Beyond the Forest

by Kay L. Ling

  The sound of approaching footsteps brought an end to her naming ceremony. A moment later, a battered and bruised gnome, accompanied by two, armed breghlin, walked into the cellblock.

  “Got another one,” one of the guards said, shoving the gnome forward.

  R gave his group a meaningful look and said, “Back to work, an’ not a word of this to anyone.”

  After the gnome’s escorts left, Regurgitate and Wally stayed to process the new prisoner. The rest of the guards split up and went to other cellblocks. Lana stood near her cell door and watched as Wally prodded the gnome toward the row of cells. The gnome’s green tunic and pants were dirty, ripped, and bloody. He’d put up quite a fight, by the looks of him. She wasn’t sure how old he was—probably middle aged—and he was thinner than most. Straight brown hair fell over his broad forehead and his beard reached mid-way down his chest.

  A deep gash on one cheek still oozed blood, and that could be a problem. Without proper treatment, which he wasn’t likely to get here, the wound would get infected in this filthy place. The cuts and bruises on his right hand and arm didn’t look as serious. Judging by the way he staggered as he walked, he was tired and weak.

  The guard stopped at the cell beside hers. A key clattered in the latch, and then the iron hinges grated as the door opened.

  “In the cage ya go,” Wally ordered.

  She cringed as the door clanged shut with such force that bits of dust pattered down in her own cell.

  “You’ll miss this cage when you get to the work camp,” Wally said, chuckling unpleasantly as he left.

  Should she try to talk to the gnome, or leave him alone to his misery? Now and then he let out a soft groan, and she could hear his labored breathing. Moving to the front corner of her cell, she said, “You’re injured. Can I help?”

  “Help? How?” The gnome’s voice sounded firm and steady, even though he must be in pain.

  To be honest, she wasn’t sure what she could do for him. Mostly, she was just being sympathetic. “What happened to you?”

  “I was captured by breghlin while hunting. I killed two of the five breghlin before they got me.”

  “Five against one? You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Lucky!” The gnome gave a humorless laugh. “Locked in a cell? About to be sent to a work camp?”

  “My people have a saying—where there’s life, there’s hope.”

  “Not in Sheamathan’s realm,” the gnome replied bitterly. “I can feel her power. It’s strong this close to her. But you’re human. Are you immune?”

  “Not entirely.” How could she explain? Did she even understand it herself? Apparently Sheamathan had to expend a great deal of energy to paralyze or control a human. But the gnomes succumbed if they simply came too close. Rather than share her thoughts, she told him, “At this distance, I don’t feel much.”

  “You’re fortunate. I find it hard to think clearly. I’m fighting it, but if I stay here long, I’ll be witless and paralyzed.”

  How much of his weakness was from being near Sheamathan, and how much was from his injuries? She wasn’t sure, but the gash on his cheek needed immediate attention.

  The stones. They strengthened my knees and healed my bruises. Maybe I can help him.

  According to Raenihel, the gnomes had no aptitude for gem powers, so she would have to do this. Unzipping her pouch, she took out her hematite, topaz and sugalite. “Can you reach through the bars so I can look at your injured arm?”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, but I have Fair Lands gems with healing abilities. I may be able to help you.”

  The gnome stuck his arm far enough through the bars for her to reach him. She held his arm steady with one hand and applied the stones with the other. The gems grew warm as she held them against his skin, and she knew something was happening when he sucked in his breath.

  “Does it hurt? Are you all right?”

  “Hurt? No. I feel a tingling heat, and it’s growing stronger.”

  Good. Now if only the guards stayed away until she was finished.

  “The cuts are closing,” he said in amazement.

  “The gash on your face, is anything happening? Can you tell?”

  “It’s not bleeding now. My face feels warm, though not as warm as my arm.”

  If only she could put the stones directly on his face. Well, there might be another way. Something just as good. “How’s your arm now?”

  “Much better. The heat and tingling have stopped.”

  “There’s something I want to try.” She put away the stones and reached under her shirt for the Challenger’s knife. Why wouldn’t it work? The hilt had the same healing stones: hematite, topaz and sugalite. And other helpful stones, too, that would give him strength and courage. She drew the knife from its sheath. Could it be more than just a weapon? Could its abilities depend on the user’s needs? She held it up. Right now, she needed it for healing. The blade glowed for a few seconds, and then went dark.

  “Come as close as you can. I’m going to hold out a knife. I want you to bring the tip of its blade to your face. Lay it carefully against the wound. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  She held out the knife, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the hilt that the gems pressed into her palm. She closed her eyes to concentrate and felt the blade moving as the gnome drew it toward his face. The gems grew warm, then hot in her palm. Focus. Focus on the stones’ healing powers. Imagine their energy flowing through the blade.

  For a moment she felt dizzy, but the feeling passed, and then energy shot through her. The knife and her hand, they were melding into one, radiating heat and energy!

  The gnome cried, “Energy is pouring through every part of my body!”

  The heat intensified. She opened her eyes, expecting to find her hand enveloped in flames. But there was no fire. The blade was still dark. Once again the strange knife had surprised her with its unexpected abilities. What else could it do?

  Two or three minutes passed, and the whole time it felt like holding a live electrical wire. She wasn’t sure she could let go. The energy was so intense. Slowly her feeling of being one with the knife faded, the energy flow ebbed, and the gems cooled. When the gnome let go of the blade, she pulled it back through the bars, feeling light-headed. Wow! What an experience. She took a few deep breaths.

  “My face is smooth. I feel no trace of the wound,” the gnome reported excitedly. “My hand and arm have healed. I don’t have any cuts or bruises. How can I thank you? Who are you?”

  “My name is Lana. What’s yours?”

  “Theaffar.” He cleared his throat and said, “I have a unique problem now. What do I tell the guards when they notice my wounds are gone?”

  “Tell them the truth. I healed you with Fair Lands gems.” She laughed. “They’ll be shocked and amazed. Which is good for my reputation.”

  Their conversation ended when heavy footsteps approached. One guard carried two metal tankards, two others followed with meal trays, and more tagged behind. Regurgitate moved to the front of the procession and approached her cell.

  “Breakfast! How thoughtful, Regurgitate,” she said cheerily. She was sure Theaffar would think she was crazy.

  Regurgitate grunted and fumbled with the lock while the rest of the breghlin gawked at her.

  “Wally made yer breakfast, “Ferdinand announced. “Regurgitate woulda let ya starve.”

  Wally, holding one of the trays, looked at her sheepishly and then cocked his head at Grace. “Was partly Grace’s idea. Brought some for the gnome, too, just this once.”

  “Prisoners ern’t fed much,” Grace explained. “Water and stale bread. Once a day.”

  She bit her lip to keep from laughing. The rapport she had built so far might save her life. In any case, she and the gnome had breakfast.

  Wally and Ferdinand carried in her tankard of water and a tray holding a shallow earthenware bowl and a metal spoon. She looked into the bowl. Pieces of stri
ngy, raw meat floated in a pool of blood, along with a mound of blood-spattered, lumpy green porridge. On top of it all sat a pink blob that looked suspiciously like brains. Ugh. The food had an unfamiliar, pungent smell, somewhere between unpleasant and revolting. She wanted to smile politely but her face had frozen. Maybe this was a breghlin delicacy, but she’d rather starve than eat it. Wally and Ferdinand set the tankard and tray on the floor, and then moved to Theaffar’s cell.

  After a moment Theaffar’s door clanged shut. He called, “Thank you from both of us. I think Lana is overwhelmed by your generosity.”

  The breghlin exchanged puzzled glances. Wally nudged Grace and said, “I think he means she likes what we brought her.”

  She finally found her tongue. “Umm, yes. I’ll eat it later. When I can savor it properly.”

  “Save it all ya want,” Grace said, “but it don’t get no better from sittin’.”

  The group, except for Regurgitate, left the room. Regurgitate stood in front of Theaffar’s cell. “Hey gnome, didn’t you have a big cut on your face?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Don’t got one now.”

  “No. The cuts on my hand and arm are gone, too.”

  “Lemme see.” A pause followed, then, “How’ja do that?”

  “I didn’t. Lana did.”

  Regurgitate looked into Lana’s cell. She smiled sweetly.

  “How?” He glared at her.

  “I have powers you wouldn’t understand.” She held his gaze until he began to shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. When she turned and walked to her bed, she could feel his eyes on her. Settling on the slab, her back against the wall, she folded her arms and closed her eyes, ignoring him. After a moment she heard him clomping away.

  “Well done,” Theaffar said. “The guards seem to like you. And fear you. How long have you been here?”

  “Only a day. Yesterday I met with Sheamathan. I survived the meeting, but here I am, so I guess that means it didn’t go so well. On the bright side, she’s not sure what to do about me, and that may be to my advantage.”

  “She won’t send you to the work camps. I’m quite sure of that.”

  “Work camps. I’ve heard about them. I wish I could help you escape before they send you there, but I have no idea how to get out of here.”

  For a while neither spoke, and then she asked, “Are you going to eat your breakfast?”

  The gnome gave a derisive snort. “No! Why, do you want it?”

  “Want it!” she burst out laughing. “I can’t even look at mine! Parts of it may still be alive.” Before the guards came back she’d dispatch it down the sewer grate, and then eat a piece of dried venison. Raenihel had given her meat, seeds and nuts. It might be dumb to give some away, but how could she eat decent food while Theaffar had nothing but raw meat and green slop?

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” the gnome said. “I don’t know what humans eat.”

  “The same things you do, like vegetables and meat. But we like our meat cooked first.” She started giggling. How could he think she wanted a double portion of that hideous stuff? “I have some dried venison. I’ll share.”

  “I couldn’t take your food. When it’s gone, all you’ll have is bread and water.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ll find a way out of here.” She retrieved her stash of venison and held a piece through the bars. “Here. Please. I insist.”

  Theaffar took it and said, “Bless you. You’re very generous.”

  She wolfed down a piece and then dumped her breghlin food down the sewer, leaving a little in the bowl so it looked like she’d been too full to finish it. A moment later she heard the metallic scrape of Theaffar’s spoon as he emptied his into the sewer.

  “Mercy or kindness from a breghlin is almost unheard of,” Theaffar said. “I feel guilty throwing this away.”

  Breghlin voices drifted down the passageway and she tilted her head to listen. In the distance, cell doors clanged. Maybe prisoners were getting their bread and water rations now. How many gnomes were here? Probably most were in work camps.

  About an hour later, Regurgitate walked into the cellblock, swinging his keys. He looked disconcertingly happy. He walked toward her and Theaffar and said with obvious pleasure, “The gnome comes with me. He’s well enough to work now.”

  Her heart sank. No! Not yet! This was all her fault. She shouldn’t have interfered. If she’d let Theaffar heal at his own pace, in a day or two they might have found a way to escape.

  Regurgitate unlocked the cell and said, “Come along, gnome. Least you got a good meal, first.” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. Theaffar walked out of the cell and stopped at Lana’s door. He didn’t look angry. “Good luck, Lana. And thank you.”

  Still blaming herself, she nodded numbly. Regurgitate grabbed Theaffar’s arm and yanked him away.

  Chapter 15

  When Wally came back for Lana’s tray, he glared at her through the bars and ordered gruffly, “Bring yer tray here. Put it by the door. Then stand back.”

  She gave him a puzzled look but did as he asked.

  “Don’t need no trouble. Got enough problems,” he grumbled. His floppy jowls and quadruple chins jiggled. “Move away from the door, now. And mind ya, no magical stuff.”

  So that’s it! She stepped back. Her reputation was spreading. Wally was afraid of her.

  He unlocked her door and with surprising speed scooped up the tray, and then backed out without taking his eyes off her. Slamming the door, he glared through the bars. “Regurgitate won’t be back, ‘causa you. She’s sendin’ another head guard.” He stomped away with the tray.

  It wasn’t fair to punish him. It was all so annoying. Just when she had managed to develop a decent rapport with all her guards, including Regurgitate, the least friendly of the bunch, Sheamathan was going to replace him, and the rest of the guards were mad at her. Healing Theaffar had set off a chain of events that she hadn’t anticipated. She had made a real mess for herself.

  She dropped onto her bed and sat chin in hands, staring moodily at her cell doors. She deserved a moment of self-pity, didn’t she? After all, Raenihel was outside the castle, safe, waiting for her to solve the gnomes’ problems, while she sat in a cell, waiting to be tortured or executed. How would she ever get out of here?

  A scrabbling noise jarred her from her gloomy thoughts. She looked up. What could it be? The noise stopped briefly and then started again. She slid off her bed and walked to her cell door, following the sound. It was coming from out here somewhere. Studying the cellblock’s dimly lit ceiling, she spotted a two-foot vent hole. The sounds were coming through that vent, so something had to be up there crawling through the airshaft. An animal? A gnome? The scrabbling stopped.

  Something dark dropped from the vent hole. She stifled a scream. Some kind of roach or beetle, and it was huge. It was hard-shelled with two segments, dark brown, and the size of a small cat. She was too stunned to move. The bug skittered about, its long, barbed feelers probing everywhere, probably looking for food. Its wings lay folded back over its body, but she figured it could probably fly.

  Ugh. She hated bugs. This one looked like something from a science fiction movie—one of those B Grade films where radiation turned normal insects into mutant giants. She watched with horrified fascination as it came toward her. “There’s no food here. Go away!”

  Can beetles hear? She had no idea. The thing stopped, its feelers probing in her direction, and then it launched itself at her cell. She stumbled back in alarm. The bars rattled as the beetle landed and hung on, its body spanning two bars. Its feelers flicked wildly. She felt its compound eyes watching her.

  Shivering in revulsion, she kicked the bars, hoping to knock it off, but it clung resolutely and began to crawl higher. Now what? She looked around, grabbed the tankard Wally had left in her cell, and threw water on it. That ought to get rid of it! But no, the bug withstood the deluge and spitefully hung on.

  Frighte
ned and angry, she smashed the empty tankard against the bars. The beetle finally dropped off, but not for long. It flew back and reattached itself to the bars. What kind of beetle was this? So aggressive, like an angry wasp. But if it was one of Sheamathan’s creations, that might explain it. “Go away! There’s no food here,” she repeated. With increasing violence, she knocked it off again and again. Each time it returned, slamming into the bars even harder.

  By now she was shaking. She should have ignored the beetle. It might have gone away, but now it was enraged. The attack was no longer about food, if it ever had been. Now it was personal. What could she do to get rid of it? When her guards came back, would they kill it? She couldn’t count on that. If she acted afraid, they’d leave it to torment her, and that would end her reputation for bravery.

  I might get sprayed with a pound of bug guts, but I’ve got to kill it.

  Willing her hands not to shake, she unsheathed the knife and held it up. The blade began to glow. The situation seemed so surreal, like a bad Sci-Fi movie. Her twisted sense of humor overrode her fear. All she could think of, as she moved into stabbing range, was corny lines like, Prepare to die, mutant! Fry in hell! The beetle, at waist level, started to crawl upward. Holding her breath, she jammed the blade deep into its body. The incision immediately sizzled and blackened around the knife. The beetle released its grip on the bars as it died. Holding the knife with both hands she lowered the bug to the floor where it continued to sizzle. She watched, fascinated, as its wings dropped off and the carcass turned into a crispy, beetle-shaped cinder.

  Shaking with relief, she pulled out the knife and sat back hard on the floor. It was over. Later she might feel proud of herself, but right now she was too numb to feel much of anything.

  Approaching footsteps brought her to her feet. She sheathed the knife, hiding it under her shirt. An unfamiliar breghlin, massively built and intimidating, walked into the room, straight to her cell. His block-shaped head with its low brow, flattened nose, and thick protruding lips, sported a number of scars above a scraggly, black beard.