He nodded, released Kleo’s shoulders at last, and felt her reluctantly let go. “I’m sorry,” he said. I’m sorry. His chest heaved. A tear rolled down his cheek.
“We all are.” She hugged him, and he closed his eyes again.
When he awoke a second time, Kluber and Kleo were missing.
He looked up at Calla, who sat nearby, staring into the pitiful flames of a puny fire, arms wrapped around her bare knees. The wedding gown was frayed and torn to the point of scarcely covering her thighs. She rocked, either to keep her muscles warm or with the nervous dread of their circumstances. Perhaps some combination of both.
“Fishing,” she said.
He nodded, pushed himself up, and wandered a short distance away to take care of his own business. Upon his return, he tried to sit near enough to let her know he was open to conversation, but not so close as to irritate her further.
They had barely spoken for two days now.
Riff’s death had hit them all hard, and the four survivors had simply gone about the motions of life through a full cycle of eating and sleeping—Jak no longer thought of days and nights, since there was no difference between the two in the down below, and no way to tell which it was up above.
Eventually, the shock wore off enough for his mind to start functioning again. Then the idea came to him that the library might provide a means of escape, if only they could find a map or text that described this world they were trapped in.
Kluber and Kleo were fishing at that time, as well. And so he asked Calla if she would read for him.
“Why don’t you ask Kleo?” she snapped in reply. The words stung, but he could see in her face that the pain she felt exceeded his own. He had not known how to comfort her then, and did not know how to comfort her now, just as he had not known how to save his village from the demons or his friend from the pyre.
She stood, rubbed her dirty calves, and walked away. He wanted to stop her, if for no other reason than her own safety. But he was tired of giving orders, and tired of seeing them fail.
Losing track of time, he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander. He saw a badger go into a hole, and felt himself getting ready to dive in after it. His body began to stiffen in anticipation of this recurring panic attack…
“Jak! Jak!” Calla whispered harshly, and his eyes popped open.
“What is it?” He could see the excitement in her body, a tremulous mixture of hope and fear.
“I saw someone.”
He stood up quickly. “Where?”
She led the way through a narrow alley to an open avenue. “There,” she said, pointing to a small square house-like structure a block away. A nondescript building, wholly unremarkable except for being one of the few intact amid a string of crumbled rock piles.
“He came out of it and went that direction.” She pointed toward the city center.
“He?”
Calla looked up at Jak in agitation. “I don’t know. Could have been a she. I didn’t get a chance to check. I hurried to tell you.” She looked down, and her shoulders began to quiver.
He touched her gently. “Calla, you did great. Let’s find the others. See if we can figure out a plan.”
Basket in hand, the robed, hooded figure walked the dead avenues in silence, away from the grand structure and toward the foul-stenched building they thought of as the larder, where they had found the rack of dried fish, the casks of water, and the farm of shit-and-compost mushrooms. This was the second time in the four days since Calla’s sighting they had watched him follow this same route, and the first since they laid the trap.
Kluber had the idea to use the net from the fishing supplies. He and Jak held it between them, stationed on their perch on the roof of an empty but intact house. They had carefully planned this location and the signals they would use in silence, one of which they had just received from Kleo from her position as spotter. Calla waited around the corner, makeshift club in hand should further subduing be necessary. Jak would have preferred Kluber have that job, but he worried that the older boy would take his anger out on their prey by beating him to death.
Three, two, one…
The figure was directly below. Jak nodded to Kluber, and they cast the net over the side. Then the older boy was immediately scrambling over the edge, dropping down beside the entangled prisoner. Calla came around the corner, swinging the club while Kluber lashed out with his feet, kicking and stomping.
Jak knew he should stop them, but he understood the urge that drove them to violence. This was the first opportunity to strike back, and they had a growing tally of frustrations to work out of their systems.
The man in the net grunted, but did not speak. Not even as they dragged him the length of three blocks to their camp, where Kluber kicked him one more time for good measure. Then the four of them slowly peeled away the net and stood around the prostrate form, each waiting for another to step forward and lower the hood. To reveal the face of evil.
Thin, feeble hands slowly reached up, the prisoner performing the task for himself. The four of them looked upon a white-bearded man, as old as any person Jak had ever seen. The delicate body kneeled before them, utterly powerless but firm and straight, the head unbowed and unmoving. Then, slowly, the man looked up to his captors, from face to face, lingering on each for a brief study. Jak felt a chill as those pale eyes evaluated and judged him.
The voice that spoke belied the fragility of the being. “You have questions.” There was no reference to the assaults inflicted upon him. He might not have noticed.
Jak took a step back, suddenly afraid of that resoluteness. But Kluber reacted differently, stepping forward to kick the man again. The figure went down to the hard stone, then pushed himself back up without a word.
“Aye, we have questions,” Kluber said with a grimace. “How would you like to burn?”
“My time will come soon enough. I do not fear the flames, although it is my sadness that my heart cannot embrace them. I feel I have more work to perform first.”
This was not the answer any of them expected, and they were all restored to silence.
The man continued. “You have other questions, surely. Ask them of me. I will answer, without the violence. It is my life’s work to teach.”
“How dare you lecture us about violence,” Calla rebutted. “You murdered our friend.”
The old head shook negatively. “There was no murder. The boy gave his life willingly.” He returned her hatred with sympathy. “He was a good young man…intelligent, unselfish, giving. He would have made a good disciple. We offered that option. But he chose sacrifice.”
Calla covered her face, then turned away. Kleo quickly put her arm around her friend’s shoulders, pulling her back. Jak watched the two of them retreat to the campfire’s dimmest fringe. Then he looked back at the old man—saw that he, too, was watching the pair.
The man next looked at Kluber, perhaps assuming the tallest and oldest was their leader. But Kluber could no longer hold the man’s penetrating gaze, and the pale eyes turned to Jak.
“So, there she is. The one for whom the boy sacrificed.” There was a sadness in the voice, echoing their own in tone if not in magnitude. “He loved her. I believe he loved you all. He was committed to his choice, even at the end.”
“Stop talking in riddles. We don’t need more confusion.”
“I do apologize. I know not where to begin, for I know not where you stand. What you have learned already, what you have gleaned, what you surmise.” The man sighed. “You are confused, but you are no fool, Housethrall Jak. You understand more than you care to admit.”
Jak flinched at the sound of his name. How had they so quickly lost the advantage over their prisoner? “What do you mean?”
“The girl is corrupt, just like her brother.”
Before he realized he was doing it, Jak slapped the man. Then he quickly looked back in the direction of Calla and Kleo, and was thankful to see that their attention was elsewhere.
>
“She doesn’t know, does she?”
Jak felt the tears coming on, but shook them away. He did not intend the gesture as an answer to the inquiry, but the old man took it as such.
“She could still be saved, of course. The corruption moves…unpredictably. And Versatz Tempus resists. But as in all things, sacrifice is necessary. And no longer have we the resources, not since your village was lost.
“She will not be the last. Nagnuaqua’s strength returns. His taint touches us all, some more than others. He will consume the whole empire, should we not stop him—and of that, we are incapable. We can only hinder the spread.”
Kluber spoke again at last. “Jak, don’t listen to him. He’s a manipulator. His words are poisonous.” Jak stared back at his friend for a long moment, uncertain and afraid. Once again, Kluber had the right of things. Yet more than anything else, Jak craved knowledge. Day by day, his world was collapsing, his loved ones hurt, all because he did not know how to turn back the tide. He swore to make sense of it all, eventually.
But not now. Not here, not yet. With a final glance at the old man, Jak turned away to see if he could be any comfort to the girls.
He could not. In this, as in all things, Jak was relegated to observer. He had not the power to do anything but watch events unfold.
They fed the old man, but Kluber silenced him at every word. He was their captive, yet no one felt that he was under their control. Their fear of his authority was evident by their conspicuous avoidance of further conversation. No one so much as asked his name.
The four of them took turns guarding while the others performed the rituals of existence. Without purpose—the search for an exit called off, and for a lost companion no longer necessary—each of them found their own way to occupy time and suppress grief. The basics of survival kept them alive, but Jak could feel the reasons for living slipping away.
His turn having come, one by one the others abandoned the camp for their own personal sojourns of catharsis.
“Ask me your questions, Child. You are a thinker. This much the boy made clear.” The man had discovered his voice now that Kluber was not there to stop him. “He said you are the smartest man he’d ever known… Before he met us, of course.”
Jak shook his head. “I’m just a thrall. I can’t even read.”
“Don’t confuse ignorance with imbecility, Child. I was once a thrall, as well.”
“Don’t call me ‘Child.’”
“I do apologize, Housethrall Jak.”
“Don’t say my name, either.”
“How do you prefer to be called, then?”
Jak closed his eyes, then rubbed them. He would lose any test of words and wills with their captive, this much he knew. But he wanted so badly to understand. “Who are you?”
“I am Disciple Hobbes, servant of Versatz Tempus.”
“Your home is a temple, then?”
“It is far more, but you may call it that.”
“How many of you are there?”
A sigh. “Not enough.”
“What do you do, besides murder innocent boys?”
“We attend the shrines of the Glen. We teach those who would protect the souls of the ignorant. We protect the world from Versatz Yagos’ touch.”
“Please stop with the riddles. I’m not as smart as you think.”
Hobbes smiled benevolently. “I taught your disciples, Bashir and Lukas. Did you not wonder where they came from?”
“You taught them?”
“Not I alone, but yes. Both were wise men, in their own way. I was particularly fond of your Lukas. He tried so hard with his lessons, but was as slow as anyone I’ve ever taught. We regretted sending him to you before he was ready, but his predecessor’s death was imminent.”
Jak remembered the sadness and horror of their flight from Everdawn. “He saved us. He was terrified, but he held the demons back while we escaped.”
Hobbes nodded. “Yes. We felt his sacrifice. In the end, each of us finds out who we are. Some are prepared to give our lives to help those we love. Or even those we’ve never met.” He looked at Jak penetratingly, his eyes evaluating once more. “Some are not.”
Jak shifted uncomfortably. “What’s wrong with Kleo?”
“She is corrupt, as I told you. It is not her fault, but the taint has chosen her. Perhaps because of her brother.”
“She’s getting better.” Kleo had not complained of discomfort in days, and Calla reported that the “rash” had not grown larger.
“Since the boy’s sacrifice, yes? He would be pleased to hear this.”
“Stop talking like that. One of us is likely to punish you, and it won’t be pretty.”
“I think perhaps not. I am here to teach you. You desire knowledge, that much is clear. We give ours freely. Come with me, learn with us.”
Jak shook his head vehemently. “Nay. Never.”
“Think, Child. Your enemies are elsewhere. Not here.”
“Prove it.”
The old man stared back for a long moment, considering. Then he nodded, and raised his arms to the height of his shoulders.
Jak detected movement at the periphery of the flames. The others must be returning.
But it was not the others. It was a half-dozen robed figures, and they had him surrounded.
“Your friends are with us already, Jak. Do not worry, everyone is unharmed. We only wish to talk.”
“Your words are poisonous.” Kluber was right. Jak felt the recurring sense of doom as powerfully as ever. This would not end well, he was sure of that.
“The world is poisonous. We merely reveal the treatment.” Hobbes stood, his frail old body no longer seeming as powerless as before. “Come, Child. All will be revealed.”
“Therefore, taking the sword awakened Versatz Yagos. It was an irresponsible act of an ignorant man, but alone not necessarily catastrophic. Versatz Yagos was disoriented and weak, incapable of the barbarity which befell your village.
“But he was empowered, unknowingly, by a single mortal soul. Gifted to him by two foolish boys who selfishly acted to hide their petty crimes.”
“Murder is hardly a petty crime,” Jak said.
“In the great scheme of the world, it is. Boys die all the time. The only importance is that their souls remain hidden from Nagnuaqua.”
“Nagnuaqua?”
“Versatz Yagos. That soul rejuvenated him. Strengthened him. Gave him power and purpose…to seize more.”
“So he attacked Everdawn? How do we force him back out? Restore things to normal?”
Disciple Hobbes leaned back in his chair. He studied Jak, a recurring act that never grew less unnerving. “You misunderstand, Child. Your village is gone. Your people dead. The lucky ones, at least. The question is not how to push the demons out of Shadow Glen… It’s how long before they destroy the empire entire.”
“It’s Shady Glen,” Jak timidly corrected, deliberately avoiding the point.
“Shadow. So it was once, and so it is again. You will be fortunate to never see your home again, Child—for if you do, you will not like what you find.”
The lesson still fresh in his mind, Jak sat back in his own chair. It was ornately polished hardwood, practical and uncomfortable. All the furniture, decoration, and supplies inside the Temple of Tempus were finely crafted and resistant to time. This included the beds that the four survivors slept in and the nondescript robes they now wore.
All in all, they were being treated conspicuously well, especially in light of the punishment they had inflicted upon Hobbes. Jak was thankful for that much, even though his companions were less than enthusiastic about the change in circumstances. They made clear that they considered the hospitality captivity, their hosts murderers, and preferred to take their chances away from the temple. He, however, was coming to see things from a different perspective. Not that those within the temple could be altogether forgiven for killing Riff, but he was willing to give them a chance to explain their behavior.
The turning point had come on the first day, when Jak had still been resistant to Hobbes’ persuasions.
The old man went to a bookshelf, pulled a large volume down and dropped it on the table before Jak. He flipped through its ancient pages until a map appeared. The lines were familiar, but the scrawled symbols were not. “See for yourself.”
“I can’t read,” Jak said helplessly.
“Here.” From a pocket of his robe, the disciple produced a translucent brown gemstone the size of a plum. At first glance, it appeared to be circular—but as the object was handed to Jak, he could see that it was shaped like something else. “The Eye of Versatz Orkus, your god of wisdom. Let me show you.”
The first time Jak looked through the gem—the meaning of the symbols leaping from the pages into his mind—he had nearly fainted. He would have fallen from the chair had Hobbes not caught him, showing more strength than that wizened body had any right to possess.
The map predated the Empire of Twelve Kingdoms. In fact, it predated the Hrathan era entirely. It was a map of the Chekican Communion, when Jak’s homeland was known by disturbing names. Hobbes pointed to the words “Shadow Glen,” but Jak’s eyes gravitated instead to the adjacent label next to an insignificant dot. Neverdawn. His home.
With an admonition not to overuse the precious artifact, the old man had allowed Jak to borrow it in exchange for listening to their lessons, their invitations, their pleas. They wanted—they needed—more followers for the fight against Nagnuaqua. Failing that, they desired another sacrifice.
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