Escape (The Prisoner and the Sun #1)

by Brad Magnarella

  “Of course,” Iliff said. “Give me a moment and I’ll be right out.”

  Iliff dressed in his old prison attire. He had decided not to wear the clothes Adramina had packed for him until he completed his sentence. He had to prove himself worthy of them. He took the bundle of clothes from his bag and set it on the shelf. He hung the tinder pouch beside it.

  “All right,” Iliff said, opening the door. “I’m yours.”

  The creature headed off through a series of tunnels, torch in hand. Iliff had to jog to keep up with it. At last they came to a lantern-lit room with a long workbench and a cart. The creature dragged out a stool for Iliff.

  “You’re to polish,” it said. “You know how?”

  Iliff did. He had cleaned and polished many trowel blades in the prison.

  The creature pulled the tarp off the cart, exposing a hoard of gold cups and chalices. They were finely crafted but lacked the rich luster of the treasures in the round man’s room. The creature seized a handful and set them on the workbench. It pointed to a drawer where Iliff found burnishing cloths and brushes and a stack of polish tins.

  Iliff chose a cup from the pile and set to work, coating it in the white polish. Minutes later, when he had at last rubbed and brushed the cup clean, he could hardly believe its transformation. He held it up and turned it. The surface was so clear that the lanterns gleamed in a perfect ring around its outside. He brought the cup closer to admire the gold’s deep color.

  Iliff had all but forgotten the creature when its grotesque head appeared in the cup’s reflection right behind his own. It plucked the cup away, looked it over, and then set it on the far end of the workbench.

  “That’s good,” it grunted. “Keep going.”

  The creature lumbered outside the room.

  By midafternoon Iliff had worked through most of the cart. Handsome cups and chalices lined half of his workbench. He still regretted being captured, of course, but at least the work wasn’t something dreadful. He wasn’t being made to swing a giant pick-axe, or cart heavy stones, or hold a metal wedge while one of those creatures pounded on it. No, his work was quiet and safe. In fact, the more he polished, the more he found himself enjoying it.

  He focused on the chalice he had just finished and imagined it on the shelf in his room. He imagined two of them there, then two more, and then rows and rows of them, solid and gleaming.

  Iliff caught himself.

  You’ve already strayed from the path, he thought. If you’re not careful, you’ll become like the ones Adramina warned you of. The ones who stop seeking.

  With that, Iliff rubbed his thumb inside one of the tins of polish and pressed it to the side of the workbench. There, he thought. That’s one. When the prints numbered thirty, his obligation to the round man would be fulfilled. He would leave and rejoin his path.

  Iliff finished the remaining pieces and called to the creature.

  * * *

  The next morning, and every morning that followed, Iliff returned with the creature to a fresh cartful of unpolished treasures. When the work was done, and he had wrapped the finished pieces in sacking and placed them back in the cart, Iliff would add another white print to the lengthening row on the side of the workbench.

  He tried to see the gold cups and chalices as nothing more than the means to his release. He tried to contemplate the Sun, or what he imagined the Sun to be. But in his bed each night, he could think only of the pieces themselves, their deep luster and the weight of them in his hands.

  * * *

  On the day Iliff made his thirtieth print, the creature told him that he would be dining with the round man that evening. Iliff had neither seen nor heard from him since their first meeting and was beginning to worry that he had forgotten about their agreement. Now, as the creature led him up the steep stairs and past the two guarded doors, Iliff worried that he would try to change the terms of their agreement, or even deny his release outright. Iliff’s pulse trembled as he walked the length of the gold carpet.

  “Well, hello there!” the round man said from his large chair. Thin hairs ran over his pate in glistening lines. “So very nice to see you again. Come, come, have a seat.”

  The table before him was crammed with meats, candles, and tall carafes of a dark-red drink.

  “Yes, sit, sit, there’s a good lad,” he said. “How are you, my friend? I trust that you have been sleeping well, eating well, hmm? Excellent! You look well. Yes, yes, you look just lovely.”

  He poured the drink into Iliff’s goblet until it nearly spilled over.

  “A toast,” he said. “To the polisher!”

  Iliff braced while the round man swung his goblet against his, splashing the table. The round man laughed. Iliff, who had never tasted wine, grimaced as the first sip bit into his tongue. Seeing this, the round man laughed even harder. He pushed slabs of meat onto Iliff’s plate.

  “Eat, eat!” he said. “It’s better with food.”

  Iliff did as he said. And, indeed, as the meal progressed, the less his palate protested. The wine even began to taste pleasant. He smiled and laughed with the round man, who, in the course of things, introduced himself as Euclid. It soon dawned on Iliff that Euclid was the first man he had met since the prison. He began to feel glad for his company, and by the fourth cup of wine, Iliff considered him, if not a friend, then a friendly companion. They ate and talked and drank late into the night.

  At last Euclid called for two creatures from the side of the room to clear the table. “But leave the wine,” he ordered. The creatures did as they were told, carrying stacks of dripping plates and platters into a back room.

  “Trolls,” Euclid said, looking after them. “Stupid creatures, but stupidly loyal. They’ll work night and day for a simple trinket, however tainted. I tell you, they’ll do anything for a bit of gold.” He took a long drink from his goblet and sighed. “My, how they love their gold.”

  Iliff thought of his own troll and how it continued to go with him wherever he went.

  “But where was I?” Euclid said. “Ah, yes, we were speaking of your journey a bit ago, to the world out there. I’ve always wondered what possesses a person to want to go out there. Perhaps you can enlighten me, hmm?”

  “The world out there…” Iliff smiled. Yes, that was where he was going. Tomorrow.

  He decided to tell him about Salvatore, the Sun, his quest. It would feel so good, so good to share. And who knew? he thought. Maybe he could convince Euclid to come with him, to be a companion on his quest.

  “It all started with… with this old man…”

  Iliff wavered to his feet, surprised when the room began to spin. He laughed and held to his chair a moment before continuing. Euclid looked on with pinched eyes. But as the minutes passed, Iliff noticed his host’s attention drifting from his story. He began to finger a gold thread on one of his cushions. Iliff was just getting to the part about Salvatore’s escape when Euclid let out a long moaning sigh.

  “I cannot listen to any more of this nonsense,” he said.

  “Nonsense?”

  “It’s superstition and it’s beneath us. Why, you sound like one of the trolls, with their silly fear of water demons and fire demons and blah, blah, blah. Tell me, what proof do you have of any of this? An old man’s word is all?”

  Iliff opened his mouth but could get nothing past the sudden catch in his throat.

  “I see,” Euclid said. “Yet you’re willing to rush headlong into a wilderness about which you have no knowledge and even less preparation. Bah! I curse the imbecile who filled your head with these tales. He should be flogged.” Iliff’s lips trembled. He felt for his chair and began to lower himself. “I’m not angry with you, my friend. It’s just that you’re clearly a young man of talents. Here now, give us a moment.”

  Euclid called to one of the trolls and in harsh whispers directed it to the pile of treasure against the near wall. The troll pulled out a gold chalice and set it on the table.

  Iliff straightened.
He looked from the chalice to Euclid.

  “You’ve done exceptional work,” he said. “I promised to reward you for your labor and so I shall. Your term is complete. If you insist on leaving and going to the world out there, this will help you. It has considerable value, gold. What is it you desire? Food, lodging, protection? It will get you these and more. It will bolster alliances and divide your enemies. Build kingdoms and tear them down. Why, it has the power even to move water and earth. You didn’t know this? Yes, a wonderful thing, gold.”

  Iliff moved the chalice to his lap.

  “If it is freedom you seek, gold is essential,” he went on. “If your way is ‘ever up’ as you say, then why waste time wandering about when you can contract to have the tallest tower built? Or perhaps a machine that flies? I have heard of such things. Yes, your journey could be a cinch.”

  Iliff had not thought he would need anything more than what Adramina had given him, but now he wondered.

  Euclid watched Iliff with cool eyes.

  “I have a proposal,” he said suddenly. “Continue to work for me, and I will continue to reward you in gold. What you have there is valuable, yes. But imagine the worth were it doubled, quadrupled, increased twenty or two-hundred fold, hmm? You would never have to worry or want for anything.”

  Iliff struggled to gather his thoughts, but he could not seem to hold them in one place for very long.

  “What… what are your… terms?” He had to concentrate on each word.

  “Ah, yes, my terms,” Euclid said. “You would pledge to work three more months for me, just like you have this last month. That would get you another treasure. If you chose to continue, you would agree to six more months, whereupon your reward would be two more treasures. A year beyond that would earn you four more treasures. Do you see how this works? As your commitments double, so will your treasures. Two years for eight more treasures, fours years for sixteen more, and so on, and so forth.”

  His words slid and prodded.

  “I assure you,” he continued, “how long you remain and how much you accumulate is your decision and yours alone. But as you can see, my friend, the rewards are potentially infinite.” He drew out this last word. “You must only do good work and complete each term.”

  Iliff knew that he should take the night at least to consider the offer. But he was worried that Euclid might take back the offer, or forget that he had ever made it in the first place.

  He looked at the chalice in his lap and imagined another beside it.

  “Yes,” he heard himself saying. “Three more months.”

  “Very good,” Euclid cried. “Here, here, another toast. To the polisher, yes! And to eternal wealth!” The two clashed their goblets together and drained them at once.

  Iliff drew his sleeve across his mouth and laughed. Euclid craned his round head and hollered to the trolls to bring more wine.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning Iliff felt dreadful. It was as if the sanders from his former crew had worked through the night, scouring the inside of his head. He lit the lantern but kept it covered. His breakfast had arrived while he slept and was now cold, but it didn’t matter; he had no appetite. He sipped the tepid coffee and tried to piece together the rest of the night.

  There had been more wine, yes. And there was the jostling that must have been the troll carrying him back to his room. But how had he gotten into bed? And what had become of—

  The chalice!

  He jumped up and jerked the cover from the lantern. He jabbed the light around the room. He found the chalice, at last, on the topmost shelf, safe. He lifted it down and turned it around a few times. He looked closely at its surface. Yes, just as solid and splendid as on the night before.

  The troll must have put it there, he thought. Now there was a good fellow.

  He set the chalice back on the shelf and turned it just so. His gaze fell to the shelf below, where the clothes Adramina had given him sat in a bundle. He looked at these and at the tinder pouch that hung beside it.

  “I haven’t forgotten you,” he said. “Just one more trophy. One more and our success will be that much more assured.”

  He put on his prison clothes and waited for the troll.

  * * *

  But Iliff did not stop with just one more trophy. When the three months ended, he chose to stay for another six months. Then at six months, and with two more trophies on his shelf, he decided to remain for another year and another four trophies. He then pledged two more years to Euclid.

  The pattern was always the same. Near the end of each term, Euclid would invite Iliff to feast and drink with him. “In celebration of the polisher,” he would say. “The best these mines have seen!” And though Iliff would go with the intention of collecting his trophies and rejoining his quest, Euclid made it hard. He would tell him stories of gold, and the freedom it could buy, and the power it could wield, and how essential it was for anything he could ever want or need. By the end of the night, Iliff would find himself nodding his head and laughing and deciding that yes, yes, more was better, if he was going to have any real success out there.

  The gold treasures, eight of them now, filled his shelves. There was the chalice, an ornate plate, a crown embedded with red and white jewels, a helmet and matching shield, a small gold chest, an urn, and a scepter. After rewarding Iliff with his second treasure, Euclid had bidden Iliff to select his own treasures from among the vast piles.

  “Go on,” he said. “Any ones you wish. Funny how certain ones call you to them, hmm?”

  But as Iliff’s treasures multiplied, so too did his worries. Did others know about them? Desire them? What if he returned one day to find them all gone? What would become of his quest then?

  Though Euclid had a second bolt put on Iliff’s door at his request, and then a third, they did not seem enough. All day while he polished, Iliff thought of nothing but getting back to his room. But even when he was in his bed, his trophies safe on the shelf beside him, he worried over how better to guard them. The worries smoldered inside his chest and burned his face. They made it hard for him to breathe sometimes. And if he slept at all, the worries would needle him awake long before his breakfast arrived and the troll came for him.

  * * *

  One day close to the end of Iliff’s two-year term, the troll was late in knocking. Iliff called through the door: “Troll?”—for this is what he had taken to calling him. He had also decided that the creature was young and male, though he could not be entirely sure of either. He listened for Troll’s breaths, but heard nothing. He slid out the bolts and peeked through the doorway. The tunnel stood dark and empty. Iliff could not remember a time since his arrival in the mines that Troll had not been near.

  “Where are you, you big sap?” he cried. “You know I like to get going early so I can get back here early.”

  By the time he saw torchlight approaching, his irritation had burst into red flames. He was preparing to let it fly when he heard wet snuffling. Now what could this be? he thought. When Troll rose into view above him, his head was lowered and turned away.

  “Is something the matter?” Iliff asked.

  Troll snuffled again but said nothing, which in itself did not surprise Iliff. He rarely spoke. But sorrow? He had never known Troll to show even the least sentiment. He had not believed his kind capable.

  “All right, then,” Iliff said. “Well, let’s be off. We’re late enough as it is.”

  Troll was silent on their journey, and Iliff’s mind soon fell back into its own worries. He had just arrived at his work bench and begun to polish the first cup when he heard more snuffling from Troll. And then there erupted a series of what sounded like muffled cries. Iliff cast down his cloth and strode to the doorway. He would never get any work done if this kept up.

  “What are—” His voice faltered. Troll was squatting against the tunnel wall, his face pressed into the crook of one of his massive arms. Iliff moved nearer. He reached for Troll’s shoulder, but hesitated a
nd withdrew.

  “Is… is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

  “No.” Troll kept his face hidden. “Go back to work.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The tangle of black hair shook in a nod.

  “I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He waited for a response. “Oh, come now! We’ve been with the other for nearly four years. There’s barely been a moment, day or night, when you haven’t been but a few steps away. I even hear you breathing in my sleep. Surely you can trust me as I’ve come to trust you. Now tell me, whatever’s the matter?”

  Iliff waited longer this time. “Well, if you don’t want to talk, that’s your business. But do try and keep it down.”

  “Wait,” came Troll’s voice from behind him. “Please wait.”

  Iliff turned to see Troll’s damp face lift from his arm and tilt toward him. His eyes had never appeared to Iliff as anything more than structural depressions beneath a protruding brow, all space and shadow. But now, at the bottoms of those depressions, Iliff was amazed to see the light of the nearest lantern glisten off a pair of small yellow pupils. Troll blinked them repeatedly, and suddenly Iliff felt an intense sympathy for the creature.

  “Yes,” Iliff said. “I’m here.”

  “Just sit awhile with me.” Troll scooted down to make space.

  Iliff glanced back to the workbench where his first cup of the day sat half-polished.

  “It doesn’t have to be for long.”

  “Yes,” Iliff said, “all right.”

  Troll had grown since their first encounter, and when Iliff sat, his head only came as high as Troll’s jutting ribs. For a long while neither spoke. Troll sniffed and jammed a knuckle into each eye. Slowly, his breathing calmed. He extended his legs until his feet pressed into the wall opposite them. Troll’s toenails were as large as spades and appeared capable of gouging holes in the black stone were he only to flex them. At last Troll sighed.

  “I’m miserable,” he said.

  “We all get down. It will pass, whatever it is.”

  Troll shook his head. “It’s been with me a long time, this misery. It’s the misery only a prisoner can know.”