“A choice has been made. It cannot be unmade. Do you not know shieldmaidens when you see them?”
“They are too young. Why would such be needed in this place?”
“In this place ever is the need. Your father kept too much from you to keep you safe, and now there is no time to explain. We must go and we must do so now. Dierá, Eldri, and Síari are yours. Do with them as you will.”
“I—”
“Stay to my right, follow my lead. Tell Dierá, Eldri, and Síari to stay ahead of us, no more than a stride away.” Alborn started to leave the tent, but as Rastín had not relayed the order, he paused. “I have given them to you. You must command them to act. They will listen to no other.”
“Your act makes me no better than the ageless.”
Alborn wheeled around; and if Rastín had not known the old guard’s eyes were empty sockets, he would have sworn the old guard was not only able to see him but to look into his soul. “Free will is what separates us. They gave themselves freely.”
Waving everyone out of the tent, Alborn said, “We’ll stay to the outer path, take the northernmost corridor to the gate. After the gate, we’ll head to the highlands. Any other that comes within a pace of his highness is to be dealt with.”
Rastín turned to the three. “Do as Alborn asks. It is my wish.”
Dierá, Eldri, and Síari acquiesced. They left the tent first, moving directly toward the outer path. Alborn and Rastín followed, both with the hoods of their cloaks raised. Rastín carried Alborn’s walking stick though he knew the guardians would not allow him to pass through the gates with it.
Alborn set the pace, for he could not move too swiftly, while the shieldmaidens walked an almost courtly pace to stay within a stride. As he walked, Rastín’s thoughts swam with images of his father, his mother, the old guard, and the she-beast. In this confused state, he felt that he was both Élvemere and Wërg. In his mind’s eye, he was a young Elf who trembled as he stood before his father. His father was telling him to find calm and resolve, and not to show anguish, sorrow, or fear.
Before his mother he was a boy who little understood her deepening despair and angst. His mother was telling him she was leaving for the blessed land where her heart lived. Before Alborn he was the prince of a lost people. The old guard was telling him that his father had joined his mother in the blessed land.
Before Akharran he was Wërg but not Wërg. The she-beast was telling him there was danger, great danger, and that he must now remember. It was the only time the she-beast had called him by his full name—a rare moment in which he felt that he truly was Rastín Dnyarr Túrring of the Élvemere people.
Alborn’s hand squeezing his elbow returned Rastín to conscious thought. They were leaving the camp now, going into the heart of the city on their way to the transition corridors and the gate. Ahead, Dierá, Eldri, and Síari had stopped, but Rastín did not know why. Alborn seemed to sense that something was wrong, however, because he too stopped abruptly.
Rastín saw them then: serpent magi, walking within protective lines of overlords flanked by enforcers. Their two great horns and their long muscular torsos on serpent bodies were unmistakable. Like most, these were golden in color with black scales except for a patch of crimson in front. Outside his father’s pavilion, he had never seen serpent magi so this sighting was unusual, yet it was made even more so because he was not seeing one or two magi—he was seeing many, all headed toward the transition corridors and the thousand-fold gates.
Alborn did not hesitate long. At his first step Rastín followed, as did Dierá, Eldri, and Síari, but the shieldmaidens instinctively took different positions. Dierá, a stride ahead, kept to the left. Eldri and Síari, a stride behind, kept to the right.
With his training as the son of a king, Rastín understood this flanking formation. Dierá kept the path ahead clear. Eldri and Síari ensured no one could attack him from behind. Rastín doubted anyone’s attentions were on him, however, as the appearance of the serpent magi was unsettling and sure to be the focus of anyone nearby. Their presence certainly was the focus of his thoughts, and all he could think about was Akharran warning him of danger, great danger.
CHAPTER SIX
Rastín grabbed Alborn’s arm and pulled him into a dark recess where a large drainage pipe emptied sewage from the towers above. He was not surprised when Dierá, Eldri, and Síari followed and quietly melded into the shadows. He started to speak, to question the old guard, but paused, remembering his encounter with Akharran in a similar place. After a few heartbeats without speaking, he finally asked, “Have you ever seen anything such as this?”
Alborn regarded Rastín. “Tell me what it is you see.”
“Overlords, enforcers, magi. More than can be counted.”
Alborn put his right hand on Rastín’s shoulder. “No, see without seeing and tell me what it is that you see.”
“Now is not the time to speak with my father’s voice, Alborn. There is no—”
“There is always time. You think that because I have no eyes that I do not see, yet I see. I see with clarity beyond yours. Your vision is as clouded as your thoughts. Our people need a king and yet on this day you are not that king, nor can you be, but you are my king as you are Dierá’s, Eldri’s, and Síari’s.”
Alborn continued before Rastín could speak. “You have never seen because you do not see. Djerg and I have stood ever vigilant outside your father’s door, and yet you did not see us. You see only what you think you ought to see.
“In your eyes I am no more than Alborn, son of Jfe, a guard at your father’s service. I am no more such than Dierá is a naïve elf maiden. You say you hear your father’s voice in my words, yet what if my voice was in your father’s words?”
From the shadows, Dierá looked urgently at Rastín. Time was short. Rastín turned back to Alborn and said, “Twice you spoke of my return as if I were away and you knew I was coming back.”
“Did you think it was by chance that you came to be among the Wërg or that by chance the Wërg queen chose you? Nothing happens to the son of the High King by chance. Not in this place or any other. Nothing.”
“I did not think. I did not understand. Was Akharran their queen?”
“You do not know kings from shieldmaidens when they stand before you. I warned your father about keeping so much from you.”
Rastín grew quiet as he reflected on all Alborn had said. “If only there was time for you to teach me all that must be taught.”
Further talk was cut short when Dierá stepped from the shadows. “We must go now,” she said. “Eldri and Síari will follow.”
Returning to the corridor and seeing the thinning traffic, Rastín knew at once why Dierá had urged him to continue on. Certainly, passing tardily through the gates would make them stand out more than if they were part of the main flow.
Rastín drummed his fingers against the walking stick he carried for Alborn, glancing back over his shoulder to Eldri and Síari. The two were even younger than Dierá, who could not be more than sixty winters old. For elf kind, it meant they were little more than children as he himself was little more than an adolescent with thirty cycles to go before his centennial and adulthood. And yet his burden was their burden.
He searched his soul, but he did not know with a certainty what he should do. Alborn’s plan had been so simple: Leave the tent, follow the outer path out of the camp, take the northernmost corridor to the gate, go through the gate and into the highlands. But then what? If the work in the dark land did not kill Alborn by midday, they still would not be able to work within half of chain of each other, and with that much separation there was no way the shieldmaidens could protect him.
At the gate, Rastín meant to push the walking stick into Alborn’s hands and turn him back toward the camp. He knew it was a foolish thought. The old guard did have the mark of right, and the chances were good the guardians would let Alborn return without question. Rastín never got the chance, however, as one of the g
ate’s guardians snatched the walking stick out of his hands before he could pass it to Alborn. He heard Dierá take the whips meant for him, but Alborn edged him into the gate behind Eldri and Síari.
In the bitter cold, in the place between places, Rastín tasted something he had never tasted before. He tasted cynicism and found doubt, but not his own. Then he saw Akharran as clearly as he had ever seen her, yet this was not the Akharran he had known. This was an Akharran that moved with the skill of a hunter, and she hunted him.
When he emerged into the dark land, he saw Eldri and Síari ahead of him on the platform. Mere steps later he felt Alborn by his side. As he glanced over to regard Alborn, he saw Dierá, her fixed eyes spoke to him. Inside she was full of anger, and that anger was directed at him, but outside she was composed and focused.
Rastín joined the right flank of the lines moving to the excavation site with Eldri positioned in front of him, Síari to his left, Dierá behind him, and Alborn to his right. The jagged mountains where they would dig were a league or more distant. During the long march, the lines always broke up, but for now the overlords kept them in tight formation.
Away from the thousand-fold gates, he began to see formations with overlords, enforcers, and serpent magi. Alborn became agitated whenever the magi were close, and it was so uncharacteristic that Rastín finally said, “You know why they are here, don’t you?”
“I told your father the Wërg were a poor choice. He believed their promises, yet I thought otherwise.”
Rastín grew quiet as he reflected on all that Alborn had told him since his return. “I must be a great disappointment to you, but I will make you a promise. While I live, I will carry the burdens and hopes of our people. Though our paths surely must part soon, I will strive to my last breath to become for all our people the king that you so wished to see in me.”
Alborn stopped walking abruptly, breaking formation. They were far enough away from both the gates and the dig site that the closest overlord would dismiss it—or at least Rastín hoped that would be the case.
“In your heart, Rastín, I know you believe this. As I promised your father, I have done what I could. I could not save Djerg, but I believe in my heart that I can save our people if I can save you.”
At the approach of an overlord, Rastín helped Alborn start walking. Dierá, Eldri, and Síari joined step with them. Rastín waited for the overlord to pass by, and then said, “You tell me nothing happens to the son of the High King by chance. You tell me I do not see, that I would not know a king from a shieldmaiden. You tell me that I am your king, and yet what is a king to a king.”
“Rastín, now is not the time for this discussion. You will see when you remember. Despite your fears to the contrary, I will make it through this day’s labor—it is the night I worry about.”
“The night?” Rastín cast his eyes to the distance. He saw only the jagged mountains and the places where the night criers lived.
“We’ve long known this place is habitable. There is water and game and life beyond—”
“—nothing lives beyond.”
“A careful balance exists between predator and prey, as in all things. You can’t know this, as you were not among the first workers; but the night criers nearly outnumbered us before the ageless culled them, turning beasts of prey into beasts of burden.”
Several chains ahead, Rastín saw workers lining up in formations thousands across. High overhead, the overlords formed their own lines. These things in and of themselves were odd, but when the overlords’ staffs of office began transforming into fiery whips and those whips began lashing out at the masses, panic spread throughout the lines.
Workers scattered, running in every direction. Those who did not move quickly enough were being trampled. Dierá, Eldri, and Síari formed a protective circle around Rastín and Alborn. Then the sky cracked and lightning fell through, carrying with it black smoke and ash.
Alborn was the most calm. He drew himself up, releasing his grip on Rastín’s arm. His steady gaze led Rastín’s eyes beyond the overlords to the magi who were calling forth the lightning. Alborn spoke then, quietly yet urgent. “Do not put their lives above yours. As long as our people live and the faithful remain, there is no death for them, only renewal of the flesh.”
Rastín thought Alborn spoke of the dying but soon realized Alborn’s words were for Eldri and Síari, who were already seriously injured. Síari held in her guts with one hand while she bravely fought with her other arm, using her legs when her arm alone was not enough.
“We move now, to the mountains,” Alborn said urgently, and without hesitation Dierá, Eldri, and Síari began to carve a path ahead. Rastín broken into a run, moving as fast as Alborn could move and the panic allowed.
Thousands of others were already well ahead of them, racing into the dig site to find cover or open space where the lightning would not find them. Little did they realize they were being herded into this place by the overlords and the magi.
Rastín had run fewer than three chains when the lighting stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. Then the overlords called out with one voice—that of the ageless—to the workers. “There will be finds this day, and one of those finds will be the cornerstone we seek. Fail us and this will be your last day in this life, for we will no longer have need for you.”
“Paradox,” Alborn said as he collapsed to his haunches. The look on the old guard’s face was of such exhaustion that Rastín feared the other was taking his last breaths. “If true, we are dead either way.”
“Then we will hope they lie, as ever,” Rastín muttered as he squatted down next to Alborn. His next thoughts were of Dierá, Eldri, and Síari as he watched them tend each other’s wounds. Removing his cloak, he began tearing off long strips for bandages. Several of these long strips were needed to hold in Síari’s entrails.
Finishing, Rastín bowed his head. Cloaks or no cloaks, other elves had recognized both Rastín and Alborn during the panicked run. Word was spreading among the Élvemere that the son of the high king lived. He must think and act appropriately now more than ever if he wanted to live. He knew any mistake could cost his own life as well as the lives of Dierá, Eldri, Síari, and Alborn. As order was restored, he also knew they had precious little time to decide a course of action.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Like armies of buzzers pouring forth from their underground nests, the peoples of a hundred worlds spread across the mountainside. Work resumed, and with it the familiar din of pick and ax biting into rock. Rastín paced and cursed, finally breaking the long silence by asking, “Alborn, you must know. What is it I must do? Is there something I can do?”
Dierá, Eldri, and Síari remained quiet. They knew the question was directed at Alborn. For his part, Alborn regarded Rastín with eyes that could not see but somehow did. He did not speak for some time. In those silent moments Rastín again was certain the old guard was seeing beyond flesh and bone. “If escape into the highlands will not be possible come nightfall, we must look for another way. For now, though, it seems we must dig and pray.”
“Pray to what? The ageless dogs? There is nothing left to discover.”
“Perhaps,” Alborn said. “Or perhaps it could be that it was found and forgotten.”
Rastín shouldered a discarded pick and ax. Eldri and Síari did likewise. Dierá set off by herself across the dig site and returned with picks and axes for herself and Alborn.
As before when they marched, Dierá, Eldri, and Síari moved out from Rastín’s current position in a protective pattern. Dierá began digging a chain to his left. Eldri moved a chain up the mountain. Síari moved a chain to his right. The three heaved their picks and thrust them against the barren rock of the mountain almost in unison, and the echoes of this activity joined the growing din.
Alborn found a spot a chain below Rastín that had already been partially dug out by another. Rastín slammed the tooth of the pick into the ground at his own feet, rock chips and dust flying in every
direction. The steady rhythm of the labor kept his mind occupied for a time. Heave, thrust, crunch. Heave, thrust, crunch.
In the first toll, he looked up from his work only once, so he could check on Alborn. The old guard, although clearly tired, was holding his own. Seeing this pleased Rastín. For a time afterward, Rastín only knew the rhythm of heave, thrust, and crunch; the sweat beading on his brow and dripping down his back; the cool, light wind off the mountains.
The overlords, serpent magi, and even the ageless became as nothing to him, because they were outside, beyond the place where the work carried him. He had spent cycles of his life in this place with only the rhythm to keep him company. Without the soothing rhythm there was nothing. Within, everything.
Many tolls passed, lost to the rhythm. It was nearly midday when Rastín returned to conscious thoughts, and he only did so because as he looked up from the pit he created a Wërg stood over him. The Wërg was piling rock and earth. Her carts were half filled.
Looking up at the Wërg, he could not help but read her expression. She was telling him, “Danger, great danger. Dny must now remember.” When she told him this, Rastín was certain she was Akharran.
“Promises not kept,” he told her, using her language. “Father dead.”
“Death,” Akharran replied. “Great death.”
Rastín was uncertain whether she was speaking of his father’s death or something else, but he did not have time to dwell on it. The midday reprieve was called, and Akharran was forced to depart hastily.
Each in turn, Dierá, Eldri, and Síari moved off to get food and water, each returning with an extra share that was meant for Rastín and Alborn. But when Rastín tried to eat or drink, the food and water were pulled away. “We eat, you wait,” Dierá told him.
Rastín did not understand. Alborn explained, saying quietly, “They check for taint. If they do not become sick, the food and water are safe.”
“I do not like this new life,” Rastín told Alborn plainly. “What am I that my own people would poison and kill me?”
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