Whispering Tower

by Katie Clark

  Skye squirmed to keep herself awake. She could always talk to the guard to pass the time. She’d call him Whittler.

  Not that he’d answer. He hadn’t been chatty so far, and he’d done lots of things to be cruel—like shoving her. If she spoke, he might come kick her just to spite her.

  But she didn’t want to fall asleep again. Anything but that. Swallowing her nerves, she cleared her throat. “How did you know where I was? I’d just gotten there. You had to be waiting for me.”

  The guard kept whittling.

  She sighed and leaned her head against the cold stone wall. “I just want to go home. I didn’t do anything to end up here.”

  The guard didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t care.

  How many people had he held captive? Had he killed anyone?

  Maybe it was better if he stayed over there, whittling, ignoring her.

  She wasn’t some amazing fighter woman from the movies. She was just Skye, and she knew how to help people but she didn’t know anything about breaking out of chains in a dungeon.

  Something rattled from the top of the staircase. The noise finally moved the guard from his stool, and he tossed his small knife and the figurine onto the ground then moved to the stairs. He kept his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist, ever at the ready to murder someone.

  Skye hadn’t noticed the sword before, and the sight of it sent her stomach into waves.

  “Guards approaching,” someone called out.

  Apparently, her guard recognized the voice. He dropped his hand. “Orders?” he asked.

  Two guards met him in the dim light, and she saw one shake his head. “None yet, except to feed her.”

  Whittler scowled. “Feed her? Since when do we feed the prisoners?”

  The guard who had been silent shoved a tray forward. “We don’t ask questions.”

  Whittler kept his scowl but took the tray, which held a pitcher and a plate with bread on it.

  Skye swallowed, realizing how thirsty she was.

  Her guard brought the tray and shoved it toward her. The chains rattled as she gratefully reached for the small pitcher. There were no cups, so she poured the water directly into her mouth. It tasted metallic, but at least she couldn’t see the filth in the darkness.

  “What are you making?” one guard asked from the stairs. He’d picked up the small wooden figure Whittler had been working on.

  The three guards moved closer to the torch to examine the creation while Skye finished the water.

  “Hurry up,” Whittler barked.

  Skye jumped. She hadn’t realized he’d moved back to her side.

  He scowled. “Take the bread so they can return to their post.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said.

  She expected an argument, or a scowl, or at least a warning.

  But Whittler was for real—which she kept forgetting—and he snatched her tray away before she could change her mind.

  The other guards retrieved the tray then moved back up the stairs. After a moment, the door rattled from above, and the sound of a lock slid into place.

  The guard went back to his stool, and bent to pick up his whittling knife and wood figure. He grunted. “Cursed idiots took my knife.”

  He sprinted up the steps, and Skye waited for him to pound on the door. There was a slight crash and then a moan.

  She sat up straighter, straining in the darkness to see what was going on at the top of the stairs. A moment later, the guard slid down the steps—being dragged by someone else.

  “Philip?” she hissed. Tears burned her eyes and spilled out before she could stop them. “Oh, Philip.”

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, panting. “Can you help me drag him and lock him up, if I get you out of there?”

  “Of course!” she said around her blubbers. This was ridiculous. Stupid tears.

  Philip dropped the unconscious guard’s shoulders. He patted the guard’s uniform until he found a ring with a few keys. Then he moved quickly to unlock her.

  As soon as she was free, she wrapped her arms around him. It took him a millisecond to return the gesture. He let her cry for a moment, but then he pulled away. “We need to do this.”

  She sniffled and nodded, determined to be brave.

  “How did you do that?” she asked. “How did you find me?”

  “I knew it had to be Saul who had taken you.”

  “It wasn’t,” she said, cutting him off. “It was Lilla.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Hmm. Anyway, I had to think of something, and I guess I did the right thing.”

  She helped him grab the guard and drag him to the chains.

  Philip locked the guard into the chains on the wall.

  “How did you get in here?”

  He pulled her away from the guard—probably in case Whittler woke up—and they moved closer to the torch light. “I’ve been up there for an hour thinking of a plan. I finally decided I just had to try something, so I went into the kitchen and demanded food for Saul. They didn’t question me. It’s pretty much chaos out there. Anyway, I approached the guards and told them Saul had instructed me to feed the prisoner. When they took the tray, I pretended to leave, but as soon as they were on the stairs I grabbed a heavy vase and followed them. The darkness hid me pretty well, and I was able to snag that knife and hide until the other guards left. Then I knocked your guard out with the vase.”

  Philip? Hitting someone?

  She couldn’t believe it. She stared at him for a few seconds. Even in the darkness, she could see his embarrassment.

  “I was afraid I would have to stab him for a second. I didn’t want to do that, because either I’d kill him—uh, not something I wanted to do—or I’d make him really mad, and he’d kill me.”

  Her throat swelled with emotion, and she grabbed his hand. “Thank you.”

  He smiled and shrugged, the old Philip coming through. “It was nothing.”

  She looked around. “How are we getting out of here?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. All of that worked, because God let it. I prayed.” Again, he seemed embarrassed. Philip grabbed the torch.

  They moved quickly around the perimeter of the small dungeon.

  “Look.” She pointed to the back wall where an archway could be made out in the dim light. “I think that’s the staircase they brought me through.”

  Whittler shifted and groaned on the dirt floor, but he didn’t open his eyes.

  Skye clutched Philip’s free hand. “Let’s move fast.”

  They hurried to the archway, made their way through it, and moved to the stairs.

  “This door leads to Lilla’s gardens,” she said.

  He held out the torch, and they studied the high staircase.

  Skye took a shaky breath. “You know there’s probably a guard up there, and the door will be locked.”

  Philip held up the key ring. “Hopefully, one of these will work.”

  She didn’t ask what they would do about the guard.

  They climbed, the urgency of a guard at their back pushing them forward. He would wake up any second, and if he started yelling, someone was bound to come check on him.

  At the top of the stairs, Philip paused. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Skye watched him.

  Heavenly Father, please let us get home.

  Finally, he reached out and tested the door. Locked, as expected. He rattled the door. A test?

  No one answered.

  He glanced at her.

  It was now or never.

  He slid the key into the lock and turned. The clicking of the lock sounded loud in the quiet dungeon, but after a second they pulled the door open.

  No one stood watch on the outside, but just beyond Lilla’s garden a crowd gathered on the streets. People shouted, laughed, sang, cried. Three guards stood at the edge of the street, pushing people back from Lilla’s precious plants.

  “The festival,” Philip said.
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  For once, the party was working in their favor.

  “Let’s go.” She gripped his warm hand, and they darted through the garden. Skye had no idea which way to go, but getting away from the guards at the street seemed like a good choice.

  They weaved in and out of trees, paths, and plants. When they passed the tiger, Philip gasped.

  Skye grinned at him, enjoying his shock.

  At last, they made it to a quiet alley.

  “Guards have been posted all around the villa,” Philip whispered. He stood at an angle as he peered around the corner, blocking her with his own body.

  Warmth spread through her. He wanted to protect her. Take care of her. Why did it surprise her so much? Maybe because no one had ever really wanted to do that before.

  “It’s clear,” he said. They darted through the streets, and for the first time in hours she thought they might actually make it. He led her around a few buildings, keeping to alleys as much as possible. They reached a ladder, and he pulled her to it. “Go first this time, please.”

  She didn’t question him. The ladder shook when he started climbing behind her.

  “You said this was Lilla?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see her,” she said, panting. Climbing was harder than it looked. “But in the garden, she spoke. It was her.”

  “And was it Seth helping her?”

  Skye shook her head. “No, I didn’t hear him. I don’t remember anything. Do you think they took him, too?”

  Philip was quiet as they finished their climb and stood tall on the top of the building. Now the crowds were below them.

  A couple laughed from the rooftop of the building behind them.

  Skye spun around, but the couple was engrossed in each other.

  “I was thinking he helped,” Philip said. “How else did they find you so fast?”

  She shook her head again. “I don’t know. He seemed so sincere.”

  They didn’t have time to talk about it. Philip pointed to the tower in the distance. “We have to get there fast before the sacrifice is set to begin.”

  “When do they do that?”

  “Ezekiel said at midnight on the third night. That’s tonight.”

  Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t found the replacement Hebat, and if she left now then this girl would be sacrificed in her place.

  But Philip was right. This was four thousand years in the past. These people were already dead in her day anyway, and they were out of time.

  They leapt from rooftop to rooftop.

  There was only one last thing to do, and that was make it home.

  28

  The skeletal tower rose above the city like a creepy skyscraper. And the tower was still dark, which was all that mattered to Philip.

  He took Skye’s hand, and they leapt to the next building. If the guy from the dungeon caught up to them, it could be trouble. They needed to move fast.

  Skye gripped his hand, and he held tight. A week ago, he would have laughed if anyone had told him he’d be holding Skye Guthrie’s hand. Wanting to spend time with her—protect her. He would prove Skye wrong about her fears of their relationship after they returned home. He wouldn’t turn his back on her again. He ground his teeth as he leapt to the next building. This place had changed him, and he wouldn’t betray her again.

  Someone grunted behind them, and he spun around. Two rooftops back, the guard from the dungeon followed them.

  Philip’s heart dropped. “Time to move.”

  Skye pulled her hand from his, and they ran. The next building rose two stories above theirs, and Philip made a left. “This way,” he said.

  They darted a different direction, taking the long way around the tall building. The guard followed.

  Two more buildings.

  Skye landed with a twist, and cried out.

  Philip rushed to where she laid in a heap. “Can you walk?”

  “I think so,” she whispered. Tears glistened in her eyes, and her face looked…tired.

  “Come on.” He helped her up, and they half-ran, half-limped to the next rooftop. The pause had given the guard time to close the gap between them, and he was only one building away now.

  “Maybe we should climb down,” he said. “Get lost in the crowd.”

  Skye nodded but didn’t speak.

  In the distance, a light glowed to life at the base of the tower.

  Skye gasped.

  Philip threw a glance over his shoulder. They had to get to the tower. This guard wasn’t giving up, and the tower was the only way out. Leading her to the edge of the building, Philip glanced over the ledge. The alley was slightly less crowded than some of the others they’d leapt over. He found a ladder then helped her get her footing so she could climb down first.

  The guard leapt onto their building. All he had to do was cross the wide roof, and they’d be chopped up with that sword of his.

  “Faster, Skye!” Philip hissed.

  She whimpered, but picked up speed.

  He scrambled down after her.

  They hit the ground.

  The guard reached the ladder and peeked over the top of the ledge.

  “Come on!” Philip grabbed Skye’s hand and dragged her behind him.

  She didn’t complain.

  They raced through the mostly empty alley until they reached the street. Then he shoved through the people like a snowplow. They had to get lost in the crowd fast, or that guard would be taking them to the tower himself.

  The crowd had grown so thick it was difficult to get through and still keep a grip on Skye’s hand, but he managed to get a few rows deep with no sign of the guard.

  “Let’s make a turn.” Skye’s voice was tight—her foot had to be bothering her. “It’ll throw him off.”

  He nodded and veered a sharp right, but he didn’t bring up his true fear. Now that they weren’t on the rooftops, he couldn’t see the tower as easily, and since they’d changed courses to get around the tall building, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure which direction they needed to head. Following instinct, he continued his movement. God, please get us through here. I know I’m new at this, but we sure could use Your help.

  A calm filled him, and he pushed his uncertainties aside. Leading her through the crowded streets, he found a small alcove in the side of a building.

  They hid inside the alcove, squeezing behind another couple who cheered and sang with the rowdy group around them.

  Philip bent close to Skye’s face, trying to talk over the noise of the crowd without being overheard. “Do you think you can climb to another rooftop? If we’ve lost the guard, we might be able to make it.”

  She bit her lip. “But if he gets the idea to climb, too, he’ll see us free and clear.”

  Good point. “Can you stay here while I climb? Just for a second, so I can get a good perspective.”

  She gazed at him uncertainly. “That’s how we got separated in the first place.”

  Another good point. He shook his head and sighed. “OK, then we keep moving.” He glanced down at her robes, where her feet would be. “I’m sorry about your foot.”

  She gave him a small smile and shrug. “I don’t think it’s sprained, only twisted a little. I’ll be OK, especially once I’m back in the twenty-first century.”

  He grunted. “I hear you.” He turned toward the street and watched the people.

  The crowds weren’t staying still. They seemed to be constantly drifting forward, toward something—the tower?

  With a deep breath, he moved them back into the herd of people who drifted slowly en masse toward what he assumed was the tower. They could move quickly through the crowd if he knew which direction to go. He and Skye made their way through the sea of people until they’d topped a small hill. In the distance, the tower rose toward the sky. Up close, it looked like some sort of ancient temple he’d seen in the textbooks in Mr. Kilpatrick’s class.

  More lights lit the area around it, casting a glow in the dark night.

&
nbsp; “It must be close to midnight,” Skye said.

  Maybe, if they could sneak around the back, they would go unnoticed because everyone would be focusing on the sacrifice.

  Guilt burned him that he was so willing to let some other girl die, but he quickly pushed it away, reminding himself these people were dead in his time. He stumbled.

  Skye grabbed his arm before he fell into the guy in front of them.

  “Are you OK?” Her eyebrows pulled together in worry.

  “Yeah.” He found his footing and kept moving. Bad thoughts plagued him. What if this other girl wasn’t supposed to be sacrificed, and something in the future was changed?

  He pushed forward, refusing to think of the consequences. He had to get Skye home at any cost, even if someone else paid the price.

  The crowd thinned out as they came closer to the tower. The road inclined to the base of the structure, and Philip guessed most of the party-goers didn’t actually care to make the climb. They were having way too much fun in the city streets.

  Light dimmed as he and Skye moved farther away from the crowd and their torches. This was good for Philip and Skye, since darkness would help hide them. Once they were out of the masses, Philip led Skye to a dirt path.

  “It’s not much farther,” he whispered. “How’s your foot?”

  “It’s OK,” she said.

  He turned to look at her face—she couldn’t keep the truth out of her eyes.

  “Philip! Watch out!”

  He jerked back around, but it was too late. The guard from the dungeon stood in front of them, his face a dark mask of hatred.

  “Give up now,” he growled.

  Philip refused to freeze now that they were so close. He pushed Skye in the opposite direction. “Go!”

  She ran, and it distracted the guard long enough to let Philip knee him in the groin.

  The guard grunted but didn’t go down.

  Philip bolted after Skye.

  They headed back to the road and ran full throttle toward the tower. They had to make it into the tower and perform the ritual—all before the angry guard caught them.

  Hurt ankle or not, Skye moved like a cheetah. They reached the top of the hill, and the tower rose like a true giant. It was bigger than any skyscraper Dad and Mrs. Guthrie had built, and he gaped at the idea of any ancient people being able to construct such a monstrosity.