miserable there, maybe even die there. It was why I maintained the walls the way I did. But you are a part of me, Troll. I could no more be rid of you than the Fythe could be of the Garott. Seeing this has made me less afraid. And to hear you talk makes me less afraid still. You’ve only ever wanted to be near me. To help me. And for that I treated you so poorly.”

  Troll slowed, then stopped, the brown water swirling around him.

  “Yes, I’m very glad you came,” Iliff said. “And I’m glad to be with you now.”

  Beneath Iliff’s hand, Troll’s back rumbled with what felt like great ease. After a few moments, he leaned forward, the boat tether taut over his shoulder, and resumed his powerful march through the swamp.

  Late in the day, they came to an immense pool fed by a steady spill of brown water from high, high above. Iliff recognized the place right away. Troll dragged the boat onto shore and raised his head.

  “Forest is up there,” he said.

  Chapter 34

  Iliff held to Troll’s neck as his companion climbed the steep drop that separated the swamp from the forest above. Iliff could feel each of Troll’s pained breaths beneath him, and he was careful not to press on his wound.

  When at last the terrain began to level, Troll set Iliff on the ground. Iliff looked around. The fire had burned away all of the growth. Where trees once towered now stood small copses of blackened trunks. Iliff kicked at the forest floor. It was little more than compacted ash. He dug out a divot with his boot and discovered hard black ground beneath.

  They walked along the rivulet that Iliff had run, then slid down years before. After a time they turned from it, and Troll led them through large open areas where there were no trees at all, just silent ash. The gray sky seemed to press down all around them. Iliff recognized none of it as the forest they had once journeyed through, which made his heart feel hollow and heavy at once.

  They came to another open area where Troll had them stop. Far away, Iliff heard the rushing of a river. Troll stooped low and walked in a few circles, his nose almost to the ground, his breath snuffing in and out. When at last he straightened, he grunted and pointed to a depression in the ash.

  “What is it?” Iliff said, coming up beside him.

  “Our old fire pit.”

  They stood looking over it for several moments. Iliff wondered if Troll was also remembering the shelter they had once built around it. Troll raised his head. “I’ll get us some wood.”

  “But it’s all been burned,” Iliff said.

  Troll went and grabbed up a thick branch and picked away the charred layers as though they were the rind around a fruit. The core of wood he held up showed pale. “Didn’t hurt the inside,” he said.

  Troll snapped the branch into pieces and handed them to Iliff. “I’ll get more,” he said, lumbering toward a stand of burned trunks.

  Iliff turned and squatted before their old fire pit. He remembered how it had gone out after Troll had left their camp. How it had sat black and cold all those nights. Blinking back tears, Iliff leaned the pieces of wood against one another, careful to leave a space for the tinder, and waited for Troll.

  By nightfall the pile was immense. Troll set the last pieces on top and wiped his hands on his gray trousers. He looked from the pile to Iliff, his thick brow raised.

  “Do you have the white fire?” he asked.

  “Yes, it’s here.” Iliff went to his bag and drew out the tinder pouch. “But I should warn you, it only worked the one time. I’ve not been able to start a fire with it since.”

  “Just try.”

  Iliff opened the pouch and shook the contents into his hand: the black metal, the white shard of flint, the ragged discs of fungus. He arranged the fungus beneath the pile of wood.

  “And even if it does work,” Iliff said over his shoulder, “I’m not sure what you expect it to do here.” He softened his voice. “I’m not trying to be cruel, Troll. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  Troll nodded and gestured to the implements in Iliff’s hand.

  Iliff held the metal over the flint and struck a shearing blow toward the pile. Nothing happened. He struck again, this time harder. A spark flashed, but disappeared in the same instant. He struck several times more before turning back to Troll.

  “I’m sorry…” Iliff started to say.

  But the ridges of Troll’s face had begun to glow. And he was pointing. When Iliff looked back, a tiny white flame snaked back and forth over the fungus. The single spark had caught.

  “Ha! There it is!” Iliff exclaimed.

  He moved aside so Troll could come closer. His companion crouched to his fingertips and knees and, pursing his lips as well as he could, blew very gently into the pile. The fungus crackled and the flames spread and bathed the underside of the wood. Troll blew again, coaxing the flames upward. Soon the pile was awash with flames. The whole clearing showed white.

  “There it is,” Troll repeated, getting to his feet.

  Iliff thought he heard apprehension in his companion’s voice, but when he looked over, he found Troll’s glowing face staring down, his brow arched over in what appeared wonder. Iliff turned back to the fire. It was a magnificent fire, warm and clean, and it burned with barely a sound. He could understand Troll’s enchantment. But why had the pouch worked this time? Why not all of the others?

  The conditions must be so.

  Iliff stopped and thought back. And then he saw that the only times it had worked were when he and Troll had been together, when they had occupied the same space. He studied the black metal and white shard in his palm before returning them to the pouch. That had been the condition.

  “We’ll need some more wood,” Troll said.

  “I’ll go this time.”

  Iliff wandered about, picking up limbs and breaking them open as Troll had done. Fortunately, the fire cast its light for a long way. When Iliff had accumulated an armful, the light around him suddenly dimmed. He craned his neck. What he saw made him dump the wood and begin racing back.

  “No!” he yelled.

 
Troll stood facing Iliff, his arms stretched out from his sides. The wood was nearly consumed, but the white flames were rising again, licking around Troll’s trousers toward his stomach. He had stepped into the fire. A movement of light and shifting shadows played over the blunt contours of his face.

  “What are you doing?” Iliff cried.

  He ran at full speed into Troll’s legs, his shoulder lowered, but only bounced to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and looked all around. At last he yanked off his cloak and began battering the flames.

  “No,” Troll said calmly.

  “But you’ll be consumed,” Iliff said, the cloak limp in his hands.

  “This fire,” Troll said. “I remember it from the time you first made it. I never touched it or held it, but it’s stayed with me. It’s called me and called me. Like the Sun called you.” The flames washed up his craggy torso and out along his arms. Iliff lifted his cloak to his eyes.

  “I never knew whether to go to it or run from it. But I don’t want to die a miserable troll, Iliff. Just like I don’t want Tradd to grow up one. That’s what being out here, being with you, showed me.”

  “Troll…”

  “I want to be wherever this light is.”

  Slowly, Iliff lowered the cloak from his eyes. The flames had climbed to Troll’s head and now whirled from his white hair. Iliff looked over Troll’s body where flames flared along the fissures between his thick scabs.

  “Does… does it hurt?” Iliff asked.

  Troll shook his head. “I just feel lighter,” he said. “Lighter and bigger at the same time.”

  Troll leaned his head back. The flames parted his lips and danced between his teeth. When Iliff realized Troll was smiling, he laughed through his tears. Suddenly, the flames whooshed up. They had crept beneath Troll’s scabbed hide and were now bursting through. Bright flames sang from the punctures along his neck. A large slab fell away and crumbled to the ground.

  “Troll!” Iliff cried.

  “I’m still here,” he said. But his voice was changed. It was not deep or stony now; instead, it sounded almost light. Iliff could hardly see him through the wash of flames. Just his outline. More slabs of hide fell away.

  “What’s happening?” Iliff asked.

  “When I’m gone, take the last treasure and put my ashes inside,” the voice said. “Spread them around. I didn’t kill the bear, but I did help the hunter. I hurt the harmony. I want to put it right again.”

  Iliff looked down and there was the final treasure, the urn, fallen from Troll’s trousers. When he raised his head again, his companion was smaller. His hide had come completely away, and now all that remained was a pale core. And the core was a person, Iliff saw, someone no larger than himself. A pair of eyes shone small and golden through the flames.

  “Troll?”

  “I’m here,” he said.

  The hand that reached from within the fire was flushed. Iliff touched, then clasped it. The skin was soft and warm, but not hot. Iliff brought his other hand over the back of it and held tight.

  “I’ll miss you,” Iliff said.

  “Look after Tradd.” The voice was little more than air now.

  The hand held to Iliff’s for another moment and then withdrew inside the flames. There came a sigh, followed by rich crackling. Thousands of tiny sparks rose from where Troll stood. The wind lifted them into the sky and swirled them and set them before the night clouds, where they glittered and streamed like points of candlelight on a sleeping sea.

  “It’s beautiful,” Iliff said.

  Something on the wind whispered its assent.

  When Iliff looked back, the fire had fallen low and now roamed over what pieces of wood remained.

  Troll was gone.

  Iliff sank to his knees and, after several moments, began pushing the ashes into the golden urn.

  Chapter 35

  Iliff spread the ashes through the night, walking up and down the river. The shifting winds lifted the gray ashes into clouds and carried them near and very far. Iliff went back to the fire several times to refill the urn.

  At last he returned to their old fire pit in sorrow and exhaustion. Light rain began to fall. Curled up beneath his cloak, Iliff imagined he was back inside the shelter, Troll squatting across from him. He imagined the warm smells of dry grass and smoke and cooking fish. He imagined his friend’s deep, stone-filled laughter, which carried him now into his sleep.

  Iliff dreamt that night of bird songs and things growing. At one point he dreamt that there were voices around him, one of them masculine and commanding. The voices seemed to be debating. The commanding one spoke up.

  “His companion helped slay the head of the Council and a female. He also had a hand in destroying the forest—both egregious acts, yes. But we must also acknowledge that they have returned to replenish the earth and restore the harmony that was upset. The remains of the troll are very potent. They will enrich the earth and sustain it for many seasons.” And then, as though announcing his verdict, he said, “Let us not bind him here. Let him go on his way, this Seeker of the Sun.”

  And then Iliff recognized the voice. He stirred in time to hear heavy footsteps fanning away from him. When he lifted his head, he glimpsed silver eye-shine framed by the shadow of a large rack.

  “Farewell, Seeker,” the voice said.

  “Stag?” Iliff whispered, then drifted back into sleep.

  When Iliff awoke next, it was to the light of dawn beyond his eyelids. He inhaled and rolled onto his side to begin contemplating his return journey. Something brushed his cheek. He opened his eyes and jerked up.

  The growth was all around him, newly unfurled through the ash. Blades of grass, tiny ferns, budding shoots. Iliff stood. The dewy veil stretched away in all directions, for as far as he could see. He wanted to shout and run through it, but it was so tender. Instead, he stood and looked over it, a deep-felt joy welling inside his chest, spreading over him, enhancing everything.

  He leaned his face to the sky where, for an instant, he glimpsed something vital and vast beyond the gray. Something familiar.

  * * *

  Iliff did not count the days on the return journey. He became lost in the pull and drip of his oar strokes. All day he rowed. At night he docked the oars and let the boat drift, for the waters were still. And like the waters, his sleep was deep and mostly dreamless. A realm of giant swimming creatures and ephemeral lights. In the morning Skye’s petals showed through the brown mist.

  One day the swamp became a river and Iliff let it carry him. When he neared the falls, he pulled the boat from the water and down to the lakeshore.

  From where he stood, he could just make out the high bluff. The walls and towers were mostly gone now. The Keep was being reconfigured, it appeared, shaped into something open and round. Iliff breathed deeply as he stood looking up to it. He understood now what Troll had said from the fire, for the idea of no longer having to maintain a fortress around himself made him feel lighter and greater too.

  As Iliff rowed across the quiet lake, his thoughts returned to Skye. Skye with her clear blue gaze. Skye who showed him that light and shadow were two sides of the same. Skye who also sought the Sun. Skye whom he loved.

  Skye who waited for him now, her distant figure no larger than one of her white petals. Smiling, Iliff moved to the bow of the boat, where he stood and waved to the dock with both arms.

  END OF BOOK II

  From the Author

  Thanks for reading! The Prisoner and the Sun Trilogy concludes with Final Passage, in stores now.

  To receive notifications about future books and series, sign up for my new release mailing list: bit.ly/bdmlist. (Psst… I discount all new releases for the first week.)

  You can also visit my Amazon author page: Brad Magnarella

  Or follow me on Faceboook: facebook.com/bdmagna

  Books by Brad Magnarella

  Escape (The Prisoner and the Sun #1)

  Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the
Sun #2)

  Final Passage (The Prisoner and the Sun #3)

  The Prisoner and the Sun (The Complete Trilogy)

  XGeneration 1: You Don’t Know Me

  XGeneration 2: The Watchers

  Acknowledgements

  I was fortunate to work with another talented group to make this, the second book in the series, a reality and one I could be proud of. A heartfelt thanks to my beta readers; to the good people at Possum Creek Books; to Mark and Jessica Magnarella, who contributed to the cover design; to Gary Smailes for his solid copyediting (once again); and to Red Adept for final proofing. Naturally, any errors and inelegance that remain are mine and mine alone.

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  From the Author

  Books by Brad Magnarella

  Acknowledgements

 

 

 


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